{"id":12887,"date":"2002-05-10T07:36:25","date_gmt":"2002-05-10T11:36:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=12887"},"modified":"2025-02-27T12:05:52","modified_gmt":"2025-02-27T17:05:52","slug":"fourth-wife-5-fall-into-darkness-by-jenny-g","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=12887","title":{"rendered":"Fourth Wife #5 – Fall into Darkness (by Jenny G)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 <\/strong>Adam crosses the country, seeking the answer Harbinger never gave.<\/p>\n

Rating<\/strong>:\u00a0 PG-13.\u00a0 Implied sex, violence. (114,500 words)<\/p>\n

Fourth Wife Series:<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the Dark of the Night<\/a>
\nAll in a Day’s Work<\/a>
\nA Gunfighting Man<\/a>
\nThe Measure of a Man<\/a>
\nFall into Darkness<\/a>
\nPeace on the Ponderosa<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fourth Wife #5 – Fall Into Darkness<\/strong><\/p>\n

The author acknowledges with much appreciation the advice, assistance and support of Gwynne G Logan.<\/p>\n

Fore-word <\/strong><\/p>\n

The measured tick of the French, long-case clock, lost in the darkness beside the door, marked the slow, but relentless, passage of time. Shadows filled the big room of the ranch house. The only sources of light were the pine log fire that burned in the grey-stone hearth and a single, white globed oil-lamp that stood on the table at Ben Cartwright\u2019s elbow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben was a big man in every sense of the word; it was claimed, by people who knew him, that he was larger than life. Physically, at fifty-eight years old, he was still at the peak of his strength – although, these days, he tended to sit late after breakfast on occasion with an extra cup of coffee and the latest issue of \u2018The Stockman\u2019s Journal\u2019 or the \u2018Virginia City Times\u2019. Tall and broad shouldered, with a massive, barrel-like chest, he was as fit and as active as many a man who was half his age. His face, wide at the cheekbones, tapering down to a narrow jaw, was sensitive and expressive: a true mirror of his emotions. Above the breadth of his brow, the silvery wings of swept-back hair denied the youthful liveliness in his dark, intelligent eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A man who had arrived in the west among the first wave of settlers, over the course of twenty years Ben Cartwright had constructed an empire out of a wilderness. Based, first of all, on the twin necessities of the growing community: cattle for meat and timber for the building of homes, Ben\u2019s business had boomed with the discovery of gold in western Utah, and then of silver in the famous Comstock Lode. The huge, sprawling ranch that he called The Ponderosa was a vast sweep of land that encompassed a thousand square miles of territory. From the rocky shores of Lake Tahoe, north to the Washoe Valley and east as far as the fringe of the desert; the forested hills and rolling grasslands, the lush, green valleys and the sweeping, golden landscapes were his heart-place and home. Vast property holdings in many fine cities far to the east, interests in mining, shipping and freight and the part ownership of a cannery on the western coast had added massively to his ever-growing list of investments. Only recently a consortium of eastern investors had invited him to join them in importing silk from Japan. It was a venture he was taking his time to consider.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Possessed of an endless drive and energy, he had constructed this very house with his own, bare hands, cutting and dressing the timber and hauling the stone. It was cemented together with his blood and the sweat of his brow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If he was a large man in body and in the scope of his achievements, he was big in the heart as well. A man who stood up for the things he believed in, he was a pillar of the local community: a philanthropist and a patron of the arts, but, first of all, he was a father and a family man. Of all the things that he had done and all that he had won for himself, he was proudest of all of his sons.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A slight frown settled across the bridge of his nose. The hour was growing very late. He had been reading for quite a long while, and the print on the page was starting to dance in front of his eyes. With a soundless sigh, he closed the book, a modern treatise on the history of India, and set it aside. Reaching down beside his chair, he sought for and found his tobacco jar. He began, with unconsciously meticulous movements, to refill the bowl of his pipe. With the frown still in place and concern glowing warmly from the depths of his eyes, he studied the profile of his eldest son.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam Cartwright was a son for any man to be proud of. He was as big in build as his father, if rather more finely constructed. The two men were much of a height, standing at something just over six feet, and Adam had the powerful shoulders, narrow hips and long, lean legs of a man born to ride and to work from the saddle. In Adam, his father\u2019s barrel-stave ribcage had been redesigned into a broad, deep chest filled with heart and lungpower. At thirty two years old, he could ride and rope and brand as well as any man ever born; he could pull his end of a two-man saw with his bigger and stronger brother, and he could dig twenty-five post holes in the course of a day. At the same time, he had what was called a \u2018head\u2019 on his shoulders. He was the one who had gone east to college, returning home with honours degrees in engineering, architecture and literature. In recent years it had been he, even more than his father, who had been the keen intellect behind his family\u2019s business success.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In looks, he was darkly handsome with an oval, evenly featured face that found favour with the ladies; \u2018though none, so far, had managed to capture his heart. He had a neat, rounded chin with only the faintest suggestion of a cleft. His mouth was straight, the lips full and well proportioned, marred only by a tiny scar \u2013 the remnant of a barely remembered childhood accident.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Aristocratically narrow – a heritage of his mother\u2019s new England blood – with neat, oval nostrils, his nose was his mother\u2019s, as were his ears and the dimples that danced in his cheeks when he smiled. Hair as black as a raven\u2019s wing, receding a little from a formidable brow, lay in soft waves that curled, finally, into the nap of his neck. Most impressive of all were his eyes, hidden, now, deeply in shadow. They were a tawny, gold-colour, flecked with dark amber and clouded, lightly, with mist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For a long time now – most of the evening, in fact – he had sat sideways on to his father, perched with his butt on the low wooden table, staring into the fire. His knees were widespread, and his forearms rested across his thighs. It was an attitude that curved his spine and lowered his head; Ben found the position hauntingly familiar. Late as it was, the younger man showed no sign of moving; the rest of the family was already abed and, presumably, asleep. Something was bothering him and had been for some time. Ben knew the signs and the symptoms. This late night sitting in front of the fire was an indication that Adam was about ready to talk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben scraped a match and puffed his pipe into life. Through the inevitable cloud of smoke, he asked quietly, \u201cIs there something you\u2019d like to discuss?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The question was unnecessary, the answer, obvious. It was his time-honoured way of opening this sort of conversation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shifted slightly, more of a tightening of muscles than a straightening of posture: again, a familiar sign. Ben heard his faint sigh, a gentle exhalation of long, pent-up breath. His gaze still fixed on the heart of the fire, he said, \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben waited. Nothing more came. Ben wasn\u2019t unduly surprised. Of all of his sons, Adam was the most introverted, the one who found opening up the hardest to bear. Getting him to reveal his innermost feelings was something akin to getting blood from a stone. It wasn\u2019t a thing to be hurried. After a minute he nudged again. \u201cWould you care to tell me what you\u2019ve been thinking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed again, this time more audibly. \u201cAbediah Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Of all the answers Ben might have expected, this was the one furthest from his mind. He went back in his memory to a sun-bright street: his son standing toe to toe with a stranger. A blaze of gunfire and sudden death.\u00a0 Abediah Harbinger had ridden out of nowhere and called Adam out. Adam had been faster, by the breadth of a hair, but his victory had cost him dearly. Even as he died, Harbinger had declined to name the man who had hired him. The thought that someone wanted him dead had played on Adam\u2019s mind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And then he\u2019d seemed to get over it, almost over night. Ben realized now that had all been simply an act. Adam might have buried his problem deep down inside, but it was still there, eating away at him. Ben tried to appear unsurprised.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe gunman who tried to kill you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone paid him to do that. I need to know who it was and why.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A log fell in the fire, and the flames danced higher. The firelight gilded the planes of Adam\u2019s face. Ben saw the intensity of feeling etched into his expression. He took the pipe stem out of his mouth. \u201cAre you sure it\u2019s going to be possible to find that out?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m not sure of it.\u201d Adam\u2019s voice came quietly, calm and collected. Quite obviously, he\u2019d thought the thing through. \u201cBut I have to try. I need to find who hired Harbinger. I have to track him down and ask him why he did it. I can\u2019t live the rest of my life wondering if he\u2019s going to try again.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou think they might? It\u2019s been a year now. More than a year.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the not knowing that gets to you.\u201d Adam sounded philosophical, almost amused at his own predicament. \u201cEvery time I get up in the morning and look in the mirror, I wonder if that\u2019s a face someone is looking for. Every time I sign my name, I wonder who\u2019s going to read it. When I ride into town I wonder if there\u2019ll be a stranger there, waiting for me, or someone lying in wait with a rifle just \u2018round the next bend in the trail. It\u2019s not that I\u2019m afraid, although that comes into it too. I need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben sucked on his pipe while he thought about it. The clock ticked more seconds from present too past. Finally, he inquired, \u201cHow do you intend to go about this?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sitting up straighter, Adam pulled an envelope from inside his shirt. Ben recognized it at once: the size, the shape, the expensive, cream, laid paper. It was from the family lawyers in San Francisco. Adam had received several just like it in the last few months, each addressed to him personally in Westacotte\u2019s spidery hand. He had read them all privately and answered at once, often riding into Virginia City at odd hours to mail his replies. Ben had assumed the letters concerned some business venture his son was engaged in and wasn\u2019t prepared, yet, to talk about. It seemed he had assumed wrong.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t hand the envelope over, nor did he open it himself. He merely turned it over and over in his long, brown fingers. Evidently, he knew the contents by heart. Ben waited patiently for him to continue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHarbinger came up the river to Sacramento. He bought a horse from the livery stable and rode over the mountains to Virginia City. He was already asking for me by name. A year before that he was in Kansas, Missouri. He had quite a reputation as a gunfighter in the small towns thereabouts. He gunned down several men. Westacotte\u2019s unable to trace him back any further than that.\u201d Adam paused, tapping the envelope thoughtfully against the tips of his fingers. Still looking into the fire and not at his father, he said, \u201cI guess it\u2019s time to take me a little trip. With a string of horses, I can packsaddle my way across the desert to Denver, then take the stage further east. I\u2019ll ask some questions, poke around, see if I can find out where he came from and what set him on my tail.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben considered the bowl of his pipe. \u201cYou realize that whatever reputation as a gunfighter Harbinger might have had is yours now to carry.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now Adam looked at his father, a lightening fast glance that betrayed a great deal of the doubt he was feeling. \u201cI\u2019m not a gunfighter. I never asked for a reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNevertheless, you\u2019ll find that you have one, and you might have to defend yourself. You\u2019re fast with a gun, and you\u2019re clever, but you\u2019ll have to keep your wits about you if you\u2019re not to get yourself killed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stared into the fire. The flames were dying now, the embers turning into ash. Ben could see the side of his face, the planes and the angles lit by the glow; he could see the flux of emotion and the fierce determination. He knew what Adam was about to say before he drew breath to say it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be careful, but this is something that I have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben knew that edge to his son\u2019s velvet voice. Hard headed and stubborn as he was, there was to be no dissuading him. Ben felt regret and a certain pride. \u201cWhen will you go?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let out a long, slow breath. \u201cI guess there\u2019s no time like the present.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The moment stretched forever. \u201cYou\u2019ve really made up your mind about this?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve made up my mind.\u201d There was nothing more to be said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Leaning forward, Ben tapped out his pipe on the hearthstone. He stood and stretched and then stepped towards the stair. Stopping, he looked at his son a good, long while \u2013 absorbing his presence, the shape and the form, the scent of his hair oil and, faintly, the smell of his sweat. He was afraid that he might never see him again. He put a hand on Adam\u2019s hunched shoulder, feeling the coiled strength and the tension in the muscle. He gave it a squeeze. \u201cTake care of yourself, son.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam listened to his father\u2019s familiar, slow step climbing the staircase, fading into the quiet. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of his bedroom door closing in the upper part of the house. For several minutes he sat quite still, gazing into the hearth while he considered his options again. He came to the same conclusion. If he was to live his life as a man \u2013 the sort of a man he wanted to be and not always be looking behind him \u2013 he had to make a real attempt to find out who had wanted him killed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His bags were packed and his final preparations all made. His string of horses was already waiting for him out in the barn. The only thing that had been left to do was to speak to his father, to try to explain. Now, there was nothing left to hold him here except his desire to stay. Straightening smoothly, he crossed the room in a few, easy strides. Taking his coat and his hat from the rack, he strapped on his gunbelt and tied the holster down. If he was going to be a gunfighter, he might as well look the part.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took a last, long look around the room. He had lived in this house the whole of his adult life, but, already, it was taking on a strange aura of unfamiliarity, as if it belonged to another man in another life: one he was putting behind him. Leaving was such a simple thing, and, yet, it was so very difficult. All of a sudden, he was eager to be gone. By the time the sun came up over the edge of the world, he could be riding the fringe of the desert, the Ponderosa behind him and the solution, perhaps, to the mystery that plagued him ahead. He set his hat on his head and stepped out into the night, closing the door, very quietly, behind him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam tossed his carpetbag up to the driver who fitted it in among the other bags and baggage like a piece in one of those new-fangled jigsaw puzzles. Stepping back, he took a last, long look at the town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Denver City, only recently and grandly renamed from the original St. Charles, had long been a stopping place for traders and trappers. Settled in the \u2018Pike\u2019s Peak or bust\u2019 gold rush of eighteen fifty-nine, at the junction of Cherry Creek and the South Platte River, it was affectionately known by its inhabitants as \u2018The Mile High City\u2019. Because of its elevation of more than five thousand feet, its climate tended to be crisp and dry, but this day, already, at five in the morning, there was a hint of the sultry heat that would come.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sun was up above the mountain and cast long, dark shadows all along Main Street, a long, even thoroughfare of hard pounded dirt and stones. On either side, the buildings showed signs of hasty construction. They were mostly of wood and plaster and wattle and daub with painted false fronts and covered boardwalks. There was very little brick or stone anywhere in evidence. They huddled more closely together than Adam thought prudent. The place looked ripe for a fire.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the three days since he had ridden in from the western deserts, he\u2019d sampled all the various delights that the town had to offer. He\u2019d sold his horses and taken the opportunity to sleep in a feather bed and fill his belly with well-cooked food before he\u2019d booked a seat on the stage.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now, rested and fed, barbered and shaved, in a dark suit for travelling with a thin white shirt and black ribbon tie underneath, he was ready to continue his journey.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Turning, he watched as his fellow passengers emerged, blinking, from the gloomy interior of the stage office into the bright, morning sunlight: two women and a man.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The driver, an ageing, greying, moustached individual who went by the name of Tom, leaned down from the high, bench seat and spat a golden stream of tobacco juice into the dirt. Carefully aimed as it was, it missed the folds of the older woman\u2019s skirts by just a few inches and demonstrated adequately the company man\u2019s contempt for his charges. The woman stepped away with a satisfyingly loud exclamation of disgust, and Adam suppressed a smile. Right at the outset, they had all been suitably put in their places.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cClimb aboard, folks!\u201d the driver bellowed, \u201cOr I\u2019ll be a-leavin\u2019 without ya!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Always the gentleman, Adam stepped forward and doffed his hat. He smiled a winning smile and offered his hand. \u201cAllow me to help you, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman regarded him coolly through the veil of her hat, annoyance still plainly evident on her severe, middle-aged face. Then she allowed herself to be handed into the carriage. The second woman gave Adam her hand: a small hand gloved in black satin trimmed with fine lace. Veiled and hatted, she lowered her face demurely as she climbed the two steps into the coach and pulled the trailing hems of her skirts in behind her. Adam was aware of the warmth of her hand and caught the scent of summer roses.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Swinging in after her, Adam settled himself into the seat with his back to the driver. The other man climbed in beside him and slammed shut the door. With a whoop and a holler that broke the still morning, Tom-the-driver whipped up the horses and the stagecoach lurched into motion. Each of the passengers took several long moments to sum one another up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man who had sat himself down next to Adam was oddly deceptive in build. His height and the breadth of his shoulders were disguised by a hunched up posture and the cut of an ill-fitting suit. His clothes were a badly chosen mismatch: a grey chequered jacket and baggy grey pants, brown buttoned boots and a brown bowler hat. Under the coat was a silver brocade waistcoat that reminded Adam poignantly of that sometimes worn by his father. The whole ensemble gave the fellow the look of a drummer, a travelling salesman, inevitably, a rogue. His eyes were bright blue, the blue of the sea on a bright summer\u2019s day, the blue of the sky, set in a moon-shaped face of loose, moist-looking skin. He smelled of pomade and the smoke of expensive cigars. From where Adam sat, he could see no sign of a gun, which struck him as kind of unusual.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After a minute or two rocking and rolling inside the coach, the drummer took off his hat and revealed a thinning mop of sandy brown hair. It made his round face look younger. The small, pointed teeth that showed when he smiled displayed several gaps. Adam guessed that a man of such unappealing appearance would have little success as a salesman unless he had a personality as big as all outdoors. The drummer pulled out a huge spotted handkerchief and mopped at his sweating face. The blue eyes switched from one face to another. He said, in a breathless, reed thin voice. \u201cWell, folks, as we\u2019re going to be spending several days in each other\u2019s company, perhaps we should introduce ourselves.\u201d Anxious for agreement, the eyes did the rounds again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The older of the two ladies gazed at him with stern disapproval \u2013 it seemed to be her habitual expression. Adam guessed that she disapproved of the world in general and was in a constant state of irritation. She had lifted her veil and her eyes were a frosty grey. He placed her age at somewhere about forty; the fine lines about her eyes and mouth gave the lie to her raven black hair. Tightly corseted as she was, and laced into a dark and heavy travelling dress, she was certain to become more uncomfortable and a great deal more cross as the day grew hotter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy name,\u201d the drummer went on, unabashed, \u201cIs Morton Teasdale. Morton P. Teasdale, to be exact. I\u2019m a travelling man headin\u2019 for the Great Lakes area.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam caught the flash of the eyes. The drummer was asking, begging, in fact, for him to take up the thread. Still amused, Adam was prepared to oblige. \u201cI\u2019m Adam Cartwright out of Nevada territory, bound for Kansas, Missouri, on business.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPleased to meet you, Mister Cartwright.\u201d Teasdale offered his hand. The fingers were limp and the palm warm and damp and ever so slightly sticky. Adam resisted the urge to wipe his own hand along the leg of his pants.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He touched the brim of his hat to the lady. \u201cAnd you, Ma\u2019am?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The grey-eyed woman condescended to smile – the merest twitch that pulled down the corners of a thin, straight mouth as she surrendered her feelings to the necessity of the situation. \u201cI\u2019m Mrs. Emily Neston, travelling home to St Louis \u2013 and this is my sister Elise.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The other woman raised her veil. Beneath the beaded and feathered bonnet, the face was younger and softer than Adam had anticipated; he found it rather attractive. At perhaps thirty years of age, Elise\u2019s fine features had not yet started to age. Adam was taken at once by the peach-blossom pink of her cheek, the deeper hue of her full lower lip and the lustrous sweep of dark lashes.\u00a0 He realized that he was staring rudely and touched his hand to his hat. \u201cMiss Elise.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The eyes that lifted again to his were as grey as a spring-morning sky: altogether a kinder and warmer version of those of her sister. She flushed as a smile came to her lips. \u201cMister Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled back, deep dimples playing in his cheeks, and Elise blushed again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy sister is an unmarried lady.\u201d Emily Neston said sternly, her disapproval showing again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Beyond his control, Adam\u2019s smile widened. \u201cThat\u2019s very nice to know.\u201d He was starting to look forward to a more pleasant trip than he had been anticipating.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rolling now at a faster rate as it left the precincts of the town, the stage hit a rut with a jolt that threatened to punch its passenger\u2019s spines out through the tops of their hats. Adam heard the driver cursing the horses.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With Denver left firmly behind them in the rising haze of the day, the characteristics of the Colorado landscape made themselves apparent: the smoothly rolling foothills of the eastern Rocky Mountains, short, pale-green pasture ripening now into sere brown with the approaching heat of the summer, low-level forests and neat clumps of trees, isolated farmsteads and barns built of wood with close shuttered windows and grey slatted roofs. An occasional stretch of ancient fence line followed the lie of the land. To Adam\u2019s eyes, used as they were to towering pines and the majestic sweep of the mountains, the mirror bright lakes and the dry, desert vistas of home, this panorama resembled a manicured parkland, long settled and tamed. Even the cattle, raising their heads from the grass to watch as the stage rolled past, were of a different breed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They were fourteen miles out of Denver and running ahead of time when they stopped to change the horses. The fresh team was waiting, harnessed and ready at the swing-station and the job was quickly done. Tom-the-driver exchanged friendly curses with the horse-handlers, and they were on their way once more. There was no opportunity for the passengers to step down and stretch their legs.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the rocking and rolling stagecoach beneath the brazen bowl of the sky, the temperature climbed steadily into the eighties and then to the nineties. Little air blew in through the glass-less openings in the side of the coach and what did was hot and laden with dust. Lacing closed the leather shutters only made things worse. At about mid-morning, the gentlemen asked for, and received, permission to remove their coats. Everyone suffered: the women more than the men.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was noon and there were fifty miles of road behind them when the stage rolled into the yard of the first home station. A small scatter of wooden buildings and a sprawl of corrals surrounded a windmill that drove a clanking pump. Adam had long had a fascination with windmills; he leaned out of the coach and craned his neck for a better look. There were three, long open-ended barns of a design not seen west of the Rockies and a sturdily built, three-roomed cabin with several sheds behind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As soon as the coach had lurched to a halt, Adam swung open the door and jumped out. He had been sitting for hours on a hard, leather seat and it was a considerable relief to straighten the kinks out of his back. Tom-the-driver threw the short stepladder down to him and spat out his well-used wad of tobacco.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cForty minutes, ladies and gents!\u201d he yelled at the top of his voice. \u201cForty minutes ta eat an\u2019 ta piss.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was at his most handsome and charming best, smiling as he helped the ladies alight. The women made a beeline for the outhouse that stood, set back at an angle, behind the house, and the men headed with equal alacrity for the side of the nearest barn. His personal equilibrium and comfort restored, Adam strolled back to the house with Teasdale.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your line of work, Mister Cartwright?\u201d Teasdale inquired. His bright eyes were focused away. He was watching the station manager and his two black assistants change the horses again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCattle,\u201d Adam said easily. \u201cTimber. Mining.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd that sort of business brings you all the way from Nevada to Kansas?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His feathers considerably ruffled, Adam threw a quick, penetrating glance at Teasdale\u2019s face. It was considered bad form in the west, almost an insult, to enquire too closely into another man\u2019s affairs. But Teasdale\u2019s round face was bland, his features innocent of guile, his question, apparently, idle. Across the yard the sweating men were shouting as they backed a recalcitrant animal into the traces.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m travelling on business of my own,\u201d responded Adam, tartly. \u201cAnd yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Unabashed, Teasdale turned his bird-bright eyes towards him. He seemed cheerfully unaware that Adam had turned his question neatly around. He pulled out his handkerchief and swabbed at his face. \u201cIt gets real hot this time of year.\u201d As an apology, if it was intended as such, it didn\u2019t go very far. Adam returned the grin with a small smile of his own. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and chuckled out loud. For all the fat-faced drummer\u2019s clumsy ineptitude, it was damned hard not to like the man.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Luncheon, served on tin plates at a sturdy trestle table by the station manager\u2019s wife, consisted of chicken and cabbage. Both had been boiled in a huge iron pot until they were all but tasteless. At least the helpings were large, and a big china bowl filled with pickle was set down in front of the diners to add piquancy and substance to the meal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all you\u2019ll get along this road,\u201d the station manager\u2019s wife declared. \u201cChicken an\u2019 greens: that\u2019s all the stage line sends us.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s better at this place than most,\u201d Tom-the-driver added with a wave of his fork from his seat at the end of the table. He winked at the station manager\u2019s wife and she gave him a beaming smile in return.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Emily Neston said, dryly, \u201cI find that hardly an inspiring diet.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a whole lot better than mesquite beans.\u201d Determined to make the best of the meal, Adam helped himself to a generous serving of pickle and mixed it in with his greens. Elise stared at him with wide silver eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, Mister Cartwright, I\u2019ve heard that you eat such things in the west. I can\u2019t really believe that it\u2019s true.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou can believe it.\u201d Adam smiled at her across the table. She really was an attractive woman with a pleasant, finely boned face perfectly shaped to house those lustrous, silver-grey eyes. He swallowed down a mouthful of cabbage and pickle and forked up another. \u201cI have a brother who swears by a diet of mesquite beans.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd rattlesnake?\u201d Asked Elise, fascinated despite a deep-seated sense of revulsion. \u201cI\u2019ve been told that men eat rattlesnake.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled. \u201cI guess that\u2019s been known \u2013 on occasion.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve heard it told that a man will eat just about anything if he gets hungry enough.\u201d Morton Teasdale was devouring his meal with apparent relish. Glancing around the table, Adam noticed that Emily was poking at the mess on her plate with obvious distaste. Adam figured that she was going to be a very hungry lady by the time she reached St. Louis if the standard of food didn\u2019t improve. Her sister wasn\u2019t doing much better.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Finally, Elise put down her fork. She looked at Adam. \u201cDo you really have mountains of pure silver in Nevada?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chewed and swallowed. He ate with the dogged determination of a big and powerful man who knew that he needed food to keep body and soul together. While he fulfilled that need, he led the conversation. He gave a vivid description of his home in the west: the magical mirror-surface of the bottomless lake that changed in aspect from minute to minute and reflected so perfectly the mood of the watcher, the endless, utterly silent forests planted at the beginning of time by the hand of the Lord, the rush and tumble of icy rivers and the glory of sunrise over the desert. Always aware of the sensibilities of the ladies, he omitted to mention the harsher aspects of life: the cruel and backbreaking work a man had to do just to wrest a living from a beautiful but unforgiving country, the privations of freezing cold winters, the scarcity of medical facilities and the sad lack of effective sanitation. He found that he enjoyed talking about his home and his family; the words came easily and made them seem nearer.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As Adam talked and consumed the last of his meal, he was aware of Elise\u2019s eyes fixed on his face. It was not an unpleasant experience. She was an attractive and attentive audience, and, although he spoke to the room as a whole, his words were intended for her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To follow the chicken and greens was a warm, sweet pastry filled with dried fruits and a large pot of coffee to wash it all down. The station manager\u2019s wife cleared the dishes from the table. \u201cIffen you ladies want ta freshen up some, you\u2019re welcome to use the room at the back. There\u2019s a cold-water trough right outside fer the men-folks.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAn\u2019 the stage\u2019s leavin\u2019 in five minutes sharp!\u201d added Tom-the\u2013driver and chewed a fresh chunk of tobacco off a fist-sized lump. Adam and Teasdale drank down their coffee and went out to use the facilities offered.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam dipped his hands wrist deep in the water and used his damp palms to cool his neck. The sun, its disk too bright to look at, beat down on the top of his head. The cloth of his shirt clung to his ribs as the dry heat sucked the perspiration out of his skin. The early afternoon air was motionless, too hot to breathe; it carried the jingle of harness from the impatient horses and the constant creak of the pump.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale soaked his handkerchief in the horse trough and used it to mop his face. He winked a wide eye at Adam. \u201cIt looks like you\u2019ve got it made there, Mister Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Up to his elbows in cooling water, Adam was taken by surprise. \u201cWhat are you getting at?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCome on! Don\u2019t play coy with me. It\u2019s obvious to everyone.\u201d Chuckling at his own observation, Teasdale wiped the wet cloth around the back of his neck. \u201cYou surely don\u2019t believe that Miss Elise is all that interested in silver mining and cattle?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Thinking about it, Adam had to agree. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t suppose she is.\u201d A smile came to his face and a sparkle of interest into his eyes. He laughed gently against himself and repeated, \u201cI don\u2019t suppose she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a sound that resembled a high-pitched giggle, Teasdale slapped him hard on the back. Adam staggered. The drummer had a whole lot more hitting power than Adam had given him credit for. Teasdale consulted his pocket watch. \u201cTime to be on our way. There\u2019s no doubt about it, it\u2019s a long road from here to Kansas.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Squinting, Adam looked up. The vanes of the windmill spun endlessly against the bronze coloured sky. \u201cNo doubt about it,\u201d he said to himself and followed Teasdale to the coach. They ladies rejoined them almost at once, and within a few minutes they were once more on their way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Without asking the consent of the women, Teasdale unbuttoned his waistcoat; from amongst his belongings he produced a box of cigars. He offered one to Adam, who declined. \u201cYou don\u2019t mind if I smoke, ladies?\u201d he inquired with a disarmingly crooked smile. \u201cI find a cigar always helps to settle a meal.\u201d Without waiting for a response, he struck a long match and puffed the cigar into life. Oblivious to Emily\u2019s hard look, he retreated into his corner of the coach behind a haze of smoke.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The stage swayed and bounced along the road; the iron-shod wheels found every rut and pothole. The leather-strap springing conveyed every jounce and jolt directly to Adam\u2019s back. A man who had always preferred the back of a horse to stagecoach travel, he could feel the bones of his butt wearing through to the seat of his pants. Inside the coach, the temperature soared to ninety-four degrees.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was too hot to breathe. Elise fanned herself with a black-lace fan while Emily sniffed continuously at a handkerchief soaked in cologne. Adam pulled his hat down over his face to shade his eyes from the sun. The rough road and the heat, the noise of the wheels and the constant shouted curses of Tom-the-driver made it impossible to doze. Ten more miles of noisy and acutely uncomfortable travel later, Teasdale gave up all pretence of trying to sleep. He sat well forward in his seat with his hands in between his knees, and he started to talk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Relaxed in his own corner, Adam soon found he was listening with more than half an ear. Most of the tales were old and familiar, and, cleaned up for the sake of the ladies, they lost a lot of their original appeal. Adam had heard the majority of them before in one form or another, but some were entirely new, and Teasdale told them well. Adam was amused despite himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale had travelled extensively south of the border, and many of the stories were a catalogue of his adventures and the things he had seen. Adam was especially interested in the graphic and detailed descriptions of Indian cities deep in the rain forests of South America, of ancient walls consumed by creepers and blunted pyramids jutting above the jungle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Three swing stations later and three more changes of horses, the road curved into a valley between low hills. It was evening. As the sun slid slowly down the sky towards the now distant Rocky Mountains, the stagecoach\u2019s shadow raced before it. Old Tom slapped the reins and whooped at the horses to make them run faster. Inside the coach, the passengers had lapsed, at last, into silence. Even Teasdale\u2019s, apparently endless supply of anecdotal stories had petered out. A few minutes later, the home station came in sight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The house was a pleasant two-storey affair, painted white and nestled into a hollow in the land. Lamps already burned at all the windows and made them glow in the greying light. A Dutch-style barn stood alongside and several corrals were filled with the stage line\u2019s horses. As the stage pulled in, three mongrel dogs ran into the yard, yapping and snapping at the horses\u2019 heels. A boy ran after them, calling them back and a big man\u2019s voice bellowed in anger.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The heat, now dissipating as the afternoon died, had left the passengers exhausted. They were bruised and battered by the rough journey and sore to the bones. Adam, still in his shirtsleeves, handed the ladies down as before. The time for chatter and cheerful conversation was over. They were all tired and dusty, and none of them had the energy or the inclination to do more than visit the usual offices and trudge wearily into the house.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The chicken, this time, was fried \u2013 a crisp, golden brown on the outside and succulently moist within, and the greens were flavoured with almonds. Afterwards, there was a rich, creamy pudding that melted away in the mouth. \u201cIt\u2019s better this place than most.\u201d Tom-the-driver declared with conviction. Inwardly, Adam smiled. No doubt it was a phrase with which the company man favoured all the ladies along the route. It insured him a warm and friendly welcome at every stop. Not only was the meal well cooked, they had a whole hour stopover in which to eat it!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Afterwards, renewed and refreshed and with a new cigar clenched firmly between his teeth, Morton Teasdale settled back into a comfortable chair and began to talk again. Almost word for word he repeated the tales he had told before. Now, of course, he had a brand-new audience paying him rapt attention: the station man and his wife and son. Adam shrugged into his jacket, and, quiet and unnoticed, he stepped outside to stretch his legs and to spare himself the incessant sound of the drummer\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sun had settled into the cradle of the western peaks, and the blazing fires of sunset were no more than distant, glowing embers; overhead, the sky darkened towards black. The moon, not quite full-faced, was rising, and the stars were coming out. With the coming of night, the heat had faded completely, leaking away into the immensity of creation. A light breeze had arisen, blowing down from the hills. Almost cool, it brushed softly against Adam\u2019s cheek: the faintest touch, the kiss of a lover. He sipped at the air, then filled his lungs to capacity. Like a fine, white wine, it went straight to his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around the home station, the landscape lay still and utterly silent, highlighted in silver by the light of the moon. The country was totally different from the land he knew so well. An alternative aspect of the good Lord\u2019s creation. The hills were flattening, levelling out. A clump of shade trees stood close to the house, black, brooding forms against the brighter night. A dozen cows stood against the outer fence. Starlight gleamed in their patient, bovine eyes and fell softly on the backs of the restless horses inside the corral.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Behind Adam, the door of the house opened and, softly, closed. A small, dark clad figure, a woman\u2019s form, slipped out and came to stand on the porch beside him. Adam straightened himself from his habitual slouch against the porch post and touched the brim of his hat. \u201cMiss Elise.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise\u2019s head came just to his shoulder. She had taken off her gloves and her hat and carried them, now, in one hand. Some of her dark hair had escaped from its pinning. Wisps of it curled on her forehead and a dark tendril coiled against her cheek. In the moonlight her skin had a pearly opalescence, and her grey eyes were colourless. Adam again smelled the faint waft of her perfume and the scent of the woman herself, slightly spicy, strong and sweet on the evening air. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he touched his tongue to his lips. He was both interested and physically attracted. Mindful of Teasdale\u2019s words earlier in the day, he laughed at the moon and chided himself gently. A romantic encounter was not the purpose of his journey; he not could afford the distraction.\u00a0 She smiled up at him, a trifle shy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Cartwright, do you mind if I join you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all. It\u2019s a beautiful evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt certainly is.\u201d Elise raised her face towards heaven and followed Adam\u2019s example, taking deep breaths of the cooling night air. \u201cMy, the stars are bright tonight. Do the stars shine so bright in Nevada?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam squinted up at the sky. \u201cI guess the stars are pretty much the same all over.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think you believe that at all. You might be a very practical man when it comes to ranching and mining, but I sense you have poetry in your soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled. \u201cMy father tells me I spend too much time with my head in a book.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd have you done much travelling?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSome. I\u2019ve been to Boston, New York, and San Francisco. Not as far afield as our friend Teasdale.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAh. Mister Teasdale.\u201d White teeth showed against ivory skin. \u201cHe talks such a lot, and yet he says so little. After all this time, we still know nothing about him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam acknowledged that it was true. The drummer had never said a word about who he was or where he had come from. His conversation consisted entirely of stories.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise said, \u201cI think I\u2019d like to walk a little.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stepped down from the porch. \u201cAllow me to show you the moonlight.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She flushed and glanced at the house. \u201cI\u2019m not sure my sister would like it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not asking you sister.\u201d Smiling, Adam held out his hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose it wouldn\u2019t be seemly to walk alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam doffed his hat and they strolled across the yard to the fence of the horse corral. Inside, the animals stirred restlessly, a dozen or more semi-wild creatures broken only to work in harness. Disturbed by the human visitors, a wide-eyed roan threw up his head and snorted. As if at a signal, the horses moved off, galloping \u2018round the corral. Barely able to see over the top rail, Elise watched with excitement. Adam, who knew very well what a horse looked like, feasted his eyes on her face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell me something about yourself?\u201d he suggested. \u201cHave you travelled at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no. I\u2019ve always lived in St. Louis.\u201d The silvered eyes shot him a glance and then retreated again behind lowered lashes. \u201cI nursed father for years after mother passed on; when Emily was widowed, we decided to live together.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou sound as if you\u2019ve led a sheltered life.\u201d Elise flushed again, and Adam was at once contrite. \u201cForgive me. I didn\u2019t mean to be personal.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not like that at all. I have my books and my needlework and I play piano.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about a social life? Don\u2019t you go out anywhere? The theatre? The opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I do!\u201d Elise laughed: a pretty bell-like sound that rang through the night and startled the horses again. \u201cI have lots of friends in St Louis.\u201d I belong to the Literary Circle and the Church and the Ladies League. And I have afternoon tea with the ladies in town each Thursday\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe Ladies League?\u201d Adam was suddenly amused, laughing gently. \u201cTell me what that\u2019s all about.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise had the grace to look sheepish and just a little ruffled. \u201cMainly we do good works among the sick and the needy. You\u2019d be surprised what ladies can do, banded together.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t be surprised at all. It sounds like a very worthy endeavour.\u201d Adam took her hand, her fingers small and starkly white against his own, deep tanned digits, and raised them to his lips.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise blushed. \u201cWhy, Mister Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Not far away along the fence, a cigarette glowed in the dark: one of the horse handlers was having an evening smoke. Aware of the proprieties and careful of the lady\u2019s reputation, Adam offered his arm and walked her back to the coach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Hauled along by a fresh team of horses, the stage plunged on through a tunnel of darkness, following the silver-lit road. Tom-the-driver, left behind with his endless supply of chewing tobacco to catch up on a good night\u2019s sleep, was replaced on the high seat by big, fat Clem.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His hat pulled well down over his eyes, Adam managed to doze, but every jolt and jar of the stagecoach shook him half-awake. Once, about midnight, he woke up fully when they stopped to change horses again. The shouts of the men as they cursed the animals and the buffeting of the coach made sleep illusive for all but Teasdale. The drummer\u2019s slow, steady snores continued unabated. Emily stirred restlessly, still half asleep, her uneasy slumber disturbed by all the commotion. Elise smiled wearily at Adam from the far side of the coach, and he was happy to smile back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked out of the window. The view had changed yet again. Beneath the star-spangled dome of the sky, the prairie was all but featureless. It was utterly silent, and there were no signs of life. Clem yelled at the horses and slapped the reins on their backs. The coach lurched into motion again. Pulling his hat back over his eyes, Adam settled into his corner once more and tried to go back to sleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morning. The sun came up in a blaze of glory over the eastern skyline.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the first, faint glimmer of daylight, the stage had pulled in to another home station. A shabby collection of clapboard shanties clustered about the sturdier wood-framed house and the obligatory corral. Smoke had risen from one of the smoke-holes: a single column of purple-brown haze that climbed half a mile into the sky before it feathered away on the wind. Several dishevelled and sleepy faced children, spindly legs showing white beneath knee-length night-shirts, had appeared in one of the doorways. Wearily, the passengers climbed from the coach and made their way into the house.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the help of cold water and a keen-edged blade, Adam scraped the black growth of beard from his cheeks and his chin. A wholesome breakfast of eggs, scrambled exactly the way he liked them, freshly made bread and lots of hot coffee had made him a man again. The shave made him feel halfway human. Bending low over the trough, he rinsed off his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mind if I use the mirror?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale\u2019s thin voice had come from behind him. Adam hadn\u2019t known he was there. \u201cBe my guest.\u201d Adam straightened and stretched his back. He groaned aloud in anguish. He was sore to the very core of his bones and every muscle ached.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale squared up to the broken scrap of looking glass that was all the home station boasted. His face had grown a soft, sandy fuzz that made him look younger. Humming the tune of a popular song, he started to apply his razor. It both irked Adam and amused him that the drummer could be so damnably cheerful at this early hour of the morning. Of course, he reminded himself, Teasdale had snored through the night before. He dried his face on a ragged towel and looked about him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Far away in the distance, the place where the land met the sky was a hazy, dead level line. The prairie was endless, dry and featureless as far as his eye could see. The last tree in the world, or so it appeared, stood alongside the house. An olive-skinned woman with dark, hollow eyes and a shawl pulled over her head moved slowly about some unidentifiable task. A two-year-old child clung on to the hem of her skirt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As soon as the sun was properly up, the temperature started to rise. Adam felt the sweat crawl out of his skin. Without any doubt, it was going to be another hot, uncomfortable day.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He tried in vain to brush some of accumulated dirt from his clothes. His shirt and his smart, black suit, so pristine and clean only twenty-four hours before, were stiff with perspiration and liberally coated with brick red, Colorado dust. He reached for his gunbelt and buckled it \u2018round his hips.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Half-shaved, Teasdale eyed the weapon with speculation \u201cYou wear that thing as if you know how to use it.\u201d It was a statement Adam ignored.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, do you?\u201d Teasdale asked abruptly. \u201cHave you killed a man?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam got that half-amused, half-irritated feeling again. Was Teasdale being deliberately rude, or was the drummer just what he seemed -\u2013inept and unbelievably clumsy when it came to the social graces? He wagged a forefinger under Teasdale\u2019s nose. \u201cOnly a talkative fat-man in an over-loud suit.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh my, that\u2019s good! That\u2019s very good!\u201d Teasdale was pleased with the joke.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. His anger, only half aroused, faded completely away. He guessed he was just wasting his energy by getting mad. He tossed Teasdale the scrap of towel. \u201cDry your face. It\u2019s time we were leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale caught the towel but made no move to use it. He was looking beyond Adam towards the horizon. His blue eyes held an expression that Adam had seen before \u2013 a mixture of excitement and dread – on the faces of experienced men expecting an Indian attack. Adam had heard of no hostile activity in Colorado for many a-year.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Not knowing what he was looking for, Adam turned. Nothing but monotony marred the landscape. By turns, the short prairie grass was brown and purple and greeny-grey. The sky, where it touched the north-western horizon, looked bruised.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Quite suddenly, Teasdale reached for Adam\u2019s arm. \u201cYou\u2019re right, Mister Cartwright. Come along. Let\u2019s get in the coach.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The new stagecoach driver was Bill. Bill was as short as Clem had been wide, and he had badly bowed legs to boot. He climbed up on the box and gathered the reins. \u201cGet aboard, folks! It\u2019s time ta be movin\u2019!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Leaving the scatter of shacks and the sloe-eyed children behind in the dust, the stagecoach rolled on eastwards.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The day was sultry; the sky was a bowl of deep, burnished bronze. Veiled by dust and a high cloud layer, the sunlight was strangely diffuse. The landscape beyond the window was singularly uninteresting, flat in the extreme and all but featureless. Adam Cartwright concentrated the whole of his attention inside the coach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Despite Emily\u2019s undisguised disapproval, Adam chatted with Elise. He asked all the details of her charitable work, and they discussed the books they had read. They discovered a mutual and lively interest in poetry, the arts and the theatre and matched each other, quote for quote, recalling Shakespeare\u2019s plays. But Elise was obviously weary, and after some time the conversation flagged. Later on, tucked into the corner of the coach, she dozed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale kept his eye on the weather, often leaning far out of the coach to study the northern sky. The brown stain was undoubtedly spreading.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cLooks like a storm,\u201d Adam suggested.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale looked at him sharply. \u201cIt\u2019ll be a storm like you\u2019ve never had in Nevada.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fascinated, Adam paid more attention. The storm was growing apace. Adam could smell it, fierce and dusty, and he could feel it on his skin: a crawling itch caused by the increase in pressure. Clouds were piling over the landscape: flat-bottomed, slate blue, purple and brown. Their rounded heads were five miles high in the sunlight, golden lit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From her seat on the other side of the coach, Emily watched with growing alarm. She fully grasped the implications of what she was seeing. \u201cMister Teasdale, can that really be?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Raising his bowler hat, Teasdale nodded gravely. \u201cI\u2019m afraid that it can, Ma\u2019am.\u201d He leaned right out of the window and shouted up at the driver. His words were lost in the rumble of wheels, but Adam saw his arm windmill wildly in the direction of the storm cloud. Bow-legged Bill yelled at the horses in an effort to make them run faster.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was plain that the storm was moving now, swelling visibly and tracking over the land. The whole of the sky was darkening.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The base of the clouds was starting to turn, revolving about a common centre in a slow and stately dance. Adam had never seen anything like it. He felt the first touch of wind on his face; it smelled of fire and brimstone like the breath of a demon straight out of hell. He didn\u2019t experience any real sense of danger until he saw the look on Teasdale\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a tornado, Mister Cartwright, and it\u2019s coming our way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had heard of a whirlwind – had read about them in books \u2013 an almost legendary force of nature, a twisting wind of unbelievable power that swept across the central states and wreaked destruction on all that stood before it, leaving only devastation behind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From the top of the coach, Bill screamed at the horses: a string of scorching curses that cast doubt on the veracity of their parentage. The wheel hit a rock, and, for an endless moment, the vehicle was airborne. It landed with a bone-shaking jolt that bounced its passengers right off their seats. Elise woke up with a start.\u00a0 Wide-eyed and pale faced with fear the two sisters clung together in the back seat of the coach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The clouds sunk lower and turned faster as the whirlwind started to spin. Made out of cloud-stuff and coloured grey, a long, slim tube reached down from the sky. Where it touched the ground, an explosion of dust erupted. Stones and soil and grass torn out of the earth by the roots flew upwards and outwards in an ascending cloud of flying detritus that climbed halfway back to the sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Filling more than half of the heavens, the storm had moved out of the north; it marched over the land on a course that cut across the stage route ahead of the racing coach, picking up speed as it went. It chased them clear out of Colorado and into the flatlands of Kansas, a hungry beast hunting them down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now, Adam could hear it: a primordial roar of elemental fury \u2013 and now he was afraid. His mouth was dry, and he could feel his fear as a solid lump deep in the pit of his belly. It was not that he lacked courage. No one could ever accuse him of that! This was an enemy that he couldn\u2019t fight – a battle he could never win. His jaw lowered and locked; his mouth open, he couldn\u2019t take his eyes from the terrible magnificence of the storm\u2019s ever-closer approach. There seemed nothing to do but run before it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Up on the box, Bill hauled back on the reins. \u201cWhoa, there! Whoa!\u201d he called to the horses. At once the break-neck speed began to lessen.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Alarmed at the apparent, abrupt capitulation, Adam turned to Teasdale. \u201cWhy is he stopping?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no way we can outrun it.\u201d Before the stage had come to a halt, Teasdale had flung the door open and was climbing down to the ground. \u201cHelp the women out!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

