Author's website: http://snowee.50megs.com

Disclaimer: Alliance owns the DS-dom. The rest belongs to me

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Pairing: implied Thatcher/Kowalski and Fraser/Francesca.

This story is a sequel to: The Cowboy Way

Benton stood tall in the bib front shirt. A scarlet shirt with black banded collar and bib, it gave a pleasant setting for the shiny new badge. Stopping for a moment, his reflection was caught on the back of a cooking pan. Benton's eyes drew directly to the image and flipped it in his brain. "Marshal."

Having successfully, and to the dismay of the governor, cleaned up Gochick, the sheriff had been offered the position of marshal. Once assured that he would be assigned to stay on duty in the town of Gochick Canyon, Benton quickly accepted. It hadn't taken long for him to decide he felt more at home in Gochick than his previous obligations. He already felt a friendship with Ray and Stan, both offered positions as sheriffs, though only Ray accepted; Stan staying on as deputy.

Indulging only an instant of pride, Benton then moved his gaze to the desk. He'd managed to clean up most of the mess left by Jerrard. Judge Welsh sentenced Jerrard to death, as well as many of his men. Those had been carried out by hanging over a week ago. Tim, who had survived the battle, was taken by gangrene the next week.

Marshal Fraser stepped out into the bright sunlight, Dief jumping to be at his heels. A fluffy cloud threatened to block the sun for several minutes and he could see wispy clouds near the horizon. Feeling humidity, he knew the weather would soon change. As Benton let out a long breath, he noticed Stan leaning against the wall just outside the doors to the saloon. He conversed with Meg who wore the sweet, innocent smile of a schoolgirl.

Benton was astonished at the changes which had taken place over the past few weeks. The women of the saloon dressed like ladies, for the most part, when in public. Benton noted that they behaved respectably now, even contributing to society by assisting charitable programs. The saloon had been cleaned up under Jen's watchful eye and had remained so. Rarely did he see a drunken man stumbling from the doors anymore.

Even the general store had made changes. Weapons were locked away and alcohol did not run as freely. Instead the owner pushed his newest finds of candies and an iced milk churner. Admittedly, Benton was tempted to buy one, but it seemed such an indulgence.

Looking on to Angie's, he noticed the twins setting up tables out front. They'd constructed umbrella's and a matching awning to accommodate the beautiful outdoors.

"Marshal!" Benton heard from his left, to which he spun. Seeing Ray walking quickly toward him from the alley surprised him. He thought the sheriff had been watching over a negotiation at Angie and Tanya's restaurant, commonly known by those in town as simply Angie's. As Ray neared, he watched Benton twist his neck to face the restaurant, then look quizzically at him. "Oh, that's over with. The cattle ranchers decided that, since the exact borders were in dispute, that they would split the difference. Samuel's picking up some barbed wire for the fence right now."

Benton shook his head. "That barbed wire is dangerous, I believe. Someone is bound to get injured. It may even be someone's livestock and that may begin another dispute." He ran a thumbnail along his brow, frowning. "No good at all."

Ray shrugged. "Probably true, but they've got the right." He stood beside Fraser. "Look, that has nothing to do with why I'm back here, though. Mr. Black said he heard something down this alley. Follow me."

Benton kept stride with Ray. "Didn't you come from this direction?"

"Yes," Ray emphasized with a nod. "I found something I need to show you. Black described it as a series of thuds." Ray turned the corner and, as Benton followed, he saw what had caused Ray's anxiety. "Looks like we have a murder," the new sheriff said softly.

><><><><><><><Part 2><><><><><><><
Stan rubbed Dief's head just before the animal pounced forward and sniffed the body. Benton was squatting, examining footprints around the scene. As he pinched dirt beside the dead man's arm, Ray scrunched his nose. Stan watched in amazement as the Marshal lifted the pinch of sand and sniff it before letting his tongue dart from his mouth in a quick taste.

"Oh no!" Stan exclaimed.

"That's disgusting!" Ray added. "What are you doing?"

"Lilac," Benton said simply, brushing his hands together as he stood.

"Huh?" Ray asked.

"Lilac bushes. Whoever shot this man walked near some lilac bushes. Fairly recently would also be my assumption." Without missing a beat, he surveyed the scene. Thistle and sage had blown up against the building, much of the blood soaking into the dry leaves. The tall, thin man had been beaten first by fists, then by a flat wooden object, presumably a board Benton observed 25 meters from the body. He'd fallen against the wall which, on the other side, was the blacksmith's. Just his feet stuck out to be visible from the alley which separated the blacksmith from Benton's office.

"Well, then, let's go get this bush lover," Stan suggested sarcastically.

Ray stifled a chuckle. When it was greeted by a frown from Fraser, he sobered up and looked the marshal in the eye. "Is something wrong with lilac?"

"It just so happens that I noticed on my morning walk that there is only one lilac bush already in bloom here in town," Benton replied.

"Oh? Where?" Ray asked immediately thinking they had an important clue.

"Beside the front walk of the Vecchio home." Ray looked confused. Stan glanced back and forth between Ray and Benton. A moment of silence built between them before Benton spoke again. "Do either of you know this man's name?"

Ray and Stan looked at the man's face once more before shaking their heads.

"I suppose identification should be the first step."

The man was sprawled on his side, slightly angled onto his back. His eyes were closed, indicating he'd been unconscious at the time of the fatal blow. Benton stepped carefully around the body to examine each wound and add it to his count. The number was proof, in his mind, that the act had been not only unplanned, but done out of a rage that had gone unchecked. The man had started out angry and had grown homicidal. The reason he became more angry during the fight could have been due to a personality trait, Benton knew, but the option was also open to other possibilities. Benton could see that the man had fought back minimally, his hands only barely bruised. Therefore, if a return attack had been made, it had been verbal.

Ray waved a hand. "What if someone stopped by our house before coming back here? Maybe we should go ask Francesca if she had any visitors."

Benton tugged his earlobe. "I think it would be wise to prioritize. First we should acquire this man's identity."

Ray squirmed. "But if we're the only ones with this lilac in bloom, I mean, well, what if something happened to Francesca?"

"You're babbling," Stan said softly to his partner, then shrugged. "He's right, Marshal. I'd like to check on Francesca before anything else."

Benton nodded. "Understood. As soon as we've been assured that Francesca is safe, I'll make a sketch and we'll ask around town to see if anyone recognizes him."

"You'll just make a sketch? Just like that?" Stan asked, grinning.

Fraser nodded. "I've just picked up a few charcoal pencils. It won't take long."

Stan and Ray nodded, disbelieving. Satisfied that he'd managed to get all the possible information from the scene, Benton walked near the head. "We can't leave him in the street. Perhaps we should carry him down to the doctor."

Stan and Ray agreed. A quick side trip to the doctor before anything else, then the three walked back to the Vecchio house. Ray entered first. "Francesca!" he yelled.

"Yeah?" Francesca replied, stepping from the kitchen.

"Hey, Frannie," Stan said, smiling sheepishly.

Frannie smiled politely in return and Ray took a step toward her. "Have there been any visitors this morning?" he asked. Francesca shrugged. "Anyone maybe come up to the porch?"

Francesca shrugged again. "I wouldn't know. I was out for a walk."

Stan touched her arm. "Alone?"

Francesca pulled back and snickered. "Of course alone. It was just a walk to clear my head. Why?"

Benton, saying nothing up until this point, watched Dief sniffing Francesca's feet. "Would you mind lifting your hem?"

"Marshal!" Ray reprimanded.

Stan turned and approached Benton threateningly. "Look, just because you're marshal doesn't give you the right to..."

Benton held his hands up in surrender. "My apologies. I just wanted to see what Dief is so interested in."

Francesca looked down at the wolf and pulled up her skirts just an inch or two. Ray and Stan looked at her feet, as did Fraser. "Are those your boots?"

"No," Ray interrupted. "They're mine."

"I'm sorry, Ray," Francesca said quickly. "I couldn't find one of mine so I borrowed them. I picked this dress because the skirts are too long. I figured no one would notice."

Benton nodded. "Dief, come," he said firmly. The wolf sauntered back to Benton's heels. "Thank you kindly, Francesca," he added, tipping his hat and heading for the door.

