"I've wired the Marshall in Mitchellville. He's gonna check for any wants on those two."

"So they're your guests for a while then."

"Seems so."

"Who's this Captain Gerrard they work for?"

"Thought that was part of your investigation."

"I meant what can you tell me about him that I might not know."

"Well how would I- "

"Just tell me what you know, Sheriff." Harlan huffed.

"Bit of a mystery really. He owns just about everything south of the Elk River; leastwise he uses it like he owns it. Got hundreds of head of cattle that make this little town a prime railroad stop."

"What's he like?"

Sheriff Tubbs rocked back in his noisy chair and raised a pair of worn boots up onto the scarred desk. His hands barely laced over the mound of stomach.

"Only ever seen him three times. Once he came into the bank and twice on the train . . . goin' and comin'. He's not too tall. Wears fancy vests and coats - oh, and he didn't ride a horse. Rode in a carriage with a driver. Long time ago now and never spoke to the man."

"Don't you think you should be talkin' to him now, I mean after what his men did?"

The boots hit the floor and the chair came upright. "Trench, I'm gonna let the Marshal handle that. If he wants to raise a posse to go out there and press charges then I'll be happy to assist but I ain't taken on no man that hires armies of gunslingers."

"Well I'm right curious about what Captain Gerrard is up to so I think I'll poke around and if I find anything worthwhile I let you know."

"You do that. Just don't cross any lines I have drag you back over. That government paper you carry won't stop bullets."

"That's just between us, Sheriff, right?" Harlan gave him a warning look.

"I know, son. Just sayin', oh and did I mention he's Chinee?"

******

Charlie pulled a face at Trench's comment about his stylish head bandage and leaned back with arms folded considering the strange man that rescued him. Harlan Trench had only been in town a few weeks and it felt like he knew everyone and they all knew him. Thing was, nobody knew anything about him.

"What happened to Hubble? Where'd he go?"

"I dunno. I didn't get the door locked when you run upstairs and while I was doin' the windows he just disappeared. Must gone out through the kitchen."

"Then those men came in."

"Wouldn't have if I'd locked up in the first place."

"You think he knew they were coming?"

"No idea. He sure didn't look worried earlier, askin' for another game of cards and all."

"So where does he go when he isn't here? The hotel?"

"You're at the hotel don't you know?" Harlan ignored the question. He just wanted to hear what they thought.

"He ever visit your girls?"

"Not once -- say, why you so interested anyway?"

"Just my nature, Charlie."

Reagan Hubble had been Harlan's target ever since he tracked him to River Flats and now Reagan had immediately drawn interest from another party that might just be equally interesting. According to Pratt and his self-preserving partner, Rolly, Captain Bernard Gerrard had done some unsatisfactory business with Hubble.

After saying goodbye to Myrna and the girls, Harlan had a last drink with Charlie and left to visit the Captain at his ranch.

******

Born and raised in Madera in the middle of California into a happily situated, average family, Harlan Trench left school, took his dog and a bag full of everything he considered important and ran away.

Two years of rough living on the road that honed a lot of innate skills and garnered a moderate reputation of a man that could take care of himself, ended with a menial job in a law office in Southern California. His sole employer and owner of the business turned out to be less than competent and if not for a relative in government would have spent his days breaking the very laws he was hired to protect.

Harlan's dog died from old age and frankly, boredom, and before he could consider mourning his old friend or begin looking for a new career, his employer tripped over a carton of case files and fell against his desk terminating his lackluster career.

Harlan contacted the only relative he'd heard of - the government official - and with a promise of reimbursement, delivered the few personal effects to the county seat. The relative was actually a brother-in-law who, at the behest of his wife, invited Harlan to stay with them while in town and wound up interviewing him for a junior position . . . again at the behest of the wife.

Three years working in the government as a Customs Agent,which he took to like a horse to apples, assisting Border Patrol along sections of the Mexican border, provided Harlan with an enviable record of performance. His choice at the cabin secret meeting as the man to go undercover was based on that very reputation. Pursuing a ring of smugglers bringing young Chinese girls into the country and forcing them into prostitution and slavery, abetted by members of the Customs Service, gave Harlan a real sense of purpose. Something that had been missing in his desire to serve.

******

Captain Bernard Gerrard fondled the gold fob with one hand while absently clicking the watch cover open and closed with the other. His attention was out the window of his ranch house although he saw nothing of the acres of land studded with trees, water ponds and cattle. Instead, he saw Reagan Hubble counting the money he'd stolen and gotten away with.

"What about your men?" He turned to the man who was reporting to him, his black hair spilling a little coil onto his forehead.

"Two dead, two in jail, Captain."

"I know that, Stark; you told me that already. I meant what about the caliber of personnel you hired to accomplish this task."

The man twiddled his hat in his fingers and cleared his throat. "Well sir-"

"Four trained- questionably . . . ," Gerrard pocketed his watch and leaned his knuckles on the large desk in front of him, " . . . with guns, overpowered by one man without a gun? And he manages to shoot two of them dead!"