While Teasdale spoke a few words to the driver, Adam stepped down and held out his hand to Elise. He could feel the wind blowing, tugging his clothes, and hear its demonic howl. Emily was reluctant to get out of the coach, and Adam had to encourage her. Then he turned his attention back to the storm. The funnel, a mile high, was thicker and darker, stained with the colours of the earth and moving steadily over the prairie, heading east of south. Adam had read that the body of a man swept up in the funnel could be found ten miles away – if it was ever found at all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale rapped him hard on the shoulder. \u201cRun!\u201d His voice was swept away by the wind, but his intention, and the direction of his pointing arm, was clear. Everyone clasped their hats firmly on to their heads and hurried, at Teasdale\u2019s direction, to the side of the road. There, someone with foresight, the stagecoach-company or, perhaps, someone else, had made a ditch and a bank. Adam clambered over the edge and Teasdale lifted the ladies down to him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bow-legged-Bill had stayed with the horses, trying to keep them calm. Now he abandoned the animals where they stood in their traces and tumbled into the ditch alongside the passengers. It was impossible to speak above the scream of the wind. Struck with awe at nature\u2019s fury, Adam watched the tornado approach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Far away across the prairie, he could see another funnel leaning at a crazy angle against the wind, and further yet, made hazy by distance and dust, still another. The nearer funnel wavered away and then turned directly towards them as if it had seen them at last and was determined to sweep them away. At its base, where the sky touched the ground, was a whirling cloud of debris and dirt. It was moving towards them faster than a good horse could run.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A voice bellowed harshly in Adam\u2019s ear, reminding him sharply of his father, \u201cGet your head down, Cartwright, unless you want it torn off!\u201d It was the drummer\u2019s voice, only it wasn\u2019t. It was strangely changed, deeper and stronger and filled with authority and determination. Adam tried to turn his head, but the hand that had been planted squarely between his shoulder blades pressed his face hard in to the dirt and made it impossible to move.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just like the others, Adam closed his eyes tightly and shielded his face in the fold of his arm. He felt the force of the wind lift his hair and pull mightily at his clothes. Wind-borne stones and splinters stung the exposed skin on the backs of his hands.\u00a0 A thousand devils screeched in his ears, and a giant\u2019s hand tried to lift him. Adam, a man not destined to fly, clung stubbornly to the earth. With the roar of a landslide, the whirlwind passed by him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For long moments, as the force of the wind lessened and the howling died away, Adam stayed flat with his long, lean body pressed tightly against the ground. He was aware that he lived; he could hear his own heartbeat and the sigh of his blood and the rasp of his breath in his throat. While he gathered together his scattered senses, his mind replayed images of home and family and the tune of a music box.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gradually, as his pulse settled, it became easier to breathe, but his lungs, he discovered, were full of dust. Everyone was coughing, and it took them all a while to recover. No one was seriously injured. In fact, except for a long, deep cut on Teasdale\u2019s face that refused to stop bleeding, no one was hurt at all. They helped one another out of the ditch and looked, first at each other and then at the world about them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nothing had basically changed. The landscape was flat beneath the overcast sky, purple and blue and shrouded with dust. Far to the south the storms were racing away from them, playing tag and chase with each other as they headed towards Oklahoma and the states beyond. Adam gazed after them with something akin to wonder. He sensed that death had snatched once again at his coattails, and, once again, it had missed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like the priest and the Levite in the Bible story, the spinning vortex had gone by on the other side of the road, merely thirty yards away. Its track across the land was clearly visible. Amazingly, the horses had not bolted, nor yet been blown away. They stood wild eyed and sweating with fear in amongst their tangled harness. The stagecoach was undamaged and standing exactly where they had left it with all their belongings still safely on board. Unthinking, still stunned by the shock of their own survival, they brushed the dirt from their clothes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spat out a mouthful of mud and turned towards the ladies. \u201cAre you both all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Emily straightened her hat and rearranged her veil. \u201cI\u2019m quite well, thank you, Mister Cartwright,\u201d she responded formally. Elise gave him a smile She had a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose which made her face even more appealing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked quizzically at Morton Teasdale. The drummer\u2019s soft, somewhat lop-sided expression was firmly back in place, bur Adam suspected that he was seeing a lie. Teasdale had read the signs in the sky and had known that the storm was coming; Teasdale had known what to do. The Teasdale who had lain beside Adam in the storm-ditch was not the Teasdale that Adam knew: that had been another man entirely and a force to be reckoned with. It occurred to Adam that Morton P. Teasdale might be more than he seemed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His curiosity piqued, Adam wanted to know more about him, who he was, where he came from and what made him tick, but his own inbred morality and the code of the west forbade him to ask. Teasdale gave him a crooked grin and dabbed at the cut with his bloodstained, spotted handkerchief.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With Elise leaning on Adam\u2019s arm and Emily walking with Teasdale, they made their way back to their coach. Teasdale assisted the ladies back into their seats; Adam helped Bill check over the horses. The bow-legged driver had a weird sense of humour. \u201cThat\u2019s three times I\u2019ve outrun a twister,\u201d he declared with a toothless grin. \u201cReckon from now on they\u2019ll be callin\u2019 me lucky!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam laughed. The world was brightening around him and suddenly he felt good. He liked the sparkle in the little man\u2019s eye. He helped straighten out the horses, then, with a last, long look at the northwestern sky, he climbed back into the coach. Bill slapped the strap reins on the animal\u2019s broad backs, and they were on their way again in a cloud of dust, crossing the vast flatlands of Kansas.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Two<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In that hot, bright, early summer of eighteen-sixty, Kansas, Missouri – destined, one day to become Kansas City to distinguish it from the state of the same name – was a brash, brawling, boisterous township of some fifteen thousand souls. First founded forty years earlier as a fur trading settlement, it had prospered and grown on the banks of the meandering Missouri River. Parts of the town, known locally as Westport Landing, still thrived as a river port. Standing at the junction of trails from north, east and south, it was the jumping off point for folks headed west along the Santa Fe and Oregon trails, and the main distribution point for goods and commodities produced in the central plains.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To the south and the east, on the flat land where, in years to come, vast stockyards would be built, was a shantytown of crude cabins and shacks and tarred-paper shelters. On the hills to the north stood fine houses of wood and stucco and stone. On the ground in between stood the town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Main Street was wide and partially paved; it ran east to west in the direction that most folks were going. In amongst the hardware and general stores, the haberdashers and dress shops, the places that sold leather and smoking tobacco, and fish and feed stuffs and corn, were eleven saloons, seven hotels, five high class brothels, four banks and the stage line office.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was after mid morning when the stagecoach rolled into town. Main Street was filled with dust and noise, crowded with people and horses and oxen and mules. Small boys bowling hoops raced with the horses, and a huge yellow dog yapped at the wheels. At the very last moment, women snatched children out from under the flying hooves. The driver, the last of a very long line and a man whose name was forgotten, hauled back hard on the broad, leather reins. \u201cWhoa now, boys! Whoa now!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tossing their heads, the horses broke stride and the coach shuddered and creaked to a halt. A black faced boy with stick arms and legs and huge, dark eyes, bare-footed and wearing a broad brimmed hat above a dazzling, tombstone toothed smile, ran out of the stage line office and bowled down the steps. Bobbing and bowing, he set up the ladder to the side of the coach. \u201cWelcome, Mista! Welcome Ma\u2019am!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was the first to emerge. It was sheer agony to unfold his long body from the close confines of the coach. His limbs were so stiff he could barely move them; his fingers and toes were cramped into immobility, and his back, he would swear, was about to break in a thousand different places. He\u2019d been shaken and rattled and bounced for so long he was sure his teeth had worked loose. Every joint pained him, including his jaw. His eyes and his mouth were full of grit and even the skin under his clothing was coated with a fine, abrasive powder. Grimacing with pain, he leaned back on his heels to straighten the kinks in his back and flexed his wide shoulders.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome, Mista!\u201d the boy said again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam summoned a smile and tossed him a silver penny. Grinning broadly, the piccaninny snatched it out of the air and scampered off to lead away the horses. Adam, squinting against the glare of the sun, turned again to the coach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale climbed down next. The well-padded drummer had travelled well and arrived in better condition. He had bounced on the bumps and rolled with the jolts and still retained his essential good-humour. Apart from the ugly cut on his face and a skin stiffening encrustation of dried sweat and dust that seemed to be universal, he looked and acted exactly as he had on the day that Adam first met him. Sweating, he mopped at his face with the same, now soiled, blood spotted and generally disreputable handkerchief. Adam knew no more about him. The strong and capable figure that had emerged, momentarily, at the height of the storm had been once more submerged in the drummer\u2019s personality. If Adam had been a fanciful man, he might have suspected his own imagination.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His exuberance undiminished, Teasdale, the affable clown, stuck out his hand. \u201cI guess this is the end of the road, Mister Cartwright; the parting of the ways. I\u2019m going on with the ladies to St Louis and then north to Chicago.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s hand was engulfed in the moist, rubbery handshake. He found something appropriate to say and promptly consigned Teasdale\u2019s face and form and his ill fitting, patchwork excuse for a suit to the soon-to-be-dusty corner of memory labelled \u2018People I never expect to meet up with again\u2019.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He handed down Emily and then Elise. The younger woman lingered, her small, gloved hand in his lean fingers. Gazing up through the fine, spotted veil of her hat, her grey eyes dwelt on his face. \u201cGood-bye, Mister Cartwright. I\u2019ve so much enjoyed your company and our little chats. I\u2019ll remember all the things that you\u2019ve told me about life in the west.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyes softened into a smile. \u201cThe pleasure\u2019s been mine, Miss Elise.\u201d Through her glove he could feel the warmth of her hand. It was true that he had enjoyed their time together. Their brief walks in the moonlight beneath the endless skies of Kansas had added spice and flavour to the mundane relationship of travelling companions, and their long conversations inside the coach had relieved the tedium of the journey. There had been no time, nor the opportunity, for the embryonic relationship to develop into anything more. The stolen moments under the stars were all there would ever be.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She stood so close to him that he could smell the sweetness of her skin and hair; beneath the fine dust that powdered her cheek he could see her mature attractiveness; her cheeks reddening slightly under his gaze. They\u2019d experienced a small slice of one another\u2019s life, and each taken pleasure in the other\u2019s presence. Adam was loath to let the moment pass, reluctant to say good-bye.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Emily Neston shook out her skirts to dislodge the dust that clung to the folds. She was immediately engulfed by a fine, rising cloud that started her coughing as she tried to wave it away. It broke the spell of the moment.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to thank you for all your kind assistance, Mister Cartwright,\u201d Emily said briskly, once she\u2019d cleared the dust from her lungs. Adam bowed, and she turned to her sister. \u201cCome, Elise, we have less than an hour to wash and change before the stage leaves for St. Louis.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming, Emily.\u201d Elise had reclaimed her hand, but continued to hold Adam\u2019s eyes with her own. \u201cIf you\u2019re ever in St. Louis, Adam, you\u2019ll be sure to come to tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled. \u201cI\u2019ll come to tea. And then I\u2019ll take you to the grandest theatre in town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like that.\u201d Elise returned the smile wistfully. \u201cI\u2019d like that very much.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a final flash of the silver-grey eyes and a swirl of her skirts she was gone on her way. Adam touched the brim of his hat and watched her hurry along the boardwalk to catch up with her sister, and then the two of him were lost to him among the crowding people.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A brown-skilled woman swept out the coach while two Negro men changed the horses for the next leg of the journey. For Adam, it was the end of the ride. He retrieved his carpetbag from the pile of unclaimed baggage and turned to survey his surroundings.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The thrill of the city ran through his veins. Adam loved cities! They were bright and loud and filled with endless possibilities. They shortened his breath and brightened his eyes and sent the blood singing through his ears. He had been to San Francisco on many occasions, both on business and on pleasure, and he had visited Boston and New York in his youth. He knew better than to gawk, but still the flood of sensation threatened to overwhelm him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kansas, already a city in all but name, was taking on a more permanent aspect than the several makeshift villages that had occupied the land before it. Ground hugging structures of wood and canvas and reed-covered cane were being replaced piecemeal by two and three storied buildings of fine, red brick and white-faced stone. Every wall was adorned with windows: lots of windows! There were more windows than Adam could remember seeing even in the cities of the east, and where he came from windows were a luxury and tended to be small and mean. He guessed that was progress for you.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Behind the grand facades that lined the principle streets, was a warren of lesser construction. Here, timber still reigned supreme as the building material of choice. It was the haunt of the washerwomen and the drovers, the cheap liquor merchants and the two-bit whores. On the flatland to the south of the town where the river tended to flood, dwelt an even poorer underclass of humanity, mostly Orientals and free black people, and settlers headed west who had gotten no farther than this before their money ran out, their animals died and the fires went out in their bellies.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The higher parts of the town were cooled by stands of white ash and elm and magnolia trees and vined with gorganvillia and Creeping-Ginny. Covered boardwalks lined the streets, with hitching rails and water troughs and tethering posts for horses. In shady corners were seats for folks to stop and rest or pass the time of day and for old-timers, men who had done their share and lived long enough to grow old, to sit and watch the rest of the world pass by.\u00a0 Pale skinned ladies in the latest French fashions, complete with veils and feathered hats, shaded their faces with lace parasols. Other ladies, often not so pale, offered their bodies, displaying shapely limbs and enticing smiles to the men-folk as they passed by. Hoards of children ran in the street, dicing with death as they danced in and out of the traffic. They seemed to be hunting in packs. Mangy dogs scavenged for scraps among drifts of garbage; come nightfall, they would hunt the rats. A barber stepped from his shop and threw out soapy water. The damp patch in the street outside his shop indicated it was something he\u2019d done twenty times already that day.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flies and mosquitoes were a constant problem. They bred in profusion in the still, swampy waters alongside the river, feasted on carrion and followed the stink of men\u2019s sweat. They were a constant source of sickness and infection. With the coming of evening, fires would be lit on every street corner and damp rags burned in the hope that the smoke would keep them at bay.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A heavy miasma hung over all: the sharp smells of tar-oil, fish and horse manure mingled with the aroma of fresh baked pies, women\u2019s perfume and the sweet smell of flowers. The stench of the blood and the sweat and the tears that had built and rebuilt this place over many years emanated out of the ground. Adam breathed it all in.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And the city was noisy; the clamour of it filled his head. It hummed and it buzzed and all about him there was a constantly audible drone of voices. A thousand throats spoke fifty different languages; every one of them cried out to be heard and understood. The resulting cacophony was all but overpowering. Bursts of music, shouting and singing and over-loud laughter spilled from the nearby saloons. There was a discordant clamour of meeting house bells, the barking of dogs and the bray of a mule, and, further away, the bellow of close-penned cattle and the distant, mournful hoot of a riverboat horn. Children bawled and drovers yelled blasphemies at their teams. A baby cried, and, somewhere, a woman squealed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At any given moment, eighty percent of the population were men, and they came in all shapes and sizes: the wide and the short and the tall. Most wore the traditional cowboy garb that Adam was used to: loose fitted woollen pants for ease in the saddle, hard wearing shirts of wool or linen or close-woven silk and a leather vest to side track the wind that scavenged the prairie at night. Scattered among them were tough mountain men in buckskin and leather, soldiers in dusty blue suits with gold braid trimming and stevedores from the riverside docks. Many sported beards and moustaches or long flowing sideburns and hair that curled over their collars.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

All about him, Adam saw faces of every colour, from yellow, to black, to brown. It was a gateway to the golden land of opportunity: a melting pot of humanity where all nations met and merged together in pursuit of a glorious dream. The wide streets of the town were thronged with men on horseback, mule-hauled wagons and ox carts. The hooves and the wheels kicked up a dust that shrouded the sun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At almost mid-day, and with the sun directly overhead, shadows were non-existent.\u00a0 Sunlight shimmered on the rumps of the horses and glanced off the street itself, turning it into a gleaming white highway. Adam crossed over, dodging the traffic with consummate ease: a skill he thought he\u2019d forgotten. He went to the bank to deposit the bank draft he carried in his wallet and drew come cash against the account, and then strolled to a hotel: not the best or the most expensive but a modest and comfortable establishment in a side street that had been recommended by friends.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The room he was given faced west, which made it cool in the day and bright in the evening. Looking from the window all he could see were walls and rooftops and an angled view of the street, but he knew that, out that way, if he went far enough, were the mountains and forests of home. A sudden pang of homesickness caught him by surprise. He considered sending word to his family, by pony express or the incredible cable that was stringing its way across the west, but he had nothing to tell them, yet. Best, he decided to let it go for a while. He put the feelings sternly aside. Nostalgia and melancholy were for children and weepy women; he was a man with more important matters in mind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The room was small, but comfortable, possessed of a polished brass bedstead and feather bed with sheets newly washed and a hand-made patch-worked quilt in shades of blue and gold. A tall dresser with pitcher and bowl and a shaving mirror graced one corner, and there was a trunk at the end on the bed for his clothes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He dumped his bag on top of the bed, eased off his boots and sat and rubbed his aching feet for a while. It had been a long and arduous journey and now that he had arrived he had to get his thoughts in order. But that bed sure looked inviting, and his eyelids were heavy. It was a great temptation to take off his coat and the gunbelt that had become his constant companion and sleep for a while.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a temptation that he resisted. Determinedly, he got himself up on his feet, padded to the dresser in his stockings and washed his face in the tepid water. With a brush and a sponge, the hotel bellboy, a Negroid man of thirty with one blinded eye and only nine fingers, worked wonders with his suit. By the time he stepped into the street again, Adam felt almost respectable. Nevertheless, his very next stop was the barbers shop, and then the public bathhouse for a short, but very welcome soak in hot water and suds to remove the last, lingering traces of trail dust from his skin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then he found an eatery and chose a seat in the window with a view of the street. The girl who served him had an evenly featured, oval face, pleasant but pale beneath a faintly olive skin. Wisps of dark hair had escaped her bun and curved on her cheeks, giving her a vulnerable look that at once roused Adam\u2019s interest. She gave him a smile that was friendly enough but her eyes were tired.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat can I get you, Mister?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hadn\u2019t eaten since breakfast and that had been scanty enough. \u201cAnything you\u2019ve got on the menu – except for chicken and greens.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This time, the smile was wider. \u201cJust come in on the stagecoach, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou got it.\u201d Adam\u2019s eyes twinkled, and, after a moment, the girl\u2019s sparkled back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou sit tight, and I\u2019ll see what I can find you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat, maybe more loose than tight with his elbows propped on the table, and, within a few minutes, found himself presented with a fine meal of liver and bacon and white mashed potatoes. He took his time eating it, watching the street; for the first time in a long time, he didn\u2019t have a stagecoach to catch. When he was finished, the girl brought him coffee and strawberry shortcake and cream. Adam gestured to the empty chair. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you sit down and rest for a while. You look like you could use a break.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The waitress looked around the room. The lunch hour was almost over and most of the tables had been vacated. \u201cWell, all right, I will, but just until you\u2019ve finished eating, or I shall get into trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She sat down and ran a hand down a leg that obviously ached with fatigue. Her skirt was rather shorter that those that Adam was used to seeing, and he was awarded a substantial glimpse of ankle and shapely shin. Fashions were certainly changing! From then on he kept his gaze strictly about the table.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t told me your name.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The young woman eyed him warily. \u201cI don\u2019t hand out my name to every stranger that comes in and asks it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Deliberately forking up strawberries, Adam said, \u201cI\u2019m Adam Cartwright from Virginia City in Nevada. Now I\u2019m not a stranger any more.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

First of all startled by his directness, the woman started to smile. Then she chuckled: a deep throaty laugh. \u201cNo, I guess you\u2019re not, Adam Cartwright. My name is Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The name certainly suited her. Chewing shortcake, Adam grinned at her. \u201cI\u2019m pleased to meet you, Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Relaxing, letting the defensive tension ease out of her, the waitress met his eyes. Adam discovered that hers were wide apart and a warm, dark brown.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m pleased to meet you,\u201d she said, \u201cWhat brings you to Kansas? You\u2019ve hardly chosen the best time of year. It\u2019ll soon be the fever season.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m here on business.\u201d Adam laid his fork down on his empty plate and dabbed his lips clean with his napkin. Mindful of what the woman had said, he was prepared to make the coffee last. \u201cWhat I really need, right at the moment, is the name of a good tailor.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA tailor?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam indicated the suit that he wore. \u201cThese are the only clothes I have with me. I had to travel light.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Still friendly, but suspicious, Rachel gave him a slantwise look. \u201cAre you sure this isn\u2019t a ploy to get to know me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA ploy?\u201d Adam was puzzled. \u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel clasped her hands together on the tabletop. \u201cMy uncle\u2019s a tailor: the best there is in town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen he sounds like the man I\u2019m looking for – unless his order books are full. I need some things in a hurry.\u201d He was aware that she was watching him narrowly, gauging his reaction from the expression on his face. There was a new tension in her attitude.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy uncle will sew you the best set of clothes you ever had and real\u2019 quickly, too. You can have a new suit by tomorrow morning – if you don\u2019t mind buying from a Jew.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his cup. Her posture and expression were hunched and defensive. There was apprehensive defiance and anger in her eyes. \u201cWhy should I mind?\u201d he inquired with gentle amusement. \u201cI don\u2019t see why that should affect the way he uses a needle, and I\u2019ve heard that Jewish tailors are the best in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel gazed at him earnestly, searching his face for his true intent. Adam kept his features open and friendly and allowed her to take her time. In a few seconds she relaxed again, chuckling with self-mockery. \u201cI wish there were more people in town that felt like you do. My uncle tries so very hard, but business isn\u2019t good.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt sympathy and understanding and a certain resignation. He had encountered many forms of bigotry and none of them were nice. \u201cSo that\u2019s why you work here? Do you live with your uncle?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy uncle and my aunt. They\u2019re all the family that I have.\u201d Her tone brooked no further questions on a sensitive subject.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam set down his cup. \u201cIf you\u2019ll give me your uncle\u2019s address and point me in the right direction, I\u2019ll be glad to go along there and give him my trade.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The same, tired smile as before lit up her face. She scribbled a few lines with a blunt stub of pencil and passed the paper over \u201cMy uncle will make you the finest suit you\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure that he will.\u201d Pocketing the paper, Adam stood up. He laid some coins on the table to pay for the meal and gathered his hat. \u201cAnd Rachel,\u201d he said kindly as she rose and stood beside him, \u201cI don\u2019t need a ploy to want to get to know you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel\u2019s eyes glowed, and, just for an instant, her fingertips lingered on the hem of his sleeve. Then she grabbed up the plates and the tip that he\u2019d left her and headed for the kitchen.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Following Rachel\u2019s directions, Adam soon found himself some streets away in the less prosperous part of the town. Here, the streets were less even but equally busy: crowded with people and horses and mules; the pace of life was just as frantic; the pulse of the city beat strong. Behind the painted, false facades was a maze of narrow passages, a veritable warren of dwellings that housed humanity of all different kinds. Adam found himself confronted with a jumble of shacks and lean-tos and sway backed cabins leaning one upon another and primitive shelters made out of heavy, tarred boards: homes and workshops, storeroom and stables. Adam could smell poverty and human despair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Several small urchins played in the mud patch at the base of a leaking water barrel. None of them had trousers. Their only garments were coarse cotton shirts that came barely down to their navels. All of them were boys.\u00a0 A sloe eye woman enticed him with a smile. Bare, brown toes peeped from beneath the hem of her skirt. The sound of bells alerted him to a train of mules coming up from behind. He crowded the wall of the building to let them go by. The bundles they carried were bulky, and they didn\u2019t smell too sweet. Walking behind them, the drover, a long-haired man with Indian blood and a scar across his face, gave Adam a lingering look of suspicion as he went by. Adam concluded that, come nightfall, this would not be a good place for a stranger to walk alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stopped an old woman that led a laden donkey. The two of them wore identical straw hats. He showed her the scrap of paper and asked directions. She smiled at him toothlessly and pointed out the way. Crossing a yard where sheets hung drying, for all the world like sails in the wind, he stumbled his way down a rutted alley and into another street. Crossing over, he found himself on the doorstep of a wooden building simply labelled \u2018Samuel Rosen – Tailor\u2019 in blue paint over the door. He pushed the door open, and a small bell announced his arrival.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The inside of the shop was gloomy and smelled of woollen cloth. In the dim, dusty light that filtered through the single, small window Adam could see the dark bolts of cloth on the shelves around the room. The tailor emerged from the room at the back, a grey-haired bespectacled man in a dark waistcoat, white shirtsleeves held up with silver expandable bracelets above the elbows and a watch-chain slung from pocket to pocket. The top of his head came just to Adam\u2019s chin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam told him who he was and what he had come for. \u201cI met with your niece. Rachel tells me you\u2019re the best tailor in town – and, right now, a tailor is what I\u2019m in need of.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs that what Rachel tells you?\u201d As Adam might have expected, Samuel Rosen\u2019s voice was light and melodic. \u201cA good girl, is Rachel – my sister\u2019s child. If that\u2019s what she tells you, who am I to say she\u2019s not right, huh?\u201d Already, from behind the crystal lenses, the tailor\u2019s bright eyes summed up Adam\u2019s physique: his height and the width of his shoulders. He assessed the way his jacket should hang and judged the fit of his trousers. \u201cIf you\u2019ll come through into the other room, young man, then I\u2019ll measure you up.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Samuel Rosen held aside the curtain that acted in place of a door, and Adam ducked under. The back room of the simple, two-roomed structure was both workshop and dwelling. A large cutting table occupied one end of the room together with a long-legged stool and a large, polished, mahogany box that contained all the tools of the tailor\u2019s trade. Into the rest of the space was crammed all the basic necessities for life: a small iron stove for cooking and heating, chairs and a cluttered table, and up against the furthest wall, curtained off from the rest of the room, a large, wooden-framed bedstead. A smaller bunk, for Rachel, was folded against the wall. In the absence of a wardrobe, clothing was hung from nails all around the walls. In pride of place was a violin, the instrument of choice of a people constantly on the move: instantly portable, just tuck it under the arm and it was packed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Samuel bustled about, collecting his tapes and his measuring stick. There was one piece of work in progress, lying on the table. Samuel pushed it aside. \u201cYou must excuse the mess in here, Mister Cartwright, always the mess!\u00a0 I am not the tidiest of workmen, and my dear wife, Mrs. Rosen will not be home until supper time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As far as Adam could see, the confusion was not caused by any lack of neatness, merely a shortage of living space. They talked for a while, and Adam found himself liking the little tailor. The family lived very simply within the strictures of their faith and kept themselves to themselves. Most of Samuel\u2019s customers were members of his own community, and, although he did not complain, it was plain that the business was not doing well. Reading between the lines, Adam realized that they just barely scraped a living. Mrs Rosen was out at work, cooking at one of these expensive hotels, to earn enough money to keep the family afloat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took off his hat and shrugged his shoulders out of his coat. For half an hour he submitted patiently to the indignities of the tailor\u2019s measure. Samuel wrote everything down in the time-honoured manner – with chalk on a small, square blackboard. Then Adam made his choice from among the bolts of cloth, ordering more than he had first intended. Samuel wouldn\u2019t take a deposit; he threw up his hands in refusal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRachel is a good judge of men – very similar to her mother. She thinks you are honest or she would not have sent you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam already had his wallet in his hand. \u201cAt least let me pay you a deposit.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no!\u201d Determinedly, Samuel waved the offer aside. \u201cYou pay me tomorrow, in the morning when you see how your suit fits you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not a very good way to do business.\u201d Adam knew he was right, but there was no way to make the old man see it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBusiness, business!\u201d Samuel showed him to the door. \u201cA man must learn to trust his own judgement, yes? Do you not find it so yourself?\u201d Adam had to admit that he did. \u201cI will deliver your suit tomorrow. You can pay me what you owe then.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found himself back in the dusty, sunlit street. He was somewhat bemused by his encounter with the tailor.\u00a0 Samuel Rosen was a singular type of man, representative of a persistent underclass. Persecuted throughout the ages by societies of every kind, they were far from an endangered species. Nevertheless, Adam felt a certain apprehension at the precariousness of their hand-to-mouth existence. He made his way by a different route, back to the centre of town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Main Street was a mile long. Adam spent the afternoon strolling along the boardwalks and gazing into store windows. The windows themselves were amazing examples of modern engineering: huge panes of glittering glass that were almost as wide as the span of his arms. Beyond the windows, inside the stores, were Aladdin\u2019s caves full of wonders. Adam felt as he had once before as a very young child, standing all by himself in the trading post at Sutter\u2019s Fort. His father had given him money of his own for the very first time. He\u2019d had ten cents in his hand and the entire world to chose from.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eventually, he made several purchases, mostly items of clothing: socks and some shirts and a pair of comfortable trousers that fitted him well in the waist and loosely over the butt, ideal for horseback riding. He paid a boy a penny to carry his packages back to his hotel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By the end of the day he found himself close to the river. He could smell the sharp scent of the water: the soft rot and decay and the stench of tannin and urine from the tannery just downstream, and he could feel the brush of its breath on his cheek. He walked down to the docks: solid timber platforms built out from the bank to provide firm moorings and easy access for the twice-weekly riverboat. At this point in its course the Missouri River was a mile wide and undammed for the whole of its length. From where Adam stood it was impossible to see the northern shore except as a dark line on the horizon.\u00a0 The river was a moving sheet of silver water sliding silently beneath a pewter sky. There were few people about now the day\u2019s work was done. The piers were mostly deserted.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After the heat and humidity of the day, Adam had expected a storm. He looked north. The wavering funnels of nature\u2019s pure savagery were permanently etched in his memory. This time there were no towering cloud-forms, no signs in the sky. The last remnants of sunset flew like bronzed banners across the darkening vault of the heavens.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From further along the wharf, Adam heard voices. They were muffled at first, then a woman cried out sharply, and a man shouted. Adam hurried, craning his neck to see what was going on. Several long jetties jutted into the water: angular fingers of black against the silver stream. They were designed to accommodate the drift barges, workhorses of the river, rather than the larger steamers. Barn-like buildings stood back from the shore: warehouses stuffed to capacity with boxes and bales, vast heaps of grain sacked up in hesian and bundles of cowhides from the southern plains.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The people moved out of the deepening shadows, moving in a group towards the river. Adam could see them more clearly now, grey figures against the gloom. There were a dozen of them altogether, mostly Negroes. The two white men were very much in charge, herding the others along a jetty towards a waiting barge. The woman whimpered again, a descending whisper of fear and desperation. Two children hung to the folds of her dress. The white men advanced. One of them raised his hand in a threat. Adam didn\u2019t like what they were doing or the way they were doing it. He decided to intervene.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A voice came from behind him, a mid-western drawl. \u201cHold it right there, Mister. Put your hands out where I c\u2019n see \u2018em.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sensed, rather than felt the gun at his back. He spread his arms out wide to the sides. \u201cYou got the drop on me,\u201d he acknowledged.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJust you remember that,\u201d came back the rejoinder. \u201cYou just stand real still now, while I take a look at your face.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s assailant stepped carefully around him, giving the big man a very wide berth, staying out of the reach of his arms. Adam watched the gleam of the gun-barrel, held steady on the bottom button of his shirt. He kept his breathing even and steady and his body very still, while the puckered scar in his belly tingled. Having been shot there once before, he didn\u2019t relish a repeat performance. The gunman ducked in quickly and lifted the front of Adam\u2019s coat, taking in the tied down holster and the polished butt of the Colt .44. He made no attempt to take the gun, as Adam had thought he might.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By now, Adam had looked the man over: middle aged, a standard cowboy type with long grey hair tied into the nap of his neck, shirt, vest and pants in the traditional style and eagle-keen eyes. He had also seen the silver star pinned to the man\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The deputy said, \u201cYou wear that piece like you know how ta use it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam responded warily, \u201cI\u2019ve used it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, don\u2019t you get no fancy ideas.\u201d The deputy backed off cautiously. The gun was still pointed at Adam\u2019s middle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI was only…\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI know what you was plannin\u2019 ta do.\u201d Seeing the sea change in Adam\u2019s eyes, the deputy relaxed a little. \u201cYou was gonna poke your nose in another man\u2019s business.\u201d Adam couldn\u2019t deny it. \u201cI know your sort. I\u2019ve seen \u2018em before. Just you remember, it ain\u2019t illegal fer a man to own slaves – leastwise, not yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Slavery! An ugly word. It conjured a host of cruel images inside Adam\u2019s head. \u201cI know it,\u201d he said carefully. He pulled a deep breath and cooled his temper. Getting himself all riled up wouldn\u2019t do any good; the deputy would certainly shoot him. \u201cCan I lower my hands?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cGuess you can.\u201d The deputy returned his own gun to its holster.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam indicated the jetty with a jut of his chin. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on over there?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJust curious.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The deputy looked at him sharply. Satisfied that there would be no trouble he turned to watch the barge loading. He hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. \u201cA man taking a coffle south to sell it. It\u2019s nothin\u2019 unusual. They drift along the Missouri here as far as St. Louis, then south on the Mississippi to New Orleans.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s expression shifted and the deputy tensed again. Here was a man who didn\u2019t miss a trick. Adam said, \u201cI thought the slave trade went the other way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot any more. These days, the price is better in the south. There\u2019s talk of abolition this side of the Mason Dixie line.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve heard tell of it.\u201d It was an idea that Adam had taken to heart. The two men stood and watched for a while as the barge finished loading. The ropes were cast off, and it drifted away downstream on the current. A single moan of desolation drifted over the water.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIf I was you, Mister,\u201d the deputy said, \u201cI\u2019d get myself back inta town. You find some real cut throats on these riverbanks at night. They\u2019d kill you for the clothes you stand up in an\u2019 that gun that you wear. Yours wouldn\u2019t be the first corpse ta slide into the water an\u2019 never be seen again.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam decided to take the advice. He made his way back towards his hotel. The bonfires had been lit now; their acrid smoke hovered in the street. It burnt a man\u2019s throat and stung his eyes, but it kept the mosquitoes away. The stores were still open; lamplight glowed pale out of every window. Lanterns, hung along the boardwalks, lit up the town as if it were day. The traffic was near as heavy as it had been at noon. Adam came to the conclusion that the city woke early, and never slept.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He visited a saloon for a leisurely beer and then, on a whim, followed the persistent ache in his groin to a high-class whorehouse where he spent two hours and several dollars on a drink and a meal and the company of a lady. Sometime after midnight, he made his way back to his hotel room and slept the night away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was awake but still in bed, drowsing, when the tapping came at his door. His visitor, rather earlier than expected, was Samuel Rosen. The tailor ignored the fact that Adam wore only the bedspread and invited himself over the threshold as if he were one of the family. He carried Adam\u2019s suit over his arm, wrapped up in muslin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was early, barely light. The tailor had undoubtedly worked all night to finish his stitching. Nonetheless, he had shaved and wore fresh linen beneath his well-brushed suit. He sat on the bed and waited while Adam wielded his razor, then helped him to dress.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The suit was a masterpiece of the tailor\u2019s art. Of fine, grey broadcloth, the jacket fitted perfectly over the shoulders, was nipped in at the waist by a buttoned half-belt, flared over the hips and hung to the knee. When he was standing, it disguised the fact that Adam carried a gun. The pants fitted snugly across the front but had plenty of room in the seat for sitting. Adam paid Samuel the full amount and the tailor went away happy; he promised to deliver the rest of the clothing by noon on the following day.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stood in front of the mirror. He brushed back his hair and added a narrow, shoestring tie to complete his ensemble. He had an appointment at ten o\u2019clock, but the rumbling of his stomach reminded him forcefully of a prior engagement. Smiling to himself in anticipation, he lifted his key from the dresser and went in search of his breakfast.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The caf\u00e9 was already open and doing a roaring trade. The window seat that Adam favoured was already occupied, so he had to take a table further inside. Rachel was very busy, and, at first, she didn\u2019t notice him. Adam didn\u2019t mind waiting. He took pleasure in watching her, the way she moved, the play of expressions across her face, the occasional glimpse of a shapely ankle beneath the short, waitress\u2019s skirt. Her face was scrubbed to pinkness, and she was neatly dressed, but Adam thought she looked even more tired than she had on the previous day. Perhaps it was his imagination, or, perhaps, he was beginning to care. His interest lit his tawny eyes to gold.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By the time she arrived at his table with her pad and her little stub of pencil poised and ready to take his order, there was a smile on his face. She jumped with the shock of recognition, startled to see him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Cartwright! What are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA man has to eat.\u201d Adam patted the vacant space just below his rib cage. \u201cBesides, I had to come to tell you that you were right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRight? I don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWeren\u2019t you the one who told me that your uncle was the best tailor in town?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now Rachel was smiling as well. \u201cYes, I did. You must think me very presumptuous.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all. I\u2019m very glad that you did. Perhaps you\u2019d allow me to show my gratitude by walking you home tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel flushed with hot embarrassment. \u201cI\u2019d like that very much.\u201d Now, several voices were clamouring for her attention. Adam ignored them and ordered his breakfast: steak and eggs with hot biscuits and butter and half a gallon of strong, black coffee. He took his time about eating it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was on time for his appointment. There was a well-polished black plate attached to the wall of the lawyer\u2019s offices. Engraved upon it was the immortal legend \u2018Fossett, Fossett, Duncan and Brown\u2019. At ten o\u2019clock precisely he was shown in to an immaculate suite of offices at the front of the building, high above the street. It was there that he met Mister Fossett, \u2018though whether he was the first mentioned or the second, Adam was never to know. Fossett was a tall man, fairly broad, but it was plain that his breadth came from comfortable living rather than good food followed by hard work. Light brown hair had receded somewhat further than Adam\u2019s and had left a shiny, tanned pate with a fringe on either side. He wore a dark, sober business suit and a suitably sombre expression. Like all lawyers everywhere, he had a friendly, but cruelly calculating, look in his eye. Adam had a premonition that this interview was going to cost him rather more than he had allowed for.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSit down, Mister Cartwright.\u201d Fossett gestured him to a well-padded, leather upholstered armchair, and settled into his own seat on the other side of the desk. Adam found himself facing the glare from the window while Fossett\u2019s face remained mostly in shade. \u201cIf you\u2019ll just bear with me a moment while I review the facts of your case..?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat and waited while Fossett, his glasses placed firmly on the bridge of his nose, perused the contents of the slim file that carried Adam\u2019s name. The windows of the office were open; he could hear the busy hum of the traffic below, the shouts of the drovers and, sometimes, the crack of a whip, and he could smell the stink of it wafting in on a fragile breeze. The only sounds inside the room were the occasional turn of a page, the sigh of his breath and the measured tick of the parliament clock on the wall.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A tall and elegant woman brought in a tray and set it down on the corner of Fossett\u2019s desk. In the steadily increasing heat of the morning, she looked cool and collected in a lace-trimmed blouse and a navy blue skirt that hung to just above her ankle. She sparkled a smile in Adam\u2019s direction. The tray held two cups and saucers, a china pot in a knitted cosy, a bowl of sugar and jugs of milk and cream. Fossett\u2019s face brightened at the sight of it; clearly, the arrival of the tray was the highlight of his morning. \u201cWould you care for some tea, Mister Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Right there and then, Adam would much have preferred a beer, but he wasn\u2019t prepared to say so. \u201cTea would be very nice.\u201d Fossett poured, leaving Adam\u2019s black as requested but taking his own with sugar and cream.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Finally, he shuffled the papers back into order and got down to business. He took off his spectacles, folded them neatly and laid them down on the desk. \u201cI don\u2019t really see how we can help you any further, Mister Cartwright. As I explained to Mister Westacotte in my letter last fall, it\u2019s proved impossible to trace any business contacts of the late Mister Harbinger or even to map his movements with any degree of certainty in the month immediately prior to his departure for San Francisco. I understand he met his unfortunate demise in a place called…\u201d He peered at a paper. \u201c Virginia City.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was at once transported to a sunlit street, familiar but strangely deserted, devoid of faces, although he was aware that a thousand eyes watched his every movement from behind shuttered windows. People he knew and respected were expecting every moment to be his last. He saw again the tall, frock-coated figure of Abediah Harbinger, stern faced, his eyes out of sight below the shading brim of his hat, and felt the crawl of fear in his belly. They had confronted each other face to face in a duel not of Adam\u2019s choosing, for reasons he still didn\u2019t understand. Harbinger had been fast on the draw, his gun leaping from its cross-draw holster like something alive. Adam had been faster still, and Harbinger had died. Adam could still smell the powder and the hot iron and the blood.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Cartwright?\u201d Fossett prompted, breaking the thread of thought.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam drew a long, deep breath as the images shattered and fell away. He knew he would never forget, but there were ghosts he had to lay.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI trust that Mister Westacotte transmitted my findings to you?\u201d Fossett was saying in his precise, lawyer\u2019s voice. He was watching Adam intently over the desk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Aware of the naked emotion that was showing on his face, Adam composed himself. \u201cIndeed he did. I have his letter here.\u201d He laid a hand on the breast of his coat where the oft-read missive resided in an inner pocket. \u201cI can\u2019t understand how a man can simply step out of nowhere – how he can have no apparent past, no contacts, no friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fossett\u2019s face took on an appropriate look of concern. \u201cFrom our investigations, it\u2019s plain that Mister Harbinger was careful not to instigate a relationship that might be construed as friendship. He seems to have been a difficult man to like.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo one at all?\u201d It seemed unlikely.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fossett pursed his lips. His fingers fiddled with the folded spectacles on the desk. \u201cHe had acquaintances, of course,\u201d he said finally. \u201c\u2018Though most would be considered of a casual nature: drinking companions, a woman or two. I understand he was not adverse to a game of cards. There was no one we could trace who related even indirectly to the -er…\u201d He hesitated and coloured slightly before finishing. \u201cunpleasant affair in which you were involved.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou say he had acquaintances? Women who knew him?\u201d Adam\u2019s eyes narrowed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOf course – everyone has acquaintances. We traced them all according to your instructions and questioned them as closely as the law would allow. To be quite blunt about the matter, none of them had ever heard of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam thought about it. It really did seem that the trail had gone cold. Here, in the relative peace of Fossett\u2019s office, drinking tea and surrounded by all the trappings of civilization, he was almost prepared to let the matter go – to draw a thick, black line under the the whole grisly business and attempt to get on with his life. If Ben Cartwright had been there at his elbow, he could probably have persuaded his son to give the whole thing up and go home. But Adam knew that he had to try to get to the bottom of the matter if he wanted to sleep at night without the haunting dreams or live without the waking nightmare of wondering who was waiting behind every closed door. Who had hired Harbinger to kill him – and would he try again? \u201cYou won\u2019t mind if I ask a few questions myself?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fossett gazed at him mournfully. \u201cOf course not. But I really don\u2019t see that it would be to your advantage to pursue this any further. Our enquiries have been quite exhaustive…\u201d<\/p>\n