Ray pounced after him, stopping him on the porch. "What was that all about?"

Benton tipped his head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"With Francesca. You don't think she had anything to do with it," Ray insisted. He felt an odd paranoia at the unusual circumstances and behaviour his sister had displayed. Benton quickly put those fears at ease, however.

"Of course not. If she had been the one behind the alley, the long skirt would have not only been covered in sage leaves, the trail it left would have brushed the footprints away."

Ray let out a sigh of relief. Stan was watching the conversation. He knew Francesca couldn't have been involved and found it a bit outrageous that Ray would even consider it. Ray saw the look on Stan's face and straightened. "I just didn't want to waste any time defending her. I knew she didn't do it."

"Doing it and being involved are two different things," Stan pointed out. "We all know she's too sweet to do such a thing, but you asked if she was involved."

"Never underestimate the power of a human being," Benton warned. "Still, in this case, we can be certain Francesca was not behind the alley."

Stan poked at his neck with his thumb. "Wait a minute, then. If you could see that her dress was too long, why'd you ask to see her feet?" he asked, an air of accusation in his tone.

Ray nodded waiting for an explanation. Benton remained at attention, not flinching at the accusation. "Dief had expressed an interest in her foot attire."

As Ray replayed the scene, he had to agree. While the lupine had expressed interest, Benton had certainly seemed interested in the facts and nothing more.

"Don't try to blame the wolf," Stan said, adding a pointed finger. "You were trying to get a peek at something."

Ray used a calming voice to stop the other man. "Stan," he said smoothly.

Benton saw an argument forming. Stan was determined to make a fight out of nothing. Noting the inanity of it, the marshal opted to diffuse the situation. "I believe we should go back to the office now and make a sketch. Perhaps we can show it to Francesca." Stan preparing another protest, he held up his hands, showing his palms in a surrendering manner. "Gentlemen, remember. She said she was walking about this morning. It's very possible she saw the victim or even the culprit without being aware of it at the time."

The men agreed and followed Marshal Fraser back to his office. They watched astounded as his hand yielded a nearly perfect rendering. "It isn't much, but it should be suitable," he said as he drew the finishing touches.

"I'll take it to Francesca," Stan offered immediately.

"You know, Stan, I think you should stay away from her. You've caused enough damage," Ray stated.

Stan's face scrunched in anger. "Hey! Why am I getting the foot here? She and I decided to stay friends. I thought you and I had decided the same thing." His tone was firm. "I just think the two of you could better serve by going ahead to Angie's or the saloon to begin questioning before this killer has a chance to slip away unnoticed."

"It would be more beneficial if we stayed together. One of us may notice something another does not. We'll go to the Vecchio's first, then we'll decide together where to go next," Benton suggested in a completely levelheaded manner.

><><><><><><>< Part 3><><><><><><><
Having changed into a fresh gown, Francesca crawled under her bed to fish out a pair of stockings. She heard a sound at the front door and scrambled to her feet. Ray had been there only minutes ago, she thought to herself and carefully opened the door to her room.

"Cesca!" she heard as the front door closed and recognized Ray's voice.

"Back already?" she said as she began down the stairs. Seeing Stan first, she let out a long breath, but as she neared the lower steps, she saw Benton and caught the air in her mouth. Donning a smile, she stopped bouncing and moved around the banister in a graceful dance. "Hello, Marshal," she said.

"Changed again already?" Ray said under his breath.

"It was dirty. I planned on going out today and I wanted to look nice in case... well, now that the marshal is here, it doesn't seem a waste at all, does it?" she justified.

Stan cleared his throat and Benton held out the sketch. "When you were out this morning, did you happen to see this man?"

Francesca studied the picture. "Did you draw this? You're very talented." She added another smile for effect.

"Just answer him, Frannie," Stan insisted. "Did you see the guy?"

Francesca frowned at Stan. "No." She attempted to pass it back to Benton. As the marshal reached for it, Ray snatched it and held it toward her again. "Are you sure? It's really important."

Francesca looked again. "I don't know. I was lost in thought, thinking about," she smiled at Fraser, then looked away. "things."

"Thinking must have been a challenge while you were moving your feet," Ray said.

"Hey!" Frannie cut him off. "Don't talk to me like that. Just because I'm your sister doesn't mean I can't break your neck." She paused and glanced at the picture again. "I really don't remember seeing him, but he does look a little familiar."

"Oh?" Benton inquired.

"Yeah. I don't know, though. I can't place him."

Benton nodded. "If you think of anything you may have heard or anyone suspicious you've seen; if you remember where you saw him, please let one of us know."

"Of course," Francesca obliged. "I'll let you know personally."

"Or Ray or Stan," Benton corrected.

"Sure," she said.

"Thank you kindly," Benton emphasized with a nod, then motioned to the men. "We ought to be on our way."

><><><><><><>< Part 4><><><><><><><
The clouds covered the sun, high in the sky, as the woman with black hair and deeply tanned skin stood in the doorway of the General Store. She was watching the men across the street walking toward the restaurant. Recognizing only two of the three men, she took in the sight of the handsome one with dark hair. He seemed dignified and pensive.

Cocking her head, she observed them entering the twins' restaurant before turning and bumping into a patron of the store. She looked at him, then quickly away before he gave her a stern look. He said nothing -- his eyes said enough. Moving around her, he mumbled under his breath.

The woman looked up at the store owner and gave half a smile. He nodded at her and watched as she stood before the fabrics, taking in the various colours. Her dress was tan. It was a similar colour to what everyone in her family wore. Similar to the colours worn by her village. Hers was a soft deer leather and her moccasins were dark red.

She looked on to the sundries and picked up clothespins. It was only a moment later when she heard the men come through the door. Turning to look at them, she quickly looked away when the blond looked at her and winked. Setting down the clothespins, she concentrated on something else, without making note of what that something else was.

As the woman listened, she heard the men asking questions, passing a piece of paper around. After a moment, the handsome one approached her. She looked up at him slowly and he smiled before gently saying "English?" He was unfamiliar with the languages of the local tribes so he looked at her hopefully.

The woman looked into his blue eyes with her brown ones and smiled. "Are you asking if I speak it?" the woman replied in such clear English that it wasn't until she said something else that he could hear the intonation to suggest she knew any other language.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, realizing it had been an assumption, something he usually avoided.

"Elaine," she replied.

"Marshal Benton Fraser," he replied. "It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry that I assumed from your attire..."

Elaine held up a hand to signal him to stop speaking. He clamped his jaw shut and observed her mannerisms. "I'm not Paiute. I only live with the tribe."

"Understood. Is there something, perhaps, that I could help you with?"

"I only came to pick up a few supplies. Perhaps I could help you."

Benton noticed she was keeping an eye on the piece of paper in his hand. He lifted it and showed it to her. "Have you seen this man?"

"Why?" Elaine asked.

"We're investigating his identity," Benton replied. "We're looking for someone who might be able to give us information."

"Did he do something wrong?" Elaine asked, as Ray and Stan finally joined Benton.

"Why do you care?" Stan responded.

Elaine shrugged. "Let's say I know the man and he's a friend, would I want to identify him so you could arrest him? The corruption of Gochick is infamous."

"Not anymore," Ray responded. "Haven't you seen the changes?"

Elaine studied Ray's expression. "Maybe it's just temporary."

Stan took the paper from Benton. He held it close to Elaine. "Do you know the man or not?"

"Not," Elaine replied.

Stan shifted it. "You sure?"

Elaine nodded and he walked away, paper in hand. Ray followed, but Benton held his position. "He's in no trouble, Ma'am," he said. "I wouldn't want to disclose the information in case it deters the assailant, but we'd truly like to know this man's identity in order to help him."

Elaine couldn't help trusting him. He had soulful eyes which revealed to her a good heart. "His name is Ambrose Merewether."

"You know him personally?"

Elaine shrugged. "He didn't speak Paiute and I'm the only one who speaks English. I translated for Chief Running Horn."

"Did he associate with the chief often?"

Giving a nod, Elaine frowned with concern. "Is he all right?"

"I'd like to speak with the chief," Benton stated instead of replying.

Elaine looked concerned. "What happened?"

