The Marshal nodded curtly.

"Same to him," she said. "Does he know what's going on? Because I've a feeling you can't cross lines too much without someone getting suspicious and putting a bullet in either him or you or both."

"The whole camp knows I'm gone, it was part of the plan. I'm here to collect intelligence and supplies, whiskey mostly. I guess that they figured I'd make a good spy. After all, who'd expect me?" She batted her eyelashes and tried her best to look innocent.

"I sure wouldn't."

All that got him was a death glare.

The Marshal nodded.

"Not bad for a single run, but won't work for more than once. This dude of yours, what's he good at?"

"Practically everything. I've never seen him beat in a fight, to be completely honest."

"Bet I could beat him," the Marshal muttered. "Let's head upstairs where we can spread out on the table. We've got some planning we need to do. Got a good idea of the layout?"

"It's all up in here." Abigail pointed at her head.

Jed studied their new friend intently, the way spoke of her boss reminded him so much of how he used to speak of the Marshal. Whoever this man was, he was more than a boss to this McKinley girl.

"I'll need you to draw it out, then, if you can," the Marshal said, waving her hand to indicate that Abigail should follow her upstairs. She disappeared through the door, then started sorting through her bags, pulling out one that had plenty of paper and maps and other sundry things.

"Here, start drawing the best you can remember."

Caldwell spent a few moments dozing in the sun, but the sound of boots on the stairs inside jostled him out of his light sleep. He stretched and yawned, then scratched a few itches before stiffly climbing to his feet and wandering back inside.

"Hey, what's goin' on? Who's the pretty little newcomer?" Caldwell asked as he barged into the room.

Abby turned around abruptly, her hair swinging like a whip. "Okay, who let the dog out of it's cage?

"I had the exact same reaction at first," noted Jed.

"The puppy has a muzzle on," the Marshal commented, barely looking up. "And he sits and stays fairly well."

"You planning on keeping him? Because if not, I'll take the ransom when all this is over."

"I'm not fairly fond of dogs, but...he's mine. Don't touch--or, at least, don't shoot, since you aren't exactly the smartest when it comes to hand to hand."

The sun was just starting to set as Charlotte scaled down the porch. She made her way down by clinging to the pole that held the porch roof up. This was the way she'd snuck out over the years, so it was a well-practiced motion.

She glanced around her as she landed on the ground, her boots sending up puffs of dust. The sky was darkening into a light shade of blue.

I shouldn't be doing this, she thought, but she was anyway. It wasn't safe in Sagebrush lately, much less at night, and she'd left her Thunderstick back inside the house. Everything said this wasn't a good idea.

Nevertheless, she pushed these thoughts out of her mind and kept walking.

She hung a right around the corner of the jail and walked between that building and the livery. She could see the cemetery in the distance, and she let out a long sigh before shoving her hands in her pockets and trudging on.

She stared at the ground as she walked. The memory of the red blood clouded her vision. She blinked it away. It was the first time she'd seen someone die that violently--most people she'd seen were either injured or shot from a distance. Jed had done his best to make sure she was sheltered. It wasn't so much the blood, though. She'd seen that. It was the hand that had caused it.

These thoughts ate away at her until she reached the cemetery, and by the time she did, it was almost dark. She wove her way through the small graveyard, until she found what she was looking for. She knelt next to her father's gravestone and cleared away the dirt and dry branches that had cluttered it. How long had it been since she'd last come here? Apparently, a long time.

She set her hands in her lap and thought for a very long time about what to say. Finally, she cleared her throat. "I miss you--"

Her voice cracked. She glanced around her at the darkening sky, making sure no one was around, then swallowed hard and looked back at the gravestone. "I saw something today." She paused and inhaled. "Dead body. I don't know, I've seen them before, it's just... this time, it was different."

She brushed the hair out of her eyes and backhanded her nose. "I don't really know why she shot him, Dad," she said, knotting her fingers together. "I really don't. I just wish this kind of stuff didn't have to happen."

Even before the last word was out of her mouth a pair of hands grabbed her from behind. She instinctively screamed and tried to remember where her weapon was, but she'd left it back at the house. Blast it. Panic set in and she thrashed as wildly as she could, but the iron grip wouldn't relent. Someone twisted around her arms behind her back. She craned her head, trying to get a glimpse of her attacker's face, but when that didn't work, she tried again to break free. In her struggling, she accidentally knocked the top of her head against someone's jaw. The ache had barely had a chance to settle in before she blacked out.

~ ~ ~

“Leave the girl alone.”

The murmur of voices ceased, leaving only the crackling fire to voice its opinion as Charlotte came to. Her eyes opened to see the fire in front of her. Her hands were tied behind her back. She had a headache.

A man, a few inches taller than Jed, took a few steps forward. He was broad and well built, a wicked scar etched across his face, running from beneath his hat brim, over his eye, and finally ending halfway down his cheek. He stopped and looked at Charlotte for a moment, then reached down and grabbed her arm. The metal dug into her skin as he pulled her to her feet, then forcefully guided her through the camp. He took his hat off and pushed through a tent door, finally letting go of Char. She tumbled to the floor, nearly knocking over a lamp, then turned to look at him, slowly edging away.

“Stay here,” he said. “You leave without me, your blood’s on your own head.”
He turned and stepped out, the heavy canvas falling into place behind him. For a moment she could see his shadow on the wall, then the firelight flickered, and he had moved on.

What? Her first instinct was to sit forward and start trying to get her wrists free. They were bound tightly, so it was no use. She plopped them in her lap, letting out a sigh.

The words the man had said rang in her head, as did his frightening appearance. Stay here or go? Stay here or... go?

Charlotte didn't know. She didn't know where she was, who these people were, or what to do. And even worse was the fear that she hadn't felt in so long was back, the fear that started back when she saw the Marshal shoot someone. It had started out as a tiny frozen spot in her chest, and it was getting bigger. She wasn't used to being scared. She wasn't used to being alone, or not knowing what to do.

Charlotte wanted to do what the Marshal and Jed would do: make the right, wise smart choice, even though she wasn't sure what it was. But caution was better, right? So for one of the first times in her life, she listened. And she stayed.

"I will accept the label of puppy as I am as adorable as any young pup you will ever see," Caldwell said, with a cheerful grin. "You should be careful though if you're aimin' to collect the price on my head. Lotta shallow graves filled with the unfortunate remains of them as think they found easy money. That and I have no problem hidin' behind the Marshal should I need to."

"Oh, you actually dig graves for people after you shoot them? You're stupider than I thought."