Politely, he was saying that Adam was wasting his time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure that they have.\u201d Adam gathered himself, stood up and offered his hand. \u201cThank you, Mister Fossett, for all your efforts on my behalf.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very welcome, I\u2019m sure.\u201d Fossett didn\u2019t have to add that he would be forwarding his account. He showed Adam towards the door. \u201cIf we can be of any further service to you in the future, in this or any other matter…\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Once again on the boardwalk in the mid-morning sun, Adam pulled a breath. It was hot and the air stank of dust and horses and sweat and other things a good deal less pleasant. With renewed determination, he set out along Main Street, headed west.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sheriff\u2019s office and gaol-house had been built entirely of timber and had recently burned down. The replacement structure had, of necessity, quickly arisen from the charred ruins. It was impressive, built of brick on two levels with the cells on the upper floor. Adam quickly discovered the sheriff inside: a lanky individual just short of middle age with deceptively wide shoulders and the hips, not of a horseman, but of a man who ate carefully and kept himself in shape. Long faced and dark haired, he had a droopy moustache just tending to grey. He had a wry sense of humour somewhat belied by the steely look in his eye. He looked Adam over as he came through the door, and Adam got the feeling that those eyes missed nothing. Adam stepped forward and held out his hand. \u201cSheriff, I\u2019m Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAre you, by God?\u201d The sheriff inspected the proffered hand as if it were something that had just crawled out of a barrel. Then he took it gingerly in his own and shook it. The keen eyes studied Adam\u2019s face. \u201cI ain\u2019t seen you before, Mister. You new in town?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNew in yesterday. Came in on the Denver stage.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sense of humour asserted itself. \u201cThen you have my sympathy for all the bumps and bruises. I know what that road\u2019s like.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sheriff sat down behind his desk, folding his long frame into a chair that didn\u2019t look large enough to contain him. He cleared a small space among the not-too-untidy collection of paperwork on the desktop and parked his boot heels, one on top of the other. Still eyeing him with suspicion, he gestured Adam into the other chair. Every movement was considered and wary and carefully designed to put his visitor securely in his place.\u00a0 This was a man who intended to live a while despite the silver star pinned to the front of his vest. \u201cI\u2019m Zachary Tomas. What can I do for you, Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat down and took a moment to inspect his surroundings. It might be new, or thereabouts, but the sheriff\u2019s office looked lived in. One long wall boasted an array of \u2018wanted\u2019 posters, circulars, local civic ordnances and such; on another was a long rack of business-like firearms. Adam didn\u2019t doubt for a moment that they were all loaded and ready for instant use. Tomas didn\u2019t seem like a man who would be caught short of firepower. A black iron stove sat in the corner, belching heat and raising the temperature to furnace-like proportions. The essential coffee-pot resided on top. There was a bureau of monumental proportions that showed scorch-marks along one side and had obviously been salvaged from the blaze that had destroyed the previous building. The rest of the room contained an assortment of tables and chairs and was strewn with dime novels and newspapers and discarded clothing and all the paraphernalia that made it a home from home. At the back was a firmly closed door that undoubtedly led to rooms at the back and a staircase to the upper storey. The big room smelled of wood smoke and coffee and bacon grease, whiskey and tobacco and the essential odour of men.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sheriff was waiting patiently for him to finish looking, not hurrying him, letting him take his time. At the same time he had been studying Adam Cartwright: the way he carried his head on his shoulders, the confidence in his eyes, the big, heavy Colt almost concealed beneath the skirts of his stylish coat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam knew what was expected. He eased back in the chair and forced himself to relax. \u201cI\u2019m looking for some information.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cInformation is something I\u2019m good at.\u201d Tomas said promptly. His mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile but didn\u2019t quite make it. \u201cWhat particular brand of information did you have in mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam fingered the silver-studded band of his hat. He still had a problem putting the essence of his inquiry into words. \u201cI\u2019m trying to trace the business contacts of a man named Abediah Harbinger, a resident of these parts a couple of years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBy God, you are!\u201d Tomas put his feet back on the floor and straightened up in the chair. \u201cWhy do you want to know about Harbinger? I heard tell that he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s dead.\u201d Adam shifted his eyes to his fingers, then made a determined effort to look the sheriff right in the eye. \u201cI\u2019m the man that killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The silence lengthened while Tomas considered. The two of them eyed each other warily. Eventually, Tomas said, \u201cThen you must be quite a hand with that pistol you wear, Mister Cartwright. Harbinger had quite a reputation. How come you\u2019re back-trackin\u2019 his trail?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone hired him to kill me. I want to know who.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Typically, Tomas cut right to the point. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found it a difficult thing to say. \u201cBecause I need to know, I guess – for my own peace of mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPeace of mind is a luxury most men can\u2019t afford.\u201d Tomas gazed at Adam with open speculation. \u201cI can\u2019t tell you much. Harbinger came into town a few times, perhaps three or four. I can\u2019t say I exactly made him welcome. Mostly he drifted from one place to another, working the towns to the south. That\u2019s where he did most of his killin\u2019\u201c<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt vaguely sick. He could hear the contempt thickening Tomas\u2019s voice and had a feeling deep down inside that he was being tarred with the same brush as the man who had hunted him. He didn\u2019t much like the idea. \u201cCan you think of anyone local who might have hired him?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas shrugged. \u201cLot\u2019s of folks, I guess. But I ain\u2019t never heard anyone mention a grudge ag\u2019in someone called Cartwright. Most folks are too much tied up in their own affairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I can understand that.\u201d Adam let out a pent-up breath. It was another dead end. He got to his feet. \u201cThank you for your time, sheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas stood up, but before he could speak the street door opened. A deputy came through it, knocking the accumulated dust out of his hat by banging it on his hip. It was the same grey-haired man that Adam had encountered on the docks the night before. He pulled up short and looked from Tomas to Adam and back. \u201cZak, this is the fella I was tellin\u2019 you about. The one I found down by the river.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs it, by God.\u201d Tomas looked at Adam with a new light in his eyes. \u201cJed here tells me you were watching John Masterson\u2019s coffle leave with fire in your belly.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A muscle worked along Adam\u2019s jaw line and anger glowed in his eyes. \u201cI guess Jed\u2019s right. I can\u2019t say it was something I enjoyed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas nodded grim understanding. \u201cI know how you feel. I want you to make me a promise, Cartwright. While you\u2019re in my town, stay out of trouble. I don\u2019t want to throw you in a cell.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam locked his teeth together, biting off the words he knew he\u2019d regret. His breath whistled in. \u201cI\u2019ll do my best to keep out of your hair.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSee that you do. This gaol\u2019s a Goddamned hard place to get out of.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the sheriff\u2019s warning ringing loud in his ears, Adam discovered he wasn\u2019t hungry for lunch, nor was he in the mood for sightseeing. He went back to his hotel and spent the afternoon catching up on his sleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He woke up to find the room airless and hot. The sliding sun sent shafts of light directly into his window. Soon, the brassy sky would turn to gold. Adam yawned and stretched with the luxury of pure relaxation. He had slept long and deep, and his body had finally healed. For the first time in a while he was free of residual soreness. He turned on his side and slept again, but lightly, dozing. The next time he opened his eyes the room was cooling and almost dark. Above the dark rooftops the sky was silver. Adam washed and dressed with care and went in search of his supper.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The caf\u00e9 closed at half past ten. Adam sat in a corner seat and drank endless cups of after supper coffee while he watched Rachel work. Every time he caught her eye he smiled at her, and she flushed and smiled back until she mastered the art of ignoring him. When the last customer finally left and the tables were cleared, he helped her on with her wrap and fulfilled his promise to walk her home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She took him by a different route to the one he had followed the previous afternoon. It was a dark and dangerous path that led through parts of town so iniquitous that Adam would have hesitated to go there in broad daylight, at least, not without the comforting bulk of his oversized younger brother alongside. He didn\u2019t like the look of the men who huddled in corners and followed them with their eyes. Furtive noises issued from the lightless alleyways between the buildings: Adam felt sure that some of them were made by human beings. Adam loosened his Colt in his holster, and Rachel laughed lightly at his unease.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI walk this way every night,\u201d she told him. \u201cIt\u2019s safe. We\u2019re a community. We all look out for each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Despite his efforts to maintain a civilized conversation, Adam still didn\u2019t like it. He felt the tension as a pressure against his eardrums; felt the heat of unseen eyes burning into his back. He was more than relieved when they emerged from the unmapped and constantly changing maze of back streets and passages and found themselves on the street where Rachel lived. Across the way, a light burned dimly in the tiny window of the tailor\u2019s shop, evidence that Samuel Rosen was still at work. He walked the lady right to the door and took off his hat. Rachel turned to him; her eyes were dark and lustrous in the filtered light. \u201cI\u2019d like to thank you, Mister Cartwright. It\u2019s been a long time since anyone has been so kind to me – since anyone has treated me like a lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s cheeks dimpled into a smile. \u201cThat\u2019s because the men around here haven\u2019t figured out what they\u2019re missing. It would please me if you would call me Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She lowered her face, and, in the darkness, he had to imagine the flush of colour that darkened her cheek. \u201c I\u2019d like that, Adam,\u201d she said quietly into his chest. \u201cI have to go in now. My uncle and aunt are waiting up for me, and I have to start early in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI understand.\u201d He dared lift her chin with the point of his finger so that he could look at her face. Her lips trembled. He resisted the urge to lower his face and kiss her. It was too early in their relationship for him to take such liberties with her person. The moment passed by. She opened the door and slipped inside. He caught the flash of light in her eyes as she looked back at him, and then the door closed and he was left with only the lingering scent of her perfume.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam replaced his hat and took note of his surroundings. Here, in the poorer suburbs, the streets were all but deserted. A solitary mule stood tethered to a hitching post, forgotten by a drunken owner who lay snoring somewhere in a loose woman\u2019s crib. A dog snuffled somewhere in the deeper shadows – leastwise, Adam hoped that it was a dog. On the other side of the street a man and a woman swayed, arm in arm, along the boardwalk towards him, laughing together at some unknown amusement. Briefly, a child cried, a man shouted; closer, a door slammed shut. With a residual smile still stuck to his face, Adam filled his lungs with night air and stepped down into the street.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He chose not to walk the dark warren of back streets on his own but to go by the longer, more open, route. Almost at once he knew he was being followed. Adam had a seventh sense that told him these things. It manifested itself as a pertinacious, bone deep itch in the middle of his back, just below the line of his shoulder blades. Tonight the itch was driving him mad. He stopped and looked back. The couple had passed him now. They walked on; their heads bent close together. The rest of the street was deserted. Adam knew that didn\u2019t mean a thing.\u00a0 He walked on a few steps, the itch still burning, then looked again. Still nothing. Turning once more with what was almost a shrug, he pulled up short. The men he was expecting were standing in front of him. Adam cursed himself for all sorts of a fool. It was an old Indian trick – they\u2019d been trailing him from in front – and he\u2019d fallen for it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Three possibilities popped into his mind: one, he was slipping; two, he was tired, or these three were very good at what they did. He\u2019d not heard a sound – not even a footfall. Adam glanced \u2018round. Sensing trouble, the strolling couple had disappeared and the mule was prepared to ignore him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They were an ugly trio he had to admit. They were big and looked mean. There were sneers on their faces and guns on their hips. Adam considered, but only briefly, making a fight of it there and then. He knew that he wouldn\u2019t win. His own gun was out of sight beneath the skirt of his coat. That made it almost out of reach as well. If they didn\u2019t know he was armed it might be to his advantage later. If he got to a later.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spread his hands. \u201cYou\u2019re blocking my way, gentlemen.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man in the middle, the ugliest one of all, grinned. It wasn\u2019t a pleasant sight. The remaining stubs of his teeth were stained brown with tobacco juice. \u201cMy, don\u2019t you talk pretty!\u201d he said to his friends. \u201cYou hear that boys? We\u2019re in the Pretty Man\u2019s way!\u201d He was obviously the spokesman of the little group, and he liked to play to an audience.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The audience laughed in dutiful appreciation. They spread themselves out on either side of their main entertainer, effectively cutting off any chance Adam might have of slipping past them and making it harder for him to watch them all at once. He took a step backward to keep them all in view. Clearly, this encounter was going to amount to more than a little pushing and shoving. He touched his lips with the tip of his tongue; the inevitable butterflies were starting to flutter in his belly as the adrenaline surged. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ugly in the middle gave a beatific smile. He had a wide, yellow tinged face covered with warts and greasy black hair that hung from under his hat. He glanced over his shoulders, first at one companion and then the other to make sure that they were paying the proper attention. \u201cWe want everythin\u2019 you got, Pretty Man. An\u2019 we\u2019re gonna take a good slice o\u2019 your hide along with it!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took a long step forward, and Adam, retreating, came up hard against the wall of a building. The principle ugly reached out a thick, stubby hand and fingered the stitching on the lapel of Adam\u2019s suit. \u201cThat little yiddisher tailor\u2019s made a real\u2019 fine job o\u2019 this sewin\u2019.\u201d His smile widened, and his breath gusted into Adam\u2019s face. Adam smelled the rancid rot of decaying teeth and spicy, Mexican food.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked down at the hand on his collar. The short, blunt fingers were far from clean; there were warts on the knuckles and a permanent encrustation of dirt beneath the fingernails. Adam supposed there was no point in waiting until the pack moved in on him like rats for the kill. Lifting his gaze back to the ugly\u2019s face, he decided to make it personal. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you keep your filthy hands to yourself?\u201d he suggested mildly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ugly lifted himself up onto his toes and sneered in Adam\u2019s face, \u201cYou gonna make me, Pretty Man? You gotta learn ta stay away from the dirty yiddishers. Especially the yiddisher girl. White man ought ta stick ta his own kind.\u201d His voice became deeper and harder as his resolve hardened. \u201cI\u2019m gonna cut up that pretty face so that every time you look in the mirror, you\u2019re gonna remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam knew that he meant what he said. The three must have been watching him to know his movements so well. He was glad they had waited until Rachel was safely indoors before they had made their move. He wouldn\u2019t have wanted to see her hurt – and, now, he had only himself to defend. He saw the glint of a blade in the ugly\u2019s fist; time was running short.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He figured the man was standing just about close enough. All he needed was a small diversion, and then, at least, he would go down fighting. He might even manage to take one or two with him. Adam breathed in, bracing himself for action. He watched the edge of the blade. The ugly one was smiling, anticipating blood.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was the smaller of the other men who provided the distraction that Adam needed. Eyes bright, he giggled with excitement. The ugly one\u2019s eyes flickered, and that was all that Adam needed. He brought his knee up hard and fast – felt it connect with bone and followed it up with his fist. The ugly reeled, and the blade went spinning. The other two snatched for their guns, and Adam pulled iron. As it had once before, time slowed down;<\/p>\n

the butt of the Colt slid into his hand, and the rest of the world stood still.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The double click of a shotgun\u2019s hammers sounded loud in the night. \u201cReckon that\u2019s enough of it, fellas. Anyone don\u2019t agree, I\u2019ll fill \u2018im full o\u2019 lead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A lanky figure stepped out of the dark. Zachary Tomas looked from one man to another, taking in the frozen tableau: two men in crouched positions, their guns half out of their holsters, Adam standing erect, his Colt in his hand and the hammer back. The other man was still on the ground, groaning and clutching his belly. Tomas stepped over him and hefted the double-mawed shotgun in the direction of the ugly\u2019s companions. \u201cYou two drop them gunbelts. Then pick him up an\u2019 carry him home.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men unbuckled leather and dropped it in the dirt at their feet. Adam watched as they picked up the ugly and started to haul him away. Tomas eased back the hammers of the heave bore gun and walked over. He had a stiff-legged gait that swung from the hip. Adam realized that he was partially lame. It was a matter of wonder how he held down his job.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA little out o\u2019 your way, ain\u2019t you, Cartwright?\u201d he inquired by way of conversation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Still hearing the song of his blood, Adam pulled a long breath and let it hiss out through his teeth. \u201cI was seeing a lady home. Aren\u2019t you going to arrest those three?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas gazed after the shambling trio. \u201cJonas Tillby and the Mountebank brothers? There ain\u2019t no point. What am I gonna charge them with?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll bring charges.\u201d Adam was feeling belligerent. Filled to the ears with adrenaline, he wasn\u2019t prepared to let the matter go. Shrugging, he settled his shoulders back into his coat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas eyed him keenly. \u201cWhere am I going to find a jury in this town? Most folks feel the same way they do. \u2018Sides, I\u2019m not too sure I want you hangin\u2019 around to wait for a trial. You\u2019ve got trouble ridin\u2019 alongside of you, and I can\u2019t say as I like the smell of it much.\u201d He hesitated, looking Adam over again. \u201cOne thing I\u2019ll say for you; you\u2019re as fast as greased hell when you handle that gun.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam realized that he still held the Colt in his hand. He lowered the hammer and put it away. \u201cSo they get away with it?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shrugging, Tomas scooped up the gunbelts and casually shouldered the shotgun. \u201cIt happens all the time. I\u2019ll read the riot act to them when they come around to pick up their iron, but there ain\u2019t no point in locking them up. There\u2019s a hundred different breeds of people in this town, and every one of them hates all the others. It\u2019s as much as I can do just to keep the lid on it. Mind you,\u201d he cocked a bright eye at Adam. \u201cYou ain\u2019t helpin\u2019 much, Mister.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMe? What did I do?\u201d Adam was regaining his composure, but his blood still ran hot. The words came out sharp and angry.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas leaned back on his heels and told him right to his face. \u201cOf all the Goddamned foolish things I ever saw, what in hell did you think you were doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI told you,\u201d Adam squared up angrily, driven by the fire in his veins. \u201cI was seeing a lady home!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou were walkin\u2019 out with Samuel Rosen\u2019s niece! People don\u2019t take kindly to that around here. Folks mostly rub along together as long as they keep themselves to themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled up short. It seemed that everyone knew his business. \u201cYou trying to tell me something, sheriff?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSmooth down your feathers, Cartwright.\u201d Tomas looked at him sternly. \u201cI ain\u2019t tellin\u2019 you nothin\u2019. I\u2019m just sayin\u2019 that if you\u2019re gonna come round these parts sparkin\u2019, all dressed up like a peacock, then you\u2019re gonna end up dead. I\u2019ve got more to do than haul you out of trouble by the seat of your pants.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had to concede the point. The sheriff started to stroll toward town, the scattergun still over his shoulder. Adam cooled his temper and fell into step beside him \u201cSo what do you do to protect the Jewish community? With men like that about, surely nobody\u2019s safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMe? I don\u2019t do nothin\u2019. The likes of Tillby and his crew don\u2019t cause that much trouble. A little rough housing on a Friday night. The Jews, the blacks, the Chinese, like I said, mostly they all rub along together.\u201d At the top of the street where the lanterns burned he came to halt. \u201cYour hotel\u2019s that way, Cartwright. Go get yourself some sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam touched a hand to the brim of his hat. \u201cGood night, sheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was way past midnight, but Adam wasn\u2019t tired. He went to a saloon where the lights were bright and the music, loud. He bought a bottle of medium grade whiskey and took it into a corner to think. The good Lord knew he had plenty to think about. It was some hours later, and with the best part of that whiskey inside him, that Adam finally went to bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Three<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam went to the livery stable and hired a horse: a leggy black gelding with an intelligent eye and, so he discovered later, a tendency to kick. He loaded the saddle with a small sack of corn, some bacon, sugar and coffee and a newly purchased rifle and scabbard. He had spent the last several days going all over the town asking questions of all sorts of people, and, ultimately, he had come up empty. He was frustrated by his lack of progress, but his time had not been entirely wasted. Determined not to be fazed by his encounter with Jonas Tillby and his like-minded cronies, he had gotten to know Rachel a whole lot better. On her day off he had taken her driving in the hills outside town and shown her some of the pretty country that bordered the river. In exchange, she had taken him home to supper, and he had spent the evening talking to Samuel and listening to haunting melodies played on the violin. He had enjoyed spending time in Rachel\u2019s company. He still hadn\u2019t kissed her, but he\u2019d come close once or twice.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Thinking about it put a slight smile on his face as he tightened the cinches, unconsciously avoiding the swing of the gelding\u2019s back foot. He had come to the conclusion, somewhat reluctantly, that if he wanted answers to the questions that plagued him, he would have to take his enquiries to the smaller settlement south of the town where Harbinger had, apparently, spent most of his time. With almost all of his belongings in storage at the hotel, Adam was travelling light. As he would do with any strange horse, he \u2018cheeked\u2019 the gelding as he stepped lightly into the saddle, countering its tendency to buck by keeping the reins taut and using the cheek-strap of the bridle to pull the animal\u2019s head \u2018round against his shoulder. The gelding danced for a moment, then settled. Adam turned his head south.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The city had grown like a malignant tumour spreading over the ground to the east and west of the original settlement. These were the poorer districts far away from the glass-fronted stores and the fine hotels and the grand houses that stood on the hills. The shelters, such as they were, had been put together from whatever materials could be salvaged from the cast-offs of the city and the riverbank. Sometimes there was no shelter at all, merely a sad huddle of humanity at the side of the trail with a can of water suspended over a smoking fire and a few, threadbare blankets to keep out the chill of the night.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Faces watched him pass, mostly coloured or Oriental with a scattering of poor whites. Few of the children had a full set of clothes; none of them had shoes. They watched the tall man on the coal-black horse ride by with the potbellies of poverty clearly on display and huge, hungry eyes. Adam saw hopelessness on the faces of the women, on those of the men, a bitter despair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Despite having eaten breakfast, he felt an emptiness deep inside \u2013 a void that was not caused by hunger, a hollowness under his ribcage produced by pity and shame; it threatened to rise up into his throat and choke him with tears. He didn\u2019t dare look too closely; he didn\u2019t dare stop. The obvious need and want disturbed him greatly. He might have helped a few of them with what he had in his pocket, but not many and not for long, and how was a man to choose? He felt both relieved and guilty when he left the sight and the stench behind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now he rode through depleted pastureland. Here, at a later time in the year, the large herds of cattle driven up from the southern ranges would be held and fattened before being moved on to the slaughter houses that fed the city, or loaded on to barges for shipment east. In these months of early summer, the grass was still sparse. The previous year\u2019s grazing had stripped it to the roots, and, only now, the first fresh shoots of green were beginning to show.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam rode easily, not pushing the gelding, letting him take his own time. The animal had grown soft from spending too much time in the stable and needed to be trail-hardened before Adam could expect any appreciable mileage out of him. Adam was prepared to be patient. There was no point in having the horse go lame and leave him afoot. He had dressed himself for comfort in the coat of his dark suit with a white, cotton shirt underneath and a pair of pants sewn for him by the tailor. Made of a twilled, black wool cloth with a fine, white stripe running through, they were cut loose in the seat for ease in the saddle and elegantly slim in the leg.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Osage Plains of western Missouri were flat, prairie lands broken in places by low, rolling hills with wide, shallow valleys between. Here and there the gently undulating landscape was broken by vast stands of trees: ash and elm, bald cypress and flowering dogwood. The grasslands were stained by vast swathes of purple asters, each tiny flower with a bright yellow heart. Clumps of tall-flowered goldenrod glowed in the sunlight, and shy, violet faces peered from damp, shady spots in among the trees. Their fragrances enriched the air. The dome of the sky was a clear, cloudless blue that reached, unbroken, over all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was glad to be back in the saddle, to have a horse moving smoothly under him, the fresh air in his lungs and the sun beating down on his back. Living in town had its advantages; meals available on a frequent and regular basis, a soft bed to sleep in and the close company of fellow human beings. It was Adam\u2019s opinion that they were all good things that a man could easily have too much of, and he\u2019d about had a belly full. He found that, despite an initial stiffness in the small of his back, his fit body soon began to relax in the saddle and sway to the rhythm of the horse\u2019s movements. His eyes refocused on the middle distance and scanned the far horizon.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Once beyond the city limits he encountered less than a dozen fellow travellers in the whole of the rest of the day, and none of them happened to be travelling in his direction. They passed each other with a nod, sometimes a word, and Adam touched his hat to the ladies. It was good to be away from people for a while, from the noise and the smell and the frantic pace of living. Adam allowed the peace of the wide-open spaces to re-enter his soul.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around mid-afternoon he turned off the trail into a shallow vale where cottonwoods grew on the banks of a small, nameless river. Sweet stemmed grasses grew in profusion and willows bent low to trail supple branches in the water\u2019s edge. The unfit gelding was stiffening and starting to blow, and Adam was unwilling to push him any further.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A bunch of white-tailed deer broke out of cover, leaping and bounding away down the valley. Adam watched them go. There was no point in bringing one down with the rifle \u2013 one whole animal would yield far more meat than he could eat and more than he could carry away. Instead, he made a fine meal of Jack Salmon, fished by hand from the deep-flowing stream. He wrapped the fish in a thick coating of mud and roasted it, stuffed with wild growing mint and garlic, in the ashes of his fire.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

While he ate, finishing the meal with coffee and a handful of nuts from his saddlebags, he kept careful watch. This was the border country that lay on the line between Missouri and Kansas \u2013 the one, a slave-owning state, the other staunch abolitionist. It had long been a site of conflict and guerrilla activity. Adam had no desire to become involved in any ad hock skirmishes between the two sides. As the evening grew darker and cooler, he began to relax. He was totally alone in the vast open landscape; the land lay peaceful under the sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the black gelding hobbled in the long grass to graze and the fire banked against the night, Adam lay on his backs with his head cradled in the bow of his upturned saddle and contemplated the slow and stately wheel of the stars. He thought about home: the land and the people that he loved, and then his mind turned, wistfully, to far away places. Eventually, he pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, turned onto his side and slept.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some time after midnight, he awoke with a start. For a moment he thought that someone had shouted his name. His body was soaked in a cold, clammy sweat. He been dreaming, once more, of that sunlit street in Virginia City when one life had ended and another had changed, perhaps forever. The night was chilly and velvet dark; a crescent moon lingered above the western horizon. Adam listened to the silence. He heard only the breeze that moved among the cottonwoods, the soft flow of dark water and the fidgety shift of the horse. A stone, overlooked when he\u2019d laid down his groundsheet, had insinuated itself under his shoulder blade and was digging a small hole in his back. He was going to have a bruise in the morning He wriggled around for a while, trying to get comfortable and, finally, got back to sleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next time that Adam opened his eyes, a broad band of silver light bridged the eastern horizon. The approach of dawn had already driven the stars out of the sky. It was cold. A fine, grey mist filled the valley. The cottonwoods loomed in the first of the early light. Adam, well used to rising early, got up without any preamble and stretched. He flexed the stiff muscles that he knew, with work, would ease into suppleness and rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. The breath steamed in front of his face. He kicked the embers of the fire back into life and fed it sticks, then put the coffeepot on to boil before he went to catch up with the horse.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By the time the sun was fully up and the sky had turned from silver to gold, he was back in the saddle. He had a fine breakfast under his belt: bread and bacon and coffee from his meagre supply. The horse was well rested and fed and moved more easily than he had the day before. Still drifting south, they began to make better time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was mid-afternoon and he had covered twenty miles when he came across the small homestead. It lay in a dip in the prairie, a pocket sheltered from the prevailing wind by bitter-nut hickory, silver-leafed maple and hawthorn trees. A well-built barn stood foursquare in front of the yard. Two cows were penned alongside, and a stretch of broken fence line suggested a road that led nowhere. The house huddled close to the trees: a simple, single storey structure with a porch and a stoop and a sharply angled roof. A line of washed clothing hung to one side, supported by a crazily leaning clothes post. A single thread of smoke drifted from the smoke hole \u2013 sure evidence of occupation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam rode into the yard. The gelding was starting to tire again, and Adam knew he would soon have to stop. He was rather hoping for a bed for the night and a stable for the horse. The sky, a vivid blue in the earlier part of the day, had taken on a hard, brassy glare. Although there was no breath of wind, he feared a storm might be brewing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Brown chickens scattered, squawking, from in front of the horse\u2019s feet. The gelding shied and snorted. Adam raised his voice and hailed the house. \u201cHello! Anyone home?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The chickens settled and went back to their scratching. The door of the house remained closed but Adam saw a flicker of movement in the window alongside. He shouted again, \u201cHello the house!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The door opened, just a few inches at first: a wide enough gap for someone to peer out from inside. Then it swung wide and a woman came out onto the porch. No longer young, but not yet old, she might once have been pretty. Her face, both tanned and reddened by exposure to sun and to wind, was tired and careworn. Fine lines gathered about her eyes, and her thin lips were pinched together.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The long skirted, grey green dress that she wore had seen better days. In her hands she carried a long gun. She looked like she knew how to use it. From where he sat on the back of the gelding Adam recognized the unmistakable lines of an old, muzzle-loading Henry. The woman had just one shot, but the ball would pack enough punch to put a hole right through him. I was pointed right at his chest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat d\u2019you want, Mister?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am.\u201d Politely, Adam raised a hand to the brim of his hat. \u201cIs your husband home?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s mouth pinched even tighter. \u201cHe\u2019s about here someplace.\u201d The maw of the Henry didn\u2019t waver. The woman\u2019s face was set hard into lines of determination.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sensing Adam\u2019s unease, the gelding began to fiddle his feet, dancing in the dust of the yard. Adam tightened the reins. Turning in the saddle, he looked the place over. The barn had been painted recently, but the house had not. The pump in the yard was greased and in good order, but the stack of firewood alongside the house was almost used up. There was no sign of a saddle horse anywhere about. There was a man about the place all right, but not within earshot, and he hadn\u2019t been there for a while.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He straightened himself. With the Henry pointed right at him, he wasn\u2019t about to call the woman a liar. \u201cI\u2019d be rightly obliged if you\u2019d call your man for me, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman looked nonplussed. \u201cWhy\u2019d you want ta see him?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI was hoping to stay here the night.\u201d Adam was honest. \u201cMy horse is tired, and it looks like there\u2019s going to be a storm.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Henry lowered very slightly. The woman looked at him over the barrel instead of along it. They both knew the unwritten rule of the west: to turn away any man in need of a meal and a bed was considered uncivil in the extreme – almost a crime.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the other side of that self-same coin, no gentleman would ever compromise a lady who happened to find herself alone. Adam was prepared to move on. He touched the brim of his hat again. \u201cMa\u2019am, if I might be allowed to water my horse, then I\u2019ll be moving along.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman lowered the rifle still further. Rightly, she remained uncertain of him and of his intentions. \u201cI guess there\u2019s no harm in that,\u201d she said warily. \u201cYou c\u2019n step down and water your horse. Trough\u2019s over there; water\u2019s free.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Grateful for that concession at least, Adam swung out of the saddle and led the gelding across the yard. The horse was thirsty; he buried his muzzle deep in the water and Adam pumped for a fresh supply. He took of his hat and used the cold water to cool his face and his neck. He was aware of the woman watching him; her eyes never left his back. She came closer, still careful. She looked at the sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cReckon you might be right about that storm,\u201d she suggested.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam said nothing. He completed his ablutions by swilling his mouth out with water and spitting it into the dirt. Wearing a friendly face, he waited for her to continue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t seem right ta turn you away,\u201d she said finally. \u201cCould be a dry storm \u2013 ain\u2019t fit for a man ta sleep out in.\u201d Pausing again, she searched his face. \u201cYou could eat in the house an\u2019 sleep in the barn, if it suits you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled and dispelled the last of her doubts. \u201cThat would suit me fine, Ma\u2019am. My name\u2019s Adam Cartwright.\u201d He held out his hand, and, after a moment, she loosed her grip on the Henry long enough to take it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Mrs John Hillier. Maudie Hillier. My husband owns this place.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am.\u201d Adam nodded gravely. He went to the side of the horse. Cottontail rabbits abounded on the prairie, and he had taken a pair for his supper; they were strung by a string from his saddle horn. Unhitching them, he handed them over. \u201cD\u2019you reckon you could stretch these out and make enough for two?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A faint light replaced the watchful deadness in Maudie Hillier\u2019s eyes. They were blue, Adam noticed, the pale, clear blue of an early summer sky. \u201cReckon I could, if you don\u2019t mind rabbit stew.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRabbit stew would be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam picked up the reins and led the weary gelding into the barn. Maudie Hillier watched him go. Holding the heavy Henry with just one hand, she lifted the other to pat the fine strands of her hair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With his horse watered and bedded down in the otherwise empty barn, Adam set about making himself useful. Unbidden, he found a whetstone and a long-handled axe and assiduously applied one to the other. Once satisfied with the edge on the blade, he sought out the woodpile behind the house and went to work.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was hard, hot labour. Adam enjoyed the surge of his muscles and the burn of his hands. Soon he was sweating as his heart rate and his breathing increased, driving the powerhouse of his body as steam drives an engine. Before very long his shirt joined his jacket, hung from a nearby snag. Perspiration dripped from his face and wended its way in rivulets through the dense, dark fur on his chest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An hour passed, and the best part of another before Maudie Hillier came to the corner of the house. \u201cIt\u2019s supper time, Mister Cartwright, if you\u2019d care to come into the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She\u2019d done something to her appearance. She had tidied her hair and changed her dress for another, a pink one, doubtless the only other that she possessed and the one that she saved for Sundays. Here face looked softer, younger, with a touch of corn flour taking the shine off her nose. Adam buried the blade of the axe in the top of the chopping block and wiped his forearm across his face. He was slightly breathless from his exertions and faintly embarrassed at appearing partially unclothed in front of a lady \u2013 even a married lady \u2013although she didn\u2019t seem at all disconcerted by the state of his undress.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He gave her a smile. \u201cThat\u2019s mighty kind of you, Ma\u2019am. I\u2019ll just wash up.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam went to the pump and worked the handle and doused his head beneath the flow of cold water. Then, he rinsed the sweat from his chest and shoulders with his hands. The water beaded in the crisp, dark curls and made him shiver with the sensations of being alive. He dried himself on a scrap of towelling and studied his surroundings again. The farmstead was isolated in the midst of the prairie: a tiny ship tossed in an ocean of grass. For all he could see, the world started and ended within a few yards of the trees and the broken down fence. All the human life it possessed was himself and the woman, Maudie Hillier.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shrugged into the shirt and started work on the buttons. The sky had darkened with the onset of evening and still threatened violence. He could smell the gathering storm: hot and dusty and dry. He could feel the crawl of it over his skin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t seem right, he reflected, that a woman should be left along and unprotected. Whatever had called her husband away from home had been, he didn\u2019t doubt, unavoidable, but her state of isolation concerned him. It couldn\u2019t be easy for her, out here in the wilds on her own, but he knew it was none of his business.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His thoughts were interrupted by a rumble of thunder, followed immediately by a vivid, blue flash that dazzled the eyes and the sharp crack of an electrical discharge close at hand. Adam snatched up his coat and sprinted for the house. It was not good thinking to be caught out in the open.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The rabbit stew was cooked to perfection; the meat was so tender it fell off the bones. The gravy was rich with fat and flavoured with onions and turnips and sprigs of wild rosemary. Maudie served him up a huge portion in a blue china bowl. With it were pancakes and, to follow, hot biscuits with freshly churned butter and a sweet preserve.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maudie sat and watched him eat with hungry, anxious eyes. She ate her own meal with scarcely a glance at what her spoon contained. For a time, the room, furnished simply in the chunky, homespun style of the frontier was filled only with mellow lamplight and the aromas of food and coffee, the comfortable sounds of eating \u2013 the chink of spoons on china \u2013 and the continuing rumble of the storm outside. Finally, filled to capacity, Adam sat back in his chair and stretched his long legs out under the table. He didn\u2019t quite pat his full belly, that wouldn\u2019t have been polite, but the thought was there. \u201cThat was a fine meal, Mrs. Hillier.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s nice of you to say so.\u201d Maudie fussed about gathering the dirty china and stacking it in the sink, and Adam sat and watched her. She returned to the table with the topped-up coffeepot. Adam had never been known to refuse an extra cup after eating; he wasn\u2019t about to start now. He held out his cup for a refill. Maudie chatted on, \u201cIt\u2019s a pleasure to cook for a man who appreciates his food. John tells me I\u2019m the finest cook in the whole of western Missouri!\u201d She said it brightly, but her quick, tense movements belied the lightness of her tone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyes twinkled over the rim of the cup. \u201cI\u2019m sure he\u2019s not wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maudie bustled about clearing the rest of the table and putting the room in order. \u201cJohn will be home any minute. He likes to find the place tidy.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam put his cup down carefully in its saucer and cocked a quizzical eyebrow. Whatever the woman might choose to think, her husband wouldn\u2019t be home before morning. Only a fool or a man driven by desperation would ride the range in a dry, electrical storm. He said, \u201cYou must find it very lonely out here on your own.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOn my own?\u201d Maudie stopped still and stared at him. It was as if the thought were new to her. From outside came a ferocious crack of thunder that made her jump. She wrapped her arms around herself in defence. \u201cI\u2019m not on my own. Most of the time, John is right here with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Ma\u2019am.\u201d Adam sucked in a breath. The situation was becoming uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJohn drives me to town every month without fail,\u201d Maudie went on anxiously, \u201cand I have lots of friends! People call by here all the time!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam climbed to his feet. He could sense the way the conversation was going. \u201cI\u2019m sure that they do, Mrs. Hillier.\u201d He reached for his hat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maudie patted her hair into place. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. \u201cJohn says I\u2019m the prettiest woman about these parts. I used to be pretty. Do you think I\u2019m pretty, Mister Cartwright?\u201d She shifted her hips suggestively.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The thunder rumbled again. Adam, his hand on the door latch, considered his options. He could see the need and the longing plain in the woman\u2019s eyes. It was an open invitation. He found himself in a compromising situation, alone in another man\u2019s house with another man\u2019s wife. He took the easy way out and nodded politely. \u201cYou\u2019re a fine, handsome woman, Mrs. Hillier,\u201d he said with complete honesty. \u201cI\u2019ll wish you goodnight.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The night was not dark nor was it quiet. Lightening danced in the overcast sky and lit up the landscape. The rumble of thunder was continuous, both near and far away, and an occasional, startling crack. A hot, dry wind blew over the prairie. Holding on to his hat, Adam dashed for the barn. It was in the forefront of his mind to saddle the gelding and put some ground underneath him, but experience and common sense argued strongly against him. A man in the saddle was a prime target for a lightening strike. Instead, he unrolled his blanket and made up a bed in the straw.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sleep was a long time in coming. The wind and the thunder and the flashes of lightening conspired with an uneasy mind to keep him awake. He lay for a while with his head on his elbow while he watched the storm through the open barn door and wondered what it was that could be so all-fired important that a man would leave his wife all alone. He supposed he would never know.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around eleven, he closed his eyes and dozed, only to wake with a start an hour later. The gelding was shifting uneasily in the stall next door, and instinct told Adam that they were not alone. Even before he was fully alert, his hand slid to the butt of the Colt where it lay in the holster beside him. He cracked open his eyes and peered through the lashes. The storm still raged, but further away now, off in the distance, a far-off grumbling of thunder. A flash lit up the sky and silhouetted the figure that stood in the doorway. Maudie Hillier, dressed in her nightgown and with her pale hair flying in the wind, had her back to the light. Her face and the expression she wore were barely visible, but Adam knew that she looked at him with a deep and hungry yearning. He knew that it would be best for both of them if he pretended to be asleep. He kept his breathing slow and even and closed his eyes. When he looked again, a few minutes later, the woman had gone. By the time the sun crept over the horizon next morning, Adam had long since saddled the gelding and ridden away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The town didn\u2019t warrant a name. A place, merely, where four trails came together, it was known, by those who lived there and those who dwelt round about, simply as \u2018The Crossings\u2019. A cluster of buildings had grown up piecemeal about the crossroads. There was no bank, no hotel and no Post Office. A barn-like stable, a blacksmith\u2019s shop and wagon menders, several stores of different varieties and the inevitable saloon \u2013 this one called \u2018The Wagon Wheel\u2019 \u2013 two neat houses and a collection of shacks and shanties lined the right-angled streets. One entire corner was occupied by a corn exchange run by the local farmers and a trading centre. The streets were busy. A queue of wagons lined one side waiting their turns, and any number of saddle horses stood at the rails.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sweaty, unshaven and very grimy after a week in the saddle, Adam had only two things in mind, getting the gelding out from between his knees, and finding a drink to cut through the thick coating of dust that lined his throat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stepping down from the saddle outside the saloon, he wound the gelding\u2019s reins around the hitching rail and stretched the innumerable kinks out of his back. He paid the drinking establishment the brief courtesy of knocking some of the dust out of his clothing before he stepped inside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was just turned mid-morning by the face of the battle-scarred, brass-pendulum clock that hung on the barroom wall. The saloon was open for business; its resident customers were already firmly installed in their accustomed places. A game of poker that had about it an air of long-standing permanence was being played out in a quiet and business-like manner in a cubby to one side of the bar. Two bearded old-timers sat at a favoured table with two half finished beers and a game of dominoes set up between them and argued in a resolute manner about the turn of a tile. From the tone of their voices Adam got the impression that the argument, if not the game, would go one forever \u2013 or until one of the old men died.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A couple of cowboys and three farmers sat drinking at separate tables. Their voices were low and they eyed each other with the usual degree of suspicion. The rivalry between the two walks of life was not to be resolved within Adam\u2019s lifetime. An unkempt individual held up one end of the bar. Adam had seen the likes of him in every town he had ever been in. He didn\u2019t have to get close enough to smell the stains on his shirtfront or the reek of stale liquor on his breath to recognize the local town drunk. A lanky boy of about seventeen pushed dirt in front of a broom. The eyes he lifted to stare at Adam were pale and vague. A dark-haired bartender with expressive, brown eyes and a large, black moustache wiped glasses behind the bar. Still brushing off dust, Adam gave him a nod of greeting and crossed the room to the bar. He held up two fingers in the universally understood request. The barman produced a glass and a bottle and poured out the required two fingers of good, rye whiskey, and Adam swallowed it down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The raw liquor scorched its way through the slime on his throat all the way down to his belly. The pain of it stole his breath away. He pursed his lips in appreciation and pulled in air. The bartender looked at him with some degree of sympathy. Adam fished for a coin and nodded \u201cHit me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barman obliged. Adam sipped the second drink more slowly. The liquor burned somewhere under his ribs. The barman put the stopper back in the bottle but left it on the top of the bar. \u201cPassin\u2019 through?\u201d he asked, by way of general conversation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPassing through,\u201d Adam agreed. Both of them knew that there wasn\u2019t much in \u2018The Crossings\u2019 for a man to linger for. \u201cI\u2019m looking for some information. Perhaps you could point me towards the sheriff\u2019s office?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe ain\u2019t got no sheriff here.\u201d The barman chuckled. \u201cAin\u2019t enough of us to cause that much trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. He turned the glass in his fingers and watched the swirl of the amber liquid. The bartender studied his face. \u201cYou want some information, stranger, you\u2019ve come to the best place there is. I know all the folk around these parts and most of what goes on. Why don\u2019t you try askin\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam grinned wryly, the smile cracking the mask of dirt on his face. \u201cWhy don\u2019t I try that? I\u2019m asking after a man named Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHarbinger?\u201d The barman\u2019s eyes shifted sideways.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam listened to the noises in the room. He heard the steady flick of pasteboards and the low murmur of conversation from the table at the back, the click of dominoes and the ongoing rumble of disagreement and the steady tick of the clock. The sound of sweeping faltered. He watched the barman\u2019s careful expression.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHarbinger used to come this way every once in a while \u2013 passin\u2019 through,\u201d the barman said. \u201cI haven\u2019t seen him now for two \u2013 three years. Don\u2019t know where he went.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam told it simply. \u201cHarbinger was a gunslinger. Someone hired him to kill me. I\u2019m trying to find out who.\u201d The room was silent now – except for the tick of the clock.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The bartender uncorked the bottle and filled up Adam\u2019s glass. \u201cSince you\u2019re here, and Harbinger isn\u2019t, I\u2019m assuming he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sipped the whiskey and savoured its flavour. \u201cThat\u2019s a fair assumption.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pulling a face, the bartender inquired, quietly, \u201cFair fight?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt was fair. He drew first. Any idea who might have hired him?\u201d Adam was clutching at straws, and he knew it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t reckon.\u201d The bartender shook his head. He picked up a cloth and methodically wiped down the bar \u201cAin\u2019t no one \u2018round here would have hired him. Ain\u2019t no one \u2018round here got that sort of money, lessen you count old man McPherson.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMcPherson?\u201d Adam searched his memory. He couldn\u2019t recall ever hearing the name before.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cScotsman \u2013 owns a big spread south and east of here,\u201d supplied the barman helpfully. \u201cNever do see the man in here. He don\u2019t drink and don\u2019t employ any man who drinks neither.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled. \u201cMust make hired help pretty hard to come by.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cReckon it does.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sighing inwardly, Adam turned and surveyed the room. The two old men had started another game, discussing each move with quiet ferocity. Their beer was almost gone. The poker game continued. The drunk moved along the bar and sidled up to Adam. He smelled just as bad as Adam had expected, reeking of stale, cheap liquor and vomit. He hissed into Adam\u2019s ear, \u201cHeard you askin\u2019 \u2018bout Harbinger, Mister. Me \u2018n\u2019 him was real\u2019 good friends in the old days. I c\u2019n tell you all \u2018bout him iffen you\u2019ll buy me a bottle.\u201d He gazed at Adam with hopeful, bright eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam waved the fumes away from his face. He gestured to the bartender. \u201cGive him a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He bartender gave the drunk a belligerent look. \u201cHe don\u2019t know nothin\u2019. Harbinger wouldn\u2019t even buy him a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was in a generous mood. \u201cGive him one anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barman fished a bottle of rot-gut from under the bar and sloshed some into a glass. The drunk pounced on it eagerly and swallowed it down. Adam noticed that his hand was shaking and thought, and not for the first time, that it was a sad way for a man to end up. He finished his own drink. The heat had spread out from his belly and filled him with a warm and comfortable glow. The bartender raised an eyebrow in unspoken question, and Adam shook his head. He was a man who knew when he\u2019s had enough. A rumble from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry. Supper last night had been sparse and breakfast that morning, non-existent. \u201cHave you got any food in the place?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSure have.\u201d The bartender put the bottles away, much to the drunk\u2019s disgust. \u201cGot us a cook ta cook it as well. Take yourself a seat, Mister, and I\u2019ll see what we can rustle up. I\u2019ll get the boy to water your horse. Danny!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTell him the horse kicks,\u201d Adam said absently.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDanny!\u201d The barman raised his voice to a bellow. No one responded. The barman swore. \u201cGoddamn that idiot boy!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled. \u201cNot such a fool that he can\u2019t get out of his work.\u201d He indicated the abandoned broom that leaned against the wall with its head in a pile of dirt. Muttering dark thoughts, the barman took the order for breakfast to the cook. Adam selected a seat for himself with his back to the wall and settled down to wait.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The meal \u2013 of moist, pink ham and scrambled eggs together with cold corn bread \u2013 filled the uncomfortable void behind Adam\u2019s belt and soaked up some of the rye. With his chair tipped back on its hind legs and his back against the wall, he took his time and savoured his third cup of coffee. The saloon was filling up, as mid-day approached, with cowboys and farmers in more or less equal parts. The two old-timers were on their second pints of beer, and the poker game broke up for lunch.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam went to the bar to settle his reckoning. The barman made change from a silver dollar. \u201cWhat do you plan to do next?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t mind telling him \u2013 asking questions and getting answers was the way the man retained his reputation as a mine of information. \u201cI guess I\u2019ll take a turn to the east and have a word with this McPherson. A tee-total Scotsman must be something to see.\u201d He picked up his change.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barman didn\u2019t answer. Adam looked at his face. The man was looking beyond him with a strangely fixed expression. Adam realized that something was happening behind him. He turned his head to see for himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Two very young men had come through the bat-wing doors. One of them was the pale eyed youth who had swept the barroom floor. He gave a sideways glance at his companion and then gave Adam an accusing stare. He pointed a finger. \u201cThat\u2019s the one what said it!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The other young man, if shorter and broader, was of much the same tender years. He had mousy brown hair and a wisp of beard on a rounded face that could only be described as ordinary. He wore the homespun shirt, loose, canvas trousers and huge, leather boots that were the unofficial uniform of the farming community in these parts, and an ancient six-gun in a well-worn holster was tied down against his hip.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For a moment, in the doorway, he seemed to waver. Then he made up his mind about something and took two, long strides into the room. Fixed by his stare and faintly amused by the adult earnestness in his expression, Adam turned all the way \u2018round to face him. \u201cIs there something I can do for you, son?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Breathing deep, the young man gathered his courage. He spoke up loudly in a voice that had not long broken and still held the echoes of a boyish treble. \u201cI\u2019ve come here ta kill you, Mister.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They were classic words and they caused a classic disruption. Men scattered in all directions and tables cleared as farmers and cowboys alike got out of the way. Adam stared at the boy with something closely akin to disbelief. The faint smile was still on his lips and amusement sparkled in the depths of his tawny eyes. \u201cWhy would you want to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barman peered \u2018round Adam\u2019s shoulder. \u201cBilly Meyer, what you doin\u2019 in here and why \u2018re wearin\u2019 you\u2019re Papa\u2019s gun?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Billy Meyer grew red in the face. He wiped a sleeve over his mouth \u201cI bin practicin\u2019. I know how ta use it. I\u2019m Goddamned good with it too!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From the corner of his eye Adam saw the pale eyed youth, Danny, nodding with enthusiasm. His support gave Meyer encouragement. It seemed that the two were in deadly earnest. Adam\u2019s amusement died. He spread his hands just a little. \u201cBoy, I don\u2019t know what this is all about\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t no boy, Mister, an\u2019 I\u2019ll tell you what it\u2019s about!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The boy \u2013 Adam could only think of him as such \u2013 was shouting, emboldened by the sound of his own loud voice. \u201cDanny, here, tells me you killed Abediah Harbinger. Is that true?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what he said!\u201d Danny chimed in. His face was flushed with excitement. \u201cThat\u2019s what he told us all!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam thought of a few, choice remarks concerning big ears and big mouths and minding one\u2019s own business but decided to save them. He gave Danny a look that said that he\u2019s deal with him later. \u201cIt\u2019s true,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cWhat\u2019s it to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Billy Meyer flexed his hands. He had adopted what was known as a gunman\u2019s crouch: an uncomfortable position that thrust his head forward and threw him off balance. He looked almost comic, but nobody laughed. \u201cHarbinger was a big man around here,\u201d Meyer said loudly in his warbling voice. \u201cEveryone showed him a lot of respect. When I kill you, folks are gonna respect me too!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam still didn\u2019t quite believe his ears. He\u2019d never met this boy before in his life, and yet, here was another man who wanted him dead. How many more would there be before one of them succeeded and got what he yearned for. The same thought kept chasing its own tail inside Adam\u2019s head: Billy Meyer didn\u2019t even know his name! He kept his voice low and tightly controlled; \u201cYou don\u2019t really want to do this, Billy.\u201d He was aware that the bartender had sidled away to the end of the bar, well clear of any wild-flying lead.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meyer\u2019s face was pale and angry. \u201cYou don\u2019t know what I want!\u201d The boy was working himself into frenzy. \u201cYou don\u2019t know anything about me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam could guess a great deal. He sucked in a breath. \u201cI know that you\u2019re very young\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t the right thing to say. The boy\u2019s face changed. It hardened abruptly with relentless determination. His body gave a spasmodic jerk and he snatched at the butt of his father\u2019s gun. Adam\u2019s Colt .44 slid smoothly into his palm and he thumbed back the hammer. He sighted the boy\u2019s chest along the gun barrel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meyer stood stock-still and stared at him. Now he was white faced and sweating as he looked his death in the eye. \u201cPerhaps,\u201d Adam suggested quietly, \u201cyou\u2019d like to try that again?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hammer clicked loudly as he eased it down on the chamber, and he dropped the big Colt back into his holster. He stood relaxed and smiling slightly as he waited for the boy to make the next move. It was a hard, grim game that Adam was playing: one \u2013 that for both their sakes \u2013 he had to see through.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meyer stood and stared at him. His face was slick with sweat. The only sounds in the room were the rasp of his breathing and the measured tick of that clock. Adam saw him make up his mind in the same instant that he did it. The .44 leapt into his hand before the boy could move more than an inch.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meyer\u2019s round, white face was agape. Adam could see him trembling, and, from all the way across the room, he could smell his fear. Adam said, slowly and distinctly so that everyone could hear, \u201cThe next time, I shall take that gun away from you and spank you with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meyer\u2019s mouth worked. His hands flapped at his sides. He took two steps backwards and came up against the bat-wing doors. His face became stricken. Adam thought he was going to cry. Meyer took one last long look at Adam\u2019s face, turned on his heel and fled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief \u2013 then broke into a frantic buzz of low conversation. More than a few anxious glances came Adam\u2019s way. Adam eased back the hammer and holstered the Colt. The breath gusted out of him. The bartender reappeared at his shoulder complete with bottle and glass. \u201cYou look like you need a drink, Mister. This one\u2019s on the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had to admit it was what he could do with. He picked up the drink and swallowed it down. The barman poured him a refill. He gazed at Adam with bright, shining eyes. \u201cI don\u2019t know who I hell you are, but that\u2019s the fastest draw I ever did see!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With his blood still running rich with adrenaline and singing in his ears, Adam responded sharply. \u201cI just hope that boy\u2019s learned a lesson,\u201d he said gruffly. \u201cOr one day, someone will have to kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam walked out to his horse. The gelding stood, hip-shot and unfriendly, at the rail where Adam had left him. He rolled his eye in Adam\u2019s direction and tried to hook his leg with a sharp edged hoof. All Adam\u2019s emotions had coalesced into anger. He was mad at the boy and mad at the horse, and, for no reason he could properly account for, he didn\u2019t like himself very much either. He was in no mood for playing games with a recalcitrant animal. Right there and then, all he wanted to do was to get in the saddle and ride away – to forget that a place called \u2018The Crossings\u2019 and all its inhabitants even existed. He gave the gelding a sharp jerk on the reins and reached for the stirrup.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Mister.\u201d It was the voice of a full-grown man and it came from behind him. With both hands on the saddle-horn, preparing to mount, Adam froze in position. The sweat broke out on his skin and his belly tightened. Was this yet another stranger wanting to make a name for himself? Very slowly, he unwound himself and turned.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man behind him was tall and wide with a heavily muscled body. He had grey hair and a heavy, work-worn face. He didn\u2019t look to Adam as the sort that would fancy himself as a gunman. The homespun and the dirt underneath his nails marked him out for what he really was as surely as if he\u2019d been branded: he was a farmer through and through. Adam realized, belatedly, that he wasn\u2019t wearing a gun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam eyed him warily and tried to relax \u201cWhat can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The farmer stuck out a paw-like hand. \u201cI don\u2019t know who you are, an\u2019 I guess I don\u2019t really want to. My name\u2019s Bill Meyer. I heard what happened in the saloon just then, and I want to thank you for not shooting my son.\u201d The farmer shook his head sadly. \u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s to become of that boy, but his Ma ain\u2019t well right now, an\u2019 anythin\u2019 happen ta Billy, I reckon the shock would kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shook the farmer\u2019s hand and watched him walk away. Then he heaved a big breath and let go of the anger.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Henry Ian McPherson\u2019s star-bright eyes gazed at Adam from beneath the fierce jut of his eyebrows. \u201cHarbinger, you say? Can\u2019t say as I\u2019ve ever heard of anybody with such a name. Never met with anyone with the name of Cartwright either, for that matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sucked at his lip. His long ride to McPherson\u2019s ranch had proved fruitless, another dead end. It was a thing he didn\u2019t regret one bit. He had liked McPherson from the moment they\u2019d met. The Scot was neither dour nor wiry as he had imagined. He was honest and forthright and possessed of a boundless energy and a wry sense of humour. His love for his adoptive land was without question: it shone like sunlight out of his face. Physically, he was not very tall. He was wide in the shoulder and deep in the chest. The skin of his cheerful, rounded face was fine textured and fair, burned to a state of constant redness by exposure to the sun. His mass of shining, white curls had once been a fiery red.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d McPherson was saying, \u201cwhy one man should put a death wish on another.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNeither do I, Mister McPherson.\u201d Adam couldn\u2019t explain it; he didn\u2019t understand it himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry you had to kill the man, Mister Cartwright. As sorry as I can be.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