"I'd prefer not to discuss it, Ma'am. Could you arrange a meeting with your Chief Running Horn?"

Elaine shrugged. "I don't know. I'll try. Meet me tomorrow in the late morning in front of the chapel. If I could convince him, I'll be there."

"I'd prefer this evening," Benton insisted.

"I can't," Elaine replied. "I must return and I must do it alone. They'll be concerned if I don't return by dusk, but it'll cause problems if I'm not alone. Tomorrow morning."

"All right," Benton agreed reluctantly. "Tomorrow. Late morning. Please make the chief understand that it is very important."

Elaine nodded. "You'd better come alone. The people here have very strong feelings about our tribe and peace has been difficult."

Benton agreed. He'd seen many similar situations and understood the delicacy. Elaine turned back to her shopping and Benton went to join his partners, opting not to tell them any of his new information.

><><><><><><>< Part 5><><><><><><><
Benton sat at his desk and watched the sunset. By lantern light, he continued working on the papers and making notes of the murder scene. Taking an occasional break, he pulled out an old journal and read the notes scribbled in his father's pen.

"I've never seen anything like this one," a voice said from behind.

Benton spun and saw the familiar figure of his father. "Ah, so it wasn't just a hallucination in the mine."

"No, Son." The man stepped around the desk. "You have your work cut out for you."

"Yes," Benton replied.

"I remember back in '39 we had an abandoned body."

"Oh?"

"Although, there were three witnesses at the local saloon."

"Well, I seem to have no witnesses, Dad," Benton replied in exasperation.

"Sure you do, son. You just have to find them."

"Great help, Dad. What am I supposed to do? Find a squirrel whose willing to testify?"

"Don't be smart," the older man reprimanded.

"I've looked at the evidence. The clues will have to serve as my witnesses." He paused and looked at the notes. "Perhaps the Chief is going to be more help."

"Perhaps," his father replied.

Benton waited. His father said nothing, so in frustration, Benton prodded for more. "Why are you here if you aren't going to help?"

"I thought I had."

"How?"

"I don't know. What do you want from me, Son?"

'What do you want from me?' Benton thought in return, but instead closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I'm not sure," Benton said aloud.

"Not sure about what?" a female voice said from the doorway.

Benton turned his attention immediately to the other person in the room. "Francesca?"

"Ray said you would be working on papers late this evening." She moved toward the desk, her dress in perfect order, as was her hair, and a basket tucked into her elbow. She stood across from him and set the basket before him. "I brought chicken and rolls I made myself. I brought beans and carrots from the garden." She saw his confusion. "I wouldn't want you to get too hungry."

"I was about to go to Angie's for dinner," he replied.

"Well, now you don't have to go anywhere," she said with a sly smile.

Benton gathered himself and looked around. His father was gone and he was left alone with the beautiful woman. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he smiled graciously. "Thank you." 'I suppose,' he thought to himself.

"Let's get to know each other." Francesca began to serve up the food.

><><><><><><>< Part 6><><><><><><><
Standing at the end of the bar, Stan leaned his back against it, watching a faro game. The dealer laid the queen of hearts on the table and Stan stifled a chuckle. He glanced at the staircase once more, finally seeing what he'd been waiting for.

Meg descended in a long dress with a very revealing bodice. She caught his eye and shook her head with a smile. Following a trader who was putting on his jacket as he stepped from the last step, she passed him and moved across the floor. "Good evening, Stan."

"Hey, Meg. Been a good night?"

Meg considered the question, watching the trader's back as he left the saloon. "Sure," she replied. "What brings you here?"

"The usual," he replied with a sigh.

Meg took his hand and led him up the stairs. Closing the door behind them, she sat on the bed. She waited as he leaned against her dressing table. He didn't speak, so she finally leaned back on one hand. "Is it Francesca?"

Stan shook his head.

"The marshal, then?"

Stan shook his head again.

"It isn't about Ray, is it?" she asked.

Stan shrugged. "I don't know what's bothering me, actually," he said at last. "I've just got nothing left here."

"You could have made sheriff if you'd accepted it," she observed.

Stan shrugged again and looked intently at her hairbrush. "I guess. I just didn't want it. I don't want that responsibility. I don't think I was ever meant to be the law."

Meg chuckled. "Before Fraser got here, you were the closest thing we had. You didn't think that was the right thing?"

"Sure," Ray replied, then looked deep in thought as he gathered his words. "Seemed like I was making the place safer for me and my bride to be, didn't it? Gettin' ready to get married and have a bunch of kids. I didn't want them running around town with all that violence." He paused and looked at her. "You know, I bought a piece of land out there past the farms so I could build a home for us. Someplace far enough away to be safe, but close enough we could get supplies."

"I didn't know."

"Well, seems there's no reason to move out of the hotel now, does it? Why build that place for me to wallow in self pity."

"Just because Francesca changed her mind doesn't mean you have to give up, Stan."

Stan shrugged. "I know, I guess. Doesn't matter now anyway."

"Why not?" Meg began. "I don't see why you can't wait and see what comes along."

"I sold the land today. Got some pretty good money, too. Samuel is looking to expand and my piece connected with his."

Meg nodded. "If you've got that figured out, why are you here?"

Stan looked at the hairbrush intently again. "I guess I just needed to talk to a friend."

Meg nodded very slowly. "We've been pretty good at that part."

"Yes," Stan agreed. "I needed someone practical to tell me that it wasn't stupid."

"You're regretting it?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to be rid of it now that Francesca seems to have moved on, but I really don't want to accept that she's finished with me."

Meg chuckled. She was never one to beat around the bush, one of Stan's favourite things about her. She'd be honest with him, brutally, if need be. He steadied himself for her explanation of the chuckling. "You don't really think she'll come back, do you?"

Oh, there it was. The sentence that chewed through his heart. Someone saying out loud what his head had been telling him for weeks. "That would be pitiful, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she replied. "Let me tell you about women, Stan. They don't enter into a decision lightly. They don't accept a marriage proposal if they are planning to dump you the next week and they don't end an engagement on a whim. I'm willing to bet that Francesca was pretty sure of her decision by the time she spoke with you. It is pitiful to wait around for her to come crawling back. There are dozens of handsome single men in this town looking for someone to care for their house."

"All right," Stan stopped her before she could continue to denigrate him. "I understand how it must look. You made the point. There are a dozen men to every single woman in this place. So what makes me think things will be different for me."

"Francesca said yes. There must be someone else willing to take her place."

"I suppose."

"Stan, if you are going to walk around pining for Francesca, you're going to miss out on something better."

"I suppose," he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

"Stan?"

"Yes?"

"Go home," Meg said firmly.

Stan nodded and left. Meg moved to the vanity and ran the brush through her hair. She did consider Stan a friend and knew he considered her one also. It hadn't come easily, though. The first few times they met on a personal basis, it had been at the poker tables. They'd ended up in a fight nearly every time, her honesty and his defensive manner ending in a screaming match. Pretty soon, he had come to enjoy her honesty, she realized, and they became friends. He listened to her and offered the same brutal honesty, something she needed occasionally. It was comfortable. She smiled at her reflection and stood. It was time to find another paying customer.

><><><><><><><Part 7><><><><><><><
When Stan left the saloon, he decided to go for a walk. He headed toward the Vecchio house, wanting simple validation of his thoughts, making sure he could let her go. As he passed the marshal's office, he glanced in the window and saw Francesca laughing heartily as Benton held his hand at Dief's height, then moved it up as if to indicate something much taller.

A warmth rose up Stan's neck and into his face. It was humiliating to see her there, flirting with him while he wasted his time pining. Stan swallowed hard, turned, and headed back to the safety of his hotel room.

Inside the office, Francesca was listening to Benton tell about himself. "Where are you from?" she asked, after hearing the tale of a young bear cub and its mother.

"North," Benton replied. "I was... passed around," he confided.

"That must have been hard."

"Not really. I learned a lot about different people. I learned about culture and animals, as well as nature. My father traveled a lot and my mother passed away when I was young. My grandparents were anxious to care for me, but they grew too frail and I was then sent to my aunt's. It was always family who was there for me."

