For a day and a half, the two sides traded lead and an occasional black arrow. A few of the men from the ridge took lead but none of them were seriously hurt. Some of the women from the ridge arrived and took over the kitchen, cooking, reloading and doing whatever necessary to support their men.

Caleb was impressed by how well-defended Infinity was. It was as if every man had been trained to defend the ranch, as if they'd all taken military training. Built like a fort, the ranch house stood unmoved despite the hail of lead thrown at it. Wooden shutters, hastily shut and latched, protected the glass windows.

Caleb listened intently from the mow, trying to hear whatever was said by the posse below. Seeing that the posse could never take the ranch by force, Caleb began to worry that they might try to burn Miss Kitty out. He knew he needed to end the standoff once and for all.

"Danny," he said when the younger man came to relieve him that evening. "I have to go with those men. It's the only way to make them leave."

"They'll hang you!" Danny protested. "I can't let that happen. You're my brother!"

"I promised to keep your secrets and protect Miss Kitty," Caleb argued. "Can't do that if I stay. If I make it through Texas alive, I'll be back. If not, take care of Half-Moon. He's a good horse. Do me a favor though? I got some jeans and a shirt in my saddle bags. Dress 'white' and ride for Galveston, Texas, to Comanche Jack at the Flying P ranch. You can give him half of this and tell him that as my brothers, you two are my nearest kin. Jack'll be needing kin without me, I expect."

Caleb dug the wad of bills out of his pocket and handed it to Danny. Without waiting for a reply, Caleb made his way down to the trench and raised his handkerchief up on the end of his pistol barrel. "Hey, Sheriff, I'm the man you're looking for!" Caleb yelled. When the sheriff replied, Caleb yelled, "if you want to end this, you take up a collection. Two hundred dollars to Miss Slocum and I'll come peaceable." He waited for the sheriff's reaction.

"Waite? What the . . . Is this your doing?" It was the marshal who answered. "If you harmed one hair on . . ."

Remembering a conversation between Miss Kitty and her Aunt Sue, Caleb interrupted him. "I was hurt; the doc patched me up but I got no way to pay her. You pay her and I'll go."

"Two hundred dollars? That's a powerful lot of money for a bullet burn."

"You'll get three off'n my head if you don't lynch me first!" Caleb reminded the waiting men. "You'll still make out. Besides, you owe her for her wagon, jars and horses."

"Caleb, don't do this!" Kitty begged. "Please! They'll hang you sure as not!"

"Not if they want the bounty, they won't," he told her grimly. "Kitty, do you trust me?"

"Yes," she retorted, "but it's them I worry about!"

"Trust me now," he pleaded with her quietly. She nodded despite the fears that played about her face. "This is the only way to keep your secrets, Sweetheart. Besides that, I don't want them blaming you for my troubles."

She sighed. "I think they will anyway. People think how they like and they seem to like thinking bad of me."

"Not if I can help it," Caleb growled. "You're a good woman, Caitlin. Keep these for me? I likely won't get them back if I'm wearing them when they come for me." He unbuckled his gun-belt and handed it to her, then removed the arrows from his quiver.

He handed all but one to Ghost-Who-Rides. "You keep these," he told the older man. "I'll take the bow and quiver in order to explain away the arrows." Caleb touched the bowstring at his chest and sighed. "Seems a mighty sad waste of a new bow, knowing they'll most likely break it when they take me."

"We trade," offered one of Ghost-Who-Rides' sons. "You take old bow, I take new." Caleb grinned and made the trade. "Cowboys outside break broken bow, I keep good," the man nodded, making Caleb laugh.

The occupants of the house fell silent until someone from outside shouted. "We got the money!"

Kitty looked at the men around her. "Ghost-Who-Rides, you take everyone else upstairs and don't come down until they leave," she said quietly. "Caleb, you too; I don't aim to send you out until I've had my say. I guess it's time I share at least one secret with the town."

When the men had complied, Kitty opened the kitchen door. "Sheriff, you and Marshal Sikes can come in here. Anyone else tries and they get filled with lead, got it?"

The marshal and sheriff wasted no time in arriving. "Where's Waite?" growled the marshal but Miss Kitty shook her head.

"First, the money," she said grimly. "He's right, I deserve to be paid for my services and I never saw any reparations for my losses."

"You ain't no doc," protested the marshal. "Your father might have been a Yankee sawbones during the war, but . . ." Still, despite his protests he counted out the hastily collected pile of coins and bills.