"He only shot one; the other he uh- uh . . . "

"Yes? He uh- uh- what?"

"I know how it sounds. Cap, but-"

"That's Captain, Mr. Stark. Captain."

"Yessir, Captain. Sorry."

"Yes?"

"Sir?"

"You were telling me how it sounded."

"I'll take care of things right away, sir." Stark fled the room, hat still in hand.

Gerrard turned back to the window, scowling. This is not over Mr. Reagan Hubble, not by a long shot.

******

Sending in a report of the saloon incident and the fact that he had lost track of Hubble was not on Harlan's to do list. He knew there would be hell to pay and just then he didn't want to contend with that expenditure.

It occurred to him that since Captain Bernard Gerrard wanted Hubble as well, he might learn more through that source. Of course while bracing the man whose employees you just killed might dampen the welcome, Harlan was never one to allow common sense to interfere with a goal.

The huge letters in a fiery red BG, centred the ornate iron arch that was supported by matching stone pillars on either side of the entrance to The Captain's ranch. Harlan was only a few feet inside when a party of five mounted men surrounded him, guns drawn.

"I'm here to see Captain Gerrard."

"Whatta you want?"

"I believe I just said."

"Yeah? And who is you?"

Biting back sarcasm about eloquence, Harlan gave his name and repeated his wanting to talk to the Captain.

They all trotted in a tight clump along a tree-lined road up to the impressive front of an all white, two-storey, brick and clapboard building.

"Watch him."

Harlan restrained a grin as the man dismounted and jogged up the front steps, stopping to pull on a long cord.

The door opened and off came eloquent's hat while he seemed to be groveling verbally. A moment later he turned and waved Harlan forward.

"Take yer hat off and wait 'till yer spoke to."

"Aaarr." Harlan walked inside and found that his guide didn't follow, instead he just stared daggers at Harlan's back.

"In here, Mr. Trench."

Harlan entered the room and paused to admire the size, furnishings and magnificent view. Gerrard definitely was Chinese as a photograph of a stuffy looking white standing behind a seated lovely Chinese woman with a young man on her lap confirmed. The boy was definitely Gerrard.

"Wow! You really have it all." He moved to the desk and spun a large, hand-decorated globe.

"Take a seat, Mr. Trench." Gerrard stopped the spin then moved fluidly to a counter beside his desk and poured two generous glasses of liquor, rounding the desk and holding one out to Harlan.

"Ah, thank you, no. I only permit myself one drink a day and that's generally at sundown."

Gerrard's upper lip lifted almost to his little nose, taking his guest in from head to foot before retreating behind his desk.

"Where I'm from, Mr. Trench, it's bad manners to refuse a drink from one's host."

"Well I was always taught to ask first . . . Captain."

"Just what is it you want, and by the way, I'm not overlooking what you have already cost me." The manner was stiff; a trait recognized in the photo.

"Yes, well that's what I wanted to ask about. Why were they after this Reagan Hubble fella?"

"And what interest is that of yours?"

"Aside from the fact that they beat on a friend of mine and threatened me, I'm looking for him."

"Why?"

"Well what interest is that of yours, sir?"

Gerrard came forward as if on a spring, fists clasped and arms thudding on the desktop.

"Don't think you can come into my home and bait me, Mr. Trench. One word and you won't even be a memory."

"Is this from the same book of manners where you come from?" Harlan held up a hand and surprisingly, Gerrard's mouth clamped shut. "He owes me money from some questionable wins at cards."

There was a moment of silence then an expulsion of air as Gerrard settled back in his chair.

"That's why you came here? To complain about a gambling loss?"

"I don't think I complained but I could if I don't find him."

Before Gerrard could respond, the door opened and an elderly man came in with a sheet of paper, apologizing and half bowing as he handed it over.

"What's this?" He grabbed the sheet and glanced at it, his shoulders drawing in and his head sinking toward the page.

"That'll be all, Efram."

The man bowed again and departed quickly.

"I- this is something I need to attend to. I'm sorry I can't help you. Mr. Trench. I suggest you don't make a habit of interfering with my interest in our Mr. Hubble."

Harlan stood and smiled. "As long as it's still our Mr. Hubble and you don't bother my friends again. Thanks for your time, Captain." He left the room feeling the heat of Gerrard's glare on his shoulders.

In the outer hall, before leaving, Harlan engaged the elderly servant, Efram in some small talk, probing about the news that ended his visit.

"Ah don talk none about the Captain's business."

"No, no, and so you shouldn't. I was here looking for Mr. Hubble and I thought maybe that was . . . news . . . "

"Mr. Hubble never come her no more, suh."

"Really? Came here a lot did he?"

Not really. He don't stay up this way too long." The old man turned away.

Do uh, do you know where he does stay?"

"Prob'ly at the Frisco port but I can't say nuthin' more." He opened the door and Harlan saw his mounted escort waiting, grim-faced.