"He must be working for Meyer part time or on contingency or something. He isn't from Meyer's gang, at least not originally," the Marshal stood and walked back out of the cell.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't know. We didn't associate with low-down scum like Meyer and his boys. Or we didn't before Meyer killed all of my boys."

Charlotte continued to keep her gun trained on Caldwell even after the Marshal exited the cell. She glanced at the Marshal, then back to the two men in the cell. "How do you know he's not working for Meyer?"

"He was wearing an amulet and had a vial of poison in his breast pocket. Aconitine, I'd bet, based on the symbols on the amulet. I'm a bit surprised; I haven't heard of this particular gang for quite a long while," the Marshal held it where Charlotte could see it. "Supposed to keep away bad luck. Obviously, it hasn't worked in a while."

"Friends of yours, Marshal? I'm disappointed, you don't seem like the poisoning type of gal."

Charlotte chuckled. "Obviously not." She frowned, lowering her voice. "What do you mean, you haven't heard of this gang? Does the threat extend beyond Meyer now?" Her frown deepened. "And who was he going to poison...?"

"Oh, I haven't heard of them for a while. That doesn't mean I haven't heard of them at all. All of the people in this particular band wear amulets and carry poison with them--very distinctive mark, helps them keep outsiders out and the like. But also very easy to track, if you know what to look for."

"Probably wanted to poison the Marshal. He was just going to stab me to death."

"The toxin needs to either be ingested or inserted into the bloodstream to take effect. However, this is an...emergency bottle, you could say. A fallback for when nothing else works. They're always carried."

"What's this gang member doing here, then?" Charlotte asked the Marshal, with an errant glance at Caldwell. The thought of the Marshal being poisoned was unnerving, with good reason, but at this point she wasn't sure how much truth Caldwell's comments held. They were mostly background noise to a potentially much more pressing problem.

She pressed her lips together and adjusted her grip on her gun, awaiting the Marshal's response.

The Marshal shrugged.

"Who knows? I'll let Jed talk to him and see what he can find out, since this is his town. Plus, I'm worn out. Get up, Caldwell, and help me move this guy to one of the back cells. I'll let you keep your shiny front row seat of all the wonderful activities of townlife."

"Aww, do I have to? I might throw my back out or somethin'. He's heavy and I already feel a little twinge back there," Caldwell complained. He was quite comfortable where he sat and wasn't particularly motivated to move yet.

The Marshall turned and glared at Caldwell.

"You want dinner or not?" she demanded.

"It depends on what the vittles are goin' to be. If it's some kinda sloppy nasty stuff like the so-called "food" you gave me for breakfast, I don't want none."

"No, it will be healthy soup of which you've probably never had any and would turn your nose up at because it has greens. People like you never eat their vegetables."