Miss Kitty smiled. "Would you gentlemen like to see a diploma, maybe?" she asked as she tucked the money into her pocket. When the sheriff nodded, Miss Kitty beckoned the men to follow her. "Please, come with me," she invited.

Standing behind the curtain that hid her stairs, Caleb watched the three of them head to the parlor, where Miss Kitty pointed out a pair of framed diplomas. "As you can see, this older one is from the Philadelphia College of Medicine, awarding the degree of Doctorate in Medicine to Thomas L. Slocum," she said aloud, in case someone couldn't read them, "while the second is from the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania, conferring the degree of Medical Doctor upon Caitlin Slocum as well as commending me for graduating Magna Cum Laude, which means 'with highest honors', at the top of my class. As you can see, Gentlemen," Miss Kitty continued while the lawmen studied her degree in amazement, "I am a doctor, board certified and having studied under my father before and after college. When this man came to me, wounded and starving, I couldn't turn him away without violating the oaths I'd taken."

"Miss Kitty . . . Doc Slocum, why didn't you never say?" asked the marshal, clearly shocked. "Here, we been without a doc for the last several years, and . . ."

"You never asked," she informed him. "What did you think I studied when I went away to school?" She paused to let him consider it. "And if you had asked, I most likely would have turned you down after the way the town has treated me all these years."

The marshal sputtered something unintelligible but the sheriff ignored him. "All right, then," the sheriff said soberly. "The bill is paid. Are you gonna fill your end of the bargain?"

"Head outside," Miss Kitty told them. "I'll send him out." Wordlessly, the men retreated. "Caleb, are you sure you want to do this?" she asked when the men had gone.

Caleb stepped out from behind the curtain and nodded. "It's the only way." She followed him out to the front veranda and stood with her shotgun. Caleb descended the steps and joined the other men. Roughly, the men grabbed him and stripped him of the bow and his quiver. Caleb stood still as they bound his hands with tight ropes, keeping his eyes on Miss Kitty, trying to memorize everything about her in that one last instant he could see her. He winced when a sharp crack announced the end of the broken bow before the shattered pieces of bow and his quiver, as crushed as they could make it, flew away from the group. Caleb caught Miss Kitty's gaze. "I'll come back for you," he promised quietly.

One of the posse members snorted. "I doubt it. You'll be seeing a rope in the near future, Waite."

"Dead or alive," Caleb told her as if the man hadn't spoken at all. "I'll come back."

"I have enough ghosts to take care of me," Miss Kitty told him. "I don't want another one." Allowing the men to put him on the back of a horse and tie his hands to the saddle horn, Caleb's heart sank, knowing that he probably wouldn't be coming back any other way. Regretfully, he looked away. "Caleb Waite," Kitty called to him as they started off, "I'll be waiting, ghost or not!"

Caleb looked back and grinned at her, not able to do more. From beside him, the sheriff snorted. "You won't get within three states of here again," the sheriff told him. He glanced down at the black arrows that littered the ground when his horse stepped on one.

"Hey!" Caleb protested, more because it was expected. "It took me forever to . . ."

"You won't need it, now or in the next life," one of the posse told him.

"Maybe not," Caleb returned easily, "but if I see the next life before I see Texas, you won't see any reward." The men cussed and spurred their horses onward.

Caleb sat his horse in silence despite the barbed comments and outright jeers of the posse. As often as they could get away with it, the other men often managed to catch Caleb with quirts, rein ends or elbows as they rode. Unable to shield himself from the attacks, Caleb knew he'd be sporting a collection of bruises by the time he made it to his destination.

He wasn't looking forward to riding all the way to Texas with the posse but saying so wouldn't change anything, so he stayed silent, remembering the Easter messages he'd heard in church of how Jesus had been silent before His tormentors. To Caleb's surprise, the sheriff took him to the train station and bought two tickets, leaving the marshal and posse behind, promising to return with any reward money.

As soon as the train had left the station, Caleb turned to the sheriff. "Thank you," Caleb told him quietly. The sheriff raised his brows in question. "I wasn't much looking forward to riding clear to Texas with that bunch," explained Caleb.

The sheriff looked at Caleb with a humorous glint in his eyes. "They did seem a might rough on the ride back to town," the older man agreed, "but in the end of it all, I'm just too dang old to be sitting a horse for that long. Train's faster anyway." Caleb had to grin at that but he didn't reply.

After a few moments, the sheriff looked at him. "Suppose you tell me about this trouble you found in Texas?" asked the sheriff. Caleb explained about his friendship with Comanche Jack, about finding the girl and her vengeful parents.

