Smith glanced around, or at least he attempted to do so. Glancing generally requires some form of light and perhaps something to look at, too so in truth what Smith really did was turn his head first left then right as he attempted to peer through the darkness.

Upon attempting to move anything other than his head he quickly discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound. As his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom in which he found himself, Smith chanced he could see miniscule streams of light that appeared to be coming from behind him and with the aid of those miniscule streams of light, the man was able to determine that he was in a box of some kind, and not a very large box at that. More to the point he appeared to be upright, and so with an almighty amount of effort he lurched forwards which resulted in his body weight taking both he and the box in which he was being held captive forwards.

There was a deafening crack as wood splintered all around him, a queasy sensation as light flooded his retinas and a sickly mixture of sand, sawdust and resin that only served to make the aforementioned queasy sensation all the more real.

Struggling to his feet, Smith saw that there were three other boxes similar to the one from which he had just escaped, and he quickly came to realise that whilst yes, they were indeed boxes, they were boxes of a very specific type insofar as that they were coffins.

The smaller of the three, Smith assumed housed H'ver whereas he suspected that upon opening the other two, Smith would find Kris and Jones.

He set about opening the smallest box and was quite surprised to find that when he did so, H'ver was not inside. Instead the coffin had been set to be Jones' Top Hat's final resting place.

He whipped his head around at a chuckle that came from one of the other two coffins. It was clear though that said chuckle had not come from within, a fact given away by the man sitting cross-legged upon a hovering board as he ferreted about in one of the coffins.

"You there!" he exclaimed. "I say, you there."

That was what he attempted to shout, anyway, but the words that came out of his mouth were wholly different on a level of which Smith had been hitherto unfamiliar.

"Gotcherself in a predicament, friend." It was more of a low, growled threat than any kind of exclamation. "Why don'tcher leave the coffin be an' getcherself a long ways away, lest I unleash all the fire an' brimstone of this 'ere Big Fifty."

From nowhere, quite literally, as first it was not there and then it was, Smith hoisted the enormous fifty calibre rifle, cocked and levelled it in a smooth, single motion, and smiled.

He did not have to fire though which was no bad thing considering the size of the weapon would quite likely have sent him flying back through the air, for seconds later a pair of hands burst through the wood of the coffin in a very Night of the Living Dead kind of way, and grabbed the hovering man by the throat. Still gripping tightly, those hands were quickly followed by a pair of arms, a torso and everything else that makes up a body.

"Don'tcher go touchin' ma unmentionables," said Kris, the look on her face revealing that she was just as taken aback as Smith had been at the words that left her mouth. To her credit though, she did not miss a beat. "Even if'n I am in a damn box."

"Gon' tell us yer name, friend?"

"Don' need him t'say so much as a word, Smith," Kris said. "I knows damn well who this gropin' Tom works for; Doctor Evilstein."

"Doctor Evilstein?"

"Yessir," she replied with a curt nod. "'Sides, this fella couldn't tell us a damn thing even if'n he wanted. Got no vocal chords, see? Means he can't crack under interro-whatsit."

At that point, Jones' coffin fell forwards and much in the manner that Smith's had done, cracked and splintered and caused a not-insignificant dust cloud.

Once the dust had cleared Jones stood there, his Top Hat tilted ever so slightly to one side whilst a finely tailored suit clung to his form with ease. Upon his chest he wore the star of a Sheriff.

"Let him go, Kris," he said, his voice clear and concise, the absolute opposite of those belonging to Kris and Smith. He proffered his hand forwards to reveal that it contained some kind of device which glowed green as it neared the hovering board and as Kris reluctantly let go, both board and man dropped slowly to the ground.

"Smith, put that gun away before you hurt yourself or worse, someone else."

Doing as he was told, Smith eye-balled his friend with a large amount of suspicion.

"Much better," said Jones. "Now, let's see about finding this gentleman a room at the most comfortable hotel in town, then we'll head to the saloon and try and hammer out a few details as to exactly what is going on."

***

Some time later, Kris, Smith and Jones sat around a table in the saloon, waiting for the drinks to arrive. Much to their surprise, is was H'ver who delivered said beverages.

"What are you doing here, H'ver?" Smith asked, going to great lengths to ensure he formed his words properly.

"This is where I arrived," the robot replied. "And I have to say, I don't really think much to it."

"Ain't gon' be here..." Kris stopped, cleared her throat and started again. "Well, we aren't going to be here for too long. Any minute now I suspect a bright white light will appear and we'll be whisked away to who knows where."

"Then we'd best be quick," said Jones. "Who on Earth is the hovering fellow we just placed in a jail cell?"

"He works for Doctor Evilstein who, I suspect, is after this." To the table she placed the powercube for the subspace communicator.

"Why would that be the case?" Smith asked.

"Any subspace communicator requires an awful lot of power," Kris replied. "This powercube is capable of supplying enough energy for any communicator to last hundreds, perhaps thousands of years."

"With all of that power..."

"Indeed, Jones," replied Kris. "Just imagine the carnage Doctor Evilstein could cause!"