McPherson put a kindly hand on Adam\u2019s shoulder. Once more, Adam heard the roar of the Colt in his head, smelled the burned powder and the dusty sunlight and the hot stink of the blood. McPherson\u2019s hand fell away. \u201cIt can be a hard country,\u201d the Scotsman said. \u201cBut it\u2019s a beautiful one as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam lifted his head and looked. It might not be the sharp edged peaks and towering forests of home that he saw, but the green and gold of the rolling Missouri landscape, and the rising hills in the purple distance, blue against the greyer blue of the sky, had a wild and magical beauty all of their own.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA God given country,\u201d McPherson said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam heard an echo in the back of his brain. Other words spoken a long time ago. \u201cYou sound just like my father.\u201d A slight smile came to his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA God fearing man?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

McPherson slapped Adam on the back. \u201cThen his son is welcome under my roof. We\u2019ll find a room for you up at the house, and you\u2019ll eat with the family tonight. First of all, let me show you around.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

McPherson was lame \u2013 he walked with a stick \u2013 and so they made a slow and stately tour of the barns and the stables and the outlying corrals. McPherson ran a strain of longhaired, highland cattle on his high, plateau rangeland. They were hardy beasts that thrived on the thin air and withstood the severity of the winters well. McPherson was proud of them, justifiably so, and of the fine horses he raised as a sideline. Mostly bays and blacks with an occasional grey, they had intelligent heads, powerful shoulders and quarters and long, strong legs. Adam had to admit to being impressed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

McPherson introduced him to most of the hands. They were the usual mixture of men; about a third of them were Negroes, and there were two Mexicans whom the others called \u2018greasers\u2019. McPherson treated them all with a cheerful even handedness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The McPherson home was a fine, white painted house that stood on a hill and presided regally over the ordered sprawl of fences and barns and outbuildings. It had high, pointed eaves and neat, green shutters at all the windows and a small, carefully tended garden of roses planted in front of the door. Mrs. McPherson was a small, brisk woman with eyes as bright as her husband\u2019s. She welcomed Adam into her home as if he were one of her own. Before he knew it, he found himself installed in a pleasant room on the upper storey with a window facing south. He was provided with clean towels and lots of hot water and a set of borrowed clothes while his own were whisked away to the laundry.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The entire McPherson family gathered at the table for dinner. There were three redheaded sons and two fiery daughters ranging in age from fifteen to thirty. Adam liked all of them. McPherson said grace \u2013 a rather more protracted affair than that which Adam was used to \u2013 calling down the blessings of the Lord on the family and their household and all their employees and even the beasts in the field. Adam received a special mention as an honoured guest. Then they were served a splendid meal of roast, Angus beef and vegetables from the garden. The family were strict Presbyterians and there was no wine at the table, but there was crystal-clear water to drink with the food and lots of hot coffee to follow. Adam was more than content. Afterwards, they spent the evening in conversation, and listened as the McPherson daughters played duets on the grand piano in the velvet draped parlour. That night, Adam slept well in a fine, feather bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nightingale Springs was a town more worthy of the title than \u2018The Crossings\u2019 would ever be. Clustered about the water-source that gave it its name and provided it with life giving sustenance, the town was laid out in an orderly fashion. Instead of having grown,<\/p>\n

amoeba-like, a blot on the landscape, the streets formed a rectangular grid-work that appealed to the engineer in Adam\u2019s soul.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was already afternoon and the town sweltered in the heat. It lay beneath a shroud of fine dust kicked up by five hundred horses and a hundred wagon wheels. Adam walked the gelding along the principal street. He was tired, bone weary and saddle sore after long days of riding and many nights spent sleeping on the unyielding ground. As he rode, his eyes picked out the primary places of interest \u2013 from his point of view: the bathhouse, the hotel and a prosperous looking saloon. But before he could tend to his creature comforts, he had other things on his mind. He stopped to ask directions from two men loading a wagon and then rode on to the low, wooden building that bore the painted sign \u2018Sheriff\u2019s Office and Gaol\u2019.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He necked reined the gelding \u2018round to the rail and climbed stiffly out of the saddle. Fists pressed hard in the small of his back, he stretched the ache in his shoulders. The gelding, trail-hardened now, lean and strong and as tough as an old leather boot, lifted a threatening hoof.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A long, grey animal lay on the boardwalk, sprawled in the only available patch of shade. It looked more like a wolf than a dog. Adam stepped carefully over its tail and banged on the office door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sheriff was a middle-aged man with a horizontally folded face and arched black eyebrows that gave him a look of constant surprise. There was a battered and stained grey-felt hat permanently affixed to his head; leastwise, Adam never saw him without it. He got out from behind his huge cluttered desk just long enough to shake Adam\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He gestured Adam into a chair and introduced himself, \u201cAlbert Morrison: sheriff around these parts. What can I do for you, Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the stifling heat of the sheriff\u2019s office, Adam told his story again. Morrison gave him the courtesy of hearing him out, but his expression darkened at the mention of Harbinger\u2019s name and became even darker as the telling progressed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anyone you can think of that might have hired Harbinger?\u201d Adam concluded in the usual way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morrison gave the expected response, \u201cNo one around these parts. Folks are too tied up in their own affairs, tryin\u2019 ta scrape a living. They don\u2019t worry too much what goes on in a far-away place like Nevada. That\u2019s one hell\u2019ve a long way from here, Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t need telling. \u201cDid he have any friends around town? Anyone he might have talked to?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With steepled fingers, Morrison sat back in his chair. He considered Adam\u2019s face. \u201cSeems to me he was friendly enough with one of the women down at the Silver Slipper saloon. In fact, they were mighty sweet on each other for a while. Looked like he might even settle down.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was all attention. He felt vaguely sick with excitement. It was the first indication he had come across of any attachment Harbinger might have made. \u201cWould you mind telling me the lady\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJust you hold on a bit and let me tell you what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was hard to contain his impatience. \u201cSo what did happen?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell now, I\u2019ll tell you. One night, Harbinger got in a fight with a couple of local men. Killed \u2018em both. Shot \u2018em right out there in the street.\u201d Morrison scowled at his hands, then looked up again into Adam\u2019s face. \u201cIt was a fair fight, as far as it goes. Except that Harbinger was a gunman, an\u2019 the boys he shot were just that \u2013 boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam figured he hadn\u2019t yet heard the whole of it. \u201cAnd then?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morrison shifted around in his seat. \u201cI don\u2019t hold with that sort of thing in my town. I ordered Harbinger out of town, and I told him not to come back.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam said, \u201cI\u2019d still like to talk to the lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morrison sat all the way forward and leaned on the desk. \u201cYou don\u2019t get it, do you, Cartwright? I don\u2019t like gunfighters in my town. You say you killed Harbinger, an\u2019 I\u2019m prepared to believe you. In my book, that makes you just the same as he was. Trouble follows your kind about. I want you out of my town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the overheated quiet that filled the room, Adam drew a long breath. He was dirty and hungry and so tired that he could feel the gritty pull of sleep on his eyelids. He let the breath go. \u201cLook sheriff, I\u2019m not a gunfighter. I don\u2019t mean to start any trouble. All I want is a meal and a bath and a bed for the night and a chance to talk to the lady.\u201d He thought it sounded perfectly reasonable. Morrison didn\u2019t agree.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sheriff\u2019s expression hardened. \u201cYou look, Cartwright. I want you to get on your horse right now and ride on through. No ifs, buts or maybes.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Abruptly, Adam got to his feet. All of a sudden he had run out of patience. This was as<\/p>\n

close as he had come to obtaining any meaningful information about Harbinger and his movements, and no hard headed, small town lawman was going to get in his way. \u201cI\u2019ll leave alright, Morrison,\u201d he said shortly, not bothering to disguise the edge in his voice. \u201cJust as soon as I\u2019m good and ready. And that won\u2019t be until I\u2019ve spoken to the lady.\u201d He turned on his heel and took the two, long strides to the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCartwright!\u201d Morrison\u2019s voice cut through the fog of anger that clouded his brain. His hand on the doorknob, Adam looked back at him; his eyes were dark with resentment. Morrison stood up slowly, unfolding himself out of the chair. \u201cIn half an hour, I\u2019m going to come looking for you. That\u2019s just enough time to water your horse. You make sure you\u2019re not around to be found.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyes spat venom. He went through the door with enough force to leave it swinging wildly on its hinges, narrowly avoided tripping over the dog and swung himself into the saddle on the black gelding\u2019s back. The animal snorted in protest as Adam pulled his head round sharply and dug in his heels.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam Cartwright was a law-abiding man; it was the way his father had raised him. He had learned from a very young age to respect any man who wore a badge on the front of his vest. Old Ben had also taught him to think for himself and to do, always, those things that he honestly believed to be right. And Adam had learned for himself, as the years had gone by, that not every man who wore a silver star was a paragon of virtue \u2013 or intelligent \u2013 or was even right all of the time. Besides, he had half an hour. He kicked the horse into a canter and rode back to the saloon he had taken note of earlier.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Silver Slipper saloon was just starting to get busy. There was a long row of horses tied up outside. Adam added the gelding to the end of the line and made his way inside. The pain in his back was aggravating his old hip injury and made him walk with a limp.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Men already stood hip to hip at the bar. Adam had to push his way in and await his turn. The bartender was working alone, and he was working his butt off. Harassed, he finally came Adam\u2019s way. \u201cWhat\u2019ll it be, cowboy?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhiskey,\u201d Adam said, \u201cand I need to talk to the woman who used to know Abediah Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barman looked at him sharply, but he was too busy to argue. \u201cThat\u2019ll by Sylvie: the blonde over there. It\u2019ll cost you a bottle to sit with the lady.\u201d He put the requisite item up on the bar, and Adam pulled out the coins to pay for it. With the bottle held by the neck and two shot glasses in his other hand, he turned to look the room over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sylvie was the only blonde there was, which, from Adam\u2019s point of view, was fortunate. Somewhere on the wrong side of thirty-five, she had a hard, angular face and the eyes of a woman who had seen everything there was to be seen at least twice. In a bright, red-satin dress, she sat at a table in front of the window with one knee crossed over the other and a bored expression. The red dress revealed her pale arms and a great deal of very white bosom. Adam carried the bottle over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMay I join you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Coolly, the woman looked him up and down. He face gave no indication of what she thought. \u201cYou bought the bottle, cowboy.\u201d She uncrossed her legs and prepared to pay attention.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hooked out a chair with his foot and sat down. He poured two generous drinks. \u201cI\u2019d like to ask you some questions.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m paid to drink with you,\u201d she said shortly, \u201cand to listen, if you want to tell me you life\u2019s story. I\u2019m not paid to tell you anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stacked five silver dollars on the table. \u201cI want you ask you about Abediah Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s hand froze with the glass carried half way to her lips. Very carefully, she put the drink down again. Her narrow face was suspicious. \u201cWhat makes you think I ever heard of anybody by that name?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat back with an air of studied nonchalance and gazed at her over the rim of his glass. \u201cThe sheriff thinks that you do, and so does the barman.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman, Sylvie, sighed. \u201cI wish some damned people would mind their own damned business,\u201d she said without passion, and tossed back the drink in a single swallow. Adam poured her another.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know him?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sylvie picked up the coins and let them drop back through her fingers onto the table. They made soft, ringing sounds as they chinked one against another. \u201cI knew a man by that name once.\u201d Her voice was lifeless and dull. \u201cThe good sheriff ran him out of town. He said he loved me; he said he\u2019d come back \u2013 but he never did.\u201d Her hard eyes fastened on Adam\u2019s face. \u201cHe send you with some sort of message?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took a deep breath. \u201cHarbinger\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A muscle jumped sharply alongside the woman\u2019s jaw. She searched Adam\u2019s expression, then dropped her gaze to the glass on the table and watched as her fingers turned it around and around, endlessly\u2026 \u201cThat\u2019s about what I figured,\u201d she said at last. \u201cWas it a gunfight?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam nodded. \u201cI\u2019m trying to trace someone who might have hired him. Did you know anything about his business interests?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHe never told me anything.\u201d The woman\u2019s eyes stayed fixed on the glass, turning, turning\u2026 \u201cNot even about his other woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam swilled whiskey around inside his mouth before he swallowed it down. He raised a politely inquiring eyebrow that disguised the turmoil of excitement that he felt inside. Now it looked like he might really get somewhere. \u201cOther woman?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sylvie drank down the warming whiskey and reached for the bottle. \u201cHe never knew that I knew anything about her. I wouldn\u2019t have done if I hadn\u2019t looked in his pant\u2019s pocket for the price of a drink and found her letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam concentrated his attention on his own hands as he refilled his glass. \u201cDo you remember anything about this letter? The woman\u2019s name? The return address?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sylvie\u2019s eyes flashed as she shot him a glance. \u201cHer name was Ruby Pollard.\u201d She reached for the bottle again. \u201cThe address was someplace in St. Louis. Why\u2019re you askin\u2019 me all these dumb questions, cowboy? Why\u2019d you wanna know?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was still trying to think of a safe answer when a dark shape loomed over the table. It was Albert Morrison. The sheriff had his huge, grey hound trailing at his heels and a rifle in his hands. The long gun\u2019s muzzle was pointed right at Adam\u2019s gut.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI told you to get out of town, Cartwright.\u201d His voice was shaded by cold, hard anger.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam put down his glass with deliberate care and gathered his legs under him, rising gracefully to his feet. He held his right hand out wide, well away from the Colt on his hip. \u201cI\u2019m going, sheriff \u2013 right now!\u201d He started to edge for the door. The grey dog snarled a warning and the hackles started to rise on its neck. Adam found himself sharing his attention between the man and the dog.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t have gunfighters in my town,\u201d Morrison rumbled, echoing the threat. If you ain\u2019t on that horse and ridin\u2019 in thirty seconds flat, you\u2019ll spend the next thirty days in my gaol, unless I decide ta shoot you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t waste any more time. He remembered enough of his manners to touch his hat to the lady, then got on his horse and rode out of town. His abiding memories of Nightingale Springs were the woman\u2019s haunted, empty eyes and her despairing voice, \u201cHe said that he loved me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He was five miles out of town and looking for somewhere to stop for the night when he saw two horsemen riding towards him out of the gloom. He couldn\u2019t see their faces \u2013 they had their backs to the fading sunset \u2013 but he recognised the horses they rode. They were two of Henry McPherson\u2019s prized stock. It occurred to Adam to wonder what they were doing so many miles from home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He collected the gelding\u2019s reins, preparing to ride on by with no more than a polite nod of acknowledgement to fellow travellers on the trail. The two horsemen separated, each pulling his horse to one side of the trail. It was an unusual manoeuvre and one that gave Adam pause for thought. Still, there was room left for him to ride the gelding in between them. He nudged the horse on with his heels and gave him an encouraging click with his tongue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The black horse didn\u2019t like it. He didn\u2019t like the creeping shadows or the cooling wind that blew off the prairie and chilled the sweat on his skin. He didn\u2019t like the smell of the strange horses coming towards him, their iron-shod hooves striking sparks from the stones in the trail. Most of all, he didn\u2019t like the sudden tension that communicated itself directly from the man in the saddle. The gelding laid back his ears and began to fight the bridle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s knees clamped tight on the fidgety animal\u2019s barrel, but controlling the horse was instinctive to a natural born horseman and that simple matter was the furthest of all from his mind. The men in front of him, one on either side of the road, had pulled up their horses and were sitting waiting for him. Now that he was closer, Adam could recognize their faces; they were two of the ranch hands he had met, briefly, at McPherson\u2019s spread. Adam remembered thinking then that he hadn\u2019t much liked the look of them. What he saw now wasn\u2019t inclined to change his opinion. He tightened the reins, stopping the gelding, but the jittery animal danced sideways, kicking up dust. Adam had his work cut out to keep both men in view at the same time. It was plain that they knew him as well; Adam was riding west, into the sunset, and the last of the light lit his face. Finally, he got the gelding to settle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men exchanged long looks across the trail. Adam got the impression that they were exchanging some unspoken message \u2013 and he thought that it might concern him. He sucked at his breath. His mouth was suddenly dry and he had butterflies in his belly. The gelding shifted again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One of the two men smiled; Adam could see his teeth, white in the gathering night. \u201cWell,\u201d came the voice in a slow western drawl, \u201cif it ain\u2019t our local gunfighter: the man who claims he shot Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked from one shadowed face to the other. \u201cIs there something specific I can do for you men?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWow-ee!\u201d The other man joined in the conversation \u201cDon\u2019t he talk fancy?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The first man grinned again. \u201cThat\u2019s what you call an education.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHe don\u2019t look such a big man ta me.\u201d The second man shifted around in his saddle. \u201cPerhaps we should find out just how fast he is with that gun.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was suddenly very much aware of the weight of the Colt on his hip. Moving carefully, he clasped his hands together on top of his saddle horn. \u201cI\u2019ve got no fight with either of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two exchanged another look. \u201cYou\u2019ve got yourself a big reputation about these parts,\u201d the first man said. \u201cMight just be worthwhile taking it off you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt his skin crawl. The little hairs at the back of his neck started to stand up on end. He was fast with a gun. He could comfortably take out one of the men if only the damn gelding would stand still long enough! But there were two of them, and they were spread across the trail. Sitting wide apart the way they were, they had him covered. He couldn\u2019t get both of them, and all of them knew it. Adam wasn\u2019t about to try. He pursed his lips into something that resembled a smile. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just get out of my way?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The grins on the two men\u2019s faces died. One of them said, \u201cYou gonna draw that gun, Mister?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam thought about it. There was no point in getting himself killed for another man\u2019s reputation. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The second man sniggered. \u201cLooks like he\u2019s scared.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The first man had a speculative look on his face. \u201cYou a coward or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam considered his hands. When he looked up again, he still wore that same, pleasant expression. \u201cNo. But I\u2019m not going to fight you.\u201d He gathered his reins. \u201cI\u2019m going to ride on down the trail, and you\u2019re not about to stop me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Holding the gelding together with his hands and his knees, Adam walked him forward down the centre of the road. The two men sat and watched him with sneers on their faces, but they made no move to stop him or to get in his way. Adam didn\u2019t look back, but it was a long time before the burning itch in his back subsided enough for him to think about stopping and making a camp. The accusation of \u2018coward\u2019 rang loud in his ears and made his cheeks red. He guessed it was part of the price a man had to pay. That night, he didn\u2019t sleep at all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The city lay much as he\u2019d left it, broiling gently in the heat, cloaked in its own miasma of dust and noise and stink. Adam stopped at the hotel and managed to secure the same room that he\u2019d occupied before. He dumped his rifle and his saddlebags on top of the bed and then sat down and pulled off his boots. Shaving in front of the mirror, he made a long and critical examination of his face. He had lost weight and was fit and slim and strong after spending so long in the saddle. His cheeks had become hard, flat planes, and his complexion had been browned by the sun. It gave him a lean and hungry look. His eyes were far-focused from looking at distant horizons.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Washed and wearing fresh linen, he dressed carefully in his new grey suit and rode the gelding back to the livery stable. The horse tried to disable him with a final, parting kick.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chuckling with amusement, Adam threaded his way through the now familiar back streets and alleyways that would lead him, eventually, to Samuel Rosen\u2019s shop. He exchanged a word or two with several people that he had come to know and threw pennies to a group of ragamuffin children who sat on the edge of the boardwalk with their naked feet in the street.\u00a0 He was looking forward cheerfully to spending some time with Rachel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was a smile of anticipation broadening his handsome face as he strode \u2018round the last, well known corner and started to cross the street. It was then that it hit him that something was badly wrong. The smile died quickly and his long stride faltered when he saw what lay in front. The wood built structure that had housed both the tailor\u2019s shop and his family had been burned to the ground. It was no more than a blackened ruin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stopped dead in his tracks and stared, his face gone suddenly blank with shock and disbelief. Memories leapt into his mind, so fresh he could smell them and taste them: syrup laden pancakes and bolts of woollen cloth, scented candles and fragrant, fruity wine. He heard a woman\u2019s laughter and the music of a much-loved violin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHar there!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam leapt aside in the nick of time as a mule drawn wagon rolled inexorably by. The heavily muscled shoulders of the animals and the iron-rimmed wheels missed him only by inches. Their passage spun him around. The burly driver leaned down from his high seat and shouted an obscenity into Adam\u2019s face. Adam stared after him, stunned, then managed to gather enough of his scattered wits to get himself out of the middle of the street.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A faint smell of smoke still lingered in the ruins, but the ashes, when he touched them were cold. Nothing was recognizable except for a few, charred beams. Adam straightened slowly, staring at the greasy ash that stained his hand, still not able to grasp the fact that the home, and the family, was gone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He searched out the huge Italian woman who lived, together with what seemed like eighteen or twenty children, in the shanty next door. He didn\u2019t speak more than a few words of her language, nor she of his, but by use of word and gesture she managed to convey some sense of what had happened. The fire had started late one night more than a week before. Frantic activity on the part of the local community had managed to prevent the blaze from spreading to the rest of the neighbourhood, but nothing could be done to save the tailor\u2019s shop. When Adam tried to ask what had happened to Rachel and the Rosens, of the torrent of rapid Italian he only understood one word \u2013 \u2018morte\u2019 \u2013 dead!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Seeing the shock on his face, the woman offered him coffee, but Adam refused. Hat in hand, he stepped back into the street. The town was still bright and noisy, but, for Adam, the heat had gone out of the sun. He felt cold inside \u2013 chilled to the core. He had confronted death before, on more than one occasion. It never failed to leave him empty and despairing at its wastefulness.\u00a0 He supposed he had to feel that way to be the man he wanted to be. He took one last look at the burnt out husk of the tailor\u2019s dream, then started out towards Main Street and the central part of the town. He didn\u2019t look back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam went to the sheriff\u2019s office and barged his way inside without the preamble of knocking. Jed, the deputy with the long, greying hair, whom Adam had met on the docks \u2013it seemed like a lifetime ago \u2013 was asleep in Tomas\u2019s chair. Adam\u2019s noisy arrival woke him up with a start. The raised front legs of his chair hit the floor with a crash, and he reached for a gun that wasn\u2019t nearly close enough to do him any good. Adam leaned forward with both hands on the desk. Flames had kindled anew; they burned in Adam\u2019s eyes, reflections of the anger he felt deep down inside. He refrained – just barely \u2013 from reaching over and grabbing the sleep befuddled man by the front of the vest. He did, after all, wear a badge. \u201cWhere\u2019s Tomas?\u201d Adam demanded. His temper was roused, and his tongue was razor edged.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jed gathered his decorum and straightened his hat. He blinked into Adam\u2019s face. \u201cHe\u2019s out on his patrol. Could be most anyplace.\u00a0 Say, Cartwright, we thought you left town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d Adam told him shortly, \u201cand now I\u2019m back. What happened the night the Rosen place burned down?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHappened? Lots of flames and smoke is what happened. Folk running every which-away with buckets of water trying to get the Goddamned thing put out. That\u2019s the way it is with fires. Now there\u2019s a whole lot of talk about buying one o\u2019 those new fire-engine thing fer the next time it happens.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam straightened up and took his hands off the desk. They promptly coiled themselves into tight, white fists. He worked his jaw to get some of the tension out of the muscles and drew a deep, calming breath. \u201cWhat\u2019s Tomas doing about the Rosens?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jed gazed at him as if he were slightly stupid. \u201cWell, nothin, I guess. What\u2019s there to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam leaned forward again; his hot breath scorched the deputy\u2019s face. \u201cThree people burned alive in that fire, and Tomas does nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTomas figured it might have been an accident.\u201d Jed\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201c\u2018Sides, only the old man died. The two woman-folks, they got away. Didn\u2019t you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For Adam, the whole world had stopped, then started again with a jolt. A phrase of his father\u2019s rang in his ears: the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. A friend had been lost to him, a talented man with a kind trusting heart and a deep love of music, but the man\u2019s wife and his niece were still alive. Adam breathed in carefully. \u201cIt was no accident,\u201d he said with assurance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not what Tomas thinks.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen Tomas is wrong,\u201d Adam said. \u201cWhen you see him, you tell him I\u2019m back and tell him I\u2019m going to find out what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jed nodded; his eyes were fixed on Adam\u2019s face. \u201cI\u2019ll tell him Cartwright. You can count on me telling him that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam made his way to the caf\u00e9, dodging the afternoon traffic in a kind of otherworldly daze. Things were happening a shade too fast. Rachel was there, serving at tables and looking as if nothing untoward had occurred. Adam noted with part of his brain that she had acquired a new pencil, the stub of the old one having been entirely worn away. It wasn\u2019t until she turned in his direction and he saw her face that he saw the havoc of grief. Her face was the same, but drawn and pale and even more tired than it had been before. Her eyes were deep wells of tragedy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took off his hat as he went through the door. \u201cRachel?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She looked up at the sound of her name. Her face changed when she saw him, seeming to crumple all at once as a mask fell away. \u201cAdam!\u201d All he could do was wrap his arms round her as she clung to him, her shoulders shaking. The smell of her hair filled his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The storm didn\u2019t last long. Within moments he felt her stiffen as she pulled away. Sniffing and knuckling tears out of her eyes, she drew a cloak of composure around her. \u201cAdam, I\u2019m so glad you\u2019re back.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam steered her into a chair and organized coffee for both of them. Then he sat down himself and reached for her hand. Her fingers were skeletally white against his deep, golden tan. They both looked at them; they defined the differences between them, accentuated the gulf that lay between their two worlds. Adam said, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you try to tell me what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel sucked in her breath and took back her hand. She picked up her cup and wrapped her white fingers around it. \u201cI hardly know what happened. I was asleep when the fire started.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTry and remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She stared hard into her cooling coffee. \u201cIt must have started in the shop at the front. When I woke up, the room was already filled up with smoke. My aunt and I escaped through the door at the back. My uncle tried to save some of his stock, but the whole building went up like dry tinder. My uncle never came out.\u201d She closed her eyes tight as fresh tears threatened.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt the sharp pain of empathy. \u201cWas there anything to make you think it might not have been an accident?\u201d He tried to ask the question gently, but he couldn\u2019t keep the edge from his voice.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy no!\u201d Rachel looked at him, frowning, startled, as if the idea had never occurred to her before. \u201cHow could it have been anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI want you to think about it. Think very hard. Try and tell me everything that you saw and heard that night.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel shook her head, refusing to remember the horror. \u201cI can\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes you can.\u201d Adam reached out and took her hand again in the grip of a friend. \u201cIt\u2019s important that you remember everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She stared at him, at the intensity in his face and at the light that glowed deep down in his amber eyes. \u201cI remember my aunt screaming my uncle\u2019s name. When she realized that he wasn\u2019t coming out, she tried to run back into the flames. A neighbour and I had to hold her back.\u201d Rachel\u2019s voice faltered; for a moment, she couldn\u2019t go on.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s grip tightened. \u201cYou\u2019re doing well. What else do you remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel gathered herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. \u201cI remember the heat and the smoke and the crackle of burning wood and the play of firelight on peoples faces\u2026\u201d She opened her eyes and stared into Adam\u2019s face. She didn\u2019t see him, what she saw was inside her own mind. \u201cI saw faces,\u201d she said again. Her expression changed; her chin trembled. The grip of her fragile fingers on Adam\u2019s hand became painful.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He prompted her gently, trying hard not to break the spell, \u201cRachel, tell me about the faces.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She shook her head slowly, trying to dispel the vision, afraid to let it go. \u201cUgly, ugly faces, laughing! One of them covered with warts!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let go of the breath he hadn\u2019t know he was holding and pulled in another. It was what he had feared and what he had expected. He felt empty, drained, and yet filled with a seething rage. A hard knot of anger had formed in his belly, and it was starting to burn white-hot. He was a man with unfinished business. He looked at Rachel earnestly. The fire of his intentions was bright in his eyes. \u201cAre you going to be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d Rachel nodded and took back her hand. \u201cMy aunt and I have been taken in by members of our community. They\u2019re taking good care of us.\u201d Looking at her, Adam could see it was true.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His expression had already hardened into an expression of unrelenting determination that would have made anyone who knew him well run for cover and hide. Quietly, he said, \u201cThen you can leave the rest to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam submerged himself in the underclass of society. He knew who he was looking for, but it was far harder than he had expected to track his quarry down. The people he talked to were suspicious of strangers \u2013 particularly one who was obviously wealthy and educated. He discovered that, in the end, there was little that money wouldn\u2019t buy. He succeeded by the judicious application of stealth and bribery, a few small, but, perhaps, justifiable threats of violence and the sad fact that the men he was looking for hadn\u2019t the sense to keep their heads down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He traced them, after several days of looking, to a Mexican style cantina about a mile from the centre of town – a place where, so he learned, the three ate regularly. It was evening when Adam arrived.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The room was large and high ceilinged with some sort of fancy balcony along the walls to give it a second floor. The tables were pushed up close together and there were a lot of people crammed inside. It wasn\u2019t the place for a confrontation, but Adam wasn\u2019t prepared to consider his options. It was filled with colour and noise and movement: men eating and drinking and dancing with women in bright dresses, music and voices all shouting at once to make themselves heard above the general clamour. The heat and the smell of bodies and beer and greasy food all conspired to turn Adam\u2019s stomach \u2013 that, and the turmoil he felt inside. He pushed his way through the crowd to the long, wooden counter that ran the length of the furthest wall. His eyes, narrowed and watchful, searched every face. He was so focused on what he was looking for that it didn\u2019t take long to find them. The three of them sat with their heads close together at one of the closely crowded tables eating spiced Mexican beans. It crossed Adam\u2019s mind to wonder what new evils they might be plotting.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He ordered a glass of whiskey so sour that it puckered his mouth, then turned to give them his undivided attention.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jonas Tilby was every bit as ugly as Adam remembered. In fact, in the brighter lights of the cantina, he looked even uglier. He has warts on his chin and warts on his nose and a whole fresh crop of them over his forehead. At least his stench was submerged in the general stink of his surroundings. At one and the same time he was talking and laughing and eating; his mouth was stuffed full of beans. He gestured with hands that were short fingered and stubby, swollen with infected skin eruptions and lined with ingrained dirt. Adam recalled the touch of those hands on his clothing and suppressed an inward shudder. He experienced a fresh and overwhelming sense of revulsion. Tilby was the kind of man he liked least: loud and bigoted, crude and, above all, cruel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was never certain if it were him or the suit that Tilby first saw. The ugly man stopped talking and chewing at precisely the same instant. His gaze settled and centred about Adam\u2019s middle button and drifted upwards from there. Adam met his eyes with a steady, level stare.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tilby\u2019s chair scraped against the wood of the floor as he got slowly on to his feet. As before, he was wearing the customary western garb of shirt, vest and pants \u2013 Adam strongly suspected it was the same shirt \u2013 and a Colt strapped down on his thigh. The Mountebank brothers, seeing him rise, turned their heads to see what had caught his attention. Seeing Adam, they stood up, ranging themselves alongside Tilby. The cantina began to empty abruptly as diners abandoned their plates and their tables and fled in a tidal wave of panicky humanity, intent only on getting out of the way. Much of the crowd reformed itself at the two sides of the room, anxious and eager onlookers as the drama unfolded.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam nodded grave greeting, \u201cTilby.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tilby produced some sort of grin. The bits of bean stuck on his teeth did nothing to enhance his appearance. \u201cWell, if it ain\u2019t the Pretty Man.\u201d He chuckled, glancing at his companions to see if they understood the joke. The Mountebanks were more anxious than amused. They read more into Adam\u2019s expression. They spread themselves wider. Tilby said, \u201cI bin waitin\u2019 fer you, Mister. I had a feelin\u2019 you\u2019d come creepin out o\u2019 the woodwork once you found out what happened to your Yiddisher friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s emotions were welling inside him; he struggled to keep control. The hard knot of anger he had been carrying around in his belly swelled until it threatened to cut off his breath. \u201cYou set fire to the tailor\u2019s shop,\u201d Adam said in a carefully measured tone. \u201cYou didn\u2019t care that the family were sleeping inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The grin returned to Tilby\u2019s face; now, it was more of a smirk. \u201cThe law says it was an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI know differently.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs that a fact?\u201d Tilby sneered. \u201cThat\u2019s somethin\u2019 you\u2019re gonna have to prove, Pretty Man.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One of the mountebanks sniggered, a thin, broken sound in the attentive silence. Adam said, concisely, \u201cYou were seen laughing after the fire started.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The other Mountebank fidgeted. Tilby shook his head. \u201cThat don\u2019t prove nothin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt does to me.\u201d Adam didn\u2019t need any more convincing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tilby licked dry lips. \u201cSo what do you plan on doin\u2019 about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam drew a long breath. Now, he came to the difficult part. \u201cI\u2019m taking you down to the sheriff\u2019s office.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAn\u2019 supposin\u2019 we don\u2019t want ta go?\u201d The Mountebank giggled again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Left handed, Adam reached behind his back and gathered the skirts of his coat out of the way of his Colt. His right hand flexed. With a conscious effort, he forced himself to relax. An attack of cramp in his fingers was not what he needed \u2013 not a thing a man could afford. It was all the response that Tilby needed; he grabbed for the butt of his gun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Between one racing heartbeat and the next, faster than he could think, Adam\u2019s Colt leapt into his hand. It bucked and roared twice before Tilby\u2019s gun cleared the leather. One of the Mountebanks went over backwards. Tilby sat down hard. A surprised look came to his ugly face and blood blossomed brightly over the front of his shirt. Adam stepped over him to get to the other Mountebank, trapping him up against the bar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man cringed and tried to duck out of the way, but Adam had him firmly by a fist-full of vest and bent him backwards over the counter. A red haze drifted over Adam\u2019s eyes. His breath hissed out of his mouth. \u201cYou\u2019re going to tell it to the sheriff just the way it happened, Mountebank.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mountebank whimpered, \u201cI didn\u2019t do nothin! It wasn\u2019t me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam brought up the Colt and pressed the muzzle hard into Mountebank\u2019s mouth. The man\u2019s lips split and bled, and then his teeth loosened. He opened his mouth and Adam shoved the gun-barrel inside. He thumbed back the hammer. \u201cYou fired the tailor\u2019s shop: you and your friends,\u201d Adam suggested. \u201cYou burned the old man alive!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mountebank\u2019s eyes were wide open. He was shaking and crying with fear. The tears ran down his face and dripped on the floor. He nodded enthusiastic agreement \u2013 as far as he was able.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shotgun in hand, Zachary Tomas stepped out of the crowd. He took in the scene with a sweep of his eyes. \u201cAll right, Cartwright. Let him go.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThese three killed the tailor,\u201d Adam said. \u201cThis one admitted it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI was here. I saw it.\u201d Tomas gestured with the shotgun. \u201cOne of these two is dead. I\u2019ll see to it that the others hang. Now let the man go!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s breath sighed; his blood sang melodies inside his head. Slowly, he withdrew the Colt and unwound his fingers from Mountebank\u2019s greasy clothing. Mountebank slumped to the floor, his back to the bar. His face was parchment yellow and sweating and his breathing didn\u2019t sound right. His eyes were still leaking tears. Adam felt not the slightest twinge of remorse. He stood back and watched while Tomas arranged to have the three men taken away. Finally, the sheriff gave him his attention. He shouldered the shotgun and hooked his other hand in his belt. He looked at Adam with some degree of belligerence. \u201cYou told me you weren\u2019t a gunfighter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tomas eyed the Colt in Adam\u2019s holster pointedly but didn\u2019t press the point. \u201cI guess you\u2019ll be movin\u2019 on?\u201d It wasn\u2019t a suggestion.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI hadn\u2019t thought about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, think about it now.\u201d Tomas looked down at the blood on the floor. \u201cI know your sort. I\u2019ve seen it before. You think you can put the whole world to rights with that gun. Well, you can\u2019t! This time, you got lucky, Cartwright; this time you were right. Next time – who knows?\u201d He gave Adam a long, hard stare. \u201cI don\u2019t want ta be the one ta hang you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The shotgun still on his shoulder, Tomas limped, stiff legged, to the door. He looked back, once, then stepped out into the night. Adam leaned back against the bar. The cantina was getting back to normal: music was playing, people were eating and drinking and talking, the noise level steadily rising. The dead man was forgotten, the other two taken away. The only reminders of what had happened were the stains on the floor and the memories etched inside Adam\u2019s head. Adam decided that what he needed most of all was a good, stiff drink.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Four<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The name of the riverboat was \u2018The Missouri Rose\u2019. A proud sternwheeler, she was an amazing feat of the engineers craft. At one hundred and sixty-two feet in length, she was the biggest boat on the river. She had a narrow, overhung, needlepoint prow that broadened quickly into a beam of almost forty feet. With a feather-light superstructure and a flat-bottomed hull, she drew only a meagre thirty-seven inches of water over the shallow and ever shifting sandbars of the river known throughout the land as \u2018The Old Muddy\u2019.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Moored at the end of the timber built pier with a full head of steam and long streams of flags flying from every corner and cornice, she was a sight to stir a man\u2019s soul. She was white painted above and black below with the curlicues of her name emblazoned in gold leaf and garlands of flowers depicted in the brightest of colours above the promenade deck. Seen from the shore, surrounded by an adoring retinue of barges and tugboats and dories, it was all too easy to think of her as the Queen of the River.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The smell of her drifted over the water: hot iron and oil and steam and the stink of humanity crowded together. Black and white, free and slave, men swarmed on the dockside around her, preparing her for departure. Burly, bronzed stevedores with bulging muscles and brilliant sashes tied \u2018round their waists loaded supplies and unloaded the baggage of those going west and carried aboard the sawn off billets that served her boilers as fuel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found himself caught up by the bustle, swept along by the noise. He couldn\u2019t help but be excited at the prospect of adventure. He felt his blood surge. Bag in hand, he picked his way through the clamour and confusion and showed his ticket to the man in the seaman\u2019s cap who stood at the shoreward end of the gangplank. The rest of his belongings, packed up in a box, had already been sent aboard.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just for one moment, as he stepped onto the deck, his legs felt unsteady. He felt the heave and the flow of the powerful current passing under the boat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had booked a stateroom amidships. It was a grand affair with generous space for one man travelling alone and rather too many frills and flounces for a man of his moderate tastes. Still, the bed was comfortable, and the wide windows afforded a view of the bank, which was what he had paid for. He dumped his belongings on the counterpane and hurried back on deck to watch the boat leave.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The boat gave vent to a long, wailing whistle, then three short, sharp hoots in quick succession. Twin chimney stacks belched columns of smoke to be swept away by the wind. The gangplank was swung inboard and the boat fended off with long, padded poles. Helpless and vulnerable, she began to drift with the flow of the stream. Then, with a grate that Adam felt deep in his bones, the gears engaged, and the massive paddlewheel at the rear of the boat began to turn.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At once, the steamer made headway; her bow lifted out of the water as she carved her way through the crosscurrents and steered for the centre of the stream. Adam felt a distinct shove in his back and the movement of air against his face as the steamship carried him forward. The city of Kansas moved slowly by on the bank. He wondered if he would ever come there again and, if he did, would anything be the same? The world was changing so swiftly around him it was all a man could do to keep up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Missouri River forms a part of the Kansas-Missouri border and then meanders eastwards across central Missouri to its eventual union with the mighty Mississippi. In eighteen-sixty, the river was wide and swift, loaded with mud and silts and shale and carrying with it a varied assortment of debris. There were half submerged barrels just bobbing along and water-logged bales floating low down in the current, rolling tree trunks charging like battering rams and the bloated carcasses of horses and cattle and one, lodged up on a mud-bank, that might have been a man. They didn\u2019t stop to investigate. It was a treacherous maze of shifting channels that were a nightmare to navigation; because of the speed of the current, the sandbanks were always moving and no two journeys were ever the same.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the sights and sounds of the city behind him, Adam stood a long time at the rail and watched the landscape go by. Driven by rainfall and the thaws in the distant Rocky Mountains, the river was prone to frequent flooding. Its banks were often eroded and washed away. They were lined with ugly, fly-infested swamplands, exposed roots and drowned, dying trees.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The steamboat was a floating, self-contained city with a resident population whose working lives were devoted to the vessel and the transient, ever-changing flow of passengers that used her as a highway east and west. The boat was appointed in the manner of the most elaborate, southern hotels. There were richly coloured, oriental rugs on the floors and fine, silken drapes and brocaded furniture in all the lobbies; oil paintings hung on the walls and chandeliers from the ceilings. The kitchens were presided over by a chef of renown, and the cuisine was truly superb. Adam had never tasted finer. He sat in the dining room for a long time after he had finished his meal. He took the time to enjoy a second, large brandy and a rare cigar while darkness settled in like a blanket over the river. A hundred lamps were lit and \u2018The Missouri Rose\u2019 shone like a water-borne palace of lights.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam realized that he had grown to miss the sophistication of the east. He had spent several years there as a very young man, attending college classes and lectures. He had attained honours degrees in architecture and engineering and a very sound grounding in all the social graces of Victorian society. He had learned to appreciate the finer things of life: art and music and literature, good food and wine and the company of educated friends. He had also come to understand a differently structured community and to accept the service of others. Here, he found it again. There were grave faced butlers in long-tailed coats after the English style and blackamoor maids in caps and aprons. Their duty and desire was to serve the whims of the paying guests. A man of two worlds, Adam found himself uncomfortable. Part of him, the westerner, the independent, self-sufficient man, was embarrassed by the willing servitude; the other part felt he was coming home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Replete, well rested and relaxed, Adam returned to his stateroom to change his clothes. He dressed with care in a full-skirted black coat and a finely pleated, white silk shirt. He brushed back his hair and completed the desired effect with a black, silk cravat elaborately tied at his throat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Outside his room, he was approached by a respectful, brown-skinned man in knee britches and a red striped waistcoat trimmed with gold braid. He looked in perfect accord with his grand surroundings. Under his arm he carried a box of brushes and polishing cloths. \u201cShine yore shoes, Masta?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was on Adam\u2019s lips to refuse until he saw the look in the brown man\u2019s eyes. It was an expression of self-esteem. There was no subservience; the man wasn\u2019t begging. Adam gave him a nod. \u201cAre you somebody\u2019s servant?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Suh!\u201d Adam got a flashing, bright smile. \u201cI\u2019s a free man. I work here \u2018cause this is a good place ta be!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam paid him in silver.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The casino was a cathedral dedicated, in theory at least, to the twin gods of Luck and Chance. It occupied most of the stern of the boat and was exposed on both sides to the open air. Adam paused on the threshold and took a deep breath. His lungs filled up with the atmosphere of fevered expectation and foetid, animal exhalation, the mingled smells of perfume and sweat and fine, bourbon whiskey. It was like entering some gilded underground cavern touched with magic from a fairy tale. The walls were lined with mirrors, and the room was filled with swirling colour and a rising tide of noise and heat. A dozen cascading crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Below, in among the shoulder-to-shoulder press of seething humanity, was the facility for every conceivable game of chance. There were tables for craps and roulette and chemin-de-fer and every variety of poker.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