"The Good Book says you're known by the company you keep," observed the lawman. "Could it be your association with the injun gave you a bad reputation?"

"Maybe," allowed Caleb, "by folks who don't know better. I've known some white men so low down mean they don't have to slink to walk under a horse, just like I've known some other fellows that have a straight line to God."

"You the praying sort, Waite?"

"I am," Caleb agreed. "Didn't start out that way but I sure was by the time I left Texas."

"Right pleased to hear it," the sheriff told him, "but sure sorry you're in this spot."

Caleb grinned, seeking to lighten the moment. "And I'm sorry for the holes I done put in your hat."

"You sure are a decent shot with that bow," agreed the sheriff calmly. "Weren't the first hole this old hat has seen, nor the one before that. I expect I'm just grateful you didn't perforate my head along with my hat, young Fella."

"I didn't want to kill anyone," Caleb explained, "but Miss Kitty was downright scared, so I figured to back y'all up some."

"I figured after the second hole," the sheriff told him. "If you'd wanted us dead, we would have been, long before you started shooting arrows at us."

"They're a mite cheaper than lead," Caleb felt the need to explain. "Jack done taught me to shoot when I started work at the Flying P," which was true enough that Caleb would have no trouble with his conscience.

"I served with Tom Slocum in the army," the sheriff told him. "And he raised his daughter right. If Miss Kitty thinks highly of you, that's good enough for me." He motioned for Caleb's hands and removed the cuffs. "But just so we're clear," the sheriff warned quietly, "if you try to escape, I'll shoot you."

"I gave my word," Caleb reminded him. "And my word's good." He slouched down in the seat and covered his face with his hat, realizing that it had been far too long since he'd had any rest. The sheriff chuckled.

Caleb kept mostly to himself during the long train ride to Texas. He slept some and used his hat as an excuse for quiet so he could pray. Despite the friendly attitude of the sheriff, Caleb was very sure he was nearing the end of his life and wished to be ready when the time came. He regretted the estrangement between himself and his parents and prayed he'd have a chance to make it right.

Twice, he and the sheriff changed trains and a couple of times, they ate boxed meals. Caleb grew stiff and cramped from sitting so long, not able to stretch out but he didn't say much. Even when the sheriff stood up to walk the train car's aisle, Caleb stayed put.

"You do a powerful lot of sleeping," the sheriff remarked several hours after he and Caleb had changed trains for the last time. "You sick, Waite?"

Caleb picked his hat up off his face and sat up. "No sir," he answered respectfully. "Been mostly praying." He glanced out the window beside him at the landscape and a pang of regret shot through him. "Guess I'll never see Barstow again," he murmured, then turned back to face his companion. "Sheriff, would you do a condemned man a favor if I'm to hang?" asked Caleb in a normal tone of voice.

The sheriff inspected him keenly for a moment before answering. "You done made this trip a sight easier than I expected it to be, Fella," the sheriff answered. "And you broke no laws in my county that I'm aware of. Ask away."

"My folks run the livery in Barstow, some west of here. If I swing, would you please give them my apologies? Last time I was home, I said a few things I regret and it pains me that I won't likely have a chance to make it right before I pass on." Caleb paused and looked away. "Pains me more than knowing they'll likely think I'm guilty of that girl's attack."

"Just in the few days I've known you, Waite, I'd say you ain't that sort of man," commented the sheriff. "Why do you think your folks would think so?"

Caleb sighed. "I was a mite rough around the edges when I left home, full of anger and pride. I've changed but they don't know that."

"Question begs," returned the sheriff wisely, "did you change before or after that girl done got attacked?"

"Before," answered Caleb without hesitation, "long before- but well after the last time I spoke to my folks; ain't been home in nigh onto ten years."

The sheriff nodded, satisfied by his answer. "I'll tell 'em," he said. "Unless you want to write a letter?"

Caleb flushed. "I can read some but I ain't no hand with a pen," he confessed. "I was always better with my hands than my head."

The sheriff chuckled at that. "My boy's like that," he agreed. "Quit school to be a carpenter up in Ekalaka. Does right well for himself."

"I'm a fair hand at the forge," Caleb agreed, "and I can rope with the best of them but ciphering?" He shook his head.

"Tell you what," suggested the sheriff, "as soon as we reach the jail in Midland, I'll pen that letter for you."

Gratitude flooded Caleb. "Thanks, Sheriff. I'd rest easier, knowing I'd at least tried to make amends with my folks."

"Rest any easier," teased the sheriff, "and you won't see a rope at all!"