"Family is wonderful," Francesca said, thinking of her own, lost to cholera. "If it wasn't for Ray, I don't know where I would be." She smiled meekly. "How did you get that scar on your chin?" she asked boldly, hoping to encourage another story, which she did.

><><><><><><>< Part 8><><><><><><><
Benton first met with his sheriff and deputy in the early morning hours. Still not mentioning his meeting for later in the day, he went over a few details of the scene as he had observed it.

"Did you gentlemen notice anything else?" he asked after briefing them.

The two thought for a moment before answering. Of course, they hadn't. The marshal had keenly observed all details. He'd made no speculation, keeping the doors of possibility wide open.

"This afternoon, I have an engagement that may shed light on this man's identity."

"When did this happen?" Stan asked immediately.

"Yesterday," Benton replied. "I didn't think it pertinent."

"We're supposed to be a team," Ray argued.

Benton looked away a moment. He wondered now if he'd made the right decision. Still, bringing others may jeopardize his chance at gaining information from the chief. He knew from the northern tribes he'd associated with that pride was important to these people. He didn't want to take any chances. Fixing his gaze on Ray again, he tried to explain. "The source asked to keep the setting intimate. Additionally, if you two join me, there will be an entire day of questions lost in town. The assailant may very well be somewhere amongst the townspeople. I fear that leaving the place completely unattended by lawmen may give him or her the chance to escape justice."

Ray and Stan had to admit the man had a certain logic. Someone sneaking away under a cloud of suspicion would be able to avoid that if no one was watching.

"You might have told us anyway," Ray admonished. "Who is it, anyway?"

"I won't say until I am certain it's important. The victim's name may very well be Ambrose Merewether. You might remain conservative when using his name, still using the picture as a primary source, until I have more information."

Stan shrugged. "Sure. When will you be back?"

Benton tugged his ear. "I'm uncertain, but I should attempt to return before dusk. I'd like this to be resolved as soon as possible. If there is one man dead, we may well find another dead soon if we can't capture the killer. It often seems once someone has committed a crime, they are likely to commit it again with more ease."

"You just raised the safety level of this town. I'm not about to see that destroyed. We'll do everything we can while you're away, Marshal," Ray assured. "Stan and I will turn this place upside down."

Benton felt confidence in his men and appreciated their willingness to work. "Thank you, gentlemen. I must go prepare for my trip."

><><><><><><>< Part 9><><><><><><><
Benton stood before the church double checking the items he'd packed in his saddlebags. He wanted to be prepared for any situation and had spent the previous evening imagining scenarios. The strap on his saddle seemed worn and he took another look to make sure it would hold up during the trip even if there were problems. Confident that everything was in place, he waited patiently.

The sun rose higher into the sky and late morning was quickly turning to noon. Finally, Benton saw the young woman riding bareback toward him. Elaine rode beside his horse and waved. "We must leave immediately," she demanded, then turned her horse and rode away. Benton mounted his beast and kicked at the hind quarters before leaning forward to catch the woman.

Finally moving beside her, they went at high speed until reaching the grove of trees. There, Elaine slowed to a trot and Benton followed her lead. Now that they were out of sight, Elaine spoke. "I had a little trouble convincing Chief Running Horn that you were not dangerous. Please, don't prove me wrong."

Benton agreed. "I only want to help," he added.

Elaine smiled at him, then let the silence build as they moved through the trees. Beyond the grove was a hill. When Benton saw it, he realized she'd been conserving the horses' energy in this slow trot for the small climb they would make. After the jaunt from the chapel to the grove, the horses had a chance to catch their breath and they moved at an angle against the rocky climb.

Once over the hill, Benton saw only ground and sky. Wondering how far the village was, he decided to remain quiet and let Elaine decide what he should know.

After extensive silence, Elaine let out a long breath. "You haven't asked how I came to be with the tribe."

"I'm sorry," Benton replied. "Was I meant to know?"

Elaine shrugged. "It makes no difference. It's just odd. Most people want to know right away how I could live with them and be happy."

"I assumed they are a peaceful tribe."

"They are," she asserted. "White man doesn't know the difference between a warring and a peaceful tribe."

"Unfortunately," Benton added.

"Yes," Elaine confirmed. "Still, most people ask."

"Would you like me to?"

Elaine shrugged. "My mother died when I was born. That left me with only a father. Pa took good care of me, but he lost his farm in Virginia."

"I see," Benton said, guessing from her age and the poor harvests that had happened in Virginia many years ago, he assumed her to be around 12 at that time.

"Pa heard they were looking for miners out here. Good pay, hard work, but it was supposed to be steady work. He came out with a group of men looking to mine," she continued, not confirming his supposition.

"They closed the mines during the winter when the pass is too snow covered for them to get through. Everyone went south to find work until the mining started again. Pa worked through the whole summer and into the fall. Just before the biggest storm, there was an accident in the mine. I still don't know what happened, only that he died." She paused.

"I'm sorry," Benton comforted, trying to fill the silence.

"It's all right," Elaine replied. "That was many years ago." She glanced to see that he had fallen a step or two behind. "Anyway, no one took me in and they all left to find winter work. The Paiutes found me freezing and starving in one of the makeshift homes of the mine's owner. They took me back to the village and fed me some of the deer and elk they'd been hunting that day."

"That was very lucky," Benton offered.

"Yes," she replied. "They've been my family ever since and I consider myself part of their tribe." She paused. "That's why I can't let anyone hurt them, you understand."

"Yes, I do," Benton confirmed. "I hope Gochick and your people can live peacefully so near each other."

"Not that near," she replied. "But Gochick is the closest place for supplies. The tribe is self sustaining, though they occasionally find the town useful. When they want something, they usually send me."

"Ah," Benton replied. "They are not concerned about the dangers of the town?"

"I can take care of myself," she replied. "Mostly they left me alone. They were impressed to hear the changes you had made, however."

Benton could only nod. Elaine went quiet again as they continued the ride.

><><><><><><>< Part 10><><><><><><><
Stan took charge of the hotel, requesting the guest list and making notes of occupants who had stayed over the past week. Questioning those who were available, he was met mostly with investors, weekly tenants, and travelers. Dief followed at Stan's heels, Benton having decided to leave the animal in their care. Checking the scent of each person, Dief never seemed to indicate a clue.

Ray sat in the saloon, drinking sarsaparilla and listening to conversations when he wasn't asking questions.

Finally deciding he'd had enough liquid and ready to answer the growl in his stomach, Ray went home where he found Francesca reading Thomas Hardy. She barely noticed him come inside. When he spoke, she waved him away and kept reading intently.

Ray moved into the parlor and frowned. "Francesca, I'm trying to talk to you."

Francesca looked up. "This Bathsheba is nothing but trouble."

"What?"

"What do you want, Ray?" she asked in exasperation.

"Lunch."

"You make it," she replied, looking back into the romantic pages of her novel.

"Francesca," Ray said again.

"What?!"

"I'm not making lunch." Ray folded his arms, trying to complete his thought, but being met with resistance.

"Are your arms broken?" She began to read again.

"No."

"Then you can make it yourself," Francesca insisted without looking up.

Furrowing his brow, Ray stepped closer. "Francesca, I'm trying to invite you to lunch."

"Oh," she said, finally letting the book rest on her lap. "Where?"

"Where else? Angie's."

Francesca considered it a moment, threw a delicately embroidered bookmark into her book, and laid it on the table. "I'll be ready to go soon."

"Don't make me wait," he replied, then had a thought. "Did you ever find your boots?"

As Francesca moved through the kitchen to get her shawl, she spoke. "I was only missing the one," she replied. "Can't find that left shoe anywhere."

"I guess we'll need to get a new pair made then," Ray said, letting out a long breath. "I hate to spend the money when those boots were so new."

"I'm sorry," Francesca replied defensively. "Wasn't my fault. I've been everywhere."

Ray glanced at her before opening the door. She looked quite suitable. He didn't mention the fact that it had been arranged for him to meet Stan for lunch today. After seeing her throw away his perfectly good offer at marriage, Ray had finally decided not to let her off that easily.

><><><><><><>< Part 11><><><><><><><
Benton looked into the wickiup and saw far more than he expected. These people made a more permanent home than the northern tribes who migrated depending on the seasons and, therefore, had homes they could transport. Standing straight as he stepped inside, he had to remove his hat and tip his head slightly as the roof brushed the top of his head.