While Adam was in no way adverse to a quiet game of cards in the Silver Dollar or The Bucket of Blood back home in Virginia City, he wasn\u2019t, in essence, a gambling man. He considered himself more of a student of human nature. Moving among the smartly dressed men and the women in gorgeous dresses and jewels, he surreptitiously studied their faces and their body language. Most moods swung between enforced gaiety and intense concentration, with occasional, deep despair. Every available seat was filled. Small fortunes changed hands at the roll of a dice or the fall of a card. There was a constant, high-level buzz of conversation, laughter and groans of disappointment mingled in equal measure with the tinkle of glasses and the clink of coinage. The flash and the rattle of spinning wheels caught they eye only to have it distracted by the hard gleam of silver and the softer glow of gold. Over all came the showman\u2019s call from the Wheel of Chance that stood tall in the centre of the room; \u201c\u2018Round and \u2018round and \u2018round she goes; where she stops, nobody knows.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was amused and bemused by it all. He bought himself a drink at the bar at the back: a bourbon and water, and leaned back against the polished, mahogany counter, one heel cocked on the rail, to make another sweep of the room.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was the woman\u2019s hair that first caught his eye. It was a metallic, golden-yellow fancifully dressed with pearl-headed studs and a peacock blue ostrich feather that bobbed with every movement of her head. She sat at a nearby table dealing faro for the house. He watched her awhile. Clearly an accomplished professional, she was very good at what she did. She handled the pasteboards with swift, economical precision and spoke in cool, clipped tones without any emotion shown on her face. From the neat stacks of coins in front of her it was plain that, inevitably, the house was winning. Adam, observing closely, could detect no sign of subterfuge; he was convinced in his own mind that the lady was playing a straight table.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He sipped his drink and appreciated the mellow glow of distilled corn and barley as it pooled in his stomach. It mixed well with the food and gave him a warm and comfortable feeling. He nursed the rest of the bourbon until it warmed in the glass.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Somehow, the woman felt the weight of his gaze. She looked up quickly and trapped his eyes with her own. Hers, he discovered, were blue \u2013 not the vivid, bright blue of the feather but the cool, grey-blue of wet slate after rain. She had hard, high cheekbones and flat planed cheeks that captured the yellow lamplight, a very small mouth and a pointed chin. She was not beautiful or even attractive, but her face was not one a man would soon forget. Adam estimated her age at forty. She gave him a long, hard stare. A slight smile brushed against Adam\u2019s lips. He ordered another drink.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s attention returned to her cards and her customers. She didn\u2019t look at him again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eventually, he tired of the diversion. He left his empty glass on the bar and continued his casual explorations. The lure of music led him, at last, to a curtained wall. Beyond it he discovered another large room, this one completely enclosed. The lamps were turned low, and the atmosphere was smoky and dense. At the end of the room, on a small, raised platform, three young women had interlaced their arms and danced in a bright pool of limelight. They performed some garbled version of the French can-can. The country-boy in Adam\u2019s heart watched the shameless display of white skinned limbs with open-mouthed fascination, while the more sophisticated, man-about-town merely observed with a certain cynical amusement. The dancers were enthusiastic but not very good. He had seen any number of better performances in private theatres and clubs in San Francisco. Nevertheless, the trio had a certain na\u00efve charm , and, between them, they had enough feminine attributes to keep a man interested for quite a while.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A hand slipped in to the crook of his elbow. It was the faro dealer with the bright yellow hair. \u201cHello, handsome.\u201d In high-heeled shoes, she was almost as tall as he was and could look directly into his eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s no use you looking at those fancy fillies; they have their own clientele \u2013 and they charge some mighty high prices.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled, \u201cWas it that obvious?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve see that look on a man\u2019s face before.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spared the spangled dancers one final glance. \u201cI don\u2019t think they\u2019re quite my type.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The small mouth smiled. \u201cWell, if you\u2019re looking for a lady\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked her up and down. In addition to bring tall, she was slim and neatly made. He saw that she wore a dress of the same, vivid blue as the feather in her hair. \u201cBack there at the table, I didn\u2019t think you were interested.\u201d His expression was one of open speculation. Perhaps the diversion was just what he needed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a woman who knows what she likes. I never need look at a man more than once.\u201d She still had her hand in the crook of his arm. Through his coat and his shirt she squeezed the hard muscle of his arm. \u201cI\u2019ve got an hour before I\u2019m due back. Perhaps you could take me outside for a breath of fresh air. We could get to know each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam touched the tip of his tongue to his lips. The woman was following, exactly, his own train of thought. \u201cThat would be my pleasure.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She gave him a long, sideways look. \u201cI guess we\u2019ll see about that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They strolled along the promenade deck with their arms still linked together. The woman clung closely and allowed her body to brush against his as they walked. It was a dark night and rather cool. The sky was shrouded in enough high cloud to blot out the light of the stars. The moon, half-faced, shone through as a fat, misty crescent, It\u2019s faint light turned the surface of the river into a highway of silver. It revealed the burgeoning surge of the water: ever changing, always the same, and the treacherous flow of the crosscurrents over the sandbanks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The river smelled stronger at night \u2013 of rich silts and oozes washed from fertile hillsides and swept along by the stream in its frantic dash to reach its convergence with the wider and slower Mississippi. It smelled of rot and decay. The breeze blew down from the land, carrying with it the scent of the swamp. The man and the woman stood at the rail and watched the dark bank glide by.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She told him that her name was Lily. \u201cLily Marshal. I\u2019ve been on these rivers so long that I can\u2019t even remember where I got on.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Adam Cartwright out of Nevada.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a long way from home, Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPeople keep telling me that.\u201d They shared in each other\u2019s laughter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For a brief span of time the boat was a world apart, divorced from the rest of creation, and Adam Cartwright was living a different life. The steady pulse of the engine, transmitted through the wood of the deck and the iron of the rail and the thrust of the paddlewheel, fired his blood. The sweet smell of the woman\u2019s perfume rose into his head. She smiled into his face, and the smile was an invitation. He put a familiar hand on her waist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An angry voice came from behind him, \u201cLily, what you doing walking out on another man\u2019s arm?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam knew the voice; there was no way on Earth that he could ever forget it. When he turned, he knew the face as well, although it was thirteen years older than when he\u2019d last seen it. \u201cCharlie Fullerton!\u201d He stuck out his hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Anger faded from dark-brown eyes and disbelief dawned. \u201cAdam! Adam Cartwright!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily looked from one to the other. \u201cYou two know one another,\u201d she said with sudden perception.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie Fullerton crowed with sheer delight. \u201cI\u2019ll say we do! We were at school together!\u201d He was still trying to shake Adam\u2019s arm off. \u201cDo you still see Brett Hansen?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFrom time to time I do.\u201d A westerner like himself, Hansen had always been Adam\u2019s special friend. During their years together at college they had been all but joined at the hip, and, often, Charlie had tagged along. Adam recalled one frenetic, east-coast summer when the three of them had combined their initials and dubbed themselves \u2018The ABC Cavaliers\u2019. They must, he thought wryly, have terrorised the local population. Charlie had changed in the intervening years, but then, so had Adam. Both men had put on weight. Charlie\u2019s added flesh was soft and rounded compared to Adam\u2019s iron-hard muscle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in hell are you doing here, Adam?\u201d asked Charlie, still amazed, \u201cI thought you went back west to run that whopping great ranch of your father\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chuckling ruefully, Adam remembered that long-ago, young man\u2019s boast. \u201cIt didn\u2019t quite work out that way. Now I\u2019m travelling, looking for someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell. I\u2019ll be damned! You\u2019re the last man alive I expected to find on this river!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The three of them ended up in the steamer\u2019s luxurious bar, seated at a table with a bottle of bourbon between them. Lily had only the time for one drink before she had to hurry back to her job at the faro table. The two men settled down to share the rest of the bottle and to catch up on the last several years.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie had always preferred to do his drinking sitting down. He came up several inches shorter than Adam and had always been painfully aware of the fact. Seated, the difference in height was less apparent. He reached for the bottle and filled up both their glasses. \u201cSo, Adam, what do you do with yourself these days? Are you putting all that fine education to good use?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Over the next several glasses Adam told him all about the cattle business and the timber trade and the mines and all the other assorted pies in which the Cartwright family had their collective fingers. Even in its abbreviated form, it took considerably longer that he had expected. When he was finished, Charlie raised his glass in salute. His eternally cheerful face was smiling. \u201cI\u2019m glad that at least one of my classmates has done so well for himself: senior partner in the family firm, first born son and principle heir. What more could you want out of life?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled self-consciously. \u201cI hadn\u2019t really though of it like that. Tell me what you\u2019ve been doing with yourself.\u201d He refilled his glass and sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table. Certainly, Charlie looked prosperous enough in a fashionable, dark-coloured suit and a plum coloured waistcoat, complete with a silver watch chain, buttoned over his belly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie grinned crookedly into his whiskey. \u201cYou know how it goes. I make my living right here on the river: a little of this, a little of that, buying, selling, gambling. I make enough to get by.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hid his momentary confusion behind the rim of his glass. Charlie had been among the brightest in class, if somewhat lazy and sly. He thought that his friend could have done rather better. \u201cYou certainly look well on it.\u201d And Charlie did; he looked plump and satisfied. Adam asked a relevant question, \u201cWhere does Lily come in all this?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie grinned. \u201cStill got an eye for the ladies, eh, Adam?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam held up a hand. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t throw my rope on another man\u2019s steer.\u201d The heat from the bourbon was spreading out from his belly and filling him up with a comfortable glow. He had already consumed far more than was usual on a Friday night back at home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cLily\u2019s a friend,\u201d Charlie said. \u201cWe\u2019ve know each other a lot of years; don\u2019t let that stand in your way, old buddy.\u201d He emptied the bottle into his glass and signalled for another. It was well into the early hours when Adam wended his way, just a little unsteadily, back to his stateroom.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He slept late in the morning. When he woke up it was already broad daylight. The sunlight streamed in through his portside windows and fell full on his face. With a groan, he screwed his eyes shut and turned his face away. It was already too late. Physical discomfort ensured that he couldn\u2019t go back to sleep. His mouth tasted like the bottom of a tar barrel, and his head was stuffed with what felt like a feather bed. The excess of liquor had turned sour in his stomach, and he felt vaguely sick. He remembered, belatedly, why it was that he had given up late night drinking sessions with his friends the same autumn that they had left college. It wasn\u2019t that he couldn\u2019t hold his liquor \u2013 that had never been a problem \u2013 but he wasn\u2019t fond of the prolonged after effects. The woolly head and the upset stomach were what his father would call \u2018his just deserts\u2019. Ben had no objection to any man drinking, but he firmly believed in moderation. Adam could see his point of view. He would very much liked to have stayed in bed, but his bladder demanded he answer the call of nature.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He rolled onto his elbow, and then, with a considerable effort that made the room rotate very slowly around him, he sat up. He looked at his feet. At least he had managed to pull off his boots before he got into bed. He didn\u2019t remember doing it. His coat and his gunbelt hung from the bedpost. The rest of his clothes were rumpled and uncomfortably damp. Doggedly determined, he stripped to the skin and washed himself down with cold water. Then, with great care, he shaved his face and his throat. His hand was absolutely steady. He recalled from the days of his youth that the discipline of wielding an open edged razor concentrated his mind wonderfully and cleared his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Washed and shaved and dressed in clean linen, he felt halfway human again. His legs were still a trifle unsteady as he made his way to the dining room. He put the unaccustomed phenomenon down to the roll of the boat. At almost noon, they were still serving breakfast.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Adam!\u201d A long arm, waving, beckoned him over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie Fullerton was already installed at a table by the window. Beyond him the day was dazzlingly bright with sunlight glancing off the water. The now distant bank of the river moved by at a steady pace. Adam found the motion somewhat unsettling.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eternally cheerful, Charlie was smiling. He seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the night before. He wore fresh linen under his waistcoat and had a huge breakfast of kidneys and bacon and fried potatoes, corn bread and sweet preserves spread out on the table before him. Adam\u2019s stomach dared him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie looked at him quizzically, taking in the shadows around his eyes and the somewhat queasy pallor of his face beneath his tan. \u201cThe Adam Cartwright I remember could have spent a night drinking and come back for more in the morning,\u201d he commented mildly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOlder and wiser,\u201d Adam told him. The waitress came over and he settled for toast and lots of hot, black coffee. \u201cYou say you ride the rivers all the way to New Orleans?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. I make the round trip twice a year.\u201d Charlie speared another kidney and attacked it with relish. \u201cYou ever been there?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shook his head. \u201cI never have.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMake a point of going there some day. It really is a town that\u2019s worth seeing.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo my Pa tells me.\u201d Adam rinsed coffee around his mouth; its bitterness washed the last taste of sour whiskey out of his mouth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie looked up. \u201cAh! Here comes the lovely Lily to join us.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The men got to their feet and greeted the lady. She smiled at them both and took a seat on the third side of the table. In the steadily increasing heat of the day, she looked very cool and comfortable. She had exchanged the vivid, blue dress of the night before for a demure white cotton blouse closed at the neck with a cameo broach and a long grey skirt. Somehow, the outfit did not quite suit her. Her yellow hair, startlingly artificial in the cold light of day, was wound up into a French, pleated style and pinned with an ivory comb. She ordered coffee.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chewing on bread and bacon, Charlie said, \u201cAdam\u2019s sailing with us just as far as St. Louis.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily\u2019s small mouth made a moue of disappointment. \u201cYou\u2019re not coming all the way to New Orleans?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot this time,\u201d Adam shook his head, \u201cI have business in St Louis.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019ll miss all the fun!\u201d Lily raised her eyes to look at him, and there was a wealth of meaning in the depths of her eyes. Adam caught the look and held it. He knew that she was teasing him, and, for the moment, he was willing to be teased. But there was something deeper in her expression, and he found himself wondering what it was \u2013 and if he would like it when he found out. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to tell me all about it,\u201d he said matching her look with one of his own. Charlie smiled benignly on them both.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Over breakfast, Lily and Charlie pointed out some of the more colourful characters that regularly graced the riverboat\u2019s passenger lists. First up for scrutiny by the trio in the window seat was a southern gentleman of the old-fashioned sort. Trenchard by name, he was all fuss and bluster with a gold knobbed walking stick and a gold pin in his lavish cravat. \u201cOwns a big plantation down Louisiana way,\u201d Charlie said, leaning close to Adam\u2019s ear. \u201cGot a thousand slaves or more and just as many horses.\u201d The southerner was a big man, tall and top-heavy with a square, red face and a sandy moustache. He was resplendent in grey, stovepipe trousers and a long, green topcoat with gold, brocade facings and a tall, grey hat. \u201cI\u2019m told he\u2019s got a pretty young wife back home,\u201d Charlie whispered, \u201cwith paper-white skin and long, black hair. Trouble is, he prefers to spend the night-times with dark skinned women \u2013 and the blacker, the better.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily leaned across the corner of the table. \u201cAnd those are the Milbury sisters.\u201d With the jut of her chin she indicated the pair of elderly ladies who had just come into the room. Even at this early hour of the day they wore elaborate, fanciful gowns, face powder and paint, lots of lace trimmings and several rows of pearls apiece. They had sharp, bright eyes, and they jerked their heads with quick, short movements that reminded Adam of the little birds that feasted on pine nuts in the autumn in the High Sierra. Lily explained that the two women were quite inseparable: one was never to be seen without the other in close attendance. They lived on the riverboats the whole year \u2018round, switching from one floating, palatial home to another at random, just as the fancy took them. \u201cThey visit the casino every night,\u201d Lily confided, \u201cThey play roulette. They only ever bet very small amounts, and, somehow, they always break about even.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s Carmody Blackman,\u201d Charlie interrupted, sotto-voice. A thickset man of prosperous proportions in a sombre, well-cut suit passed by their table. To Adam\u2019s way of thinking, his dark eyes had a shifty look that he didn\u2019t much care for. \u201cBig-shot Northern industrialist,\u201d Charlie went on, \u201chas a fanatical interest in ocean-going steam ships. You\u2019ve heard about them?\u201d Adam nodded. \u201cIn my opinion, they\u2019ll never catch on. Every one he\u2019s built so far has broken down, or the boiler\u2019s blown up or they\u2019ve run aground. He just goes right on and builds another. I\u2019ve never seem him with a woman; he seems to prefer small boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And so Adam was introduced, by proxy, to a Russian prince \u2013 a dark complexioned, loose lipped young man with slick, black hair and a constantly anxious expression \u2013 only a distant cousin to the Romanoffs, to a German count with an evil reputation and a kindly face that could have belonged to anyone\u2019s grandfather, and to an accredited outlaw with whom Adam definitely didn\u2019t want to lock horns.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe duke and duchess of Camford,\u201d Charlie said, crooking a secretive finger, \u201call the way from England.\u201d Adam angled his head to look. The pair were unmistakably English to the core. The duke was a man well past middle age with a square, ruddy face and sandy-coloured side-whiskers of impressive proportions, his wife, the duchess, a tall, lean, fragile woman, wore serviceable, if inappropriate, tweeds. There were any number of rings on her fingers and three rows of large pearls around her neck. \u201cThe pair of them have more money than good sense,\u201d Charlie confided. \u201cOne of these days someone is going to relieve them of some of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was amused. Charlie spoke with a boyish enthusiasm that he remembered of old. On more than one occasion, long ago, he had been led into all sorts of mischief by that same, contagious excitement \u2013 and lived to regret it later. He said, reflectively, \u201cI recall the time you borrowed the Master\u2019s carriage and pair to spend a night on the town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I didn\u2019t know his wife was inside!\u201d Charlie\u2019s eyes sparkled with merriment. \u201cAnd how about the time you and Brett took wagers on how many petticoats the show girls wore?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam laughed, remembering. \u201cAnd then we had to find a way of counting them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wincing, Charlie inquired, \u201cHow long did it take that black eye to go down?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA long, long time! I\u2019m just glad my Pa never saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily held up her hands in self-defence. \u201cPlease! Don\u2019t tell me any more. The two of you sound like schoolboys who never grew up!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men chuckled and smiled at one another. All of a sudden they were twenty years old again with the entire world spread out before them. The warmth of their friendship rekindled, but there was something else besides; each of them felt a certain reserve \u2013 a wariness born of age and experience that welled up from somewhere inside. Neither one of them quite trusted the other.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie got to his feet. \u201cI must love you and leave you both for a while. A man has to earn a living, and I have business to attend to.\u201d He bowed low to Lily. \u201cI\u2019ll leave you in the company of my good friend, Adam. I\u2019m sure he\u2019ll think of enough stories about me to keep you entertained.\u201d With a last, flashing smile, he set his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and headed for the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His departure left Adam feeling uneasy. Charlie had left him in an awkward position \u2013 quite deliberately, it seemed. He raised a speculative eyebrow across the table at Lily. \u201cSo, what shall we do with our afternoon?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The afternoon was hot and humid and thick with the stink of the swamp. The river flowed wide and shallow; the riverboat steered the central channel with half a mile of smooth, steel-coloured water flanking her on either side. She floated, suspended, between earth and heaven. Adam and Lily strolled from the back of the boat to the bow and watched the rush of bright water go by. Lily wore a wide-brimmed straw hat to keep the sun from her face \u2013 like all fashionable eastern and southern ladies she adhered to the Victorian ideal of a flawless, paper-white skin. Adam leaned his forearms on the white painted rail. \u201cHave you known Charlie long?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAround ten years, off and on.\u201d Lily lifted her face into the wind. \u201cWe met on a riverboat, as you might have guessed. He was a gambler \u2013 not a good one. The first night he was aboard, he lost every cent he had.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam nodded his head in solemn understanding. \u201cThat sounds like Charlie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose I took pity on him. I took him in, and he\u2019s been coming back to me ever since: every time the going gets tough.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The white worm of unease stirred again in Adam\u2019s belly. \u201cYou\u2019re a remarkable lady, Lily.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo I\u2019m told.\u201d Lily laughed and slipped her hand through Adam\u2019s arm in a familiar gesture. \u201cNow, Adam Cartwright, Charlie tells me you run a great big ranch out in Nevada. Why don\u2019t you tell me all about living out west?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam told her: some of it, anyway, the light-hearted anecdotes that had the power to make a lady laugh. In exchange, she related the highlights of life on the river. Adam decided that she was a complex person with many levels to her character; he was only seeing the surface, and he wondered what was underneath.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That evening, he escorted her to dinner \u2013 he dressed in his good, black suit and she in a blue satin dress that almost matched her eyes and, he suspected, was the most demure that she possessed. She clutched a lacy shawl about her shoulders to keep off the chill. The evening was cool and grey, and the moon, risen early, was waning.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily smiled up at him as she slid into her seat. Adam ordered wine. They gazed at each other over the candle-lit table. Lily smiled and laughed at his conversation, but Adam had the feeling all through that something just wasn\u2019t right. The laughter never quite reached her eyes, and he had the crawling sensation that he was being observed with cool calculation. It made him uncomfortable. He was very much aware that he hadn\u2019t seen Charlie since that very belated breakfast. He had no idea where his friend was or what he was doing. He knew only that he had been left in the company of a not-unattractive woman whose perfume was gradually filling his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam finished his meal with coffee and Lily, hers with sweet, mint tea. Her eyes smiled over the rim of the cup. Outwardly relaxed, he felt an inner tension. \u201cThank you for your company this evening. I must say, it\u2019s been a pleasure.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very gallant.\u201d Lily started to rise, and Adam stood up to assist her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI guess you have to go and get ready for work, now?\u201d he suggested. \u201cMay I walk you along to you room?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders, clutching it too her as if for protection as they stepped out onto the deck. The night was dark but crystal clear. The curved sliver of moon hung low in the sky with just enough hook on it for a man to hang up his hat. Its faint light tinged the river with silver. The distant banks slid by in the darkness. \u201cAs it happens,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019ve decided to take the evening off.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A small smile pulled at Adam\u2019s lip. \u201cThen, perhaps, a walk in the moonlight?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a little chilly for that. I think I would like a drink to warm me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was about to suggest the bar when she put a hand on his arm. \u201cCome to my room. We could share a night-cap \u2013 perhaps pick up from where we left off last night?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam considered it. \u201cAre you sure that\u2019s a good idea?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A sly, sideways look confirmed the woman\u2019s intentions, but before she could respond a loud commotion broke out further along the deck. Men\u2019s voices were raised. There was much shouting and yelling back and forth. A woman screamed with hysteria. More men ran past them heading in that direction. Adam took a long step after them. Lily\u2019s hand clutched at his arm. \u201cAdam, don\u2019t go!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hesitated. \u201cI won\u2019t be a moment. I just want to see what\u2019s going on.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m frightened! Don\u2019t leave me here alone.\u201d Lily clung on to him \u2013 just a fraction too long.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gently but firmly, Adam disengaged her hand. \u201cYou\u2019ll be all right. Wait here, and I\u2019ll be right back.\u201d Leaving her standing beside the rail, he hurried after the other men. His thoughts were in some confusion. The woman\u2019s behaviour was not what he expected. He was attracted to her, but only in the most basic, masculine way. The surge of the blood in his body left him in no doubt of his own motives. She was interested in him as well, but not in the manner that she pretended. She seemed intent on keeping him close beside her, and he found himself wondering why. It was a matter for him to ponder on later.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The source of the uproar was easily found in the elegant and brightly-lit lobby outside the forward staterooms. There was a large knot of people milling around in a state of confusion verging on panic. Every one of them was dressed in their finery in preparation for the evening\u2019s activities. Servants ran everywhere. Men were still shouting. Adam, well used to crowded saloons and bawdy houses, sidled skilfully through the press of bodies until he could see what lay at the heart of the disturbance. Two strong men were picking the duchess of Camford up from the floor where she had fallen when she had fainted. They propped her up in a well-padded armchair. One of the Milbury sisters produced a vial of smelling salts from her reticule and waved it under the duchess\u2019s aristocratic nose while the other sister fluttered a scrap of lace in her face. The caustic crystals had the desired effect. The duchess woke up; her eyes were streaming, and she immediately swooned again. The duke hovered ineffectually in the background making guttural noises. He was purple in the face and obviously furious. Adam spoke to the man next to him, a man he recognized, vaguely, from that morning\u2019s unofficial introductions. \u201cWhat in hell\u2019s happening?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRobbery.\u201d The tall man looked at Adam sideways out of dark, narrowed eyes. His pale face was sweating and he dabbed at it fastidiously with a vast, white handkerchief. \u201cSomeone has broken into the Duchess\u2019s suite during the course of the afternoon and taken her jewels.\u201d He spoke with a thick foreign accent, although Adam couldn\u2019t immediately recall whether he was the Russian or the German.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSeveral of the staterooms have been broken into,\u201d said a nasal, American voice on Adam\u2019s other flank. Carmody Blackman, Adam remembered, the northerner with the penchant for steamships and the strange sexual appetites. \u201cValuables and considerable amounts of money taken. I\u2019ve already sent for the captain.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBut who\u2026\u201d Adam began, then let the words die on his lips. The foreign man shrugged and moved away. Adam licked his dry lips. The niggle of concerned doubt in his belly resolved itself into certainty. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew very well what was going on and who might be responsible.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The boat\u2019s officials arrived in a rush: several big men in blue uniforms and shiny brass buttons. Rapidly, they brought order to the confusion, and Adam decided it was time to leave. Without drawing any attention, he backed his way out of the crowd.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily was waiting for him, a tall, pale figure in the light of the boat\u2019s lanterns; she looked, somehow, fragile. The face she turned towards him was a white, anxious oval. Smiling thinly, Adam took her firmly by the upper arm. \u201cCome along, Lily.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Caught off balance, she stumbled against him. Adam had too hard a grip to allow her to fall. He walked towards the stern of the boat, and Lily had no choice but to go with him. \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s face was determined. \u201cYour room, I think. You offered me a drink, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily\u2019s room was a long way aft and inboard, not far from the engine room. Adam could hear and feel the vibrations of the steam-driven pistons transmitted directly through the woodwork. In contrast to the grand staterooms, it was Spartan and simply furnished. It contained a bed that took up half of the floor-space, a trunk and a dresser with pitcher and bowl. In one, curtained-off corner, Lily\u2019s dresses hung from a rail. There was no window. Lily turned up the lamp. Adam closed the door and made a swift inspection. Rubbing at the pain in her arm, Lily watched him warily. \u201cWhat are you looking for?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam turned to face her. He had the distinct impression that he was being manipulated, and he didn\u2019t much care for the sensation. His eyes, a glowing, tawny gold, communicated his annoyance. \u201cI\u2019m looking for Charlie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCharlie?\u201d Lily\u2019s face took on an incredulous expression, but Adam didn\u2019t believe it. To his ear, the tone of her voice didn\u2019t quite ring true. \u201cWhy are we talking about Charlie? We\u2019re alone here. All we need is me and you.\u201d Lily moved close to him. She touched him with her body.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was not prepared to be enticed; for him, all trace of physical interest had entirely disappeared. He took her by the elbow, his fingers digging rather more deeply than he had intended. \u201cWhy the big seduction, Lily?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She met his angry eyes with her own blue gaze. \u201cCharlie wanted us to get to know each other better.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam breathed out a long, long breath. He cooled his temper: after all, the woman probably wasn\u2019t to blame. Deliberately, he pulled her into his arms and crushed her close against his chest. He lowered his face to hers.\u00a0 \u201cAre you sure that this is what he had in mind? Charlie\u2019s a friend of mine, remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily struggled with him. Fists clenched, she fought for her freedom, and Adam let her go. Gasping for breath, she stared at him. \u201cCharlie\u2019s my friend as well!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen what are we doing here, Lily?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She took another step back and wrapped her arms around herself. Her flushed face hardened. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you?\u201d Adam\u2019s voice dropped a note. He was still angry, and the anger was dangerous. \u201cThere have been robberies on board the boat: money and valuables stolen. I think Charlie knows all about it \u2013 and so do you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily\u2019s mouth opened and then closed again. Her mind was racing. Half a dozen different emotions chased one another over her face. Eventually, she said, \u201cCharlie said you were clever: as clever as any man he\u2019d ever run in to.\u201d She sighed and her shoulders slumped. She dropped her shawl on the end of the bed and sat down beside it. \u201cCharlie asked me to keep you occupied in any way that I could – to keep you out of the way. I wasn\u2019t very good at it was I?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would Charlie want you to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily laughed ruefully. \u201cHe said you were too law-abiding and self-righteous for your own good, or anybody else\u2019s.\u201d She looked up at him from under her eyebrows. \u201cI guess he was right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam made a helpless, hopeless gesture. \u201cI think you\u2019d better tell me about Charlie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is there to tell?\u201d Lily shrugged. She swung her legs back and forth. \u201cThat Charlie\u2019s a loser? That everything he ever touches turns to ash in his hands? That every dollar he gets hold of burns a hole in his pocket?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCharlie said he was a gambler.\u201d Adam didn\u2019t like to believe what he was hearing, but he believed it anyway; it had the ring of truth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Charlie gambles.\u201d Lily gave a short, derisive bark of laughter. \u201cHe\u2019s made and spent several small fortunes in the last ten years, but he\u2019s never really hit it rich, and he\u2019s never been able to hang on to a single cent of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd so he steals from the passengers?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes, when he\u2019s desperate.\u201d Reluctantly, Lily raised her face to look at him. Her expression was drawn and resentful and very, very tired. \u201cUsually it\u2019s shady deals and swindles of one kind or another.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was pacing the room with long, angry strides. Now, he stopped and turned. \u201cBut what\u2019s got into him? Why would he do it now, as soon as I appear on the scene?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily supplied another shrug. \u201cHe\u2019s been talking about it for months, off and on. I think running into you again and hearing about that big ranch and how well you\u2019ve done for yourself just pushed him into it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam threw up his hands. \u201cHe can\u2019t hope to get away with it! This is a riverboat. There\u2019s nowhere to run to!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCharlie had some sort of grandiose plan.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. He let go of the futile anger. \u201cI remember all about Charlie\u2019s plans.\u201d What Adam remembered was that Charlie\u2019s schemes rarely worked out the way he intended and often ended in disaster.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A loud, rapid knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Both their heads turned. Lily got out off the bed and went to open the door. \u201cCharlie!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She stepped back and opened the door wider. Charlie slipped through it and pushed it shut behind him. He was pale and sweating and gasping for breath. He dragged his tie loose from his throat as he looked from Adam to Lily, then he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes while he struggled to master his breathing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam said, \u201cCharlie, what in hell do you think you\u2019re doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie pulled a deep breath and opened his eyes. He looked at Lily, inquiry plain on his face. \u201cHe knows,\u201d Lily said. \u201cI told him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie started to panic. \u201cIt\u2019s all gone wrong!\u201d he said in a rush, \u201cThey\u2019re coming after me! They\u2019ll be here any minute! You\u2019ve got to hide me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The three of them looked \u2018round the room. There really wasn\u2019t anywhere for a man to hide.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Another loud hammering at the door was followed by a man\u2019s voice, shouting, \u201cLily! Open up in there! Lily!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie moved away from the door as if he could feel danger burning right through it. Lily looked at Adam. \u201cWhat shall I do?\u201d The hammering came again at the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam decided that someone had to take charge of events. He grabbed hold of Charlie by the collar of the coat. \u201cI think you\u2019d better open it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily went to the door. Opening it an inch and a half, she looked through the gap. Standing outside was Moulin Gantry, first mate of \u2018The Missouri Rose\u2019: a man built like a block, short and square and very, very wide. He had a short stave of wood in his ham-like fist and half a dozen burly crewmen standing in close order behind him. His eyes, blue-grey and sunk into the folds above the well-filled bulge of his cheeks, regarded what he could see of Lily\u2019s face with speculation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re looking for that friend of yours, Lily. That Charlie Fullerton.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With just half an eye visible through the crack of the door, Lily contrived to look offended. \u201cWhy Mister Gantry, what makes you think that Charlie might be here?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gantry\u2019s eyes narrowed \u201cC\u2019mon now, Lily. We all know you\u2019re real\u2019 sweet on that loser.\u201d Behind him, the crewmen sniggered. \u201cHe\u2019s bin accused of robbin\u2019 some folks, an\u2019 the captain\u2019s sent us ta find him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Opening the door two more inches, Lily confronted him squarely. \u201cHe isn\u2019t here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mate\u2019s fleshy face broadened into a smile that revealed several stubby, brown-stained teeth and an equal amount of toothless spaces. His breath stank of liquor. Gantry rested his free hand on the door. \u201cThen you won\u2019t mind if I come inside for a look?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I do mind!\u201d Lily\u2019s voice was loud and indignant. \u201cYou can\u2019t come pushing in here!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNow then, Lily.\u201d Gantry pushed at the door. Lily held it firm. Gantry pushed harder. He was the stronger of the two.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam voice came from behind her: a low, throaty growl. \u201cWhy not let the man in, Lily?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily turned her head. He\u2019d hung his coat and his gunbelt from the bedpost, taken off his cravat and undone the top three buttons of his shirt. The amount of chest exposed was almost indecent. He lay at his ease, propped up on one elbow, full length on the top of her bed. She couldn\u2019t see Charlie anywhere. Adam winked at her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily conceded defeat. \u201cOh, all right then, Moulin, but leave your bully-boys outside.\u201d She moved out of the way. With an expectant leer, Moulin Gantry pushed the door open wide. He hefted the stick as if he was ready to use it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCome on in, why don\u2019t you?\u201d Lily invited.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gantry took her at her word. His big, square body filled up the small room and made it seem overcrowded. He looked around, and the smile died quickly. His face began to glow red. \u201cMiss Lily, I\u2019m real\u2019, real\u2019, sorry. I didn\u2019t know you had company. I-I mean, I couldn\u2019t have guessed\u2026\u201d He was sweating and starting to splutter. Lily flushed, and Adam\u2019s smile widened. The first mate\u2019s ears turned purple.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily gathered her composure about her. \u201cWell, now that you\u2019re here, you\u2019d better do what you\u2019ve come for.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gantry swallowed and licked dry lips. He was very much aware of the men peering over his shoulder and of what they could see inside the room. His eyes on Adam, he edged \u2018round the bedroom and made a perfunctory search of the curtained-off corner. He went nowhere near the bed. Then he looked around the room again. There was nowhere else for a man to be hidden. Confused and embarrassed, he backed his way to the door. \u201cI beg your pardon, Miss Lily. I wouldn\u2019t have bothered you if I\u2019d have known\u2026 I felt sure that Charlie would be here\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now you do know.\u201d Lily said crossly. She closed the door in their grinning faces and set the latch.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gave a wry chuckle. \u201cI haven\u2019t done your reputation a whole lot of good.\u201d Lily threw back her head and laughed, and, after a moment, Adam joined in.<\/p>\n

They extracted Charlie, looking rumpled and dishevelled, from his hiding place under the bed. Adam looked him over with a rekindling of annoyance. \u201cCharlie, how in hell did you expect to get away with it?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. As always, he was quick to regain his equilibrium; Charlie was the sort who always rolled to his feet. He brushed dust from his sleeve and tried to straighten his coat. \u201cI had it all planned out until that damned woman saw me.\u201d He sounded peeved. He looked from one to the other, reading their faces. Clearly, he expected them to help him. \u201cI need to hide out \u2018til tomorrow. We\u2019ll be stopping at Chevereaux Landings in the morning to take on wood and water. I can get ashore there and get hold of a horse, make my getaway south.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shook his head. He had finished buckling his gunbelt \u2018round his hips; now, he shrugged into his coat. \u201cI can\u2019t let you do that, Charlie. You\u2019re coming with me to the captain. You\u2019re going to hand yourself in.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie stood still and stared at him. His face registered disbelief, shock and horror. \u201cAdam? You\u2019re my friend, Adam! You couldn\u2019t do that to me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a sigh, Adam shook his head. \u201cIt\u2019s because I\u2019m you\u2019re friend, Charlie, that I have to do it. You haven\u2019t given me a choice.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie turned to Lily. \u201cYou talk to him! Tell him he has to help me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t do that, Charlie,\u201d Lily said wearily. \u201cYou go on the way you\u2019re going and someone will shoot you. You\u2019ll end up dead. Adam\u2019s right. You have to hand back the money and give yourself up.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Desperate, Charlie gazed at Adam. \u201cI\u2019m not going to do it, Adam. I just can\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not giving you a choice, Charlie.\u201d Adam\u2019s face was grim and determined. This wasn\u2019t a thing that he enjoyed doing, but it was a thing that he knew was right.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily slipped her arm through Charlie\u2019s. \u201cI\u2019ll come along with you. It\u2019s going to be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie hesitated, and then he relaxed. He gave her the familiar, lop-sided smile and covered her hand with his. \u201cIf you\u2019re sure\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let them walk in front of him as far as the deck. They strolled arm in arm, taking their time as if they were a pair of lovers out on a Sunday date. He wasn\u2019t inclined to hurry them. They stopped at the rail and looked out over the water, exchanging a few words that he didn\u2019t hear. Then Charlie put the woman aside, creating a space between them. He turned to stand with his back to the rail and the panoramic view of the river behind him. He looked at Adam. His air was defiant. \u201cI\u2019m not going to do it, and you can\u2019t make me.\u201d A small but deadly Derringer appeared in his hand, delivered by some sort of contraption concealed by the sleeve of his coat. \u201cI\u2019m not going to prison.\u201d The range was close enough for the diminutive weapon to punch a hole through Adam\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spread his hands. \u201cDon\u2019t be a fool, Charlie. They\u2019ll hang you for murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d rather that than spend the next ten years in gaol.\u201d He meant it. Adam could see the look in his eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Watching the Derringer, Adam licked his lips. Charlie held the gun quite steady, centred on Adam\u2019s chest. Adam said, \u201cWhen you get out, I\u2019ll help you get started somewhere. We could be partners in a little spread\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie gave a harsh bark of laughter. \u201cCharity from the great Adam Cartwright? I don\u2019t think so! You and Brett Hansen were always the popular ones \u2013 the pair who were bound to make it rich. I was just tag-along-Charlie, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam heard voices shouting behind him, the first mate and his party scouring the ship. They sounded a long way away. He was aware of Lily standing somewhere off to the side, quite still in the darkness, watching. He didn\u2019t want her to be hit by flying lead. A breeze blew off the water and cooled the sweat on his chest. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t like that,\u201d he said. With two, careful fingers he lifted the skirts of his coat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie saw the movement and stiffened. \u201cDon\u2019t try it Adam. You\u2019re not that fast. You can\u2019t beat a bullet.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam drew a careful breath. \u201cYou can\u2019t run all your life, Charlie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI can give it a damn good try!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From somewhere along the deck, the first mate\u2019s voice shouted, \u201cThere he is!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlie\u2019s eyes flickered. Adam reached for his gun, although whether he would have been able to use it, he was never really certain. Lily leapt forward and grabbed at his arm, pulling the Colt\u2019s muzzle down. \u201cAdam, don\u2019t do it!\u201d They struggled a while. His attention divided between her and his friend, Adam expected the impact of a bullet. He heard running feet, heavy boots pounding on the boards of the deck. He shook Lily off, but by then he was sideways on to Charlie with no chance of a shot. Charlie gave him a last, crooked smile. \u201cGoodbye, Adam!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As if by magic, a handful of jewels appeared in Charlie\u2019s free hand. He tossed them at Adam, who ducked out of the way. The glittering array of stones fell among the crewmen as they came running up. There was hopeless confusion as some men tried to catch them and others got out of their way. In the time that it took them to sort themselves out, Charlie had jumped over the side of the boat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily squealed. Everyone rushed to the rail. There was no sign of Charlie at all; he had completely disappeared, vanished into the darkness and the shifting shadows as if he had never existed. Some of the crewmen had pistols and fired pot shots into the water. Adam still had his Colt in his hand, but he couldn\u2019t locate a target. He didn\u2019t really try very hard. Moulin Gantry waved his arms about and bellowed at his men. They all ran off towards the stern of the boat, trying to catch a glimpse of the fugitive\u2019s fleeing form as he splashed his way through the shallows towards safety and freedom. Their shouts receded into the distance. The river flowed swiftly, and the steamboat didn\u2019t stop. Soon, the place where Charlie had leapt overboard was left far behind and out of sight around the curve.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam holstered his gun and stood at the side of the boat to watch the shoreline go by. Beyond the surge of the river was deep mud and swamplands giving way, as the land lifted higher, to the lightly wooded hills of central Missouri.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily came and stood beside him. He felt her hand slip under his arm and caught the scent of her perfume. \u201cDo you think Charlie got away?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I think so.\u201d Adam allowed himself a secret smile. There wasn\u2019t a light to be seen. It might be a hundred miles before Charlie encountered a homestead or settlement where he might spend some of his ill-gotten gains on a change of clothing and some means of transport. He figured his friend was in for a long and very uncomfortable walk. \u201cCharlie\u2019s a survivor. He\u2019ll be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lily\u2019s hand tightened. \u201cThere\u2019s still a lot of river between here and St. Louis.\u201d Her voice held a wealth of meaning. She pressed herself close against him, and he felt her shiver.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not really. But I do know a place where it\u2019s warmer.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gave her a smile, and she smiled back. He decided to let her lead the way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Five<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was late at night and very dark when Adam arrived in St Louis. It had been raining already, and, before morning, it was likely to rain again. It was growing cold, and Adam shivered.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Driven along by high, fast winds, clouds were scudding across the sky. The moon, now waxing, hung low in the east and appeared only fitfully between the rags and tatters. The wide, wet streets were quiet and, to Adam\u2019s eye, strangely naked. The covered walkways and hitching rails, universal throughout the west, were missing. Hip-shot horses, mule-trains and the endless lines of haulage wagons had no place in these fine city streets. The streets were paved, as were the sidewalks; they shone with moisture in the pale pools of light from the street lamps. Well-wrapped pedestrians and a few closed carriages made their sedate way home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found his way to a well-recommended hotel: a huge, square block of a building, several floors high and with a hundred lighted windows showing on every side. He signed his name with a flourish in the gilt-edged book in the lobby and was presented with an ornate, brass key in return. A dark skinned servant, arrayed in braided livery, showed him to his room on one of the upper floors and wished him a cordial goodnight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hotel was very grand, if archaic in its style of decoration, harking back a hundred years or more. The staircases were wide and sweeping, reminiscent of great, landed houses; the passages, long and straight, were carpeted in green and gold patterned with fleur-de-lis. They were broken at intervals by curved archways and tied-back drapes in the same, rich colours. Velvet curtains hung at all the windows; the walls were adorned with patterned paper and hung with mirrors and pictures of castles and darkling landscapes. Identical, green-glass oil lamps stood on slender-legged tables on either side and filled the halls with gentle light. Adam\u2019s room was immensely comfortable, with deep piled carpets and lots of highly polished dark, wooden furniture and a bed of lavish proportions. A lamp was already burning, turned low. Warm, gold reflections shone back at him from every surface.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dropping his hat on the seat of a chair, he went to the window and looked out over the night-darkened city. Despite the lateness of the hour, St Louis glowed. Its earthbound lights reflected from the cloud-base and made the underside of heaven shine. The view from the window was alien and unsettling, even for a man who had lived in a city before. It made Adam realize how far from home he had come. Gone were the magnificent vistas of mountains and the breathtaking view of the lake. Elegant buildings stood shoulder to shoulder across the skyline and blocked out the view of the hills. Childlike, he found that he missed the star-bright, velvet-dark skies of Nevada and the cold wind that carried the rain and the scent of the snow. He pondered for a time on what he was doing here in this comfortable but impersonal grey-green room, chasing the shadow of a dead man half way across the world. That night, in the overstuffed, curtained bed, he dreamed again of the silver-blue lake high up in the mountains, of the deep, crystal waters and rocky, white shores and of the limitless vistas of trees.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By first light, the last of the rain-clouds had been driven away by the wind. The morning dawned bright and clear. It crept, like a light-footed thief, over the edge of his windowsill. Adam woke up with a start. For a moment, suspended between waking and sleeping, he didn\u2019t know where he was. He rested the back of his hand on his head and made a concentrated effort to gather his wits.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Washed, shaved and smartly dressed, Adam ate breakfast in the hotel\u2019s lavish dining room – then he stepped outside into the bright, new day. The air had been scrubbed clean by the rain; colours were brilliant and distance, transparent.\u00a0 Adam filled his lungs to capacity, stretched his back and lifted his face to the sky. He felt the first touch of the sun\u2019s heat on his cheek. It was going to be a lovely day.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The city of St Louis, in one incarnation or the other, had stood on this site since one day in December in the year seventeen hundred and sixty three. A young Frenchman named Pierre Laclede, a fur trader from New Orleans, had decided, on that day, to set up a trading post on the west bank of the Mississippi River just south of its junction with the winding Missouri. It was land that he had mistakenly believed to belong to France. He established a small village and named it after Louis IX, the French crusader king.* It was not until a whole year later that the news arrived that France had entered into a secret treaty which had ceded all the lands west of the Mississippi to Spain, thus making St Louis an unwitting and unwilling outpost of the Spanish Empire. Nevertheless, the population had always been cosmopolitan; the French had come in from Canada and from New Orleans and from other settlements in the east. There were Spaniards and Portuguese and representatives of most other European countries, and a liberal scattering of English and Scots. Since the start of the Potato Famine in eighteen forty-five there had been a vast influx of Irish, and they had set up a Catholic community of their own on the west side of town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By the turn of the century, the population had grown to one thousand and thirty nine, not including children under the age of five whom had not been included in the count. The early log cabins of the trappers and traders began to be replaced by substantial stone houses. In eighteen hundred and three, the United States had acquired the land as a part of the Louisiana Purchase and the Stars and Stripes were raised over the city for the very first time in eighteen four.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hotel stood at the union of Plum Street and Fourth. From where he stood, Adam could see for a considerable distance along four, straight thoroughfares lined on either side by mature, shade giving trees. The building were large, built of brick and stone and had an air of enduring permanence. Standing on square plots well back from the street, they were of many fanciful and ornate designs, each one individual and unique with pillars and palisades and a great many windows. The streets were busier at this morning hour, but not with the near-frantic hurly-burly of a frontier town: life proceeded at a more sedate pace. It was mostly coaches and carriages and some horseback traffic.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hired a horse-drawn conveyance to take him to the centre of town and then asked directions. He rented a high-wheeled surrey with a fold-down top and a small, but spirited bay gelding to pull it. The city had grown far beyond the boundaries of the original wooden walls and had encompassed several villages in its voracious growth. It took an hour at a spanking trot to drive through the suburbs to the grand estates and palatial houses that marked the city\u2019s southern extent.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was approaching mid-day when he found the house he was looking for. Surrounded by grounds and gardens, it stood on the top of a small, rounded hill. A long gravelled drive swept between two lines of fine trees and ended before a great, white-faced mansion. Wide, white steps spent up to a portico of grandiose proportions. Tall columns in a Grecian style held a triangular roof against a pale-blue sky. It was impressive, and Adam was duly impressed. He brought the surrey to a sedate halt in front of the steps. A huge eyed black-boy appeared out of nowhere to hold the gelding\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s arrival had been observed. Before he had climbed to the top of the steps a tall, lean man in a dark, long-tailed coat, white tie and gloves had opened the grand front door. He had an angular, vertically creased, chocolate brown face and tightly curled grey hair cut very close to his scalp. His air was reserved and respectful. He bowed very low from the waist. \u201cGood morning, sir. How may I be of service?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam couldn\u2019t suppress a smile. This was a moment he had been anticipating for a good long while. \u201cI\u2019ve come to call on Miss Elise.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The tall butler scrutinised him with a wary esteem. \u201cWould you be expected, Sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s bright smile grew. \u201cI don\u2019t have an appointment.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The butler hesitated the briefest moment \u2013 not long enough to be impolite. Then he moved aside and held the door open. \u201cIf you would care to come in and wait, sir, I will enquire if Miss Elise is at home.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lit by four, red-draped, floor-to-ceiling windows in the front of the house, Adam could have held a country-dance in the hallway. It was all dark, polished wood and pale-painted walls. There any number of wide, dark doorways, all of them closed, and a broad staircase reached in a sensuous curve towards the apartments on the upper landings. After the growing heat of the day outside the air was cool on his skin and faintly perfumed, and after the brilliance of the sunlight it took his eyes some seconds to adjust to the more subdued light. The butler took Adam\u2019s hat. \u201cIf I might have your name, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam produced an embossed white card that bore his name and address. \u201cAdam Cartwright of the Ponderosa ranch in Nevada Territory.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The butler showed him into the library and again invited him to wait. He left the door open, a nicety of manners that Adam could appreciate. Like everything else about the house, the room was large and well appointed. In the exact centre of the floor was a celestial globe some two feet across in a wood and brass frame. There were several elegant chairs and tables and framed, hand-tinted maps hung on the walls in between the three tall windows. The bookshelves themselves groaned beneath a creditable array of gold-embossed titles. On the mantle above the large, empty fireplace, an ornately gilded ormolu clock with a blue-figured dial ticked away the minutes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam turned the globe with his hand and idly watched the spin of the stars. His mind was on matters much closer to home. He consulted with his inner feelings and had to confess to confusion. He liked and admired Miss Elise. He had very much enjoyed the time he had spent in her company. She had displayed a lively intellect and a keen intelligence that complimented his own. He had taken great pleasure from their evening walks together beneath the wide-open skies of Colorado and Kansas. He had found a certain, heady stimulation in their long conversations despite the discomforts of the overheated stagecoach. The hurried, shared meals had provided amusement and a wide variety of odd information. Throughout the hardships of their journey he had never seen her disgruntled or out of sorts. He had been looking forward eagerly to renewing their acquaintance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

