Charlotte withheld a grin. "No, no gas around the campfire. Turn around, please."

Caldwell turned around with his hands still in the air, but turned his head so he could continue complaining over his shoulder.

"Now you're just tryin' to see my bee-hind. It ain't anything special, I'm tellin' you."

"Trust me, that is the absolute last thing I want to see." Charlotte turned to the Marshal and gave her an exaggerated smile, hoping to add a bit of comic relief to ease the tension. "Marshal, you're up. What shall our honored guest do next? Dance, perhaps?"

"That would be quite amusing, I must say," the Marshal said, smiling. "However, I think he's tired from his journey."

Keeping her gun trained on Caldwell, the Marshal reached forward and flipped the cell door open, then took a few steps back.

"Take a seat by the heater, Caldwell."

"Oh, good. For a second there, I thought you all were goin' to make me do one of them fancy lady dances like in the saloons and that would be plum embarrassin'," Caldwell said as he hurried over to the heater.

"Good. Charlotte, if he even looks like he is thinking about getting up, shoot him."

Charlotte nodded, doing a mock-salute with two fingers. "Got it."

"Don't take your eyes off him, either. I'd prefer to not have to shoot around you," the Marshal said grimly, holstering her gun and stepping into the cell. She wrinkled her nose as she picked up Caldwell's smelly jacket and riffled through his pockets. Nothing new since the last time she'd checked them. He'd already dumped his boots, but she gave them a good kick, just in case anything dislodged.

"I never kill women. Break their hearts maybe, but it's hardly my fault if they pine away and kill themselves out of grief or somethin' when I ride off into the sunset," Caldwell said, staring at the gun aimed at him.

"Oh, good, if I ever have to kill you with my bare hands, I won't worry if you have any weapons hiding on your person, then," the Marshal shot back, bending down and flipping over the unconscious man.

"Nope, no hidden weapons here," Caldwell said. "Might want to wash your hands after you finish rummagin' through that turncoat's pockets. Having been deprived of my rightful weapons, I had to improvise."

The Marshal stared down at the unconscious man, a frown quickly forming on her brow.

"Did you know him before?" she asked as she began methodically searching for any hidden weapons.

"Saw him last time I was in town. Worked at the stables, I think. Disagreeable type. Got the feelin' he didn't like me even before he tried to murder me just now."

"Most of the people here don't like you. Did he say who he was working for?"

"They liked me before I killed the sheriff. After that, we hit a bumpy point in our relationship," Caldwell protested. "But he said he worked for Meyer. Seemed a bit upset that you went and put a hole in that snake's sorry hide."