Before him was a man in full native dress. Elaine smiled at him and bowed her head slightly. She spoke and the man invited them to sit with him.

Using Elaine to translate, Benton immediately began his quest. "I understand you know this man," he said, holding out the new drawing he had made from the original.

The chief nodded and spoke. Benton recognized the word Ambrose, but nothing more. Elaine turned to Benton. "Ambrose is a friend."

Benton nodded. "How do you know him?"

"He comes to trade. He sells the craftwork in town and brings food and valuables in exchange."

"What can you tell me about him?" Benton asked, making careful note of items that seemed out of place.

"We know very little. He didn't mention his own life. We know he traded with other tribes, traveled around this area a lot."

Benton continued to enquire and observe. He noticed a few things which he queried and received satisfactory answers. The chief was cooperative and soon became friendly, inviting Benton to stay for dinner. Elaine informed him that it would be an insult to decline, so he accepted.

><><><><><><>< Part 12><><><><><><><
Francesca and Ray sat waiting for their meals when Stan walked in to the restaurant. He froze as he spotted them at a table. "I thought it was just the two of us," Stan said.

Francesca turned and saw her ex-fiance. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on," Ray said. "Let's all eat together. Is that too much to ask?"

Stan let out a breath and so did Francesca. They nodded in defeat and he joined them. Glancing at the menu, he ordered his favourite, steak, before saying a word to either Vecchio. At last, he turned to Francesca. "How are you, Frannie?"

"I'm well," she replied. "You?"

"Fine," he said quickly. "Ray, did you hear anything useful?"

Ray shook his head. They went quiet and listened to the chattering of other patrons.

Francesca finally spoke again. "Where's the marshal?"

Stan grunted so quietly that only Francesca could hear his dissatisfaction. Ray felt exasperated. Now she was after the marshal? he asked himself. 'When will she grow up?' He watched Tanya taking the food to another table. "He's out of town on business today."

"Oh?" Francesca asked.

"What's the interest, Frannie?" Stan asked. "You don't know anything about him."

Francesca straightened. "It just so happens that I know plenty. We talked for a long while last night and he told me about himself."

Ray glared. "Last night? Did you go over there after I specifically told you not to?"

"I'm an adult, Ray, I do what I want," she snapped. "He needed dinner and so did I."

Stan watched as Angie placed the plates before the two Vecchio's, then waited for his own, staring at the table and deep in thought.

The two ate, speaking between a swallow and a bite. "I'll go to the cobbler this afternoon, if that's all right, Ray."

Ray nodded. "Just remember to be practical. The new shoes will have to be useful for everyday wear, not just Sunday."

"What do you think I'm going to buy, a pair of glass slippers?" she replied.

Stan looked up into Francesca's eyes. "What are you doing? Chasing after Fraser like that? You're only making yourself look foolish."

"Stan!" Ray tried to interrupt.

"He'd never marry you, he's married to his job. He's not interested." Stan stood. "What's wrong with you!?" Before giving her a chance to reply, he turned and stormed from the restaurant.

Ray stood also. "Stan!" he hollered, but as Stan opened the door and disappeared, Ray dropped his napkin and ran after him.

In the street, Ray jumped on Stan's back and sent him tumbling to the ground. Punching the man in the face, Ray began to reprimand the deputy. "How dare you say such a thing to my sister!"

Francesca ran from the restaurant and watched the two rolling in the mud. "Ray! Stan!" She attempted to get their attention.

"Why are you defending her? She doesn't give a damn about anyone except herself!" Stan yelled, trying to push Ray away.

Ray threw his knee into Stan's side and punched him again across the cheek. "I told you if you hurt her, I'd kill you!"

"She's selfish and you just keep letting her be that way. You cater to her every desire, don't you!"

Francesca began to cry at the hurtful remarks and grabbed for her brother, but he threw her off before landing another punch along Stan's eye and into his nose. Stan pushed Ray with his knee and simultaneously punched him across the jaw. "Son of a bitch!"

Ray fell back, expecting Stan to come after him, but instead, the man stood and walked away. Ray was surprised. It wasn't like Stan to back down from a fight. Holding his own jaw, he allowed Francesca to help him to his feet. When he saw the tears on her cheek, he put his arms around her. "He didn't mean it, Francesca," Ray assured her. "He didn't mean any of those hurtful things."

Francesca nodded into his shoulder. "He did," she said softly. "He meant them because I hurt him."

><><><><><><>< Part 13><><><><><><><
Benton rode into town late in the evening. Planning to share his newly acquired information with his sheriff and deputy, he first stopped at the hotel and left a message for Stan to meet him at the Vecchio residence.

When Stan got the message, he crumpled it and pushed it into a pocket. H couldn't go there now. The situation would be too volatile. He looked at the time and walked along the street.

Passing the Vecchio residence several times, he hoped to catch Fraser in the street. He missed the marshal going into the house so he waited outside.

Benton stood inside the Vecchio home and watched as Francesca went to the kitchen to retrieve Ray. When a bruised Ray came out, Fraser looked shocked. "What happened?"

"There was a fight," Ray replied simply. "Why are you here so late?"

"Stan's going to meet us so we can talk about what we learned today," Benton informed him.

"I don't think Stan will be coming," Ray replied.

"Why?" Benton asked.

Francesca sighed. "They had a fight," she replied for him. "I don't think Stan will be willing to come here tonight."

"Just tell me and then you can tell Stan. We'll discuss everything in the morning when we're fresh," Ray ordered.

Benton tugged his ear. "We'll all meet first thing in the morning and discuss it together," he replied. "I'd prefer us all be together."

Ray nodded and opened the door for Benton. "You should go let Stan know that plan, then," Ray said. "I need rest."

Benton nodded and stepped onto the porch. Francesca stepped out with him quickly. "Benton," she said and he turned. "I'm glad you came back safely." She smiled, then leaned forward to kiss him. Their lips touched very briefly and a blushing Benton smiled before hurrying from the porch.

Stan watched, his eyes wide. Disappearing into the shadows, Benton would never see him. He also would not find him in his room at the hotel.

><><><><><><>< Part 14><><><><><><><
As Meg descended the staircase, she asked the bartender what she could do to help. The tender pointed across the room. "You're favourite has been over there drinking whiskey."

Meg looked across the room and saw Stan leaning far over a table over an empty glass. Beside him was a half full bottle of whiskey. She let out a long breath and stepped over to him. "Stan?"

Stan looked up. She could see that he was drunk, but that something had kept his mind sober. He opened his hand and held it before her.

Meg moved her sight to his palm, a gold coin resting on it. Letting out another long breath, she glanced around the room before taking his hand.

Meg led him through the bar and out the back exit. The dark sky loomed with clouds. It had rained earlier in the evening, leaving puddles of mud. She guided him around the ruts and into the trees. From there, the growth covered the sound of the saloon and instead amplified the babbling of the creek. Meg leaned against a rock and clasped her hands together. "Friends," she began in a lecturing tone, "never pay for my services and I never give my services to friends." She looked on the man before her as he leaned against a tree. "What's on your mind?"

"I didn't want it to happen. I really didn't." His mind was a jumble, but he knew what he wanted to say. "I was over Francesca and I didn't want her to come back, but she kissed him."

"Who?"

"Francesca."

Meg snickered. His mind was fighting the alcohol and losing. "Who did she kiss?"

"Fraser."

"The marshal?" Meg asked in surprise. Though she'd found the man handsome, she knew it would have to be a hands off relationship. Not only would it look very wrong for him to be seen with a known prostitute, she knew he was too straight laced to consider it. Still, she'd felt a certain claim and protection over him since she'd first spotted him in town.

Stan frowned and hiccupped. "Last night I saw them getting really friendly and tonight she went and kissed him." He looked at Meg and tried to focus. When he found the task too difficult, he moved beside her on the rock. "She's already moved on to another target and I'm still trying to figure out how to live without her. Shows what she must think of me."

"I'm sure she thinks a lot of you," Meg comforted. "Perhaps you misunderstood."

"Misunderstood a kiss?"

"Sure," she replied. "It could have been friendly, I suppose. Maybe she slipped and their lips..."