"If folks think I'm asleep then they mostly leave me be," confessed Caleb. "Saves the trouble of having to explain when I'm talking to the Good Lord."

"Seems to me a lot of folks talk to the Lord a lot, but few bother to listen to what He has to say," the older man remarked. "Been you listening, or just talkin'?"

"Fair amount of both; I'll be leavin' a lot of friends in His care when I depart," Caleb tried to explain. "Miss Kitty- Doc Slocum, mostly worries me." He sighed, trying to release the knot of worry that settled in his chest whenever he thought of Kitty being without even Jethro when she rode.

"I heard mention of this but Marshal Sikes didn't think it was anything to worry over," the sheriff replied. "Said it had something to do with their school days. Why don't you fill me in, being as how you ain't got no stake in it no more?"

Caleb related the entire tale of his meeting Miss Kitty and of her attack, carefully filtering out any mention of Danny or the others who lived on the ridge. He told the sheriff what Miss Kitty had said about the way she'd been treated as a child, about how she'd mentioned someone trying to attack her and her tears during the standoff. "She was powerful scared of those men and I'm thinking there was a reason," Caleb finished. "And while I'm right sorry for shooting at you, I had to protect her."

The sheriff's face had drawn increasingly tighter throughout Caleb's recitation until it was nearly a mask of fury. "I'll get to the bottom of it as soon as I get home," he promised. "Tom was a good friend of mine and she might not have been his blood kin, sure enough she's his legal heir. He and Kathy loved that girl as if she were their own. She never gave them a moment's grief, neither. Ain't right to go treating a girl that way."

"Thanks, Sheriff," Caleb said quietly. "I'll be mentioning that to the Lord too." He put his hat down over his eyes and leaned his head back.

A woman's voice spoke up after a moment. "Excuse me, Sheriff, but I couldn't help notice your companion. He's slept an awful lot this trip. Is he ill?" Caleb ignored her and went back to his meditation, thinking of various sermons he'd heard, of Scripture he'd memorized, and praying.

"No Ma'am," answered the sheriff immediately. "I'm taking him back to answer for a wanted poster with his name on it and he's preparing to meet his Maker. I'd appreciate it if you didn't attempt to engage him in conversation."

"Well," the woman huffed. "I've never seen such a disrespectful way for a man to pray!"

"Ain't no place to kneel and a train ain't 'xactly a quiet li'l ole church," replied the sheriff mildly. "I guess a body has a right to pray in peace. Seems to me more people oughta follow his example."

"Well, I never!" huffed the woman, but she fell silent and Caleb grinned under his hat, thanking the Lord for the unlikely ally he'd found in the sheriff. The train car had fallen silent in order to hear what the sheriff had to say when he'd mentioned the poster out on Caleb, so most of the passengers traveling with them were made aware that Caleb was praying rather than asleep. The remainder of the trip to Midland was a fairly quiet one.

When the train had come to a stop, Caleb sat up but made no move to rise, choosing instead to wait until most of the other passengers had left the train. The sheriff seemed in no hurry to leave the train either. Finally, when the crowd had thinned considerably, Caleb held his hands out for the sheriff's irons. "I'm right sorry about this, Waite," remarked the sheriff as he locked the cuffs on. "Wouldn't be seemly otherwise."

"I understand," Caleb told him. "Can't tell you how much I appreciate having been able to ride in peace this whole way." He paused thoughtfully. "Probably would have been safer for Miss Slocum if we'd ridden with the posse, though." He left his seat and headed for the platform, then waited for the sheriff.

Once they were on the platform, the sheriff continued their conversation. "Oh, I doubt she'll have much trouble," he chuckled. "Even without her dog, she ain't as lonesome as she seems. See, I once shared a tent with Doc Slocum during the War Between the States and he talked in his sleep some. Led to some interesting conversations."

"And I ain't the one who made that bow," agreed Caleb.

"But you was using it," the sheriff pointed out. "Seems to me, you're more a part of Infinity than you realize." He paused thoughtfully. "You could have hidden away for the rest of your days there. Why'd you come out, Waite?"

Caleb bit his lip. "Seems cowardly to hide. Folks were growing suspicious and I didn't want my troubles to fall on her head. I was getting ready to ride out when you-all showed up." He chuckled sardonically. "Had me a horse all saddled and ready in the barn. If you'd waited another ten minutes, I'd have been gone."

"Seems a caution in that somewhere, but blamed if I can find it," grinned the sheriff. They'd made the marshal's office, so he opened the door for Caleb.