While Adam was a moderately wealthy man in his own right, thanks to a great deal of hard work and some excellent investments, and was not in the least intimidated by the size and the opulence of the house, he had not expected the home Elise shared with her sister to be of extravagant proportions. The two women, travelling together and without attendants had given no hint of it. What concerned him rather more was that they had indentured servants. A northerner by birth and an abolitionist by inclination, Adam was a man of strong convictions. He abhorred slavery and subjugation in all its varied forms. He figured that if he wanted his relationship with Elise to continue and to develop along the lines he had envisioned that he had some soul searching to do. Then all such thoughts were dashed from his head as she appeared in the doorway. \u201cAdam!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam caught a quick breath. She was not the tired, dirty and dishevelled woman that he remembered from that seemingly endless stagecoach ride. She was utterly lovely. Her silver-grey eyes glowed with the joy of seeing him. A light dusting of powder and the bloom of excitement coloured her fine-featured face. The long and elegant dress that she wore, of peach coloured silk trimmed with pink ribbons, emphasised her small, slim figure. The midnight-dark hair that he recalled escaping in wisps from a bun at the back was piled up high on her head. She held out both hands to him in heartfelt welcome. \u201cWhen Peter told me it was you, I could hardly believe it!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He crossed the room and took her hands in his. They smiled at each other, their friendship renewed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me to call,\u201d he said, well aware that his voice had dropped a note with a sudden welling of interest.\u00a0 The woman\u2019s presence, her essence, the sweet smell of her breath and the rising scent of her perfume were doing strange things to his emotions. \u201cHow could I ever resist?\u201d Lowering his head he kissed the backs of her hands.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise smiled at his gallantry. \u201cOf course I did! Adam, it is so good to see you! I never really expected you to come. I thought your business was in Kansas.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA slight change of plan.\u201d He dismissed the matter lightly. A gentleman did not trouble a lady with matters that might be considered only of concern to a man. \u201cAre you well? And your sister?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed.\u201d Elise reclaimed her hands. \u201cEmily is out at present, visiting friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was taken aback. \u201cI must apologise for calling on you when you are alone. I wouldn\u2019t want to embarrass you.\u201d He hadn\u2019t considered the possibility of finding her without a chaperone. He wondered if he should leave. Elise relieved his concern with her light laughter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh, nonsense!\u201d She coloured \u2013 just a little \u2013 at his consideration. \u201cI\u2019m quite old enough to receive a caller on my own. Besides, the house is full of servants. Come and walk with me in the garden and tell me about your journey.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The gardens beside the house were extensive and laid out on several levels in a relaxed, semi-formal style. Paved pathways led between clipped hedges and screens of climbing, red-flowered vines. There were well-mown lawns and neat, bright flowerbeds and a raised, oval pool that contained flashing shoals of golden fish. Peacocks strutted on the steps of the terrace and lemon trees scented the air with their small, sweet blossoms.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They walked for a pleasant hour. Elise took care to shade her delicate skin with a pink parasol while she listened with interest and amusement to Adam\u2019s dissertation. He described, with dry humour and some careful editing, his adventures on the riverboat. When the time came for him to leave, she gave him her hand again. \u201cAdam, it has been so good to talk with you again!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe pleasure has been mine, Elise,\u201d he said, using, unbidden, her name for the very first time. His eyes glowed deep gold in the sunlight. \u201cWould you do me the honour of letting me call on you again?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Enchanted by his manner, she was happy to agree, \u201cI would like that very much. Tomorrow night at the opera house there is a performance of the new Guiseppe Verdi opera, \u2018Rigaletto\u2019 I was very much hoping to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found himself smiling all over again. \u201cI would be delighted to accompany you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And so it was arranged. As he drove away from the house, Adam still had a silly grin stuck to the front of his face and a fluttery feeling inside his chest that he couldn\u2019t quite account for.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the end of each upstairs hallway Adam\u2019s hotel boasted a room especially fitted out for bathing. Adam had encountered bathrooms before, in Sacramento, San Francisco and New York, but never one so luxurious and with such elaborate plumbing as these. He closed the door behind him, having taken care to place the \u2018occupied\u2019 notice in place, and paused to take a good look round.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Central to the room\u2019s equipment was the vast, enamelled iron bathtub that stood on claw-and-ball feet. Pipes delivered hot and cold running water through a tap, and the waste was carried away through another drain in the floor. Intrigued and amused by the novelty, Adam soaped himself down, then settled into a tub of hot water for a long, luxurious soak.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the privacy of the steam filled room, his mind created fanciful images in the billowing vapour \u2013 like building dream-castles in the clouds of a warm afternoon. Adam the accredited architect designed and constructed an elaborate, white marble mansion high on the hillside overlooking the silver-faced lake. How he was to haul the heavy, hard rock up a mountain he left to Adam-the-engineer. He furnished each room with the best he could think of. He put the works of renowned authors in the library and hung works of art on the walls. He installed a grand piano in the parlour \u2013 he was sure Elise could play \u2013 and dressed all the windows with long, velvet drapes. Eyes closed and smiling, he wondered if Hop Sing had a cousin who would come and cook. After his bath he rubbed himself dry with a towel and wrapped himself in a robe. The he returned to his room and took a long nap, lying on top of the bed with the bedspread wrapped around him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That evening, dressed in his good, black suit, a white linen shirt and a black, silk string tie, he set out to find Ruby Pollard. From his own investigations he knew, more or less, the workings of Harbinger\u2019s mind \u2013 or, at least, some of the man\u2019s tastes and appetites. He had a liking for raw whisky and a certain type of light haired woman. Adam thought he knew where both might be found.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He found out rather quickly that he had set himself a far larger task than he had ever envisioned. St Louis was not one town but many, each with a brightly-lit centre where a man might go for amusement. There were any number of crowded boulevards, seedy back streets and secret squares, and dozens, perhaps hundreds, of likely places where Harbinger might have maintained a lady friend. Saloons were no longer saloons in the traditional, western sense. They had turned into an endless variety of bars and drinking clubs, casinos and fancy bordellos.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hardly knew where to begin and quickly found himself trudging from door to door with only the same, discouraging shake of the head and doubtful look to greet him. By eleven o\u2019clock, he had several miles of pavements behind him and was feeling footsore and weary. He would have appreciated a horse. He was about to give it up for the night and go home when, finally, he struck lucky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yet another bartender shook his head in that slow and contemplative manner they all seemed to have studied so well. \u201cRuby Pollard? She don\u2019t work here no more. But if you really want to find her, you might try \u2018The Pavilion of Light\u2019 down on Twelfth Street behind the exchange. I recall that\u2019s where she went from here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2018The Pavilion of Light\u2019 hardly lived up to its name. No doubt it had once been bright, shiny and new. Now, it was lack-lustre and dingy; the mirrors were spotted and tarnished; much of the gilt had worn off the carvings, and the interior smelled of beer and cheap perfume and smoke. Adam went straight to the bar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m looking for a woman named Ruby Pollard.\u201d He was aware that his voice sounded weary. It was a question he had asked a hundred times before. \u201cI was told that she might once have worked here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The grim-faced bartender paused in his polishing of glasses and looked Adam over. It appeared that he didn\u2019t like what he saw. \u201cWe got lots o\u2019 girls, Mister,\u201d he said at last.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. \u201cI\u2019m looking for this one, particular lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI reckon you\u2019ll just have to take your chance on which one you get.\u201d The bartender was evasive, but Adam had already seen the shift of his eyes. He turned and followed the direction of the swift, sliding glance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A woman in a green and white, candy-striped dress sat at one of the tables sharing a bottle of cheap rotgut with a customer. She looked like Harbinger\u2019s type. Her hair was fine and naturally fair, swept up into a fanciful coil. Her face was pale and angular and no longer young. Adam bought a bottle, his first of the evening, and took it to the end of the bar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He had quite a while to wait. The man the woman was drinking with had a considerable capacity. Adam, curbing his own impatience, watched him consume the best part of his bottle in just over half an hour. The woman drank very little but she laughed a lot, the typical, false, harsh laughter common among her kind, and at least pretended to listen to his protracted ramblings. Eventually, red-faced and wobbly, the man stood up. He bade goodnight to the lady and staggered towards the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Aware of the Bartender\u2019s resentful scrutiny, Adam took his chance. He picked up his bottle and took it over to the table. He put on what he hoped was a winning smile.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCan I join you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman looked up at him. Her face was tired. \u201cIt\u2019s late, Mister.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNevertheless, I\u2019d appreciate it if you\u2019d share a drink with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Her pale eyes swept over him. She took in the handsome face and the smart dark suit and the bottle clasped by its neck. She put on a smile, albeit a fake one. \u201cSure thing, Mister. Why not? Sit yourself down.\u201d She gestured vaguely to the recently vacated and still cooling seat on the other side of the table.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat down and poured whisky into two glasses. He didn\u2019t expect her to drink it. He sipped at his own for appearance\u2019s sake. \u201cAre you Ruby Pollard?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman looked at him coldly. \u201cWho wants to know?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Adam Cartwright.\u201d Nursing his whisky, Adam sat back in his chair. \u201cI\u2019m looking for a lady who was a friend of Abediah Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s face tightened. She threw a hard, fast look at the bartender. The man\u2019s face was grim and he was watching them closely. Adam didn\u2019t doubt for a moment that he had a scattergun close at hand probably loaded with rock salt and powder. The woman turned the whiskey glass \u2018round and \u2018round in her hand. She didn\u2019t lift it to her lips.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou with that fancy firm of lawyers, came by a year or two back asking all sorts of fool questions \u2018bout Abediah?”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d Adam looked into his own glass, now half-empty. The surface of the amber liquid reflected his face in miniature. \u201cI\u2019m asking on my own account.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I guess you\u2019ve found me. What do you want? Did Abe owe you money?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shook his head. \u201cNot money. Nothing like that. An explanation, may be.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. \u201cYou\u2019re not likely to get one out of him now.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m trying to find out who he was working for.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby said abruptly, \u201cAbediah\u2019s dead. Got himself killed someplace I never heard of a long way from here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t feign surprise. \u201cI know. I\u2019m the man who killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby Pollard stared at him. Her sharp face registered shock, surprise and a dawning rage that she made no attempt to disguise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam went on urgently, keeping his voice low, \u201cI really need to talk to you. I need to know who Harbinger had business with: who might have paid him to kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s pale eyes burned with fury. She spluttered with uncontrolled anger, \u201cYou expect me to talk to you? If I was a man, I\u2019d shoot you myself!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Standing, her chair falling back, she picked up her glass and threw its contents full into Adam\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Briefly blinded, Adam lunged to his feet and clawed at his face. He was aware of hands seizing his arms, holding him back. The whiskey was burning and he couldn\u2019t see. Around him men were shouting, some of them laughing. He heard the woman\u2019s footsteps walking away. His vision cleared just enough for him to see, blearily, the flash of green dress as she went out the door. He threw off the hands that held him and fished for a handkerchief to wipe off his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Only gradually, the stinging subsided. What he saw around him were watchful faces and secretive grins. Even the barman seemed grimly amused.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019d better be on your way, Mister,\u201d he growled, \u201cI don\u2019t like no one upsettin\u2019 my girls. Next time, you find yourself some other place to drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam conceded that, for the moment at least, that was probably good advice whatever the spirit in which it was given. The bar\u2019s regular patrons were still chuckling at the stranger\u2019s humiliation, but that wasn\u2019t likely to last. Before very long their amusement could well become ugly. Prudently, he decided that an ordered retreat was appropriate and retired to his hotel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Following a restless night in the hotel bed, Adam spent the next day walking the streets of St Louis and seeing some of the sights. He needed time to think and to decide what he should do. He visited the fine, botanical gardens donated to the city ten years before by its most prosperous benefactor, Henry Shaw, an Englishman who had arrived penniless on a riverboat in eighteen nineteen. He strolled through the well-stocked arboretum and took lunch in a famous French restaurant on the corner of Burgess and Main.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Afterward, he stopped by the Old Court House to stand for a few minutes and stare in silent admiration of the carved wooden pillars that held up the fa\u00e7ade, and then he took refuge from a sudden shower in the Municipal Library. For an hour or more, Adam thought he had entered heaven without having died. There were more books there than a man could read had he a dozen lifetimes to do it in.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Thinking about it, he decided that he had to pursue Ruby Pollard. She was still his only lead to Harbinger\u2019s history and the shadowy, unseen figure who had hired his gun. In Adam\u2019s mind there was still no face to attach to the enigma. Somehow he had to get a chance to talk to her again – and to persuade her to talk to him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That evening, Adam escorted Elise to the grand, gilded opera house in the heart of the city. He had a working knowledge of the Italian language, and he found Verdi\u2019s tale of the hunchbacked jester whose obsessive desire for revenge ended in tragedy and the death of his daughter strangely compelling. The glorious music inspired him, lightened his spirit and made his nerves tingle. Or, perhaps, it was the warm, perfumed nearness of the woman close beside him that made his head light.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise had dressed in a gown of the finest, violet silk; it set off her silver-grey eyes to perfection. Her fine-featured face was framed by the cascade of dark ringlets that fell from the high coiled crown of her hair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took her to the finest restaurant in town and wined her and dined her to the sound of light music. They toasted each other in the best champagne and ate bright red, Atlantic lobster that had been brought overland, alive, in tanks of water, all the way from the coast. To follow was a delicate desert of meringue and spun sugar that melted in the mouth. Adam found, as before, that she was a mature and sophisticated companion. She took a keen and lively interest in his conversation and had no hesitation or shyness in relating experiences of her own. Her face was animated and full of amusement and interest. She didn\u2019t preen or pout or giggle as a younger woman might. Instead, she was charming, perceptive and gay; the whole of her attention centred entirely him, and Adam, in turn was flattered, intrigued and enticed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The meal over and the dishes cleared away, he reached across the table and picked up her hand. He drew it towards him, touching the backs of her fingers with the brush of his lips. Elise demurred and blushed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou are absolutely beautiful,\u201d he said softly, gazing into her eyes \u2013 and he meant it. In marked contrast to the girls he was used to, the tough, hard working women of the west, she was exquisite: a porcelain doll. However hard they tried, they could never compare with her fragile delicacy, her flawless manners or her timeless grace. \u201cI want to thank you for your company tonight. I\u2019ve brought you a gift to commemorate the most perfect evening.\u201d From a pocket he produced a small, velvet covered box.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Adam!\u201d Elise shook her head. \u201cI couldn\u2019t possibly take anything from you. It wouldn\u2019t be right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pressed the box on her. \u201cCall it a gift from an admirer. That\u2019s all it is. There are no strings attached.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise opened the box and gasped. Inside, on a bed of pleated green satin lay a beautiful brooch. It was formed in the shape of a flower with five fiery opals as petals surrounded by diamonds and tiny white pearls. The richness of the unexpected gift stole her breath away. \u201cIt\u2019s lovely, Adam. Perfectly lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was as pleased as could be. He had deliberated a long time in the goldsmith\u2019s, making his selection. He had tried to match the virtues of the jewel to those of the lady he gave it to: the rainbow fire of the opals for the many bright facets of her personality, the pearls for her polished sophistication and the diamonds for the sparkle that dwelt in her eyes. Elise\u2019s delight was unbounded. In the subdued light of the dining room her skin was faintly pink. Her eyes were lustrous. Adam felt a surge of pure emotion – what sort, he wasn\u2019t sure. He wanted to stretch out his hand across the table and touch her once again but something, his inbred sense of Victorian propriety, held him back. Instead, he smiled, his amber eyes meltingly warm.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise smiled back. Another faint flush coloured her cheek as if she could read his mind. The silence grew between them as both of them considered – where did they go from here?\u00a0 Elise said, \u201cAdam, I\u2019ve spoken to Emily. It would please us \u2013 it would please me \u2013 very much, if you would dine with us on Friday night.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Any reservations that Adam might have harboured faded away like the mists of a summer morning. \u201cI would be honoured.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam secured a closed carriage and paid the driver to take Elise home. As he handed her inside, he kissed the back of her hand once more; this time, he allowed his lips to linger. He was intoxicated by her perfume, bewitched by her charm. Indeed the provincial girls of Virginia City seemed rustic and clumsy in comparison, the occasional passionate tussle a million miles away. This was a lady of breeding and refinement about whom Adam was starting to do some very serious thinking. He helped her up and closed the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cUntil Friday,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The lovely pale oval that was Elise\u2019s face, framed in the window of the carriage, brightened. \u201cI\u2019m already looking forward to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stepped back as the carriage moved off and stood watching until its lights were quite out of sight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was late in the evening, around about midnight. Adam made his way back to the \u2018Pavilion of Light\u2019. Bearing in mind what the bartender had told him, and never a man to disregard a fair warning, he decided not to go in. Instead, he discovered a neighbouring establishment, one even darker and dingier, and ordered a bourbon and water. Taking his drink from the bar, he positioned himself close to the window so that he could watch the street outside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At about two in the morning, things got noisy. All sorts of people made their way home. There were many more coaches passing by and lots of shouting and singing and calling \u2018goodnight\u2019 as little groups of men and women wended their way home along the sidewalks. There was one small, push-and-shove fight, quickly over. Then it became quiet again as the bars and drinking clubs emptied and closed for the night. Out on the street again with four or five comforting drinks inside him, Adam found himself with only a last, weaving drunk for company. Ruby Pollard had not put in an appearance, and, as he made his way home to his hotel, it began to rain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby didn\u2019t show up the next night, or the next. Adam began to worry. Had he frightened the woman away? He knew of no other way to find her. He knew very well that if he went in to \u2018The Pavilion of Light\u2019 and asked for her address, what the response was likely to be. He spent his days in the library and his nights drinking watered bourbon and watching the street. It was late the next night – Thursday night – that he saw her. He was starting to think about going home. She wore the same, green-and-white dress as before but with a dark cloak thrown over her shoulders and the hood drawn obout her head. She was moving swiftly away from him along the street, the heels of her shoes ringing loudly. Adam left his drink on the table and went after her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Very soon, she turned off the wide thoroughfare into a side street, still walking quickly. Adam had to hurry as he tried to catch up. He quickly found himself in the inevitable tangle of poorer dwellings and hard-pressed businesses that lies behind the fa\u00e7ade of every great city. The night was dark and the streets unlit; although it as no longer raining it was still very wet. The moon chose to hide behind the cloud cover. Puddles lay in the gutters and odd pools of water gathered where heavy, iron wheels had broken the road surface.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Instinct, or may be the sound of his footsteps, told Ruby that she was being followed. Glancing behind her, she hastened her steps. Afraid of losing her in the sightless warren, Adam lengthened his stride and closed the gap between them. Ruby took a longer look over her shoulder. He could see that she recognized him. Her face was afraid. He called out to her, \u201cRuby, don\u2019t run away! I have to talk to you!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She snarled at him; hatred and anger made her angular face ugly. \u201cYou stay away from me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRuby!\u201d Adam took two quick steps and grabbed at her arm. Her skin was stark white against his deep tan and icy cold in his grasp. He found himself shouting into her face, \u201cListen to me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cLet go of me!\u201d The woman fought with him; she struggled in his grip and tore herself free. His fingers left livid marks on her skin that started to darken. She stumbled away from him, and he went after her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Figured loomed out of the darkness where no one had been before: several big men. A low voice rumbled, \u201cThis fella botherin\u2019 you, Ruby?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby\u2019s chin lifted. She looked at Adam with a triumphant sneer. \u201cHe\u2019s bothering me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The men moved in. They were at least Adam\u2019s size; two were even bigger. Adam found himself surrounded, any hope of retreat cut off. He caught at his breath and held up his hands. He knew what they must have been thinking. \u201cThis isn\u2019t what it looks like!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The four men ignored him. \u201cDon\u2019t you worry about it, Ruby,\u201d the largest man said, \u201cYou get on home. We\u2019ll take care of this.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby smiled a cold, heartless smile. Her hard eyes glittered. \u201cYou do that for me, Rafe. You take care of it.\u201d She turned on her heel and walked away. She didn\u2019t look back. Her footsteps faded into the night. Adam could hear the hiss of his breath and the thunder of blood in his head. The night air blew cool in his face. He looked from one face to another. The features might be different but the expressions were all the same.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to let me explain about this.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The biggest man, Rafe, shook his head. \u201cIt don\u2019t take no explainin\u2019 I know what you got in mind.\u201d He pushed Adam hard in the chest. \u201cI\u2019m gonna teach you a lesson you ain\u2019t gonna ferget. \u2018Round here, a man don\u2019t bother a lady after she tells him \u2018no\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was wearing his gun, but he got no chance to use it, no chance to defend himself at all. They hustled him into a narrow passageway. Two of them were behind him, the others in front. They seized him by the arms and twisted his shoulders back. Adam saw the glint of metal in the big man\u2019s hand. He thought, at first, it was a knife. Then he realized that it was a metal device that fitted snugly over the man\u2019s knuckles as he closed his fist. He got the feeling that he wasn\u2019t going to enjoy this very much.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The men were very skilful, although Adam was hardly in a position to appreciate their expertise. The two men behind him held him firmly; in the end they were holding him up. The first blow came in hard and low; it doubled him over. Then the armoured fist smashed into his face. He felt the skin split and the hot spurt of blood, and the whole world filled up with pain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next few minutes of Adam\u2019s life formed a brief period of exquisite suffering that he would have preferred not to remember. The men were nothing if not thorough, and they knew where to hit him to hurt him the most. They concentrated on his face and the softer spots below his rib cage. Before very long, the individual blows merged into a continuous wave of agony that did nothing but grow. Adam\u2019s consciousness wavered and the world closed in. He wasn\u2019t exactly sure when they dropped him. He didn\u2019t feel himself hit the ground. Instinct alone curled him into a tight protective ball around his most sensitive parts. He was lucky that they didn\u2019t kick him. If they had, they would have broken bones. His face in a puddle, the water cooling his skin, he heard the crunch of their workman\u2019s boots as they stepped over him and walked away. The pain continued. Behind his squeezed-shut eyelids the blackness flared orange and red. Then, as consciousness faded, everything drifted away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Masta? Masta, you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The voice, a man\u2019s, deep and booming much like his father\u2019s, came from a long way away. Adam climbed a long staircase out of the darkness, into the light and the pain. Every step upwards brought a fresh blaze of agony from his face, his ribs and his belly. He became aware slowly of the pound of his blood and the burn of his breath in his chest. At least his heart was still beating. He sucked at the air and felt his ribs rise. They were sore from the beating, but nothing sharp stabbed at his lungs. He opened his eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He lay face down in the mud of the alley with his cheek pressed into the dirt. There was grit in his mouth and the hot-iron taste of his blood. His legs were very cold. They lay half in and half out of a puddle of water; his pants were soaked through. Something\u00a0 – someone – was pulling hard at his shoulders, trying to lift him up. Adam knew he should help, but his movements were uncoordinated and everything hurt. The voice spoke again, urgent and anxious. Adam couldn\u2019t quite understand what was said, but he did his best to respond. At the third attempt he managed and answering grunt, and his fingers clawed the dirt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, Masta. Let me help you sit up.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam made another gut-wrenching effort. Strong hands slid under his arms. He sat in the alley and snatched at his breath as the pain folded him over again. All his senses turned inward.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou all right, Masta?\u201d The voice asked again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam checked with his tongue and found that he still had his teeth. He tasted fresh blood and bitter bile. Leaning over, he vomited bourbon and the final remains of his meal. The pain of heaving brought tears to his eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With an effort of concentration, he slowed and steadied his breathing. He lifted his head, his face white and sweating. A man\u2019s features floated in front of him, disembodied, vague, dark in the darkness. All he could really see were the eyes. He struggled to bring the world back into focus without a great deal of success. He put out a hand but his perception of distance was all gone awry. He managed another grunt, this one more positive. The black man moved out of his severely restricted field of vision; the motion made his head swim. The same strong arms lifted him, helped him to stand. Adam stood swaying, as weak as a kitten and completely unbalanced. Without the black man\u2019s support he would have fallen over again. All the time the deep voice spoke to him, odd words and disjointed phrases, cajoling, reassuring, gently bullying, getting him moving again. It was a link with the real world beyond the pain: a link that he couldn\u2019t relinquish. In a moment of crystal clarity he saw the black man stoop down and pick up his hat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The deep voice went on, \u201cdon\u2019t you worry \u2018bout nothin\u2019 suh. I\u2019m gonna take you home wi\u2019 me. We gonna fix you up good.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The black man was just as broad as Adam and may be an inch or so taller. He draped Adam\u2019s arm over his shoulders and took up most of his weight. \u201cYou jist walk along with me, suh. It sure ain\u2019t far.\u201d Adam was in no position to argue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t recall a great deal of their journey, except that it started to rain. The raindrops were like icy fire when they fell on his bruised, burning skin. The distance might not have been great, but Adam just about doubled it. He staggered from side to side in the street as if he were drunk and dragged his rescuer with him. One foot in front of the other was a very hard thing to do.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know much about their arrival; he was barely aware. He thought he must have blacked out again. When he came back to himself, he was sitting propped up in a chair with a stout wooden table in front of him and a bowl half filled with diluted blood. In some remote corner of his mind some part of Adam acknowledged the blood as his own. Someone was easing him out of his coat, an excruciatingly painful operation. He gasped and grunted and made an effort to focus his eyes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The black man, having extracted Adam from the sleeves of his coat, came and sat down on the far side of the table. Except, Adam noted, he wasn\u2019t black. In the yellow lamplight that filled the room he was a dark, tobacco brown. His age was indeterminate, but there was grey in amongst his thinning curls. His face had the texture of old, tanned leather; he had a large mole on the side of his nose and a savage scar on his chin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam blinked at him owlishly and tried to mumble his thanks, but his swollen mouth wasn\u2019t working too well.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou just sit quiet, suh, an\u2019 let my lady tend you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Looking up, Adam squinted against the light. The woman\u2019s colour was half a shade lighter than the man\u2019s. Her features were finer but no less striking, a deep, mahogany-shade. Adam judged her to be about thirty and just beginning to age. She smiled at him and dabbed at his face with a dampened cloth. Adam winced at the touch. His battered, split lips had gone almost numb, but the brush of the cloth brought fresh, searing pain. He thought it better to do the unpleasant job himself and took the cloth from her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tenderly, he explored his own face. He had deep cuts over his cheekbones, still oozing blood, and another on the point of his chin. The inside of his mouth had been cut on his teeth and he could feel the bruising around his eyes. Already his features were swelling, becoming grotesque.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The eyes of the Negro were still fixed on him. The brown man was frowning, perhaps with concern. Adam tried again, but his mouth would hardly obey. \u201cI\u2019d like to thank you, Mister..?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Ebon Rothchild,\u201d the brown man said, \u201cEbon\u2019s my given name. Rothchild was the name of my old master. This lady is Marla, my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam raised his eyes again and nodded to the woman. He wrung out the cloth in the water and applied it gingerly to his sorest spot. He tried to speak clearly, to be understood. \u201cI\u2019m Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon looked at him gravely and inclined his head. His dark eyed gaze took in Adam\u2019s fine clothes, now muddy, torn and bloodstained. \u201cThey shore did give you a beatin\u2019,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cBut they didn\u2019t rob you. Your money\u2019s still in your coat and they didn\u2019t take that gun you\u2019re wearin\u2019.\u201d His face was uncertain. \u201cIf I might say so, this sure ain\u2019t no place for a gentleman, specially at night-time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam would have laughed, but it hurt far too much. \u201cI was following a lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon\u2019s gaze became dubious, a brand new expression kindled in his eyes, harsh disapproval. \u201cFolks don\u2019t take to that kindly around here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So Adam had noticed. This time he did crack a small, twisted grin and paid the price for it in pain as his cut lips opened and bled again. “It wasn\u2019t like that. I only wanted to talk to her \u2013 to ask her some questions. I didn\u2019t intend her any harm.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shaking his head, Ebon Rothchild still looked uncertain. \u201cStill weren\u2019t the brightest thing you could do.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dubiously, Adam fingered the curved bands of agony that encircled his chest.<\/p>\n

Remarkably, nothing seemed to be broken. He eased himself in the chair. \u201cI have to agree with you, Mister Rothchild, but it can\u2019t be helped. I still have to talk to the lady. It kind of important.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now that his eyes were focusing better, he took the time to look around him. The table and chairs and the vast, iron cooking range were all he could see that were normal. The rest of the long, narrow room was a confusing, outlandish jumble of oddly shaped hessian-wrapped bundles and bales, piles of garish clothing and Mexican hats, bright coloured blankets and bolts of cheap, vivid cloth and large coils of intricately braided cord, strings of beads and hand carved bangles and trinkets made out of glass. In one distant corner was what looked to be a haphazard pile of hide covered drums. The wooden walls of the room were all hung with finely textured leathers and luxuriant furs.<\/p>\n

He pulled a long breath, the first he\u2019d dared draw, despite the pain in his ribs. The atmosphere was rich with the smells of tanned leather and onions and good, Cajun cooking.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon had followed the drift of his eyes. \u201cMy stock in trade, Mister Cartwright. I am a merchant: a dealer in things. A trader if you will, a little of this for a little of that \u2013 a little money now and then, enough to keep my family.\u201d Adam had noticed the family: four or five brown skinned children peering shyly at him from behind their mother\u2019s skirts.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Marla brought him coffee in a thick, china mug, and Adam sipped it gratefully despite the pain that it gave him as it burned its way to his belly. He needed the boost. Finally, he started to catch his breath. To put into context what had happened. He had taken a beating and a bad one, but one designed not to kill him or maim him but to hurt him and teach him a lesson. He had been beaten before, and he knew he would survive it \u2013 whether he had learned the lesson or not, that was another matter. He still had to talk to Ruby.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon interrupted his chain of thought. \u201cMay I send for your servants, suh? To help you get home?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam blinked at him stupidly over the rim of the cup. He wondered if the beating had addled his brains and made him dim witted. For an endless moment he simply didn\u2019t understand what the brown man was asking – then it dawned on him. \u201cI don\u2019t have any servants. I don\u2019t believe that one man should own another.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The bitter tone of his voice made Ebon look at him sharply, made him assess him again. He said, slowly, \u201cIt sounds like you need putting right about a few things, Mister Cartwright. Let me tell you a few things about slavery.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He produced a pipe and a pouch of tobacco, seemingly out of nowhere, and proceeded to stuff the one from the other. Soon he was puffing out clouds of thick, fragrant smoke. Adam found himself in a position to do nothing but listen.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not saying it\u2019s a good thing or a bad thing,\u201d Ebon began, \u201cBut there ain\u2019t a single word in the Good Book written down against it. Why, the good Lord himself even delivered his children into the hands of the Egyptians because of their misdemeanours.\u201d He gestured with the stem of his pipe. \u201cThere\u2019s slaves workin\u2019 now in the cotton fields an\u2019 on the cane plantations that live under the whip an\u2019 lead \u2018 bout the most mis\u2019rable lives a man can imagine. But it ain\u2019t like that the whole world over. There\u2019s good masters an\u2019 there\u2019s bad masters, just like there\u2019s good men an\u2019 bad men.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam forgot himself and shook his head; the room progressed slowly about him. \u201cYou can\u2019t justify enslavement.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t justifyin\u2019 nothing, suh. I\u2019m tellin\u2019 it just like it is. There\u2019s some masters treat their servants real well. Just like members o\u2019 their own families. Folks get houses o\u2019 their own to live in and all the food they can eat, and when they gets sick or too old to work, their masta still looks after them. They gets given what they call a pension. My own masta, old Mister Rothchild, he gave me my freedom when he died and enough money to start my own business.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSlavery won\u2019t last for ever,\u201d Adam said stubbornly. \u201cThe day will come when all men are free.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon puffed on his pipe again and produced yet more clouds of smoke. \u201cThere\u2019ll always be slaves, Mister Cartwright.\u201d He said, finally. \u201cBeing a slave is very much a state of mind. A man in chains can be as free as an eagle up in the sky if his mind and his spirit are free. Take away the chains, and the richest man in the world can still be a slave to greed and hate and fear iffen he ain\u2019t a free man inside o\u2019 his head.\u201d He tapped the side of his skull with a long boned forefinger. \u201cThere\u2019s always more than one way o\u2019 lookin\u2019 at things.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was disinclined to argue the point any further. He was feeling sick again. The torn tissues and damaged nerves of his face were recovering from their initial, numbing trauma and were starting to hurt in earnest. Seeing his renewed pallor, Ebon picked up the discarded cloth dampened it in the water and passed it back across the table. Adam applied it \u2013 carefully \u2013 to the swelling on his left cheek.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhereabouts do you live?\u201d Ebon asked. \u201cI ain\u2019t seen you around the town before now.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam searched through his memory and dredged up the name of his hotel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ebon shook his head. \u201cYou ain\u2019t in no fit state to go back there tonight. You better stay here an\u2019 I\u2019ll walk you back in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

All of a sudden, Adam was tired. It was late, and the beating had taken its toll. His body\u2019s natural endorphins were beginning to take control of him and were closing down the higher parts of his brain. Despite the pain from his battered face and his ribs and his belly, sleep was getting the better of him. His eyelids were drooping, and he tried to stifle a yawn. The rest of the world was starting to drift away from him. Ebon and Marla made a bed for him out of blankets and bundles and bales, and the big ex-slave helped him ease out of the rest of his clothes. Adam was almost asleep before he lay down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next day was Friday and, for Adam, it didn\u2019t start well. He woke up late. The sun, pouring in through the room\u2019s only window, was shining full in his face. He tried to turn over to get out of the light, and every muscle he possessed screamed in a chorus of protracted agony. His much abused and bruised body had stiffened during the night; every small movement caused him the most excruciating pain. He could hardly open his eyes, and his mouth was so swollen he couldn\u2019t eat or talk and could barely sip water. What his body cried out for was good, strong, hot coffee, but there was no way to get it inside him. He stifled a low, heartfelt groan and tried to bury his head in his bedding.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He found that he couldn\u2019t get up. Ebon had to lift him onto his feet and then help him to get his legs in his pants. It wasn\u2019t easy, or pleasant.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The family had already eaten breakfast, and the older children were dressed. Ebon gave the three of them pennies to pay for their lessons and sent them off to school. \u201cEducation, Mister Cartwright,\u201d he said in his big, booming voice, \u201cThe most valuable gift we can ever give to our children.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam could only mumble, but he thought he conveyed his agreement. They finally gave him the coffee he craved; he managed to blow a few bubbles but swallowed very little. Then, as promised, Ebon walked with him back to his hotel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Once alone in the room with the rest of the world on the other side of the firmly closed door, Adam gave way to the inevitable reaction. His empty stomach heaved, and his body shook for the best part of half an hour before he was finally able to bring it under control. He stripped off his shirt and looked at himself in the looking glass. It was fortunate, perhaps, that the mirror was small and he could only examine one part at a time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Apart from the cuts on his face, they hadn\u2019t broken his skin. The intricate patterning on his ribs was in the heraldic colours of purple, blue and yellow. Both eyes were blacked – the bruises met across the bridge of his nose; his eyelids were so engorged with blood he could hardly see. His lips were split, and his mouth was swollen. He considered himself lucky that nothing was broken. He remembered, ruefully, that this was the evening he had arranged to dine with Elise. He hardly looked the part of a suave and sophisticated courtier \u2013 more like a common brawler who had come off worse in a back-street skirmish. He wondered what she would think. Perhaps the best thing he could do was to send her a message \u2013 to offer his apologies and give some excuse. But lies were hardly a basis for any sort of relationship, and he had to admit that was what he was hoping for. He was determined to keep the engagement if he possibly could.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took a long soak in the bathtub, then spent the day resting, trying to ease his aches and pains and get his joints working again. Cold compresses reduced the various swellings until he could see and eat just a little and, he hoped, produce comprehensible words.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shaving that evening was somewhat problematical. It took the best part of an hour and turned out to be a thoroughly bloody business. The edge of the blade snagged on his damaged skin and reopened the host of small cuts around his lips and his chin; every one of them bled. Finally, as the last light faded outside his window, he brushed back his hair and tied a silk ribbon at his throat. Dressed in white linen and the fine, grey wool, he figured he was about as presentable as he was as likely to be. Again, he looked critically at his reflection. Despite all his efforts, he looked like some mad lampoonist\u2019s characterture of himself. It couldn\u2019t be helped.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lamplight glowed in every window of the Neston house. Huge iron braziers burned on either side of the wide stone staircase. The smoke served to keep away biting insects, and the flames lit up the fine, white pillared portico from below so that the face of the building loomed like a pale, golden monument against the darkling sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had hired a closed carriage \u2013 a so-called taxicab \u2013 to carry him out of town. He paid off the driver and went up the steps with slow, measured tread, one hand held carefully against his ribs. The stairway seemed endless. Peter, the butler, opened the door. \u201cWelcome, Mister Cartwright, sir\u2026\u201d The tall black man stopped short at the sight of his face. It gave Adam some notion of how he appeared.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s instinct was to give a lop-sided smile, but he didn\u2019t quite dare. Instead, he handed the man his hat. \u201cGood evening, Peter.\u201d At least the words were intelligible.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam!\u201d Elise\u2019s voice, warm and welcoming, came from beyond, from inside the grand and warmly lit hallway. She stood at the foot of the sweeping staircase. A vision of loveliness in a long, dark-green gown, she had one hand resting on the rail as if she had just descended. It was a carefully calculated posture. Adam knew it, and he didn\u2019t care. It had its desired effect and stole his breath away.\u00a0 He thought she was utterly lovely.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cElise.\u201d He stepped forward to greet her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She was smiling, but then she caught sight of him as he came forward into the light. The pleasure on her face faded to be replaced with concern, shock and then horror. Swiftly, she crossed the room and put a hand on his arm. \u201cAdam, your face! Whatever happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This time, Adam managed the crooked smile. \u201cI met with some friends who weren\u2019t quite as friendly as I had expected.\u201d Gently, he declined to explained any further, and Elise was polite enough not to press him, \u2018though her eyes said that she would dearly have liked to.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam renewed his acquaintance with Emily. Taller than Elise by half a head, in her own home, she was an imperious and imposing woman. She eyed the damage to his features with open speculation but refrained from making a comment. Adam didn\u2019t doubt that his lumps and bruises would be the prime subject of conversation once this evening was over and he was gone home. Coolly, Emily gave him her hand. \u201cMister Cartwright: it is a long awaited pleasure to welcome you to our home.\u201d Her expression belied her words.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dinner was served in the large, lavish dining room. There were flowers and candles and snow-white linen on the long, polished table. No effort or expense had been spared. Crystal and silver shone in the pale, yellow light. At each place there was a stunning array of knives, forks and glasses. Fleetingly amused, Adam recalled that his younger, larger brother had once been bemused, then hopelessly confused when confronted by more than one of each item. It had taken hours of frustration and patience to teach him the basic rule: start from the outside and work your way in.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Peter, assisted by a liveried footman and two, dark skinned maids, waited on table. The food, prepared by a chef, was exceptional, truly superb, a veritable feast of delights. Adam managed a little consomm\u00e9 and some chilled lemon sorbet that soothed his sore mouth. The rest of the meal: white fish in a crisp coat of crumbs, succulent meats with tiny potatoes and buttered asparagus tips, candied fruits and warm, melting pastries, he couldn\u2019t touch at all. Conversation was formal and stilted and carefully polite. Topics ranged from the state of the weather \u2013 always a safe and reliable subject \u2013 to the history of St. Louis and the latest news out of Europe where Britain and France were squabbling again and another war was brewing. Adam noticed that, for the most part, the ladies avoided looking at him although, once or twice, he found Emily\u2019s hard gaze on him, frankly disapproving and hostile. He realised, uncomfortably, that to the eye of a refined and genteel lady his appearance must be grotesque. He was glad when Peter served port and offered a cigar: it signified that the meal was over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They retired to the drawing room, Adam carrying his warming drink in with him, and talk turned towards art and to music. Elise sung to her own accompaniment on a small grand piano. Her voice was pleasant and light if not of any great quality. Later, Emily took formal leave, wishing Adam goodnight and leaving him alone with her sister.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise looked flushed and rather flustered. \u201cIt\u2019s a lovely evening,\u201d she said. \u201cPerhaps we should walk outside in the garden.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Happy to get away from the all-too-revealing lamplight and the overly rich opulence of the house, Adam was glad to agree. He offered his arm.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The rain clouds that often hover over eastern Missouri had, for the moment, drifted away. The night air was cool and clear. Above them, the sky showed a fine array of silvery stars and a half-faced moon in the west. Adam wondered if that self-same moon hung directly over the familiar, log ranch house and peeped at her own reflection in the lonely, high lake. Then Elise squeezed his arm and smiled at him, and his thoughts returned to the here and the now.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The terrace ran along the side of the house: a wide, paved area with steps leading down to the lawns and the night-darkened gardens below. Arm in arm, the man and the woman strolled along the gravelled walkways between the high hedges, making their way to the pond. It was very quiet. The stars watched in silence, and no breath of breeze stirred the leaves. The heady aroma of full-blown roses and the scent of her perfume, the small weight of her hand on his arm and the warm proximity of her body fired his blood and sent it singing in exaltation through his veins.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They settled on the long, stone bench beside the fishpond, a prim and proper nine inches of clear space between them. Adam fought the desire to shift himself closer. If his offer of intimacy were to be accepted, he was in no fit condition to follow it up. His body hurt and his face ached from smiling, and, once again, he was staring to feel very tired. It wasn\u2019t the romantic end to the evening that he had envisioned.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise laughed at his latest sally, and Adam managed a smile. Then Adam said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry I embarrassed you by coming here this evening. It would have been wiser to stay away. I couldn\u2019t resist the promise of your company.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh, nonsense, Adam!\u201d Elise was compassionate and caring and just a little sad. Her smile was sweet and held a genuine depth of affection. \u201cOf course, I\u2019m delighted to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam touched his face ruefully. \u201cEven looking like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She reached out and covered his hand with her own. \u201cI wish it hadn\u2019t happened, but it really doesn\u2019t matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Despite her kindness, he had an uneasy feeling that, somehow, it did. \u201cWould you let me make it up to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She looked at him coyly. \u201cAnd what do you have in mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWould you come buggy riding with me on Sunday? You have some mighty pretty country around these parts, and I haven\u2019t seen any of it yet. I\u2019d like you to show it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise\u2019s eyes sparkled with keen delight. \u201cI\u2019ll bring a hamper and we\u2019ll make it a picnic!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPack something that doesn\u2019t take too much chewing.\u201d Adam fingered his jaw and shared in her laughter. Lit by her enthusiasm, his doubts faded away like shadows in sunlight. He was already looking forward to the weekend adventure a very great deal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a world in which there was little that could not be bought except for loyalty and, perhaps friendship. In the end, Adam discovered the location of the two-roomed shanty that Ruby Pollard shared with two other women, by the simple expedient of spreading a little money around and asking some indirect questions. Mindful of the beating he had taken before, he was very careful where he purchased his information.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The cabin was one of several in an uneven row not very far from the alley were he had been beaten. Built out of clapboard on a green timber frame, it was in better condition than most. It had seen a lick of paint at least once in the last several years. There were thin cotton curtains hung at the windows, a boot scraper on one side of the door and an un-watered and wilting pot of geraniums on the other.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The dirt street was still drying out from the latest rain. Adam stepped between the puddles and knocked on the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was mid afternoon on a Saturday, and he nurtured the hope that the other two girls, reportedly both younger than Ruby by a good many years, might be out on the town. He took off his hat and waited. It seemed to be a long time. The sun was hot on the back of his neck. The mud was beginning to stink. Flies buzzed around something that had died in the gutter; Adam thought it might be a rat. A gang of ragged boys emerged from an alley, shouting \u2013 playing some sort of rough game. Adam turned to look at them. Bemused by the handsome, dark-clad man the boys fell silent and retreated watchfully into the all-concealing shadows. A large-waisted woman observed from a doorway on the other side of the road. Adam shrugged inwardly. He hadn\u2019t expected his visit to go unobserved. No sound came from inside the cabin. He rattled the woodwork again, longer and louder.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAlright, alright!\u201d A sleepy voice answered. \u201cHold on to your shirttails. I\u2019m coming!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It occurred to Adam suddenly that the woman might be working, but before he could retreat the bolt was withdrawn and the door opened several inches \u2013 enough for the woman\u2019s lean face to appear in the gap.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby stared at him for one, endless moment; then everything happened at once. Her face filled up with fresh hate and anger. She tried to slam the door in his face. Adam put out a hand to stop her. \u201cRuby, please! I need to talk to you!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They struggled for a bit on the threshold, she fighting to shut the door and he holding it open. He was stronger than she was. Realizing it was a futile task, she gave a short, sharp gasp of exasperation and gave way, stepping back to make room in the doorway.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam followed her inside and closed the door behind him. Leaning back on it, he scanned the room quickly. He saw the basic trappings of everyday life, a room that was cluttered and lived in. As a man who came from an all-male household, he recognised it as a woman\u2019s room, filled with women\u2019s trappings and smelling of perfume and soap. The door to the second room was empty; beyond it were beds and tumbled bedding. There was no one else in there \u2013 Ruby had been sleeping alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She snarled in his face \u201cI told you, I don\u2019t want anything to do with you!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled a long breath; he wasn\u2019t used to pleading. \u201cRuby, if you\u2019ll hear me out, I promise to go away from here, and you\u2019ll never see me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby studied his face, still scarred with half-healed cuts and livid with bruising. The sight of it seemed to give her some small measure of satisfaction. He didn\u2019t pretend to himself that it might be remorse. \u201cYou never learn, do you?\u201d she said harshly. \u201cYou know that I have friends that will beat you to pulp just for coming here. They\u2019ll lay you out and skin you alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam held his voice steady, \u201cI realise that. I\u2019m hoping you won\u2019t let that happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Her chin lifted in angry defiance. \u201cWhy should I stop them?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam moved away from the door and dumped his hat on the table. He felt very weary. \u201cPerhaps because I\u2019ve done nothing wrong. I\u2019ve done nothing to hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNothing to hurt me!\u201d Ruby scoffed angrily. \u201cYou killed Abediah, and you say you\u2019ve done nothing to hurt me!\u201d She wrapped her arms around herself and hugged her ribs as if she were cold.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI understand he was a very close friend of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA friend!\u201d Ruby turned and glared at him across the width of the room. Her eyes were bright, and her face wore a hard, bitter smile. \u201cHe was a great deal more than a friend. Abediah and I were going to be married. One day, he said. He promised me!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam breathed carefully in and out. He knew that he was on dangerous ground and that he had to tread gently. Clearly, Ruby knew nothing about the other women in Harbinger\u2019s life, and Adam wasn\u2019t about to enlighten her. He said, \u201cHarbinger tried to kill me. I don\u2019t know why, except that someone hired him to do it. He called me out in the street, and he threatened my family if I didn\u2019t face him. He didn\u2019t give me a choice.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby continued to stare at him, her face unforgiving. \u201cAre you telling me that you beat Abediah to the draw? That you are faster than he was?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had the grace not to shrug. Instead, he spread his hands wide. \u201cI\u2019m alive and he\u2019s dead. It was a fair fight. Everyone saw it. Harbinger went for his gun first.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Outside in the street, men started shouting. Someone pounded hard on the door. \u201cRuby! Are you all right in there? Ruby, give me an answer!\u201d There was more hammering; dust and splinters flew from the wood. The door shook under the onslaught.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A different, harsh voice bellowed, \u201cRuby, open the door!\u201d At any moment they would break the door open.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s stomach lurched with fear, and the sweat broke out on his skin. He was well aware that unless the woman chose to stop them, they would cheerfully kill him for coming here. He looked at her. \u201cRuby?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a look that bordered close on contempt, Ruby stepped past him to the door. There were a half-dozen men clustered outside the cabin: big, burly men with hard faces and voices. They peered over one-another\u2019s shoulders to get a look in the door. Ruby stood in the way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, fellas. I\u2019m all right. There\u2019s nothing for you to get excited about.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One of the big men caught sight of Adam. Adam might have recognized his face as one of those who had beaten him two nights before. \u201cRuby,\u201d he growled, \u201cDo you want us to look after that fella? We can make sure he\u2019ll never be found.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby glance at Adam over her shoulder, then shook her head. \u201cHe\u2019s not causin\u2019 me any trouble. You can leave him alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The men shuffled and muttered angrily. It was plain that they wanted nothing more than to get their hands on Adam and make sure that he never came back. Ruby discouraged them with a few, sharp words and closed the door firmly. It was some little time before they dispersed. She turned round to face Adam; her hands were behind her and her back to the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Adam Cartwright, did you say you name was? What do you think I can do for you?\u201d Her voice was still angry, but she was resigned.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam breathed out a sigh of relief. The woman might not be happy to help him, but at least she wasn\u2019t fighting him any more. \u201cI\u2019m trying to find out the name of the man who hired him to kill me.\u201d He didn\u2019t add that she was the only lead that he had.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what will you do if you find him? Call him out and kill him too?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled up short. His mouth opened and closed again. He had never thought through his plans quite as far as that. What would he do if he came face to face with his would-be killer? \u201cI-I want to talk to him,\u201d he said slowly, at last. \u201cI think I just want to ask him why?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby laughed without humour. \u201cYou\u2019re going to a great deal of trouble just to hold a conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI thought he might have talked to you \u2013 mentioned the name of the man who employed him.\u201d It was a dying hope.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAbediah never told me anything about his business dealings,\u201d Ruby said. \u201cHe came and he went just as the whim and the work took him. He kept on telling me that every trip was going to be the last. That the next time he came back, he was going to settle down.\u201d Her voice became bitter towards the end.\u00a0 She sat down in a chair and looked at him hard.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let go a pent up breath. He thought she was telling the truth. \u201cDidn\u2019t he give you any clue at all?\u201d Ruby shook her head. \u201cDid he leave anything here I could look at? Any personal effects?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The questioning earned a shrug of the shoulders. \u201cHe left a few papers and a few clothes. I don\u2019t have them any more. I burned them the day after I heard he was dead. I burned every Goddamned thing!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was as a lid slammed shut on a big, dark box with Adam trapped inside. He didn\u2019t know which way to turn any more. He didn\u2019t know what to do next. He sat down in the room\u2019s other chair, across the table from Ruby. \u201cCan you remember anything about the papers?\u201d he asked hopelessly. He was clutching at straws.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThey were just a few letters.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you recall what they were about? Who they were from?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI never read them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. \u201cDidn\u2019t you notice anything about them at all?\u201d He was at the point of despair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe only thing I remember was the return address. It was some sort of double-barrelled name. Messers something and something. I really don\u2019t remember what. Just two names.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Breath hissed out through Adam\u2019s teeth. \u201cWas there anything else at all? Anything that might help me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruby looked at him across the table. \u201cChicago,\u201d she said abruptly. \u201cThe city was Chicago.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t much to go on – even less than he\u2019d had before: two shadowy figures who might not exist at all. And, of course, the letters with the Chicago address, if he could ever track it down, might have concerned something else entirely. Adam knew he had some serious thinking to do and some decisions to make.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sky was a deep, sapphire-blue with only a few, high-flown tatters of ragged, white clouds, and the sun was shining brightly. The shadow of the surrey with its four high wheels and its spirited, high-stepping pony cast a sharp shadow against the gravel on the drive. Adam slapped the broad, strap reins on the horse\u2019s rump and urged him, with a low, warbling whistle, to extend to a spanking trot. He smiled at the woman beside him. For their picnic in the country Elise had chosen a pale yellow dress and a fine, straw bonnet trimmed with ribbon and freshly picked yellow roses, and she carried a yellow parasol. With a faint flush of pinkness tinting her cheeks, she was a vision of a perfect woman, delicate, elegant and refined. Her laugh was melodic when she laughed at his jokes, her eyes silver darts, lively and alert. Adam wished he could capture the moment, freeze the picture in an instant of time and store it away forever. He added his own throaty laughter. She was enchanting, and he was bewitched.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The surrey ran easily along a high-hedged lane that might have been anywhere in an English shire county. The smell of warm sunlight was fresh after rain. They passed white painted houses with neat green shutters and summer roses in front of the doors. Long-legged horses raced for a while on the other side of a fence-line. Overshadowed by a dense stand of trees they discovered a water mill, half-hidden and stained with age. The mill wheel was turning, coated with moss and draped in weeds. The trickle of water was musical. Ancient ivy climbed up the walls, and the windows, small and faceted with tiny, diamond panes, sparkled like snake\u2019s eyes in the sunlight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They stopped at a church, an old stone building crowning a hilltop. It had glorious stained-glass windows, yew trees in the churchyard and creeper on the walls. Even though it was Sunday, the door was locked and the church, deserted. Adam and Elise strolled among the tombstones and played a childish game, competing to see which of them could find the oldest inscription. Some of the graves were a hundred years old.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found a secluded spot and drove the surrey off the road and into the shade of some trees. He walked \u2018round the back of the vehicle and lifted Elise down. She was as light as a feather in his strong arms. A few steps away was a pleasant meadow with daisies and celandines amongst the grass and a clear, cold stream running through. Laughing together, they danced a slow waltz in the grass while, overhead, a skylark provided the music. Surely that was a good sign for lovers? Then they sat either side of a white, lace tablecloth and picked at a fine picnic lunch.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Finally, as the conversation ebbed away, Elise looked across at him from under her eyebrows. \u201cAdam, will your business keep you long in St. Louis?\u201d It was a question that was troubling her some.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam lowered his crystal goblet and turned its stem in his fingers, round and round, watching the sunlight sparkle on the golden wine and wondering how best to answer. \u201cMy business in St. Louis is concluded,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI\u2019ve found out what I needed to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d Elise fell silent and thoughtful. Obedient to the old-world tradition, she had never asked the nature of his business, and she never would. She drew a deep breath. \u201cWhat will you do next?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spoke slowly and carefully. Despite a sleepless night and long hours of soul searching, he was still uncertain of his feelings. One part of him was as confused as a sixteen year old on his very first date, the other part of him, the mature man, knew what he had to do, and he was well aware of all the obstacles that stood in his way. \u201cI have to go on to Chicago: to follow up the information I\u2019ve collected here and see where else it might lead me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Elise looked down at her small, white hands, demurely clasped in her lap. To her credit, they showed no sign of her frantic, inner turmoil; they were still and at perfect repose \u2013 a true credit to her early training. Bravely, she asked, \u201cWhen shall you have to go?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cEarly this week, probably on Tuesday.\u201d Adam studied her face. \u201cYou could come with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTo Chicago?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhen my business is over we could travel some. Then I could take you back to Nevada to meet my family.\u201d Even as he made the proposal, Adam had sudden doubts. His mind produced the picture: Elise with her elegant gowns and her hats and her parasols, divorced from the grand, white house and the servants, Elise in the old, log-built ranch<\/p>\n

