Emmeline returned to her room after checking on Jessica and assuring Walter that she was doing fine. The doctor would be by later, so he didn't need to worry. Jim was standing by the window, the sun highlighting his face. He turned when she came in.

"What are you doing here?"

"You can't do this alone, Emm."

"I'm doing alright so far." She went to the pitcher and splashed some water on her face.

"How is Jessica?"

"She still needs rest but she'll be fine. Might take her head a while to heal inside, but the wound in her side will just be a souvenir scar one day."

"I can't believe anybody would do that."

She curled a lip and stared at him. "You forget what happened to you- what happened to me?"

"No. No, I didn't mean- I don't know what I meant." He lifted s hands and let them drop. "What are you planning?"

"To see this through . . . on my own." The emphasis had him cave inside.

Silence filled the room as they both searched for appropriate words. The replay of the previous night returned when he sat on the bed, and stood again quickly, moving to the window.

"You can't fight his entire gang alone." He complained, trying to sound assertive.

"Well you won't be here to see how it goes, so end of conversation." He looked so helpless, she had a quick flashback of dragging him into her room and tearing a strip off his hide for coming back, and then doing something else with his hide that made coming back quite okay.

"I'm going to draw them back into town, and then I'm going to kill them." The calm delivery sent a shiver down his back, and he just swallowed. "You can get on your horse and get back to Ebbotville."

He held up his hands, shaking his head. "No way. No, ma'am. I told you, I'm not leaving you here to take them on alone."

Emm gave a short laugh. "And what do you think you can do? You don't even have a gun. Have you ever fired one?"

He grabbed his bag from beside the bed and pulled out a gun belt with a pistol in the holster. "I might have behaved needy to get by while I grew up, but it didn't always work. There were times when this spoke." He fastened it on and gave a little display of drawing, twirling and re-holstering.

"Wild west show stunts don't mean you can handle it. Let's see you pull."

He set himself and took a breath. The gun wasn't halfway out when the barrel of her Big Iron was under his chin.

"You need to get back to Ebbotville, Jim. Help Mister Gore and get on with your life." She put her gun away and held the door open.

He knew better than to argue anymore, and he knew mentioning anything about what they did might bring that gun out again. He picked up his bag and hat and shuffled out of the room. When he turned to say goodbye, the door was closing.

Emmeline leaned against the door, and for the first time in years, she let the tears leave her eyes.

*****

Dint arrived at Taggart's place once again, unsure of who he was more frightened of, Taggart or the woman. He slipped off his horse and approached the group of men around Rafe on his tree stump.

"Whatta you doin' here, Dint?"

"You tole me I would get twenty dollars when I came back." He eyed the other men nervously.

"That was for information, what have you got?"

"Miss Jessica died." He swallowed the lie hard, waiting.

Rafe got up and walked toward him. "What did you say?"

"Miss Jessica . . . she died from a- a stab wound."

"Liar!" Singer made a move on him but Rafe's arm shot out, holding him back.

"You better be tellin' me a truth, Dint."

"I swear, Mister Taggart. Doc did what he could but he said she lost too much blood."

Rafe turned slowly and glared at Singer. "You stabbed her?"

"We was just warnin' her and it happened. An accident."

"Accident!" Rafe reached for his gun.

"He didn't mean it, Rafe. It was—"

"He?" Rafe turned toward the man that had gone to town with Singer.

"What? Wait! No, it wasn't me—"

The gun exploded, and the man spun backwards falling into some of the other men, his neck a crimson scarf.

The silence fell like a tent on the group. Singer was licking bone dry lips, and Dint was edging back to his horse.

Rafe turned back to his man. "Tell me again it was him."

Singer nodded silently, hands almost in prayer. "It was, Rafe. Truth." The lie dried his mouth and he lost his voice.

"What's happening with her now?" He growled at Dint.

"Huh? Uh- she's uh, with the undertaker." He improvised, wishing he was anywhere else.

Rafe came up to him and Dint closed his eyes, expecting the worst. The feel of the hand in his shirt pocket made him give out a yip, and he looked down at the twenty dollars sticking part way out.

"Tha- thanks, sir, Mister Taggart. I best be getting' back."

"When are they buryin' her?"

"Buryin? Right, the funeral. Uh, tomorrow I think. Yeah, tomorrow. Early." He was already turning his horse and digging spurs into its flanks, the lies driving him like a branding iron on his backside.

*****

Jessica was sitting up in her bed eating the meal Walter had fixed for her, and she grinned at Emm as he left the room.

"I think you've got an admirer there, Jess."

"Walter? He's always been a bit of a fuss. It's just his way."

"Don't be so sure. He was distraught when he found you on the floor. I thought he'd need the doc too."

She frowned and looked down at the sandwich on her plate. "You really think so?" She pushed at it thoughtfully. "We've been runnin' this place so long, I'm just used to him being there."

"The fact he has been should tell you something. This town doesn't cry out for spending a lifetime."

"You really think so?"

The tone of the question made Emmeline look away.

"This business you're planning, Emm, it's crazy. He sure won't come alone."

"Maybe, but according to Dint, he's another man down. You never saw such a man worthy of being called a paleface." She chuckled. "He made twenty dollars for his troubles so I wouldn't expect to see much of him for a while."

"So in the morning then?"

"He asked about the funeral, so I'm betting yes."

"Toby won't be any help. Nobody else in town will help you, Emm."

The plea was wasted, and she could see as much. Sighing, she nibbled at her sandwich and worried.

"You just make sure you're well out of sight. I've got the undertaker taking the empty coffin to the cemetery at eight o'clock."

"I'm surprised he agreed."

"He thinks you're in it. Seems news of your recovery never went past the doc – you may have another admirer there." Emm winked, slapped the bed cover and bade her friend goodbye. "I'll drop in before I leave in the morning."

*****

Rafe circled around on his horse taking an inventory of his gang, longing for the old days when he led without argument, and they were all loyal. The sun was slipping through the trees around his cabin, and the air was still and warm. He made eye contact with each of them, forcing his will. Butch Singer was his oldest confederate and even he had an air of doubt about him. Nestor was an unmanageable hothead – just fodder. Total number riding with him now was five.

"Alright. It's the woman we're after and anyone with her. I doubt anybody in town will be showing their faces. Follow my lead, and don't start anythin' on your own. Clear?"

There was a mumble of agreements and nods as they fell in behind Rafe and rode off the property toward Treerock.

*****

Sunup.

Morley Seager, with help, slid the coffin onto the back of the wagon then thanked the men and began the sedate ride to the cemetery at the end of town. He frowned at the scarcity of mourners that usually turned out for almost anybody's funeral to say goodbye, and join the celebration of life afterwards.

At the entrance to the cemetery he saw a group of men standing with the preacher and he steered the wagon up to where they were, slowing to a stop.

"Morning, Preacher. These fellas the pallbearers?"

"What'd you call me?" Nestor stepped forward.

"Shut your dumb face, Nestor, and help get that casket off the wagon." Rafe waved the other men forward while he kept a grip on the preacher's arm.

"Over there by the Yucca, Morely." The preacher pointed with a shaking finger.