Stan began to laugh heartily. Meg smiled. It certainly was ridiculous. "It really doesn't matter, Stan."

Stan froze and looked at her, waiting explanation.

"It really doesn't. Whether she gets married before you or not, whether she finds a new beau, none of it matters. Your lives are on separate paths now."

Stan nodded slowly and she could see the reasoning come back into his eyes. He straightened. "I just wish I felt as happy as she looks."

"I know," Meg replied. "Someday you will." She added a smile and looked into his eyes.

Stan examined the tiny flecks of colour in Meg's eyes and felt a release of his soul. She was healing and soothing, without meaning to be. All at once, he took her jaw between his hands, leaned in, and kissed her firmly on the lips. Feeling her softness, he tasted her lip with his tongue and held firm.

Meg put her hands on top of Stan's and gripped them. She pulled them away from her face first, before pulling away from his lips.

Turning his hands so he held hers, he smiled briefly. "Let's run away from here. Let's go somewhere else where we can forget this place."

Meg pulled her hands away and stood. "I don't want to leave."

Stan looked astounded. "You could have a completely different life. You wouldn't have to be a whore."

Meg folded her arms. "I wasn't forced into this. I chose this lifestyle."

"Why would anyone...?"

"Your sweet little Francesca is sentenced to a life serving her man or her brother, isn't she? Any lady can teach until she becomes engaged, but in the end, any lady has only one choice: marriage." Meg took a deep breath and began to relax. "I have more options. I'm in control here. I get to make every decision that affects me and I care for myself, only myself. I don't answer to anyone. Don't you see? I'm the one with freedom."

Stan's head spun. He'd been forced to think in a circle and it was too much for him. He leaned over and rested his head in his hands. "Why is a life with me so horrifying?"

Meg frowned. Her brusqueness had been too much to compete with the whiskey. "It isn't Stan," she replied. "It's not the worst thing in the world, it's just the worst thing in the world for me."

><><><><><><>< Part 15><><><><><><><
Benton sat patiently behind his desk and Ray paced along the floor just as the sun made its way higher into the sky. When Benton informed Ray that he hadn't found Stan in his hotel the previous evening, Ray had, at first, been surprised. Now he was a bit worried. Hours had passed and they still hadn't seen the deputy. Ray had asked Benton several times to tell him what had happened during his meeting to take his mind off Stan's absence, but Benton continually refused.

The room became warm and Ray opened the door to let in some fresh air. Turning to Benton, he furrowed his brow. "I really don't think Stan is going to come today," Ray insisted.

"I have faith that he will be here," the marshal insisted. "He knows we depend on his assistance."

Ray frowned and resumed his pacing. "I'll wear a hole in the floor before we see him."

"Perhaps you would like to explain the nature of your argument. Shedding light on that might help me to make an informed decision."

Ray turned away and stopped pacing. "It's between me and Stan," Ray said firmly.

Benton looked at the front window and finally saw their partner stumble along the walkway. He stepped into the doorway, his bruises bright and colourful, his eyes bloodshot, and his demeanor weak.

When Ray took in the sight, he straightened. "What the hell happened to you?"

"You know exactly what happened," Stan replied feebly.

"I didn't keep you awake all night," Ray replied and moved near the door. Catching a whiff of the man in the entrance, he turned away for fresh air. "I didn't get you drunk, either."

Stan frowned. "I'm not drunk," he stated.

"No, but you're hung over," Ray stated. "All this over Francesca?"

Stan glared. "Francesca was only the first person to reject me last night," he replied under his breath. Stepping inside and making a seat on the edge of Benton's desk, he looked between them. "Been waiting for me?"

"Yes," Benton replied, matter of factly. "I wanted to discuss things with the both of you. I think if we consider our evidence, we might find the killer of Ambrose by the end of today."

"Oh?" Ray perked up.

"Ambrose traded with the local tribes. He acquired crafted items and herbal medicines to sell in the towns nearby, including Gochick."

Stan worked hard to concentrate, every word making his head ring.

Benton flipped open a notebook and began to glance over the information. "Chief Running Horn of a local Paiute tribe acquired a pair of boots early yesterday morning for a beaded sheath. It just so happens that the boots are the same size as the footprints at the scene and when he allowed me to hold them, I could smell lilac."

"Lilac?" Stan straightened. "From the Vecchio house?"

"Perhaps. It was mixed with the smell of sage and a thistle was stuck just above the heel."

"Those were in the alley," Ray remembered.

"Yes," Benton replied. "The colouration of the dirt is exactly the same and I'm certain those boots were worn by the criminal."

"Who'd he trade them with?" Stan asked quickly, his mind beginning to clear.

"That's the answer we need, gentlemen," Benton replied. "Running Horn has traded many sheaths for things, but this was the first beaded in the shape of a star. The man who made the trade had dark hair, but he made the specific comment that he was making the trade for someone else."

"We find the sheath and we find the killer?"

"Correct," Benton replied. "I made some initial inquiries last night before going to bed. So far, no one has been seen with such an object."

"It's just a matter of finding it," Ray assumed. "The problem is, we don't know if he's carrying it on him. We don't know how to begin looking for an object like that."

"Besides, trading a sheath for boots doesn't make someone a killer," Stan pointed out

Benton agreed. "However, we can use the information leading us to him as evidence and perhaps come upon the motive for why he might have committed the crime."

The men agreed and worked out a plan. They would separate to avoid overwhelming the assailant, then keep eyes and ears open for information. Stan would start in the general store asking if anyone had tried to use or trade the item. He'd work his way toward the chapel.

Ray would begin at Angie and Tanya's restaurant. Benton would first start in the alley, then go to the doctor and re-examine the body for more clues and evidence.

><><><><><><>< Part 16><><><><><><><
After Stan had spent nearly an hour in the general store, he'd realized he would find nothing so he moved next door to the livery. He began examining horses and saddles, not sure what he was looking for, but giving it his utmost attention. He asked the stable master if anyone had tried to trade a horse or buy something using a beadwork sheath or other Indian item. The stable master had no information, but told Stan that if he saw or heard anything, he would get in touch with them.

Standing before a horse he'd never seen before, Stan examined its hooves for odd wear. He wasn't sure why he thought it would be important, but he wanted to return with some information, helpful or not.

Just then, a woman entered the livery. Stan recognized her from the saloon, though her conservative attire nearly fooled him.

The stable master approached her. "Can I help you, Ma'am?"

Spotting Stan, the woman shook her head. "No, thank you. I've been looking for him," she said.

Stan straightened and furrowed his brow. She walked toward him, all the while his mind questioning. Without another word, she handed him a piece of paper and walked away. As he watched her leave, he unfolded the paper. Once the door closed behind her, he looked down at the words scribbled on the page.

"I need a friend. --Meg."

Stan folded the paper and tucked it in his pocket. Not saying a word, he hurried quickly from the stables and crossed the street.

><><><><><><>< Part 17><><><><><><><
Having exhausted the sources at both the restaurant and the hardware store, Ray had moved on to the saloon. He sat at the bar speaking with another patron when he glanced at the batwing doors. Someone shot through them like a bolt of lightning so Ray was preparing for problems. When he saw that it was Stan, he stood, assuming the deputy had come to find him. Instead, Stan ran across the saloon and up the back steps, skipping every other stair.

Ray could only watch in horror as Stan knocked on the door to one of the rooms. It opened after a moment and Stan went inside.

Ray was fuming. The man had humiliated his sister and now he would do it all over again. Talk in town was sure to focus on the man once engaged to the sheriff's sister now keeping company with a whore. Sitting at the bar, he continued to listen to the other man, but stewed over Stan's behaviour.

Stan tried not to look surprised when Meg opened the door. Instead he stepped inside and took her in his arms. She'd been badly abused and obviously emotionally hurt as she wrapped her arms around him, accepting the comfort.

"What happened?" Stan asked firmly.

"I just... I just need a minute," she said, still holding him.

Stan waited a moment, then pushed her back gently. "Tell me what happened."

"There was a fellow down in the saloon. He seemed friendly."

"Had you seen him before?" he asked.