house a very long way from the finery and the culture she so obviously enjoyed. The untamed wilds of Nevada\u2019s western edge were far from true civilisation and all the refinements of big city life: the opera house and the concert hall and the famous-name restaurants. The nearest Virginia City could offer was the International House, hardly an apt substitution. Her porcelain-white, powder fine skin would scorch in the harsh summer sun. She would freeze to death in the deep frosts and the bitter blasts of a High Sierra winter. As for the work, he couldn\u2019t envision her doing it. The harsh and unforgiving life in the west would soon wear her down and destroy her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so, Adam.\u201d Elise shook her head. Evidently, she had been thinking along the same lines and had come to the same conclusion. She put it simply, \u201cIt\u2019s so far away.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She lifted her head then, and looked at him directly. Her face was rife with emotions: pride and defiance, hope, sorrow and fear. \u201cYou could stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gave it his due consideration. St. Louis was a huge and sprawling metropolis, a long founded settlement with all the refinement and history that a cultured man could need. He could spend the rest of his life exploring its libraries and its museums, its galleries and exhibition rooms, and there would always be work for an architect and an engineer. But would he be happy away from his home? Would life in the hustle and bustle of a city compensate for the wide-open spaces? Could a desk and a chair take the place of a strong horse under him and the rain in his face? Even now, if he listened, he could hear the moan of the wind in the pine trees and the siren song of the lake. The mountains and the forests and dry, scorching deserts, each in their own voice, were calling him home. Did he love Elise enough to give it all up?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And then there was that other matter that had to be considered. Missouri was a slave owning state. It was the culture that Elise had grown up with. Slavery was part of her background and something in which she believed. Adam couldn\u2019t change his own, strong convictions. He didn\u2019t expect the lady to change hers. They lived in two separate worlds with kingdoms of difference between them. War was coming without any doubt. How would if be with she on one side and he on the other? It was clear it would never work out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t do that,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The wind blew suddenly cool in their faces, carrying with it the fresh promise of rain. The warmth of the day had faded away and with it had gone the promise of their future together. They looked at each other. Her eyes were sad. He leaned across and brushed her lips with his own. The kiss was cold, without any passion. Both of them knew that the kiss was goodbye.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Six<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam arrived in Chicago late in the afternoon. It was raining steadily, as it had been all day: a cold, dark, acidic precipitation that fell straight down out of a dismal, lowering sky. Sited at the southwestern tip of the great lake Michigan, it was an industrial city, powered by coal from the mines in the north. Smoke poured forth from ten thousand chimneys and hung in a pall over the rooftops. It stank of sulphur and soot. Adam turned up his collar and pulled it more closely around his neck and dragged the brim of his hat down tighter over his eyes. He stood on a wet street corner with his several bags piled around his feet and wondered what on earth he was doing here in this alien and impersonal world. He could feel the age of the place – the site had first been settled by a fugitive Negro slave who had built a cabin alongside the sluggish and muddy Chacaqua River in seventeen seventy-one.\u00a0 The oppressive weight of the brick and brownstone buildings, four and five storeys high, pressed down on his shoulders. Around him swarmed a truly cosmopolitan population, faces of white and black and yellow and brown and every shade in between. The pace of life ran faster here. The people hurried by. Every man was intent on his own life and business and had no time to stop and stare. Nowhere was there a smile to be seen or a friendly word to be heard. The streets were filled with horse drawn traffic: both open carriages and closed. Many of them were public vehicles in which one could ride for the price of a fare. The sight of a saddle horse was rare. Despite all the years he had spent in the east, Adam felt very much out of place. He was a very long way from his home, and he had been gone a long time. If he had paused to think about it, he was not only bedraggled and cold, he was feeling very much alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He hired a cab, and, before very long, he had installed himself in another room in another hotel with yet another bed that wasn\u2019t his own and a different view from the window. There was a thin carpet on the floorboards and lots of heavy, dark furniture made the room small. There was a large wardrobe as well as a dresser and a chest of drawers and a wood-framed bed with a mattress that proved to be lumpy and not enough pillows. Adam dumped his rifle on the bed and tipped the porter, a sallow white youth, with a small silver coin. Then he scratched a match and lit the lamp, trying to bring some cheer to the dismal apartment. It didn\u2019t help. The light only revealed faded flock wallpaper and a long dried-out damp patch at the top of the wall. The view from the window was of a busy street, some floors below, and another brownstone building across the way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam poured water from the china pitcher into the basin and gave himself a cold-water shave. He always felt more human when he was clean and respectable. Having changed his linen and brushed the travel dirt from his suit, he went to eat a solitary dinner in the hotel\u2019s dining room. Afterwards, he went out to look at the town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was still raining and the streets remained busy. Life in the city never seemed to stop. The paving was wet, glistening in the light of gas street lamps. Chicago was laid out on a rectangular, urban grid. The streets were all long and straight, the corners square. In the last six years the whole level of the city had been raised by an average of some fifteen to seventeen feet to lift it above the miasmic swampland and to provide for a thorough system of sewerage. To accomplish this phenomenal task, the streets were filled in and, by means of jackscrews worked by steam engines, not only the largest dwellings, but the largest business buildings and whole business blocks, together with churches, theatres and hotels and edifices of every kind were raised to the required elevation, and that, without being vacated.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

During those same years the river was dredged and deepened and, by an extraordinary feat of engineering, was made to change its course. The southern branch was connected, at a distance of two and a half miles from the lake, with the Illinois and Michigan canal. Harbours were constructed at great expense with breakwaters forming huge basins for the accommodation of shipping. The river itself, together with its branches, was crossed by more than fifty drawbridges. Other bridges, together with tunnels built under the bed of the stream, connected the business quarters of the city and relieved the crush of its constantly increasing traffic. The three great sources of the city\u2019s commerce were the lakes, Michigan, Huron and Superior, the canal and the Galena and Chicago Union Railroad, completed in eighteen forty-eight. By eighteen sixty, the city was served by no less than ten railroads; the tracks ran right to the water\u2019s edge.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took a late-night stroll by City Hall. It was the third building to bear that grand name; this one was a huge construct of dressed, white stone. It stood four storeys above street level and two below and had tall, arched windows and an elaborately crenellated fa\u00e7ade. Then he paused to admire the Court House, an older and even larger building with an elegant tower from which flew the Union flag, and the tall, copper-domed water tower.\u00a0 It was midnight when, finally, he returned to his hotel room. He had purchased a bottle and indulged in several solitary drinks before he retired to the uncomfortable and uninviting bed. That night, he slept without dreaming.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The first problem, as Adam saw it, was knowing where to begin. For want of a better idea, he decided to pay an unannounced call on the offices of Towshaw, Riley and Pane. They had been the Cartwright\u2019s agents in Chicago for many years, longer than Adam could properly remember. In actual fact, there were three Towshaws involved in the business: a father of advancing years and two adult sons. Riley and Pane were the junior partners who had joined the firm comparatively recently \u2013 within the last fifteen years, Adam recalled. The fact that it was still a family concern, just like the Ponderosa, was perhaps, the principle reason why old Ben insisted on retaining their services. It was the only rational motive that Adam could think of; he was not nearly so happy with the service the firm supplied. He considered them, at the best, inefficient. There had been any number of small inaccuracies in the paper work that they had provided over the years, and the parts of the business that were in their hands had constantly under performed. He had argued on many occasions for a change to one of the more up to date and forward looking concerns that were now springing up in every big city and many small towns as well. His father had always resisted. It was one more bone of contention between them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam crossed the city by means of public transport. The novelty of sitting on a hard, leather-padded bench, knee to knee with two other men in the unsprung, horse-drawn omnibus quickly wore thin. The enclosed vehicle proved to be unheated and dank. Inside, it stank of wet woollen clothing and sweat and exhaled garlic, and it quickly filled up with cigar smoke. All in all, Adam was glad to alight and to walk the last two city blocks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The wide avenues of trees, the lawns and the spacious, formal gardens that graced the grand old city of St. Louis were completely absent here. There were no false frontages or ornate facades; every building wore its own face of brick or brownstone and stained, grey cement. Shoulder to shoulder, they crowded close to the street with narrow alleyways in between them and bleak yards and loading areas tucked out of sight behind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam located the offices of his family\u2019s agents secreted away on the top two floors of a four-storey building. Glad to be out of the persistent, cold rain, he climbed a narrow and somewhat claustrophobic staircase to a dark and suspiciously dingy landing lit by a single, small window. Adam paused long enough to look out. All he could see was the blank brick wall of another building. His misgivings multiplied. However, the nameplate was clean and crisply engraved with the company\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Inside, the reception room was tidy and well ordered, if dowdy and decorated with an unpleasantly drab shade of green paint. It was filled with old-fashioned furniture, heavy and dark. A carpet with an intricately interwoven pattern of garlands lay on the floor, and three further doors led to the inner offices beyond. A dark haired woman a few years short of middle age sat behind the scarred wooden desk, writing on fine velum with an old-fashioned quill pen. As Adam had suspected all along, the family firm of Towshaw, Riley and Pane were fifty years behind the times. The woman paused in her work and looked up at Adam as he came in. \u201cGood morning, sir. How can I help you?\u201d Her greeting was automatic. Then she looked up some more, and up, and up. Adam was a very big man, tall and broad. He towered over her. Then she caught sight of his face, and her mouth dropped open.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was well aware that his features were still colourful in places, \u2018though most of the signs of the beating had faded away. He gave her a winning smile, and her attention immediately shifted from the diminishing bruises to the dimples that played in his cheeks, the deep, amber eyes and the dazzling glimpse of white teeth. \u201cI\u2019m Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa ranch in Nevada.\u201d He presented his card. \u201cMy family are clients of yours. I\u2019d like to see Mister Towshaw; any one of the three will do.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s eyes were fixed on his face. She began to flush. Just a little. He could see that behind the lenses of her spectacles, she had very pretty eyes: a soft blue grey with little flecks of brown and long sweeping lashes. Gazing right back at him, the eyes began to shine. Then she closed her mouth and made a concerted effort to regain the composure that this big, handsome man had stolen away. She fell back on her basic training. \u201cDo you have an appointment, Mister\u2026\u201d she had completely forgotten the card that she held in her hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCartwright,\u201d he told her again, still smiling. \u201cAnd no, I don\u2019t have an appointment. But I would still like to see Mister Towshaw.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid that\u2019s not possible.\u201d In the face of his continued scrutiny the woman started to fluster. She still couldn\u2019t take her eyes from his face. It was likely to be her undoing.\u00a0 \u201cMister Towshaw senior only comes in on two days a week, now that he\u2019s semi-retired.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam could just see Ben Cartwright retiring. It would be a chilly day in hell before he handed over the reins to his offspring.\u00a0 Adam felt a small twinge of \u2013 could it be resentment? \u201cAnd what about his sons? Would one of them be available? I have come a very long way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Her throat worked convulsively as she swallowed. Her mouth was open again. \u201cBoth the young Mister Towshaws are out of town I\u2019m afraid.\u201d Clearly, the woman had her instructions.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam began to get the message. \u201cI suppose Mister Riley and Mister Pane\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAre both unavailable at present,\u201d she finished for him, and blushed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Over the course of the years Adam had become aware of the devastating effect that he sometimes had on the fairer sex. He knew that it had something to do with his physical appearance, his personality and the sound of his voice when he laughed. He didn\u2019t altogether understand it, and he didn\u2019t do it on purpose, but he was not above using the seemingly magical effect to his advantage. Both hands on the desk, he leaned forward purposefully and exhaled lightly, knowing the effect that his breath would have. He turned on the charm. \u201cAre you certain that none of the partners are able to see me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman breathed in hard, absorbing the very scent of his masculinity. She devoured him with her eyes. Unconsciously, she touched her hair. \u201cIt\u2019s just possible that Mister Riley might be able to fit you in to his schedule. I could ask and see if he\u2019s free\u2026\u201d Here voice tapered off faintly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam allowed his gold eyes to glow. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go and ask Mister Riley?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman stood up, rising slowly. Her head came just to his shoulder. She stepped back and stumbled over her chair. \u201cIf you\u2019ll just take a seat, Mister Cartwright\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam straightened up from his elegant lean. Still smiling, he watched her depart through one of the inner doors. Then he was alone, cooling his heels in the bleak outer office. After his experience in the bus, he disregarded the several uninviting chairs that stood along the walls, their hard, leather cushions polished by uncounted trouser seats. There was reading material provided: several old magazines and a courtesy copy of the local broad sheet newspaper. Adam chose to look out of the window and study the view of the street. It was still very wet, but he was pleased to see that the rain had stopped for a while, at least.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman came back, still pink in the cheeks, and told him that Riley was prepared to make time in his busy day to see him. She showed him into the office. Riley was a pale, thin man just a little older than Adam who looked as if he should get out more. He stood up and reached across the desk to shake Adam by the hand and gestured him into a seat. \u201cYou\u2019re a long way from home, Mister Cartwright. Have you come all this way to see us?\u201d He sounded as if he found the idea vaguely amusing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t laugh. \u201cNot entirely.\u201d He settled back into an aged, but comfortable brown-leather armchair and took a moment to study his surroundings. Riley\u2019s office was cool and quiet with two large square windows overlooking the street and mundane, cream-coloured walls. The room smelled of leather and polish and, faintly, cigar smoke, although Riley didn\u2019t look like the type to indulge while at work. He said, \u201cI came to town on other business. I thought that as I was here\u2026\u201d He tried to make the sentence sound casual and finished it with a one-shouldered shrug; it was almost the truth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cQuite so.\u201d Riley smiled a thin, insincere smile to show that he wasn\u2019t deceived. At least the two understood one another. \u201cWhat can I do for you?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam thought he\u2019d cut right to the quick. \u201cI\u2019d like to see our investment file.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pale eyes blinked at him from across the desk as Riley\u2019s thinking processes tried to change track. Adam wondered from what. \u201cInvestment file? Yes, of course.\u201d He got up again, and Adam\u2019s eyes followed him as he walked to the door. Adam noticed that his shiny shoes squeaked; Riley spoke to the woman outside, and shortly afterwards, she came in with the file: a great many pages between grey, card covers. She smiled at Adam and reddened when he grinned back. Riley watched the exchange with sour disapproval over the rims of his glasses. \u201cThank you, Miss Sylvester,\u201d he said. The woman went out with a long, backward glance, and Adam suppressed a smile.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He spent the next hour going through the portfolio in detail. As he had suspected, most of the problems could be put down to misinterpretation and inattention to detail, but, cumulatively, they were enough to have cost the family several thousand dollars in lost returns over a period of years. He pointed them out to Riley and made his displeasure known in no uncertain manner. Riley, unexpectedly and to his credit, answered up sharply a time or two and went up a little in Adam\u2019s estimation. Mostly, however, he sat and wrote copious amounts of notes in a copperplate hand. By the time the interview was ended, the two men had come to regard each other with some small amount of respect and no little irritation; it never did degenerate into and out-and-out shouting match although it threatened to once or twice. The word \u2018incompetence\u2019 featured quite prominently, and, at that point, Riley looked at Adam sharply. \u201cMister Cartwright, Mister Towshaw, Sr. himself looks after your most valued account.\u201d Adam, filled with a cold, hard anger, filed that piece of information away in his mind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam came to the conclusion that his first impression was correct: the problems lay more with inefficiency than skulduggery and connivance, but he needed to be sure. Under Riley\u2019s watchful eye, he jotted down addresses on a piece of paper.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the other matter, Riley was unable to help him at all. He looked totally aghast and bewildered as Adam explained his situation and his continuing quest. He shook his head slowly from side to side. \u201cTo my certain knowledge, no one has been here asking after you, and we certainly wouldn\u2019t reveal the business of our clients.\u201d On that matter at least, Adam was prepared to believe him. \u201cAs for tracing the address you mention with so little evidence, I think you\u2019ll find it a quite impossible task.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled wryly. He wasn\u2019t prepared to accept that \u2013 quite \u2013 yet, although he was beginning to see the difficulty of his mission. \u201cTell Mister Towshaw I\u2019ll call in again before I leave town,\u201d he said finally. It was more a promise and a word of warning than any real threat. He would have liked to take his business elsewhere, but the shadow of Ben looming over his shoulder was a more than adequate deterrent. His father would never countenance any such action without prior consultation; he had made that clear before. Adam, to his chagrin, didn\u2019t have the legal authority to act unilaterally without any positive proof. As he shook hands with Riley, he reminded himself firmly that the man was only a junior partner; Towshaw was the one he really wanted to get his teeth into. He remembered to wink at the woman on his way out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam walked the wet streets. As he had begun to suspect, the various business and trade registries provided him with several hundred possible pairings of names; the lists at City yielded several thousand more. He began to appreciate, for perhaps the first time, the enormity of the job of tracking them all down. Accomplishing it was likely to take him several lifetimes at least. The worst of it was, he didn\u2019t even know who he was looking for!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He found himself outside the Central Police Station, a formidable, brownstone building with dark paned windows looking out on the city like deep, sunken eyes and a long, straight flight of steps leading up to the doors. He sighed. He was well aware that he was about to make a Goddamned fool of himself, and he wasn\u2019t wrong.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stood in line and waited his turn in the Precinct Hall. Watching the tide of humanity ebb and flow around him was an education all by itself. Chicago, like all major cities of its time, boasted a formidable police force based on the English model. Its officers wore dark blue uniforms with high stiff collars and bright, shiny buttons and hard, domed helmets instead of hats. Most of them were big, top-heavy men with open, honest faces and Irish names. The faces of their customers showed a lot more variation. Adam saw every colour and creed. Every type of iniquity was represented: the sneak faced thief, the shady, smart suited swindler, the ugly mugger and the blowsy street walker The expressions ranged from crafty, to scared, to downright villainous, both angry and sad. Some, like his own, were simply confused.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The line shuffled up. Somewhere at the front, voices were raised: a rapid-fire argument held in Italian. Heads lifted and eyes fired with brief but fading interest. A burly policeman sorted it out. Adam\u2019s turn came to approach the tired-faced sergeant behind the big desk. The somewhat battered nameplate proclaimed \u2018O\u2019Donnell\u2019 in chipped, chiselled lettering.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cName?\u201d he inquired without looking up. His voice was a bored, flat monotone. Adam supplied the required information, and the desk sergeant wrote it down. \u201cWhat\u2019s your problem, Mister Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam told it in the words of just a few, plain sentences. The sergeant\u2019s pen moved more and more slowly as the telling progressed, scratching over the paper. Finally, it stopped altogether. The sergeant took off his glasses and looked at Adam from under dark, dense brows. \u201cWould you be makin\u2019 fun o\u2019 me, now?\u201d he asked in with a soft, Gaelic burr.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sighed. Even to his own ear, the story was starting to sound improbable. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t do that. I know your time is valuable. I just wondered if you could help.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell considered what he had written. \u201cSo you\u2019re tellin\u2019 me you\u2019ve come all the way from Nevada territory on the trail of a dead man?\u201d His voice was even more tired than it had been before.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d In the small, quiet hours of many a morning, Adam had wondered at it himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re looking for two men who might have hired him in a city of a million people, and you don\u2019t even know their names?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam heard the tones of exaggerated patience. Behind him, somebody laughed. O\u2019Donnell scratched his head with the end of his pen and gave vent to a heartfelt sigh. \u201cMister Cartwright, I appreciate your concern for the state of your health.\u201d Again the titter came from behind. Adam felt his neck redden. \u201cBut it would help us if you could give us just a wee bit more to go on.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Frustration made Adam curl up his fists. \u201cI don\u2019t know any more than I\u2019ve told you. The trail\u2019s gone cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell very carefully tore the sheet of paper off his pad and screwed it into a ball. He looked at Adam without rancour, but there was a steely glint in his eye. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just go on home to Nevada and be glad that you\u2019re still alive?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam ground his teeth together and explained it again, \u201cBecause I need to know who wanted me dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sergeant\u2019s patience began to wear thin. \u201cWell then, when you\u2019ve uncovered some names and addresses, you come on back and see us again.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t exactly throw Adam out, but a blue-suited constable escorted him to the door and then stood and watched while he used it. Mentally, Adam smoothed down the ruffled feathers of his embarrassment and consoled himself that he had, at least, done as his father would have required and consulted with the forces of law and order.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Outside in the street it was raining again: that same, dismal, straight-down drizzle that had fallen before. Adam wished he had packed his waterproof beaver-skin poncho. It might not be elegant or fashionable but it would have kept him dry and warm.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From a sense of duty, and for want of a better idea, he decided to visit the various Cartwright holdings. He started with a stroll by the shore. The lake resembled a small inland sea. Waves rolled in steadily and slapped and sucked against the pilings. The wind blew in off the cold, grey water and drove the rain into his face. The family owned a number of waterside properties: several barn-like structures built out of wood and standing on stilts against the certainty of regular flooding. They functioned as warehouses and distribution centres for goods arriving by water, and, as far as Adam could see, business was good. Then he went to take a proprietary look at the still vacant plots on the west side of town. In this case he had to agree with his father: the land was a superb investment and could only appreciate in value as the sprawl of the city continued to spread. If they were prepared to wait for a while and then sold the land at exactly the right time, then they were bound to make a handsome profit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Last on his list was a run-down row of brownstone tenement buildings that Adam would dearly have liked to disown. He pulled out the piece of paper on which he had written the addresses and used it to locate the city block in the poorer part of town. Adam despised the role of absentee landlord, but it was, nevertheless, one he was prepared to take very seriously indeed. The buildings were in a seriously dilapidated condition, made even more bleak and cheerless by the constantly falling rain. Adam distinctly recalled the lengthy and often heated discussions with his father concerning the extent of the renovations and how they were to be financed. He remembered authorising the cost himself. It was plain, even from the outside, that none of the work had been carried out, even though the money had been drawn from the family\u2019s accounts. It was yet one more thing to tackle Riley about.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The tenants, free Negroes and poor whites, Mexicans and a scatter of Portuguese, eyed him with considerable suspicion as he made his way inside. Adam was aware that they didn\u2019t know who he was and that he was intruding on their home ground. Children, grubby, ill clothed and probably ill fed, hung around the steps at the front in spite of the rain and loitered in the hallways. Bitter-faced women watched him pass. The fine cut of his clothes, apparent despite their soaking, set him apart from their usual run-of-the-mill visitors: bailiffs and debt collectors and the clientele of the prostitutes. What men folk were in evidence \u2013 and there were not many \u2013 observed him with open resentment and hostility. The halls and the stairways were cold and smelled of damp and vomit and bad sanitation. Some of the railings were loose.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t need to go into the individual apartments to know what he would find there; the appalling state of the plaster and the brickwork in the passages outside told him all that he needed to know. The whole place reeked of dirt and decay. In Adam\u2019s opinion, all three buildings needed to be demolished, but then where would the people go? By the time he left, his face wore a savage and determined expression, and his lips were set in a hard, straight line.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By now it was late in the afternoon and too late to travel back across the city to tackle Riley again. Adam considered buying himself a meal, but the state of the brownstone buildings had left a sour taste in his mouth and a hot ball of rage in his belly. What he really wanted was a good, stiff drink \u2013 maybe several stiff drinks, he thought grimly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He tried several bars until he found the one that suited his mood. It was a place on a cold, wet corner called \u2018The Duke\u2019s\u2019. Just ten minutes walk away from his hotel, it was lively enough to be interesting without being rowdy and loud and impersonal enough for folks to mind their own business. Still cold and damp from his soaking, he hooked the heel of his boot on the black painted rail and ordered a bottle, choosing rye whiskey over bourbon because he felt the need of the sharper bite: something to cut through the smell of rot that lingered in his nostrils. Pouring a glassful, he tipped it straight down his throat and grimaced at the pain as the firewater burned its way to his belly. Lord, that felt better! He poured another, and it chased the first one down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The heat in his stomach began to mellow his temper. Molten fury cooled into simmering rage and a fierce determination. First thing in the morning he was going over to haul Riley out of that comfortable office and rub his nose in the squalor those poor people were living in! Adam was just in the mood to do it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Not normally a man given to solitary or anti-social drinking, tonight he was prepared to make an exception. He was angry and depressed and missing the company of family and friends. If wishes were wings, he would have been home in Nevada tonight! Four large drinks later, the heat had reached to his fingertips and his brain was enveloped in a comfortable glow. His hand was rock steady as he refilled the glass.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The barroom filled up \u2013 at least, the space at the bar became crowded. Adam was jostled on either side. The whiskey sloshed in the glass. Adam frowned and concentrated really hard on not spilling his drink. As he lifted the glass to his lips, his elbow was jogged again \u2013 deliberately this time, it seemed. Adam set the glass down carefully and turned to peer at the man on his left.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He was shorter than Adam\u2019s six feet one by more than a foot, and his shoulders were almost as wide as he was tall. Adam\u2019s first impression was that the man was covered all over in thick, curly hair. His head was an unruly mass of wiry, corkscrew curls that gave him the look of a surly medusa. He had curly black brows on heavy brow ridges and a dark shadow of unshaven beard. Tufts of black hair sprouted out of his shirt at collar and cuffs, and hair grew out of his ears. His breath, as he breathed into Adam\u2019s face, stank of pickled fish and beer. The expression he wore was belligerent.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stubborn to the last, Adam was determined to finish his drink, but as he reached for the glass again, a huge, hairy hand wrapped around his hand and the glass, encompassing both and trapping his fingers.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam blinked slowly and looked at the man once more. \u201cSomethin\u2019 I can do for you, Mister?\u201d he asked with the slightest slur.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe bin lookin\u2019 all over fer you.\u201d The hairy man\u2019s face was pugnacious. \u201cAin\u2019t that right, Jacks?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone behind Adam grunted. Adam half turned. The second man was taller and even wider, \u2018though still not as tall as Adam. He wore big, black, workman\u2019s boots and bell-bottomed pants of navy-blue serge and an open-fronted, brown, leather vest. Smooth muscles bulged beneath polished, teak-coloured skin; the man\u2019s chest and arms were shirtless. In contrast to his troll-like companion, his head and his body were completely hairless; even his eyebrows were absent. The scowling expression that graced his features was about the same. Adam came to the conclusion that, for some reason that he seemed to have missed, neither of the two was happy with him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It occurred to him that the two were a pair. They might have stepped right out of the pages of his younger brother\u2019s trashy, dime novels. It might have been funny, except that no one was laughing. Looking from one to the other through the thick fog of fumes that rose up from his belly, he started to wish that he hadn\u2019t drunk so much, or, at least, quite so quickly and not without something in his stomach to soak up the liquor. He really knew better than that. He pulled in a breath and straightened his backbone and made an effort to concentrate.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was looking at Jacks as he spoke, but it was Curly who answered the question. He appeared to be spokesman for the two. \u201cLike I said, we bin lookin\u2019 fer you. We missed you down at the docks.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Had he been just a little less intoxicated, Adam might have spotted their mistake at once. As it was he tried to place their faces and failed dismally. It puzzled him. They were not a pair a man could easily forget. He shook his head slowly, more in an effort to clear this senses than in negation. \u201cDo I know you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly glared. His dense, dark brows beetled together over his thickened nose. \u201cYou playin\u2019 some kinda joke, Mista? \u2018Course you don\u2019t know us. You just got in ta town. We bin sent ta fetch ya. Ain\u2019t that right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This last request for confirmation was addressed past Adam to Jacks, who grunted in apparent agreement. The grunt seemed to be the extent of his powers of communication.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Through the slowly dissipating fog of fumes, Adam realized that he was in some kind of danger, but he wasn\u2019t certain what. He pushed himself away from the bar to give himself room. Curly shoved him back with a flat hand in the chest. \u201cYou ain\u2019t goin\u2019 no place, \u2018ceptin\u2019 we go with ya. Mista Tiptree\u2019s waitin\u2019 fer ya.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTiptree?\u201d Adam blinked owlishly. \u201cI don\u2019t know anyone called Tiptree.\u201d He felt stupid and slow-witted. He knew it was the drink. He felt sick. Abruptly, he decided he had to be somewhere else rather quickly and started for the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly pushed him again, hard enough to bruise his back on the bar. Heads were turning in his direction; faces were starting to look interested and amused. He guessed he looked like just another drunk getting rousted. As the adrenaline surged his head started to clear, but only slowly, much too slowly \u2013 not fast enough to save him from whatever fate intended. In a sparkling moment of clarity, he realized what must have happened. \u201cI think you\u2019ve mistaken me for somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly chuckled, displaying green teeth. \u201cThere ain\u2019t no mistake. You answer the description we got, an\u2019 your name\u2019s Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCartwright,\u201d Adam corrected automatically. He didn\u2019t like being pushed about, and whatever these two\u2019s purpose in life, he didn\u2019t fancy another beating. His instinct \u2013 or was it Harbinger\u2019s instinct \u2013 was to go for the gun beneath the skirts of his coat \u2013 to defend himself as tradition and honour required. But he had a sneaking suspicion that might be the drink whispering into this ear. In any event, neither Curly nor his companion appeared to be armed, and Adam suspected that the City Police would not take kindly to a shooting. He cursed himself for being a fool. He was stupid for becoming drunk. As he had observed before, nothing good ever came of it, and now, he was in trouble again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever you call yourself, you\u2019re coming with us.\u201d Curly nodded at Jacks who grabbed at Adam\u2019s arm with a savage delight and determination, a bulldog released from its leash. Adam evaded his clutches. Curly joined in and the three of them shoved and shuffled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s enough of that,\u201d a light voice said. The three men froze in the midst of their scuffle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam knew that voice, he was sure of it, although he had heard that tone just once before. Turning \u2018round to look, he knew the face as well. Suddenly shocked into sobriety, Adam stared in surprise. \u201cMorton Teasdale!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was the drummer \u2013 and then again it wasn\u2019t. Only the scar, a pale and untanned crescent on the otherwise sun-browned skin, was instantly recognizable \u2013 that and the summer-sky eyes. Teasdale had lost weight; still a heavy man, he was certainly leaner, or it might simply have been the superb cut of his pale, grey suit and the blue, brocade waistcoat underneath that made him look trim. He stood taller and straighter; the hunched shoulders, somehow, were gone. The pale, thinning hair was shorter and brushed well back from his face. He still smelled of pomade, but a more expensive brand than before, and he still wore the brown, button boots.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was not the way the man looked, but the look of the man that stopped Adam short. The flesh of his face was without its customary quiver; the set of his jaw was solid, and his lips formed a thin straight line. His vivid blue eyes were the catalyst; they were diamond hard with determination and sapphire bright, unyielding and unforgiving. His gaze encompassed them all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The three of them, Adam and his assailants, stared rather stupidly at the small, ugly gun in Morton Teasdale\u2019s hand. Teasdale acknowledged Adam with a short curt nod, then turned his cool attention to Curly and Jacks. \u201cIt seems that my friend doesn\u2019t want to go with you. Why don\u2019t you two leave him alone and be on your way?\u201d The gun made a small, jerky, but very suggestive gesture. Jacks looked at Curly for guidance. Curly, glowering, gave him a short, sharp nod, and both of them let go of Adam\u2019s arms. Teasdale gave them a lopsided grin without any hint of amusement in it at all. \u201cOff you go, gents.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly gave Adam a glare that promised all wasn\u2019t over between them, and the two of them melted away. Teasdale turned his head and watched them until they had gone through the door and vanished into the night.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam straightened his tie and shrugged his jacket back into place. Around him, the bar\u2019s other patrons had realized that the excitement was over and returned to their drinks and their conversations. He was no longer the centre of their attention, and he felt easier because of it. The barman still watched him warily. Teasdale made an uncharacteristically elegant, casual gesture and the gun disappeared into his suit. Adam didn\u2019t see quite where it went but it vanished without trace under the jacket. Adam frowned and began a serious assessment of Morton P. Teasdale.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale stuck out his hand. \u201cAdam Cartwright.\u201d The two men shook hands and Teasdale smiled his pleasure at renewing their acquaintance. His face relaxed back into the easy lines that Adam remembered, and, in a familiar gesture, he pulled out a vast white handkerchief and mopped at his neck. His eyes remained cool. Adam was simply bemused.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTeasdale, I didn\u2019t expect to find you in Chicago. You said you were just passing through.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale shrugged. \u201cChange of plans, change of plans,\u201d he intoned. He hauled back and looked at Adam with those critical, calculating, bright-blue eyes. Then his gaze slid away to the half empty bottle. \u201cYou look a little worse for wear. I wouldn\u2019t have taken you for a hard-drinking man.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked shamefaced. \u201cI guess you caught me at a moment of weakness.\u201d He called for a clean glass, which the barman grudgingly supplied, and poured Teasdale a drink from the bottle. He didn\u2019t have one himself. \u201cWho might Tiptree be?\u201d Adam wondered aloud.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJohn Dee Tiptree,\u201d Teasdale supplied instantly. \u201cEntrepreneur, procurer, drugs dealer, mastermind behind most of the shady deals and sharp practices that go on in town. A man you want to steer clear of.\u201d He lowered his glass and peered at Adam, frowning. \u201cTaunton and Jacks are his principle henchmen. What did they want with you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For the first time in a while, Adam managed a smile, albeit a small one. \u201cIt was a case of mistaken identity. They thought I was somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale finished his drink and put down his empty glass. He refused the offer of a refill with an upheld hand. \u201cThey can be very persistent men. I don\u2019t think they like you very much. I just hope you don\u2019t run into them again.\u201d Adam wondered, in passing, how he knew all that much about them, but before he could ask, Teasdale\u2019s face brightened into a grin. \u201cCartwright, I\u2019m hungry. Let\u2019s go and eat.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale knew the city well, and he knew the best places to get a meal. He bought Adam a pleasant, light supper that helped settle his stomach and cleared away the last, lingering effects of the rye. By the time the meal was over, they were on first name terms, and their friendship was firmly established.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When they had eaten, Adam chewed on a breadstick and looked Teasdale in the eye. The drummer \u2013 Adam couldn\u2019t help thinking of him as that although now, he looked little like one \u2013 had sat back in his seat and lit up a cigar. \u201cI owe you for what you did back there,\u201d Adam said earnestly. \u201cI don\u2019t think those two intended me any good.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale made an airy gesture with the tip of the cigar, one that left smoke-trails in the air. He watched them dissipate with an amused expression and a twinkle in his eye. \u201cThink nothing of it. Just glad I happened along when I did. \u2018The Duke\u2019s\u2019 isn\u2019t a place I go to often.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam popped the last of the breadstick into his mouth and selected another. \u201cSo, why isn\u2019t this Tiptree character in jail, along with his cronies?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale drew a deep lungful of smoke and let it out slowly. \u201cIt\u2019s not quite as simple as that. Tiptree and his friends manage to keep their hands clean enough; someone else always does the dirty work for them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chewing, Adam looked up. \u201cDo you know the man well?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot personally.\u201d Teasdale was disinclined to elaborate. True to an earlier promise he took Adam to the grandest whorehouse in town: an elaborate brick-faced building that stood on a large corner plot with entrances onto three different streets and a liveried doorman at every door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the threshold, Adam hesitated, although he wasn\u2019t altogether sure why. Perhaps \u2013 just perhaps \u2013 he was getting a little too old for this. Teasdale slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. \u201cMy treat, Adam. Enjoy yourself!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And that\u2019s what Adam did. There was a great deal to enjoy. Inside, the whorehouse was a veritable palace of delights. Deep pile carpets were fitted throughout, and, at once, he felt as if he were walking on air. Rich, velvet draperies in deep reds and purples, trimmed with gold cord and tassels hung at every window and depended from cornices and fluted white columns to create intimate spaces without walls and private, personal corners. They muffled the noise of laughter and conversations and clinking glasses, reducing them to a low and intimate buzz of sound. Furniture was unfashionably large and designed for the utmost comfort, upholstered with warm, soft fabrics and well supplied with cushions. Most settles and sofas were built to accommodate two. There was a range of free-standing statuary in white marble and gilt that represented both men and women taking part in the act of love; they were beautifully portrayed with sympathy and skill and left nothing whatever to the imagination. Just looking at them was an education all by itself and had a strange effect on a man. Fine gilded mirrors and erotic paintings by important artists alternated along every wall. Candlelight glowed from the corners, and muted chandeliers of crystal and brass illuminated all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The first two floors consisted entirely of public rooms with a grand sweep of polished, rosewood staircase connecting the two. On the ground floor was a grand dining room where a fine cuisine was served and every taste catered for no matter how exotic or weird. Above were several luxurious salons each with a private bar supplying spirits and wines and copious amounts of bubbly pink champagne. The tall, panelled doors between them stood permanently open, allowing easy, unobstructed progress from one to the other. On the two floors above were sumptuous apartments, each equipped with a private bathroom with hot and cold running water, and a huge, double bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had several drinks, carefully staying away from the spirits this time and sticking resolutely to a fresh, white wine. Gradually, in the warmth and generally pleasant ambience, he was able to relax without becoming drunk. The fierce tension eased out of his shoulders and the knot of frustrated anger from his gut. The Belle of the house introduced him to a lady named Mary: an attractive woman of about his own age with an oval face and a peaches-and-cream complexion, large shining eyes and dark, lustrous hair dressed with strings of shimmering fresh-water pearls. They shared a new bottle of wine and toasted each other with both glasses and eyes. She proved to be a good listener \u2013 at least, she let Adam talk. He told of his home and how much he missed it and how much he\u2019d like to go back. Just telling someone eased the need, and that was replaced with want.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They danced for a while on the polished-wood dance-floor. Adam put his arms around her and drew her in close to his chest. Against his cheek, her skin was soft and silky, like satin. He felt her fingers press hard on his back. Her perfume was mellow, her body warm, clean and exciting. Later, she showed him the way to her bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was almost midnight by Adam\u2019s somewhat battered silver pocket-watch when he met up again with Teasdale outside in the street. The drummer chewed off the end of a fresh cigar and set a match to the rest while he looked Adam over. There was a satisfied glint in his eye. \u201cThat looks more like the man I remember. You were looking a little jaded, my boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled, especially at the \u2018my boy.\u2019 In truth, he was feeling good about himself, the best he had felt for a while. He had put in a creditable performance. He flattered himself that even Mary had been impressed; leastwise, she hadn\u2019t wanted him to leave. His body felt vibrant, throbbing with life, and he couldn\u2019t keep the smile off his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Well pleased with himself and with what he\u2019d accomplished, Teasdale hailed himself a cab. \u201cThings to do Adam,\u201d he said by way of explanation. \u201cCan I drop you off at your hotel?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thank you.\u201d Adam waved him on. \u201cI don\u2019t feel tired enough to sleep. I think I\u2019d rather walk home.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale climbed into the carriage and slammed shut the door. He leaned down out of the window and handed Adam a fat cigar, which Adam tucked away in his top pocket with a chuckle of thanks. \u201cStay out of dark alleyways, Adam. You never know what you might find.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam laughed at the parting words of advice and waved a salute as they wished each other goodnight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam glanced back at the brick-faced building. Right there and then he felt he could go another round with Mary and was tempted to go right back inside. But it was late, and unlike Miss Lucy\u2019s back in Virginia City, the house wouldn\u2019t stay open all night. He shrugged off the feeling and started to walk, following much the same route that Teasdale had driven but much more slowly, taking his time and letting the air clear his thinking.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

