"What a sorry, useless pair you turned out to be." Dieter stood inches from the faces of the two angry looking men. "And you," he said, prodding Rance in the chest, you bungle the job you're given then come crawling to me for money to pay this ridiculous fine." He turned and stomped away to his desk. "And why a fine? You tried to kill the man!"

"He took all my gear . . ."

"Oh, well, I see. Your ratty saddlebags and that nag in exchange for his life. Of course." Dieter clenched his teeth. "I'll pay your fine Rance, and in return, you'll bring him back over the saddle of his horse, along with the draft money and all the papers. And if you bungle this again, you'd better find a way to the moon, 'cause I'll hunt you down no matter how long it takes."

The other man half raised a hand. "Kin I go then Mr. Pre--?" The fiery eyes cut him off and he gulped uncertainly.

"Oh, you can go, you toady little snake. You can go and get Rory, and the three of you will go and get Helliwell. Now get out of my sight!"

➰➰➰➰➰

Turned out Arrow Bend was a lot farther than he thought, although that had just been hopeful. The stage depot agent showed him, on a map used by the stage company and the Pony Express riders, just where it was - and where Galen was.

"Looks like I'm gonna need more supplies, and a place to stay."

"Can't offer you any of that, Mister, but another twenty-four miles in that direction," a stubby finger dragged a trail across the map, "there's a mining camp that might see you looked after."

"Won't reach that before dark. They itchy about strangers at all?"

"Nope . . . but best walk in, away from your horse some, so's they can see if you're armed."

"Well that's just peachy." Galen thanked the man for his time and left the depot, trailing Rance's horse.

➰➰➰➰➰

Galen saw the light from several fires against the night sky and, heeding the advice of the depot agent, he dismounted and, on foot, led the two horses into the mining camp.

"Best hold it right there, Stranger." The craggy voice came from a nearby tree.

"Just travellin' through, and hoped to buy some supplies. The stage agent suggested I might get some here." Galen turned his head toward the voice.

"Just like old Darby. Wouldn't sell a body a drink of water 'less he had to."

"Does that mean I can buy some here?"

"Walk ahead into the camp, we'll see just what yer after."

To his surprise, the camp was quite large, with maybe twenty or thirty men forming the small encampment - and they did have supplies. Plenty.

"That's a fine lookin' ridin' horse you're trailin' there." The man that brought him in remarked. "Lose a partner . . .?"

"Nope. Debt payment." Galen smiled at the look on the man's face. "No, I didn't shoot him. Left him in a jail."

"Admit, I wondered." The man pulled at a scruffy beard. "You consider sellin' her?"

"I'm up for a deal. How about two-fifty horse and tack, and I'll take some in supplies?"

"How you going to carry that much in supplies, I'd have to sell you the horse back again?"

"I said some," Galen laughed.

"You got yourself a deal, sonny."

The night in the mining camp was spent with Galen having to tell the story of the man he left in jail, and the horse he sold to Gummy Stoddard. When he awoke the following morning, it was to the sound of grunts and coughing - men moving about, joining the day. He gathered his things and left them in a pile while ambling over to the fire with his mug.

"Do strangers get breakfast and coffee?" He smiled at the few men hunched around the fire.

"Once they ain't strangers," a grizzled old man with a shaggy beard to his chest, replied. "Fellers'd like to know who we spent a night listenin' to."

Galen nodded, sucking in a quiet breath. "Seems only right. Name's Galen Helliwell." He watched their faces and relaxed some as there was no sign of recognition.

"Have some bacon and coffee, Galen Helliwell."

Well fed, with smiles and handshakes all around, Galen climbed onto Stanley and tipped his hat as he rode out of the mining camp, saddlebags and stomach full. He had received directions, suggestions and a few warnings from the men and distilled what he knew down to the direction he would take. Arrow Bend was roughly ninety miles, more or less. That meant a steady three days - more or less - but Galen wasn't convinced his journey would be steady.

➰➰➰➰➰

"The Skin says he came this way alright. Maybe a day ago."

Rance squinted toward the horizon, looked at the Indian tracker, then leaned down and spit. "Tell'm to ride ahead and make sure of the trail. I don't aim to bake my horse chasin' that hombre all over the west. And tell that kid to go with 'im. Don't need some baggage between hay and grass always yappin' about what we should do."

"Preston insisted. Said he wanted him to get some experience." Rory glanced over at the young man sighting his rifle on the horizon.

"Then let him get some with the Skin."

"We gonna wait here then?"

"For a bit." Rance looked over at the other member of their group. "Make up some coffee, Billy, we'll set here a spell."

The three men settled around a small fire, watching the tracker and the kid riding off in the distance.

"That Injun gives me the willies." Rory commented, cupping his hands around his coffee mug.

"Sure can track though," Billy said. "I bet he could follow a bird if he had to."

"I ain't interested in birds. He just better find where that Helliwell went - and soon." Rance angrily tossed a stick into the fire. "Man takes my horse and tack gets to learn just what kind of trouble he asked for."

"Well, at least you know he still has it, tracks tell us that."

"Yeah . . . but not for long."