"No. None of us had. I wasn't really nervous, though, because he wasn't too big. He didn't seem threatening at all." She nearly stumbled as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Stan moved onto one knee beside her and took her hand. "When we got up to the room, he still seemed gentle. He held me softly at first, but then... then," she stared intently at the wood flooring.

Stan felt something on the back of her hand and when he looked, he noticed a small cut. Noticing only at that point that her other hand was bandaged and she was wearing a new dress with long sleeves and a high neck, he rose to his feet. "How bad is it?" he asked, greatly concerned.

Meg looked as though she were holding back tears, but she firmly stood. Unbuttoning the top three buttons, he could see a deeper cut disappear into her cleavage. She pulled up a sleeve and a blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around her arm. Stan took her arm and realized it was all made of torn bed sheets.

"Why didn't you go to the doctor?"

"I can't. Besides, the girls took care of me."

The door opened and Stan spun around, ready to fight Meg's attacker. Meg froze. What they saw instead was Ray. He stepped inside, a vicious look on his face. Disregarding Meg, he moved toward Stan. "How could you do this to Francesca. You realize your behaviour reflects on her? This sneaking around with whores is going to destroy your reputation and thereby hers!"

"Get out of my way," Stan said fiercely as he grabbed Meg.

Ray grabbed Stan's shirt and pushed him. Stan let go of Meg long enough to punch Ray so hard that he fell back against the wall. Taking the opportunity, Stan grabbed Meg again and nearly had to drag her from her room.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, digging in her heels.

"The doctor. You're still bleeding, for God's sake. Do you want to die?"

"That's my decision!" she exclaimed as she grabbed the stair rail.

Stan couldn't pull her away so he turned, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder. He noticed Ray coming from the room to chase after him as he held her legs tightly.

Getting pounded on the back the entire way, Stan hurried to the doctor, trying to stay ahead of Ray the entire way. Bursting through the door, he finally set her down. She was weakening now and couldn't stand on her own so Stan took her to a bed as the doctor stepped from the back room. When he saw who was on one of his beds, he froze. "What is this?"

"She's been cut really bad," Stan explained just as Ray came through the doors.

"I can't do anything," the doctor replied.

Stan grabbed the man and pushed him toward the bed where Meg lay limp, but conscious. "You can and you will." Stan demanded.

Hesitant only a moment more, the doctor sat beside her and began to undress her. He stopped and looked at the men. "Perhaps we should be left alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," Stan insisted, then moved beside Meg. "Describe the man," he told her.

Ray said nothing. Now was no time to continue his confrontation. He looked around and saw Benton standing in the doorway to the back room. Moving across the place, Ray stepped beside Fraser. "I didn't realize you would still be here."

Benton nodded. "We're examining the body." Motioning to Meg, he then asked, "What happened here?"

Ray shrugged. Benton continued to listen as Meg described the smaller man with light hair and dark eyes. The doctor began to examine the wounds, cleaning them with water as he went.

When Benton straightened and stepped toward her, Ray followed on his heels. Stan glanced up at the marshal and shook his head. "I'm going to find him," he said firmly.

Benton held up his hand. "The blade was approximately this long, Ma'am?" he said, holding his hands several inches apart.

Meg nodded as Benton moved closer and began to examine the cut marks along her body. Feeling uncomfortable at the examination, both Stan and Meg shifted. Ben looked her in the eye. "He had it in a sheath. Did you see it?"

"How on earth could you know that?!" Ray asked.

"Look at the tiny leather fibers around the wounds. It's nearly white, just like the sheath Chief Running Horn described."

"What?" Stan breathed.

"It was kind of light coloured," Meg confirmed. "He had it in his boot. He pulled it out and pulled the knife on me so fast, I didn't have any time to react." She looked at the men and continued. "It was beaded, like that junk the Indians sell here from time to time."

Stan let out a breath. "In the shape of a star?"

Meg nodded. Benton tugged at his ear. "We'll need a description, Ma'am. You said he was not very tall?"

"Right." She winced as the doctor began to tightly bandage her arm.

"Taller than you?"

"Yes, he was."

"Was he taller than I?" Benton continued.

Meg considered. "I don't think so."

Benton continued the questions until he had the man pictured in his mind. She hadn't heard a name, but he hoped someone at the saloon had. He thanked her and left her in the care of the doctor.

When Ray and Stan saw him leaving, they hurried to follow. Closing the door to the doctor, Stan said, "Can we nail him for this?"

Benton glanced at Stan. "Adding assault to the charge of murder shouldn't make much difference."

Ray furrowed his brow at Stan. "What's the matter , Stan. Gotta protect the new little woman?"

"Shut the hell up." Stan said quickly, dropping behind Fraser. "You leave it alone."

"I suppose I've always known Francesca was too good for you. A prostitute is the best you could do." Ray stopped.

Stan turned, growled, and threw a punch that sent Ray to the ground. Dust puffed around and Benton turned. Everything happened quickly as Stan jumped on top of Ray, but Benton was there to pull him off.

"Might I remind you of the business at hand? There are more important things than a petty argument."

Stan stood and glared at Benton. "You two can pussy around all you want," he snapped. "I'm going to go find the bastard and kill him myself." Stan stormed off and left the other two alone.

Benton turned to Ray. "We should help him."

"No one can help him," Ray said, then started back toward the saloon. "Just let him cool off, Marshal." Ray knew he had provoked Stan this time, but just wanted to get on with the search, rather than waste any more time dealing with the situation. He'd said what he wanted to say and now he had a different focus.

><><><><><><>< Part 18><><><><><><><
A headache had weakened Francesca's resilience so she was resting. She'd spent the day feeling guilty about her boots. The truth was, she'd lost a boot down at the river. The experience of falling into the creek had been humiliating so she told Ray the boot was lost.

The pounding on the door made Francesca's head swim. She tried to ignore the knocking at first, but its increasing insistence brought her down from the bedroom.

Taking a cautious moment to peer through the window, she saw Stan's locked jaw looking back. As she threw the bolt back and opened the door, she had to resist glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"

Stan pushed past her and stepped into the familiar home. Francesca felt nervous. His behaviour was far more aggressive than she was used to. Glancing around, he felt confident she was alone. As he turned toward her again, he grabbed her arms firmly. "I want to talk to you."

Francesca tried to pull away, but his grip was tight. "What do you want?" A hint of fear escaped in her words, but he didn't notice them.

"Look, I don't know what Ray's going to tell you when he gets home. I don't even want to imagine." He furrowed his brow and tightened the fingers.

Francesca pulled again, but he held tight. "Stop it," she said.

"Don't listen, you got that? Whatever he says, whatever you hear, it's all lies."

"Stop it!" she demanded. "You're hurting me."

Stan finally perked his ears at the final words she spoke and looked at his hands in surprise. He hadn't realized how hard he held her, his fingers mottled in brightly contrasting red and white. Letting go, Francesca wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed the upper arms. Stan slumped his shoulders and fell into a chair. "I'm sorry, Frannie," he said in a voice so soft, she had to guess his words. Glancing at her, he felt so horrible, he leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," he confided.

Francesca let out a breath and moved to her knees beside him. Despite everything, she wanted to be friends. She couldn't help caring about the man who had done so much for her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm losing everything," he said, taking her right hand and looking at her. "What did I do wrong?"

Francesca felt a pinch in her heart and put her left hand over the one that held her right. "I tried to tell you, Stan. It wasn't you. It was me."

"Are you sure it wasn't the Marshal?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Stan looked at her in a way that begged her not to lie to him. "I saw you. I've been seeing you all. I relive it in my dreams."

Francesca looked down at the hands on his knee and let out a small breath. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

'But you did,' he thought. Stan sat quiet a long time, numerous things running through his head. 'I see you kissing him when I close my eyes. I watch you eating dinner with him in my dreams. I can't let go so easily. I only wanted you for every second I was alive after we met. Now I have to get used to the idea of you not wanting me.' He looked at her and saw true sorrow and apology in her eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd said it and he knew it was pure truth. "I know," he said after the silence.

Francesca curled the corner of her lip slightly. She felt better hearing him say that.

"I just can't see you. Every time I walk down the street I'm watching every movement, waiting to see you. I don't know if I want it or dread it," he confessed. "I know I wasn't ready to lose you this way. I wasn't prepared."

"I had a lot longer to think about it than you did, Stan. You think I didn't hate myself for not finding a way to love you? You did so much for me and I knew you gave your heart to me completely, but at some point, I knew it couldn't go on." She paused, knowing she couldn't avoid the conversation about Benton, but wishing she could. "I like Benton. I know it seems fast for you, but it was just luck. Bad luck for you, but good luck for me. Can you see that?"

'No. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to.' "I guess," Stan replied. "Look, I... I came here because I needed," what did he need? He was afraid to say it, but he'd begun the thought, he had to finish. "I needed to tell you something. I don't want you to hear it from Ray."

"Hear what?"

"I made a new friend. We're just friends, but Ray doesn't want to believe that."

"With a woman?" Francesca guessed.

"Yes. Ray's concerned it will ruin your reputation, but it's mine they'll be questioning."

Francesca frowned. "Why would they question?"

"It's Meg. You know her. I mean, you know of her."

"From the saloon? One of those women?"

Stan could only nod. How would she take it? He watched it sink in. He waited for her to get angry as Ray had or to at least tell him he was a fool.

"I don't see how it's anyone's business except your own," she said finally, relieving Stan. "You've never lied to me so I trust it's just a friendship. I suppose it might reflect on me, but what kind of person would I be if I couldn't stand up to that?"

Stan leaned forward and gave Francesca a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You are a good woman, Frannie. I'm sorry if I hurt you when I called you a fool. Benton would be lucky to have you."

"Let's not go that far. Besides, I'm not ready for another commitment, yet. Next time I'm going to be certain myself so I don't break his heart."

Stan smiled. "Then we can be friends?"

Francesca nodded. "Of course. That's all I've ever wanted."

Stan stood as he firmed his grip to help Francesca to her feet. "I've got to make amends with your brother," he admitted. "I'll see you soon."

Francesca agreed and showed him to the door.

><><><><><><>< Part 19><><><><><><><
Ray and Benton asked around at the saloon, but were offered little more than a description matching the one Meg was able to give. Jen was the only one able to offer more information. She'd overheard him say he planned to eat before leaving town.

At that, Ray and Benton knew their time was limited. Chances were, he had a horse at the livery, a room at the hotel, or perhaps was eating at Angie's.

Angie's turned up nothing. If he'd decided to eat, he hadn't chosen to do so at a restaurant. The two walked across to the livery stables and asked questions. The man they described had purchased a horse and saddle, leaving only minutes before the men had arrived.

Benton went out into the street first and began to look up and down for the horse the livery master had described. Dief, who had been following the men quietly, kept with Benton while Ray started toward the hotel, offering to acquire information if he could.

It was getting dim outside, but Stan knew the Marshal was likely questioning people at the saloon. Heading back in that direction, a horse whinnied and caught his attention. Stan turned. A new saddle with very worn saddlebags adorned the majestic animal and it's bright pinto spots caught his eye. He continued walking, but watched the beast with interest until he saw a foot hook into the stirrup. Stan casually glanced at the man, then froze. He matched the description Meg had given perfectly. Stan stopped.

The man mounted and clicked his horse to move. As he neared, Stan put his hand on the butt of his gun. "Hello!" he hollered. The man growled and kicked the horse. Stan reached out and grabbed the bridle. "Hey there!" he said to the man.

"Let go!" the man demanded.

"I just wanted to ask a few questions. Would you mind dismounting?" Stan requested firmly.

"I would!"

Stan tugged the bridle, relaxing the horse slightly, removing his gun from the holster with his other hand in an attempt to show he meant business.

The man held his hands in surrender and started down from the animal. As his feet touched the ground, he made a move so quick, Stan couldn't react. He grabbed Stan and flipped him, wrapping an arm around his neck. As he held him, he reached into his boot and pulled out a knife which he held to Stan's throat.

Stan twisted his gun and pointed it at the man's head. "Gun versus knife? Looks like I win."

The man chuckled. "Go ahead. I already did what I came here to do."

Stan moved to cock his gun, but fell to the ground when the man made a swift slice along his arm with the knife, then dropped him. Stan looked at the blood oozing from his limb and reached for his gun with his free hand. Turning to shoot at the man, Stan found him gone, but the horse still there. Firing the shot into the air, he cocked it and fired again.

Ray stepped from the saloon in time to see Dief running past. An instant later, Benton followed the animal so Ray broke into a run and chased after the pair.

When Benton neared the sound of the shots, he saw Stan, half soaked in blood as he held his arm against his stomach. He was again on his feet, but lacked the strength to run after the man.

"I'm not sure which way he went, but it was him, I'm sure of it."

Dief walked around Benton's legs, then took off again. Benton followed the lupine, hoping he was in tune to something they were not.

Ray took Stan's good arm. "Guess we need to get you to the doctor's." He paused. "I'm sure Meg will still be there to..." he began under his breath, but Stan stopped him.

"Don't finish that," he scolded. "You need to leave it alone."

Ray swallowed and helped the man. "Let's hope Benton doesn't need my help."

Stan furrowed his brow. "Thanks," he said, trying not to be heard.

Ray left Stan and headed back to the street. Benton and Dief were no where in sight. Taking the horse by its reigns, he took it back to the Marshal's office. As he carried the saddlebags inside, he noted its weight. It hurt his shoulder to carry it the few steps he did.

Sitting behind the desk, he unbuckled the flap over the opening and reached his hand inside. Something heavy and cool waited for his touch. Removing it, Ray was amazed to see a large chunk of gold. Examining it for reality, he tipped the bag and more spilled out, along with a title for land. The title had been issued to Ambrose Merewether.

Benton returned to the jail only minutes later, the man shackled and Dief near his heels, nipping at them. Glancing at the pile of gold on his desk, Fraser cocked his head.

"I found something very interesting," Ray said.

"I see that," Benton confirmed, pushing the man into a cell.

Ray held up the land title. "Not that. This."

Benton read it quickly, then turned to the man. "You killed a man to get his gold. That greed will cost you," he said. "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?" the man asked defensively.

"So we know what to put on your gravestone," Ray jumped in.

><><><><><><>< Part 20><><><><><><><
Benton smiled when he saw Elaine and Chief Running Horn ride into town. Stepping into the sun, he waited until they stopped before him. "I'm glad you could come," he said politely. "I hope this will be the first in many changes between us."

Elaine translated and the Chief showed his appreciation. Benton offered them a meal at Angie's where they could discuss future help between the tribe and Gochick. Ray offered to join them, but Stan said he had other plans. From the killer, John Stumper, they learned that Ambrose had been using the gold to help pay for things the tribe needed. John helped him at first, hoping Ambrose would cut him in, but Ambrose wanted to spend all the money on a lilac number of tribes in the area. Frustrated, John decided it was his turn to get a share, so he hid in the bushes at the Vecchio house until he saw Ambrose ride into town. From there, he followed the man, then coaxed him behind the alley where he killed him.

Benton told the Chief about John, the gold, and Ambrose's death. The Chief seemed disappointed, but when Benton informed them of the plan to open communications and trading in Gochick, Running Horn was glad and agreed.

The next morning, Benton knocked on the door to Stan's room, planning to offer walking with him to the office and fill him in. There was no reply.

Going down the stairs, he stopped at the front desk. "Pardon me. Has Stan Kowalski already left for the morning?"

"More than the morning," the clerk replied. "He checked out in the middle of the night."

Benton furrowed his brow and left to meet Ray. Sitting behind his desk, he was ready to pounce when Ray entered. "You heard from Stan?"

"No. He's not here? He's probably sleeping in." Ray offered.

Benton shook his head. "He checked out of the hotel last night."

Ray furrowed his brow. "I'll get to the bottom of this," he said, then hurried across to the saloon. Once there, he asked Jen to wake Meg.

"She's not in her room."

"Where is she?"

Jen shrugged. "Left in the middle of the night."

When Ray got back to the Marshal's office, he found Francesca leaning against the desk. "What re you doing here?" he asked.

"Talking to me." Benton jumped in. "We were just discussing where I would take her for dinner tonight."

The End

End Cowboys Do It On Horseback by Laura Lee aka Snowee: alaskanrose515@hotmail.com

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