All the main streets were lighted, and the life of the city went on as if it were daylight. People crowded the sidewalks, and the wet, paved roadways were busy with horse-drawn traffic. As Adam unwound and his body relaxed pleasantly from its state of incipient arousal, he felt the need for a little peace: a space away from the crowd where he could be on his own and allow his soul to expand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He looked around him and saw tall buildings and thousands of lighted windows. He felt the weight of them pressing down on the back of his neck.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took a walk down a side street where the crowds were thinner and the press of people was less. It was good to fill up his lungs with air that had not been breathed by six other people and to feel the breeze move against his face. He looked up at the sky. The ragged rain-clouds had broken and drifted away. He could see the stars, cold and remote. They were not the glorious, jewel bright, multicoloured array that studded the dark velvet skies of Nevada, but they were stars nonetheless. He was still missing the mountains and the wide-open spaces and the absolute peace of the desolation, but, somehow, the pain was not quite so acute.\u00a0 It was more an ache of misty-eyed longing than the gut-wrenching, dry pain of loss.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A sharp sob of sound, small in the night, broke through the flow of his memories. Suddenly alert, he looked about him, clearing his coattails away from his gun. The street he was in was empty and dark; he had wandered much farther than he had intended. There was no one in sight. The buildings on either side were of brick, blank faced and lightless: doors were all closed and windows tightly shuttered against the night\u2019s intrusion. The only movement was the slink of a dark-coloured cat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sound came again, quite close at hand \u2013 nearer by far than the now distant sounds of the traffic. Not a scream or a cry, it was more of a whimpering moan, a small frisson of sound, as if some small animal were trapped and in distress. Adam tracked it down easily. It came from a narrow, dark alleyway.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He drew the big Colt.44, easing back the hammer without making any noise. The cool, hard, polished walnut butt fitted his hand with solid reassurance. Leaning around the end of the wall, he peering into the alley. The faint starlight that filled up the street penetrated only a little way into the gloom: just a few, short feet. Adam could see the bulging flank of a barrel up against the wall and, beyond it, several abandoned boxes and burlap wrapped bales that were starting to unravel. Beyond them, the alley was as dark as the reaches of hell. Everything was wet, soaked through from the rain; it stank of rotting garbage and exuded a dark miasma.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Again he heard the sniffling sob. He took another long step into the mouth of the alley. Now that his eyes had adjusted more fully to the darkness, he could see something pale down among the stinking bundles. It wasn\u2019t an animal. Someone was back there, hiding in the darkness, trying to keep very still and very quiet and not really succeeding. He levelled the Colt automatically. \u201cHey!\u201d he called out, raising his voice just a little. \u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No one answered. Whoever it was had stopped moving. Thinking they were concealed, they were holding their breath \u2013 or maybe they were waiting in ambush. Adam wasn\u2019t about to take chances. He could still see the paleness: perhaps the hump of a shoulder or of a back. He called out again, \u201cCome on out of there. Let me have a look at you!\u201d His next step crunched loudly on the gravely dirt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Whoever was hiding down there in the darkness suddenly panicked. The far end of the alley was obviously blocked. A small, human form came rushing towards him. Adam thought it was a boy. He got a fleeting impression of a pale-coloured shirt, cream, perhaps, or yellow, two arms and two legs and a dark mop of hair. The boy dodged the wrong way and collided, quite solidly, with Adam\u2019s middle.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Well built and work-hardened, Adam\u2019s chest, legs and belly formed a solid wall of bone and muscle. The small, hurtling body simply bounced off. In a purely reflex action, Adam grabbed at an arm to stop it from falling, and put the big Colt away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The small person swayed, momentarily stunned by the impact, then erupted into a hissing, spitting wildcat, fighting for freedom with hands, feet and teeth. Because of their marked difference in height, Adam was forced to defend his more vulnerable parts. Once he had a hand around each flailing arm, gaining control was easy. He simply held the small person out at arm\u2019s length and waited for the attack to slow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was about at that time, with them both breathing hard and his adversary fought to a standstill, that he saw that it wasn\u2019t a boy at all. The fabric beneath his hands was not coolie-cotton but a fine-textured oriental silk, and the flesh underneath it was soft and yielding.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The top of the head came just to his breastbone and was crowned with short, straight, black hair. The little face upturned towards his was Chinese in design, a typically round and moon-like countenance, minute and perfect in every feature. It was a pale face; in daylight it would certainly be the palest, ivory yellow. Distress and exertion had painted a bright-scarlet, perfectly circular spot on each rounded cheek. The eyes alone were large – dark and lustrous and distinctly Far Eastern in appearance. Now they were overflowing with sliding, silver tears. The small mouth was open and gasping; the shoulders heaved with sobs, and the tiny breasts rose and fell with the effort of breathing. What he held in his hands, perhaps a little too tightly, was undoubtedly a woman: young, no more than seventeen and looking very, very frightened. Remembering what had happened in St. Louis and the painful results, he was afraid that she might scream.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He attempted to soothe her. \u201cIt\u2019s all right. I\u2019m not going to hurt you. I only wanted to help.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman spat at him, but she didn\u2019t have the range. Now that she had her second wind she began to fight again with a silent desperation. The only sounds that she made were the little grunts and gasps of exertion. Adam was forced to defend his manhood again as she lashed out with her feet. He was minded to set her free \u2013 simply to get out of her way if he could and let her run. But he had a bobcat by the tail, and he didn\u2019t know how to let go.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shouts erupted suddenly from somewhere down at the end of the street. For his own protection, Adam still kept a firm hold on the woman, but he was able to lean back and stick out his head for a look. A dozen or more men boiled \u2018round the corner. They yelled, and they waved big sticks in the air in a frenzy of anger. To Adam\u2019s tutored eye they appeared Oriental \u2013 he had a sneaking suspicion that they might be Chinese. He looked down at the woman. Her struggles had ceased at the sound of the voices, and her face had filled up with fear. A spark of inspiration flared in Adam\u2019s mind: she was the one they were looking for!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They were running up the street now, a bunch of them on either side. Adam gathered both the woman\u2019s wrists in one big hand and pressed his other forefinger tight against his lips: the universal gesture for silence. He pushed her back into the all-concealing darkness of the alley in the hope that the shadows would hide them both. The woman understood his intentions \u2013 at least, he thought that she did. Either that, or she was very much more afraid of the Chinese ruffians than she was of him. A slight smile came to his lips as he secreted them both in the darkest part of the alleyway, in amongst the bales and the boxes. What was it Teasdale had said? Beware what you find in dark alleys?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The band of Chinese men, a dozen or more, pounded past the mouth of the alleyway in heavy workman\u2019s boots. They were heading up hill towards the busiest part of town. They didn\u2019t stop or pause to look down the alley nor even glance that way. Adam waited until he couldn\u2019t hear them any more. Then he stepped back and finally let the woman go.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She gazed at him with something akin to awe. There were still shining tear tracks glistening on her face, but she no longer sobbed. Adam glanced over this shoulder. The street was now quiet. \u201cAre they the ones you were hiding from?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman made no response. She continued to stare at him with eyes like a startled deer as her breathing steadied and the disturbing rise and fall of her chest became less accentuated. Adam tried once again, speaking slowly and clearly, \u201cWhy are they looking for you? Why are you running away?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She still didn\u2019t answer. Adam began to wonder if she was deaf or slightly stupid, or if she was simply too scared out of her wits to be able to speak. He heard another noise out in the street. Leaving her, he turned to find out what was happening. She snatched at his arm; her face became frantic as she desperately shook her head. Adam again gestured silence and, he hoped, reassurance. He indicated with both of his hands that she should remain where she was.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stepped quickly to the mouth of the alley and looked out into the street. The rough-hewn crew of China-men was headed back towards him. They called back and forth across the roadway to one another as they moved slowly along both sides of the street. They searched every doorway and alleyway, every nook and cranny with methodical care as they went. Adam backed up rapidly. There were more of them than he would choose to tackle alone, even with the gun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t have long before they got there. He checked the other end of the alley. Sure enough, a very high wall blocked it completely, and there was no way out unless they could climb like cats. Adam hunted urgently for somewhere to hide. The Chinese ruffians were bound to search among the boxes and bales and they would be discovered \u2013 unless\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It occurred to Adam that they were looking for a small, Chinese woman, not a large and powerfully built man. He pushed her back into hiding behind the barrel, signalling to her to crouch down low and make herself as small as she possibly could. When the Chinese arrived at the mouth of the alley, Adam was calmly relieving himself against the wall of the building. He raised a quizzical eyebrow in their direction.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They hesitated. Their faces were angry and confused. They muttered darkly among themselves as they peered into the black shadows beyond him, but there was nothing there to be seen. The woman was silent and very still, quite invisible in her dark corner. None of the China-men were prepared to enter the alleyway and disturb the big American with the gun while he was about his personal business. Besides, he wouldn\u2019t piss with a lady present; to all intents and purposes, he was alone. With a few more muttered Chinese curses, they were on their way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took his own time to button his pants, letting them get well away. Then he stuck his head cautiously \u2018round the corner. The last of the Chinese, in a state of high excitement, still called loudly to one another. They milled about at the end of the street in some apparent confusion, and then disappeared, headed back the way they had come. Adam presumed they were checking their back-trail. He knew he had just a few minutes to get both himself and the woman \u2013 if she was willing to come \u2013 out of there, before the searchers realized that they had been duped, how, and by whom – and came back and looked for them, hunting their blood. Adam hadn\u2019t much liked the look of the sticks they had carried, flat sided staves of unseasoned wood: vicious instruments of punishment and torture in the hands of those who knew how to use them. They could be used to beat a man to death and leave barely a mark.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam called the woman \u2013 the Chinese girl \u2013 she couldn\u2019t have been more than seventeen \u2013 out of her hiding place. She was calmer now, but her face was still bloodless and tear-streaked. He held out his hand to her. \u201cCome on, we have to get out of here now, before they came back.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She looked from his hand to his face, clearly not comprehending or, perhaps, not trusting enough. Once again she was afraid and, this time, of him. Adam felt a surge of impatience, a flare of annoyance and a tremor of personal fear. He couldn\u2019t leave her alone here where she would certainly be found; if she wouldn\u2019t go with him, he would have to stay, and the alleyway was an indefensible position. Precious seconds were wasting away. He had to get through to her. He drew a long breath to steady his nerve. With one ear attuned for any further sounds that might come from the street, he started over again, \u201cDo you understand what I\u2019m saying?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lips parted and huge eyes wide, the young woman stared at him silently. She reminded Adam of an unbroken filly, trapped in the corner of the corral for the very first time, shocked into immobility, undecided whether to fight or to run. He felt a certain sympathy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With an exasperated gesture, he indicated his own, broad chest. \u201cMy name is Adam. Adam Cartwright.\u201d He repeated the gesture, pointed at her, and put an enquiring look on his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nothing. Adam swallowed down his frustration and began again. \u201cMy name is Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman looked simply confused \u2013 then her face brightened as she understood. She put her hand to her breast and declared, triumphantly, \u201cAdam Cartlight!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam closed his eyes for a moment and wished this wasn\u2019t happening. Not to him, anyway. The uttering of his name seemed to open a floodgate. The woman started to talk \u2013 in an overwhelming torrent of rapid Chinese that went much too fast for Adam to follow. Not stupid then, or deaf or dumb; she simply didn\u2019t speak the language. He held up his hands to stop the flow. \u201cNo! No, you don\u2019t understand!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A shiver of movement caught his eye, but it was only the slink of the cat. He gazed at Adam with his glowing, mirror bright eyes, then returned to his nocturnal investigation of the garbage. It was enough to persuade Adam that time had run out, and that he\u2019d better be on his way. He took the woman firmly by the wrist and pulled her along with him. After a little resistance, she seemed willing enough to come. They left the cat scavenging for his private midnight feast.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the mouth of the alley, Adam paused again and looked both ways. There was no one about, but he knew for certain that that wouldn\u2019t last. Hurrying his steps, and making the woman run to keep up with him, he headed for the busier area of town: the part where there were still people and traffic. There was some degree of safety among the now-thinning crowds. He felt safer there, among other people, but still he hurried the woman along and looked back often over his shoulder. He was well aware of the persistence of the Chinese people; it was almost legendary in its intensity. What they wanted, they usually got; what they looked for, they almost always found – and he had that unmistakable, burning itch right in the centre of his back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam made his way back to the Police Station. At this time \u2013 the early hours of a weekday morning \u2013 there wasn\u2019t a queue. Sergeant O\u2019Donnell was still on duty, looking, understandably, even more tired than he had before. Adam parked himself and the Chinese woman right in front of the massive desk. Without looking up to see who it was, the sergeant wrote down his name when he gave it. \u201cWhat\u2019s the problem, Mister Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled a long breath. \u201cI was taking a walk and I found this young lady in an alley. She was hiding from a gang of Chinese men. I managed to throw them off the scent,\u201d Adam refrained from saying how, \u201cbut now I think they might be looking for both of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell peered at him from over his glasses. \u201dWeren\u2019t you in here earlier today with another unlikely story?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI was,\u201d Adam confessed. \u201cBut this is the truth!\u201d He put the ring of conviction into his voice – it was a tone that usually worked with his father, although sometimes it had the tendency to come across as desperation \u2013 and then he added the clincher, \u201cAnd here\u2019s the young woman to prove it!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell\u2019s sceptical eyes switched from Adam\u2019s earnest face to that of the diminutive Chinese woman. \u201cAnd what\u2019s your version of this, young lady?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It occurred to Adam a fraction too late that this line of approach wasn\u2019t about to do him any good. The woman didn\u2019t speak English \u2013 not nearly enough of it anyway! She seemed, however, to know exactly what was expected, She looked at the sergeant with hopeful excitement and pronounced, proudly, \u201cAdam Cartlight!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sergeant O\u2019Donnell took off his spectacles and wiped a world-weary hand over his face. \u201cLook, Cartwright, why don\u2019t you go away and get your story straight? And take your little friend with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam ground his teeth together. \u201cI\u2019m telling you exactly what happened. When they catch up with us they\u2019ll probably kill me; Lord knows what they\u2019ll do to her!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCartwright,\u201d O\u2019Donnell\u2019s heavy brogue took on a gravely texture. \u201cGet out \u2018o here before I have you thrown in a cell for causin\u2019 a disturbance, wasting police time, public affray\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not causing an affray!\u201d Adam was indignant.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell leaned towards him. \u201cYou will be in a minute Mister \u2013 when I come around this desk an\u2019 show you me fist!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam decided to beat a retreat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Outside in the street, the small Chinese woman slipped her tiny, cold hand back inside Adam\u2019s big, warm one. It was like holding hands with a child. \u201cAdam Cartlight,\u201d she said again, shyly. Adam suppressed a secret smile. He remembered a time, some years ago now, when his brother, as a very young man, had found himself similarly encumbered, having won a Chinese girl in a poker game when he thought the wager was a horse. Adam recalled what their father had said to them then and the expression that he\u2019d worn on his face. He imagined that the old man\u2019s opinion would be somewhat similar right at this moment, if he were here to express it. The situation might not be of Adam\u2019s making, but Ben had a tendency, at times, not to listen too well to explanations.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His first problem was a perfectly straightforward one: what was he to do with the woman. He couldn\u2019t take her back to his room at the hotel – that would be well beyond the bounds of propriety – nor could he put her up in a room of her own, even if he could find one at that time of night. There were ugly words for that sort of thing. Then he had a flash of inspiration! He struggled to recall the words of a long forgotten conversation. Surely Hop Sing, his family\u2019s long suffering cook and general factotum had, at some time, mentioned having relatives in Chicago?\u00a0 Hell, Hop Sing had relatives in every major city on three continents; there was no reason at all why this one should be different. Right now, they were the only people he could think of to turn to. He gave the young woman a confident smile of reassurance.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The city streets, in these early hours of the morning were quiet, but not entirely deserted. They were peopled by the odd, late-night reveller in dishevelled suit and white silken scarf, wending his lonely way home and by a motley, unsavoury assortment of homeless vagrants and drunks. There were a surprising number of them, far more than Adam had expected to find. They collected together in little groups in dark corners, only straying into the light when they thought there was no one about \u2013 or when intoxication got the better of them. Their eyes gleamed in the shadows. For the first time in his life, Adam saw women living out on the streets. Where they could, they huddled in doorways out of the wind and the damp and tried, somehow, to sleep; or they sat on the edge of the sidewalk and watched with dull, disinterested eyes as Adam and the woman made their way by. Adam was frankly appalled by the dirt and the squalor and by the obvious want, and by the sad fact that, in most cases, the people that suffered the most were disinclined to do anything to help themselves. For those unfortunate folk, the drink had entirely stolen away all sense of self-pride. He felt sympathy for them, but he was also aware of a feeling of intimidation, and he became fiercely protective of the woman who had come so unexpectedly under his protection.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the woman\u2019s small hand still clasped inside his, he found his way to the Chinese quarter that occupied a large part of the south-eastern section. Long ago, Adam had gained a liking for the Chinese people and a hearty respect for their way of life. For the most part, he found them a hard working and honest race, self-effacing to a fault and usually cheerful. It was an opinion that stemmed from his long, personal association with Hop Sing and his seemingly endless string of relatives. That was a friendship that had begun in Adam\u2019s childhood and had lasted for half of his life.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The houses were small and weatherproof and typically sturdy in construction. A maze of passageways, compounds and courtyards and tiny, secret gardens ran and between and among them. The community paid its way by doing the city\u2019s laundry, carried through the city streets in huge woven baskets on the ends of long poles. The clean linen, neatly packed, returned the same way. Therefore, many of the building were laundry-houses, the open spaces between them, drying-yards criss-crossed with washing lines like the webs of oversized and demented spiders against the greying sky. The baskets were plainly in evidence, stacked up one inside the other in lop-sided heaps beside every door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the absence of a written-down address, Adam found out what he needed to know by knocking on doors until he got people up out of bed and then asking directions. As always, he found the Chinese hospitable, courteous and helpful. A close-knit community, they all knew one another and each other\u2019s business and, despite the hour, were willing to point the way. The night was over, and the first, faint light seeped down through the heavily overcast sky. It looked like it might rain again, and sure enough, Adam had no sooner thought the thought than the sky began to weep great elephant\u2019s tears. Both he and the woman were quickly soaked through. As Adam knocked for the second time on yet another wood-panelled door, there was a distant, low rumble for thunder.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The China-man who opened the door might have been Hop Sing\u2019s twin. If the Chinese cook hadn\u2019t been far away at home in Nevada, it could even have been Hop Sing \u2013 a few years older, perhaps, with more grey in the hair, but the weathered, wrinkled face was the same and so was the smile that creased it. He was yet another of Hop Sing\u2019s multitudinous cousins, several times removed, but he knew who Adam was as soon as he gave him his name. Hop Sing often exchanged letters with his many, far-flung relatives, and Adam found himself wondering what part of his reputation might have come ahead of him. Hop Sing\u2019s cousin bobbed and bowed in the achingly familiar manner and stepped aside to let them in out of the rain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Ben Cartlight\u2019s oldest son is most welcome in my humble home,\u201d he said in creditable English and bobbed and bowed again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The small, Chinese dwelling was crowded. Two rooms and a kitchen housed members of several generations: men and women and any number of children and a long haired, ginger and white cat who slept in state on a cushion on the table. The family was just waking up and emerged, bleary eyed from their bedding. Adam apologised, in Chinese, for the disturbance of their unannounced arrival. Hop Sing\u2019s cousin made the introductions in the form of a brief announcement, explaining who Adam was, and he found himself welcomed as one of the family.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The girl that Adam had brought with him was hustled away by two of the older women. In the lamplight, Adam could see that her face was white with exhaustion and her small features, all pinched together. Only her eyes remained huge. Her yellow silk blouse clung to her body, and she was shivering with the cold. How he could ever have mistaken her for a boy made him wonder\u2026 The woman rushed her away to warm her and left Adam wondering helplessly if he could have done more.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat down at the table with Hop Sing\u2019s cousin, who proclaimed his name to be Mao Su-en, and he told him the whole, sorry story, as far as he knew it himself. \u201cI don\u2019t know who she is or why that gang was hunting her. She doesn\u2019t speak my language, and I don\u2019t speak Chinese well enough to ask.\u201d In truth, Adam spoke Chinese glibly enough to get by in general conversation with Hop Sing, who had taught him, but he still thought in English and translated back and forth. Fluent speakers of the language spoke too quickly for him to follow all that was said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en poured hot, green tea from a small, china pot and set a dish-full in front of Adam. Adam sipped and then looked at Mao Su-en apologetically. \u201cI\u2019m sorry if I\u2019ve brought you trouble. I didn\u2019t know what else to do \u2013 where else to take her.\u201d He concluded the statement with a helpless gesture. He knew he was trading on his family\u2019s name and reputation and didn\u2019t feel very good about doing it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The leather face wrinkled. \u201cI am most pleased to be of service. Here the young woman is safe among her own people.\u201d Mao Su-en looked towards the inner room where the girl had been taken. Women\u2019s high voices came from within, engaged in lively conversation. Mao Su-en nodded, \u201cIt is a good thing that you brought her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam wasn\u2019t quite so sure, although he couldn\u2019t quite identify the source of his unease. Clearly it had to do with the men who had been chasing her. If he had led them here\u2026 He gazed into what was left of his tea. \u201cI was hoping to leave her here for a while \u2013 until I find out more about her: where she comes from, where her family is. Someone must be looking for her.\u201d He glanced up at the other man\u2019s face, wondering what he would do next if his request were met with refusal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was no such danger. The old, Chinese eyes glowed with amusement. \u201cThe easy way is to ask her.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The young woman emerged from the inner doorway, dressed in a long-sleeved, dark blue garment that almost, but not quite, concealed her nubile figure. She was certainly tiny, even beside the other small, Chinese women; she looked like a child. At least she was dry now, and warmer. Some of the colour had returned to her face: a high point of pink in each pale cheek. Mao Su-en sat her at the table and gave her tea, and then he spoke to her, not unkindly, and asked her some questions in Chinese.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman glanced quickly at Adam and coloured hotly. Mao Su-en spoke again, and she responded at length. Adam tried hard to follow the conversation, but the speed of question-and-answer confounded him. They were using a dialect that he was unfamiliar with, and a word or two was all that he understood. Soon, he lost track entirely, but he watched the expression on Mao Su-en\u2019s face change to one of concern. He couldn\u2019t help but wonder what the devil was going on.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he returned to his seat at the table, Mao Su-en was clearly worried. His countenance looked as old as his years, and the sparkle of amusement was gone from his eye.\u00a0 He took the last of the tea, now cooling, and divided it between them. Anxious not press him, not wanting to ask aloud, Adam made his enquiry with a politely raised eyebrow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en sipped his tea. \u201cYou have brought us a dilemma, Adam Cartlight,\u201d he said finally. \u201cHer name is Pele Ti-Sun. She says that she was sent here by her family to marry a rich merchant and seal an alliance.\u201d He held up his hand when he saw that Adam was about to raise an objection. \u201cI know, I know. It is not your way. But it is ours. Often the marriage is arranged for the mutual benefit of all concerned.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019d like to know why she was running away,\u201d Adam said shortly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en responded with an elaborate shrug. \u201cShe says she is a princess from a northern province. She claims that she is forced into the marriage against her will, that she escaped from his house, and he sent his servants after her to force her to go back. She is very grateful to you for your rescue and for bringing her here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA princess!\u201d Adam was completely taken aback. He wasn\u2019t at all sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn\u2019t that. Little wonder the China-men had been searching the streets so diligently.\u00a0 He shivered. He had plunged, all unknowing, into matters that didn\u2019t concern him, and he wondered what price he would ultimately have to pay.\u00a0 The Chinese were persistent by nature, as he had observed before, and his face had been clearly seen. Already, in his imagination, he could feel the prick of a vengeful, Oriental dagger in his back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But, on reflection, he realised that he couldn\u2019t have done differently, even if he had known; a man had to stand up for what he believed in. No one should be forced into a marriage against his or her will \u2013 that was just one more form of slavery – and this Chinese woman was little more than a child. Adam was confused by his own emotions. He looked at Mao Su-en over the table. \u201cI\u2019m sorry to have brought this trouble down on your house. I wouldn\u2019t have come here if I had known. As soon as she – Pele Ti-Sun \u2013 is rested, we\u2019ll be on our way.\u201d Whatever happened, he couldn\u2019t be responsible for placing this man and his family into any sort of danger.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en reached over and rested his parchment-skinned hand on top of Adam\u2019s. \u201cAnd where would you go with her, Adam Cartlight?\u201d he asked gently, echoing Adam\u2019s own thought. \u201cWhere will you take her that she will be safe?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had no answer to that, and his face betrayed him. \u201cBut if they trace us and find her here\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The eyes were bright again, and the face smiled kindly. Mao Su-en had regained his composure and his cheerful outlook on life. \u201cWhat will they do? If we feed her and clothe her and give her a place to sleep, how can they blame us for that? Can even a princess from a northern province ask for more than that? I think that it is you who will need to be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had to agree. He ate breakfast with Hop Sing\u2019s family: a meal of rice with flaked fish and eggs. Then he made his way back through the wakening streets and the early morning traffic to his hotel. What he looked forward to most of all was the simplest things that life had to offer: lots of hot, black coffee, a hot water shave and several hours sleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Seven<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Later that same day, Adam stepped out of his hotel and found \u2018Curly\u2019 Taunton and his sidekick, Jacks, waiting for him just outside on the sidewalk. He wasn\u2019t expecting them. It was almost midday, and, despite his good intentions, he hadn\u2019t slept well. He had a great many things on his mind, foremost among them at that exact moment were what to do with a diminutive Chinese princess and the dressing down he was about to deliver to Riley concerning a certain row of apartment buildings and their singular lack of repair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He smelled them before he saw them, recognising instantly the once sniffed, never to be forgotten combination of fish and the rancid hair oil that anointed Curly\u2019s curls and the pungent aroma of Jack\u2019s unwashed armpits. Sprouting tufts of hair at all angles in the well-remembered manner, Curly made his approach directly. He stepped out in front of Adam and blocked his path. Adam pulled up short, scowling. \u201cWhat in hell do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly swept off his hat and made a low, courtly bow \u2013 a gesture that didn\u2019t fool Adam one bit. \u201cMister Tiptree is still waiting to see you, Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gritted his teeth. With rapidly thinning patience, he said, \u201cMy name isn\u2019t Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t give me that.\u201d Curly favoured him with a mirthless, discoloured smirk. \u201cYour friend ain\u2019t here to help you this time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd, this time, I\u2019m not drunk,\u201d Adam told him sourly. \u201cI told you last night, I\u2019m not the man you\u2019re looking for.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly\u2019s unlovely face sobered abruptly. \u201cAll I know is that Mista Tiptree wants ta see ya. What Mista Tiptree wants, Mista Tiptree gets.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a shake of the head, Adam said, \u201cI\u2019m afraid that, this time, you\u2019re sadly mistaken.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone \u2013 it had to be Jacks \u2013 poked a gun-muzzle into the small of Adam\u2019s back and promptly relieved him of the Colt .44. Adam half turned and looked down. Jack\u2019s pistol looked ridiculously small, wrapped in his ham-like fist, but it was quite enough gun to blast Adam\u2019s spine out through his belly if Jack\u2019s decided to pull the trigger. Apparently this pair meant themselves to be taken seriously. Jacks grunted and poked him again – this time, harder. He seemed to enjoy it. Adam turned back to Curly, the more communicative of the two. \u201cYou seem to be calling all the shots. What happens next?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe three of us are taking a ride \u2013 and you\u2019re going to see Mista Tiptree.\u201d Curly made a sweeping gesture with the brim of his hat. A handsome cab was waiting at the roadside. It was clearly intended that Adam should get inside, and, in view of the gun in his back, he was inclined to oblige them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To that end, he got into the back seat of the cab, and Curly climbed in beside him. His short, wide body took up most of the seat, and Adam squeezed into the corner. Jacks took his place on the other seat with his back to the driver. There was a frown of intense concentration on his hairless face. His bald head and chest shone with perspiration. He obviously took his responsibilities with the gun very seriously indeed. Adam noticed that, inside the trigger guard, his finger was turning purple. The gun muzzle was pointed directly at Adam\u2019s navel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The cab jolted and rocked into motion, but progress wasn\u2019t fast. In the middle of the day the traffic was heavy and the streets clogged with horses and coaches and carts. The journey was slow and halting. Inside the carriage, the silence grew. Adam licked his lips. Jack\u2019s gun and his obvious unfamiliarity with it were making him nervous. His mouth was dry, and there was a tightening in his belly as if his body thought that by the tensing of muscles it might keep a bullet out. Adam grimaced; he knew better.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What this was all about, he had no more idea now than he\u2019d had the night before, when his confusion might have been put down to his somewhat drunken condition. Now, he was stone cold sober, and he still didn\u2019t know why Tiptree wanted to see him \u2013 or, rather, to see Carter, whomever he might be. He was aware that Tiptree had an unsavoury reputation; he recalled the look on Morton Teasdale\u2019s face as he had spoken about the man on the evening before: an expression of speculation and no little concern. He was clearly not a man to tangle with lightly. Adam thought that perhaps it would be best to extricate himself from his current predicament before they got to wherever it was they were going.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly seemed to enjoy the situation,; he relaxed into the leather cushions and a discoloured grin spread across his coarse features. Adam frowned inwardly. What was it his father said? If you can\u2019t beat them, sometimes the best thing was to join them. Adam pulled a long breath and forced the tension out of his muscles. He leaned back in the seat and spread himself wide, presenting the scowling Jacks with a broad and inviting target: one he couldn\u2019t possibly miss. He stuck a pleasant smile on his face and hoped it looked kind of natural. \u201cWell, boys, as it looks like we\u2019re gonna spend some time together; perhaps we should get to know one another.\u201d He made his eyes sparkle and dance from one to the other and flashed them a bright, white smile.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jacks continued to glare. He sat with his legs wide apart, the small gun held between them in both huge hands, and stared with deep absorption at the spot just below Adam\u2019s belt. Seeing Adam\u2019s smile, Curly became a little less certain, a little less sure of himself. That was just what Adam intended. He pointedly ignored the gun aimed at his belly and addressed himself to Curly. \u201cSo, which part of the country do you come from?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly gave him an ugly snarl. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you shut up, Carter?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was counting on them not being too bright, but they were not quite as stupid as he might have hoped. Jacks held the gun steady, and Curly stayed carefully out of his reach. Adam\u2019s plan, to get the one in front of the other, wasn\u2019t going too well. He had to change tactics. He continued to smile.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if you don\u2019t like me talking, perhaps you won\u2019t mind if I smoke?\u201d From his top pocket, he extracted the cigar that Teasdale had given him on parting the previous evening. He bit off the end and then, with the cigar clamped firmly between his teeth, began a ritual of pocket patting.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pocket patting is infectious. Curly started to search his own, first his coat and waistcoat and then in his pants. Even Jacks took one hand off the gun to insert one thick, tentative finger into the pocket of his brown-leather vest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fortuitously, at that exact moment, the cab jolted forward.\u00a0 Adam took instant advantage. He allowed himself to be thrown off the seat and lashed out with his foot as he went. He caught Jacks\u2019 hand squarely with the point of his toe, and the small gun went flying into the air. Adam reached out with both hands for Curly and wrestled him to the floor of the coach. The little man was a dirty fighter and was immensely strong. There wasn\u2019t very much room for fighting, so the two men grappled with each other, each of them trying to get in a punch. Adam was sure that his fist connected with something that felt like flesh over bone. Curly butted him under the chin, and Adam found himself with an unsavoury mouthful of oily, stringy, black hair. He managed to catch the gun with his foot and kick it under the seat, out of the way of Jacks\u2019 grasping fingers.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam and Curly scuffled a bit on the floor between the seating and made the carriage rock. The cab lurched again as the driver moved off in the traffic. Jacks, somehow, got his feet under him and lined himself up with Adam. He delivered a punch to the jaw: a roundhouse, haymaking blow that put paid to all Adam Cartwright\u2019s ambitions.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam saw stars: lots and lots of stars in all different colours, many more and very much brighter than on a clear, starry night in Nevada. He felt the solid force of the blow through the bones of his face, then pain exploded along his jawbone and into his head. His sense reeled and wavered, but he never entirely lost conciousness. From a long way away, as from the end of a long, dark and faintly echoing tunnel, he heard Curly shouting instructions, at Jacks, he assumed, and somewhere in amongst his jumbled sensations he heard the answering grunt. His arms and legs seemed to be disconnected; disconcertingly, nothing responded any more. His lean, brown hands flexed feebly and formed themselves into weak, useless fists.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Two massive paws \u2013 he assumed they were Jacks\u2019 \u2013 lifted him up by the lapels of the jacket and dumped him back on the seat. He sucked at the air and struggled to put the world about him back into some sort of order. It wasn\u2019t easy. Large and important parts of it kept sliding away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The journey lasted something under an hour: a halting, jolting progress that carried Adam halfway across the city, or so it seemed, or they might have been driving in circles. He couldn\u2019t pretend to know much about it; it was a disjointed collection of sounds and impressions that refused to form a coherent whole. However, by the time they arrived at their destination, he was starting to gather his senses. The world had stopped spinning, and his tunnel vision had opened out. He found himself gazing at Jacks\u2019 belligerent and undisputedly ugly countenance. His jaw ached as if it were broken. His head pounded with pain. Adam had never been kicked by a mule, but his brother had once had that dubious privilege, and Adam figured that now he knew how it must have felt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The carriage swayed to a halt, and Curly climbed out. \u201cC\u2019mon, Carter.\u201d He gestured impatiently for Adam to follow. Adam obtained a certain satisfaction from the swelling bruise on the hairy man\u2019s temple \u2013 a bruise that corresponded exactly with his own reddened knuckles. Adam got down, and Jacks clambered after him. The small gun was back in his ham-sized fist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t know where he was, and he wasn\u2019t given much time to look about him. His impression was of a wide, busy street, somewhere away from the centre of town, crowded on either side with buildings of brownstone and brick. From the smell, they were not very far from the shipping canal. At least it had stopped raining, and a weak and watery sunlight had broken through.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly and Jacks hustled him up a short flight of steps and through an impressive front door. Beyond were an inner glass door and a short, plain hallway, dimly lit, with double doors leading off on either side.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The thing that hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped through the doorway was the smell. It was spicy and sweet and so strong that it brought instant tears to his eyes. He knew that smell and the effect that it had on him. It was the dense, heady odour of refined opium, burning. He had encountered it before in dockside dives in San Francisco, in the back street clubs and drinking houses and in the makeshift villages of tents and shanties that clustered all along the western seaboard. Chinese immigrants, given cheap passage as inducement to come and work in the mines and on the railroads, in the stamping mills and the foundries, had brought with them the habit of smoking opium. It was their release from the poverty that bound them and the dominion of harsh overseers. Sadly it was a servant that quickly turned into the master.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly looked over his shoulder and cast him an evil grin. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, Carter? Can\u2019t ya stomach the stink o\u2019 the stuff? Ya happy enough ta feed it ta these poor devils.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam, unable to catch his breath, couldn\u2019t produce a coherent answer. Instead, he shook his head in negation. \u201cDon\u2019t know \u2013 what you mean!\u201d He hadn\u2019t a clue what Curly was talking about, and, just at that moment, with oxygen at a premium and his lungs burning, he wasn\u2019t able to figure it out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly sneered at him. \u201cIt\u2019s how you make your livin\u2019, same as us. Only we don\u2019t do no pretendin\u2019 about it.\u201d He looked Adam up and down with contempt then he looked past him at Jacks, and some silent message passed in between them. \u201cI reckon,\u201d Curly said, \u201cwe\u2019ll just give ya a taste of what you\u2019re missin\u2019.\u201d He opened one of the left-hand doors and pushed Adam through it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The smoking room was an extensive apartment that ran the full length of the building from the front to the back. It presented a rich and luxuriant interior, if just a little the worse for wear. All the windows were shuttered and draped with heavy curtains so that no hint of daylight seeped in. Two massive chandeliers in brass and red and blue coloured glass, one hanging at either extremity, provided illumination. The walls were covered with a dark, heavily gilded paper, and mural hangings were draped from the ceiling. Costly imported carpets covered the floors; they sank gently beneath Adam\u2019s feet but returned no sound. At one side of the room was a fireplace: a hugely ornate affair that looked as if had belonged, originally, to a much grander house than that in which it now found itself. Coals glowed red on the hearthstone, raising the temperature in the room to hothouse proportions.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Reaching the entire length of the chamber and separated by a wide walkway were a series of platforms about three feet in height. They were well padded with horsehair mattresses and strewn with soft, warm and yielding rugs of eastern design and manufacture and plump, embroidered pillows. On the benches lay the recumbent figures of the smokers, dimly seen. They were mostly curled into a foetal position and lay as still as death, although here and there an individual twitched and whimpered as if wracked by the most terrible of nightmares. They were all white men; contrary to his expectation Adam saw no Chinese at all. Soft footed attendants moved soundlessly among the sleepers, tending to their various needs. The murmur of soft voices filled the gloom.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The air was thick with the sickly, sharp smell of opium. Adam started to choke. His lungs were partly paralysed by the airborne residue of the drug, and he found it hard to draw breath. His eyes were streaming, and his mouth filled up with saliva. He felt the need to be sick.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly found his predicament highly amusement. Jacks followed behind with the gun \u2013 at a respectful distance \u2013 while Curly took Adam by the sleeve of the coat and led him, as one might lead a blind man, through the dense fog of opium smoke. There was another, large door towards the back of the room, concealed by the hanging draperies. Curly unlocked it with a huge, brass key and guided Adam through it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam found himself in another, wide hallway \u2013 this one running crossways along the back of the building from what looked like a second, much grander front door that must open out onto another main street. Several large, panelled doors opened off it, through one of which they had emerged and which Curly now locked up behind them, pocketing the key. A carpeted stairway led to rooms on the upper floor where, no doubt, rich and important clients could indulgence their sad addictions in privacy and seclusion. At least out here the air was cleaner, almost free of the sweet reek of fumes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As Adam had observed before, even the smallest exposure to the poppy drug had a devastating effect on his metabolism. He was one of those people whose system simply couldn\u2019t cope with the effects of the drug. Scarcely able to stand unaided, Adam clung to the wall while he waited for his head to clear. His cheeks were wet with tears, and his stomach still threatened to produce something rather unpleasant and deposit it on the floor. Hands planted squarely on wide, sturdy hips, Curly stood and laughed at him. His own eyes and nose were reddened, although whether from his ongoing state of amusement or from the irritation of opium smoke it was impossible to say.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Carter,\u201d Curly snarled as Adam coughed and spluttered just a little bit longer than he really needed to in order to catch his breath \u2013 in reality, he was trying to get his bearings and see if there was any way he could catch these two out. \u201cIt\u2019s not as bad as all that. You take it little and often, and you\u2019ll soon get used to it.\u201d It was a statement that Adam seriously doubted.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jacks grunted something and waved the gun about in the air. The hairless brute of a man was curiously unmoved by the effects of the smoke. Curly nodded grimly. \u201cJacks is right. Mista Tiptree is waitin\u2019 ta see ya. This way.\u201d He indicated the direction with a nod of the head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam followed him meekly along the hallway. Right there and then, he didn\u2019t have any other plan of action. With the Colt missing from his holster and these two thugs armed, a grand show of resistance was likely to prove unwise. Curly rapped loudly on one of the doors with his knuckles, then opened it and steered Adam inside. \u201cMista Tiptree, this here\u2019s Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The room was a large and elegant office: a man\u2019s domain. It was a perfect square with a high, corniced ceiling, cool and comfortable after the heat and the stink in that other part of the house. Afternoon sunlight streamed cheerfully in through the large, casement window. It lit the velveteen curtains and the intricate, green, brown and yellow pattern of the Oriental carpet with a long spill of gold. The walls were plain painted \u2013 a pale shade of green \u2013 and were hung with an interesting collection of hand-coloured prints. Adam couldn\u2019t afford the time to browse, but the subject matter was clearly of an explicit, erotic nature. There was a wide fireplace, laid with tinder and coals but currently unlit, with an overstuffed armchair one either side. One side of the room was taken entirely by a huge, dark-wood sideboard and a massive, matching desk. Behind the desk, standing, was a man in a green velvet smoking jacket who could only be John Dee Tiptree.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree was a large, impressive man just the right side of heavy, with a limber, athletic build. He was tall, rather wider in the shoulder than he was in the hip and perhaps five or six years older than Adam. His hair was jet black, slicked back from his face with expensive and highly perfumed hair oil and worn fashionably long on his neck. His laughing eyes were deep-set and dark brown. They sparkled brightly and pretended to be open and honest, but shadows and suspicion shifted in their sable depths. Tiptree had a rugged, squared off jaw with a small cleft in the clean-shaven chin, and he sported a neatly trimmed moustache on his deep upper lip. His teeth were his most striking feature; they were large, strong, square and very, very white. Tiptree was very fond of showing them off. He showed them now in a wide, white smile of greeting, clamped firmly around the fat cigar that he was just in the act of lighting. He waved out the match with an airy gesture and strode energetically \u2018round to Adam\u2019s side of the desk. He puffed great clouds of smoke as he stuck an expectant hand under Adam\u2019s nose. \u201cHello, Carter! I must say it\u2019s damned good to see you!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was on the fine tip of Adam\u2019s tongue to correct him as to the name, but then he though better of it. Whatever shady dealings Tiptree might be engaged in \u2013 and Morton Teasdale seemed to think there were several \u2013 the man named Carter could be up to his neck in any one of them. Tiptree and his heavy-handed associates might not be very happy to find that they were talking to the wrong man. Adam swiftly considered his options and decided that it might be wiser to play along \u2013 hopefully, by the time Tiptree discovered his mistake, Adam would have extracted himself from the current situation and be well on his way. He took Tiptree\u2019s hand and made the handshake a firm one.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree studied his face. He said, speaking around the cigar, \u201cSay, Carter, you don\u2019t look so good. You not feeling well?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam knew that his eyes were still tearing. \u201cYour friends decided to give me a personally guided tour of the establishment,\u201d he said, turning to look pointedly at Curly. Curly smirked in return.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree followed Adam\u2019s gaze and then laughed – a short, sharp bark that displayed his dental apparatus to full advantage. Adam realised that he was going to get rather tired of the sight of all those teeth. \u201cYou\u2019ll find our Mister Taunton has quite a singular sense of humour,\u201d Tiptree told him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI was hoping not to get to know him that well,\u201d replied Adam, dryly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree looked from one to other, evidently noting the purple bruise alongside Curly\u2019s eye and the corresponding swelling that marred Adam\u2019s jaw line. The brown eyes gained a glint of speculation. With a wave of the glowing cigar tip, Tiptree gestured Adam into one of the huge, green armchairs. \u201cSit yourself down, Carter. Can I offer you a drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was tempted, but, on reflection, he decided to keep a clear head. He was under intense scrutiny from three different directions, and he didn\u2019t dare to make a mistake. \u201cNo, thank you. It\u2019s a little early in the day for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSuit yourself.\u201d Tiptree didn\u2019t take offence. He poured himself a generous measure of brandy into a globular glass, then settled himself in the other armchair. Curly and Jacks had deployed themselves in strategic positions around the room, Curly taking up station beside the window and Jacks standing stolidly in front of the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The formalities over, Tiptree got down to business. \u201cYou\u2019re a hard man to get to meet, Mister Carter. The arrangement was that you were to come and see me as soon as your feet hit the docks.\u201d He sounded vaguely disgruntled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From long years of verbal sparring with his father, Adam had learned that the very best form of defence was attack. \u201cI changed the arrangement,\u201d he said with a measure of belligerence. \u201cI\u2019m new in Chicago. This is my first time in town.\u201d That, at least, was the truth. \u201cI thought I\u2019d take a look around first.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Frowning, Tiptree studied the glowing tip of his cigar. \u201cI can\u2019t sat that I blame you for being careful. No point in sticking your neck out, eh? But I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll understand my impatience.\u201d The brown eyes flashed up to Adam\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree crossed one leg over the other and his foot began to jig up and down. \u201cNow tell me, where can I pick up the first lot of stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was right about then that Adam wished he had taken that drink after all. Holding a glass would have given him something to do with his hands, and he would have had somewhere also to look from time to time other than into Tiptree\u2019s sceptical eyes or at his jiggling foot. \u201cStuff?\u201d he said, rather stupidly, then realized that they meant opium. They were all waiting for him to say something \u2013 to fill up the lengthening silence. He was about to begin, \u2018I imagine\u2026\u2019 and then changed his mind. He drew a long breath. Now was the moment to be decisive. \u201cThe arrangements are as previously discussed,\u201d he said firmly, with just the smallest hint of the enigmatic.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree leapt out of his chair. Clearly, he was a man unable to sit still for more than two minutes together. Trailing cigar smoke over his shoulder, he started to pace back and forth in front of the desk. \u201cThat\u2019s not good enough, Carter!\u201d I need times, dates and places. Your English masters have been playing games with me quite long enough!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure they\u2019re not trying to be difficult, \u201cAdam said carefully. \u201cYou know for you yourself how much time these things can take to arrange.\u201d He had no idea where the glibness came from \u2013 perhaps it was born of desperation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI know, I know!\u201d Tiptree drained his brandy in a single draught and set the glass down on the desk with, perhaps, rather more violence than was strictly necessary. He resumed his pacing. \u201cYour people can supply good quality merchandise at two thirds the price I have to pay importing it through the usual channels. I\u2019m sick to death of paying those damned port taxes. They\u2019re crippling my organization!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Leaning back in the armchair, Adam made a steeple out of his fingers; unconsciously, he adopted the profile often assumed by his father when confronted by a situation that required delicate manipulation. Unlike Ben, he wasn\u2019t able to shout and storm. He had to sit still on his butt and use his brain to think his way out of the mess he had gotten himself into. Rapidly, he reviewed everything that he knew about the English and the opium trade.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The English had controlled the flow of the poppy drug into the Orient for the better part of three hundred years. Now, it seemed, they were spreading their influence even here, in this brand new world. The use of opium certainly wasn\u2019t illegal, and many renowned figures from the literary and artistic worlds made a point of taking it openly. They claimed it enhanced their creative abilities. As more people from all walk of life became ensnared by the habit, it was becoming increasingly frowned upon in most major cities, and many states were taking steps to discourage its use and abuse. When New Englanders had brought in twenty four thousand pounds of refined opium for their own consumption and for selling to the Indians in eighteen forty, The United States Customs has imposes an import duty of thirty percent. Obviously it was this punitive tax that Tiptree was going to elaborate lengths to avoid.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree pointed at Adam with the tip of his half-smoked cigar. \u201cHow soon, Carter? When\u2019s the damned stuff due to arrive?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt could be any day now,\u201d said Adam, guessing. \u201cLast I heard, it was already on its way.\u201d Now that was a downright lie, but in the circumstances Adam had hopes that he might be forgiven.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Still pacing, Tiptree breathed out smoke and shook his head. \u201cThat\u2019s just not good enough!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam shrugged. \u201cI\u2019m afraid it\u2019ll have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree stopped and stared at him. The two men duelled with their eyes. Tiptree said, \u201cWhat are you getting at?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWalls have ears,\u201d Adam said, with another sharp look at Curly. In a perverse way, he was starting to enjoy this battle of words. The short, hairy man hadn\u2019t moved from his place by the window. He was watching the exchange intently, a scowl on his face. Adam got the feeling that he wasn\u2019t making any friends.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBut not always tongues,\u201d Tiptree suggested with a pointed gesture at Jacks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s mouth became dry. That was something he hadn\u2019t expected. This certainly wasn\u2019t a game; these men meant business. This handsome, wolfish man who paced the floor in front of him was positively dangerous! \u201cI\u2019ll be able to give you a firm date and point of delivery as soon as certain formalities have been completed.\u201d Now, he was desperately playing for time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I suppose that\u2019s better.\u201d Tiptree resumed pacing. \u201cI suppose the English want me ta sign some papers, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThere is a certain amount of paperwork involved,\u201d Adam conceded. \u201cIt is a business arrangement, after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDamned English!\u201d Tiptree fretted. \u201cThey always want everything signed up and sealed. It seems a man\u2019s word just ain\u2019t worth anything any more! Give me the damned papers then, Carter. I\u2019ll sign on the dotted line.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked at the outstretched hand with an air of bemusement that was not entirely contrived. \u201cYou don\u2019t expect me to carry that sort of thing around with me do you?\u201d he demanded. \u201cThe documents are in a very safe place.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree looked at Curly, who shrugged. \u201cThat\u2019s the truth, boss. I went through his pockets. He didn\u2019t have no papers like that on him. Just some letters an\u2019 stuff and some business cards in the name of Adam Cartwright. That\u2019s what he\u2019s bin callin\u2019 his self.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCartwright?\u201d Tiptree looked at Adam quizzically.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam made an elaborate shrug. \u201cA man in my line of work has to cover his tracks. I\u2019d be a fool to use my own name.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI guess you\u2019re right about that,\u201d Tiptree said, but there was a frown on his face. The keen mind behind those dark brown eyes was clearly working overtime, and before very long, he was going to see through the thin tissue of lies that Adam had pieced together. He had to be distracted.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam got out of his chair and stretched to his full, not unimpressive, height. \u201cI\u2019d appreciate it,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you would tell your underling, here, to give back my property.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree looked at Curly. Curly glowered back. Tiptree gestured with the cigar. \u201cTaunton, give him his stuff back.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly handed over Adams wallet and, reluctantly, the Colt .44. Adam checked them both carefully before he put them away. At least, with the big gun safely back in his holster under the skirts of his coat, he felt he was properly dressed again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo are these papers in your hotel room?\u201d Tiptree asked. \u201cI can send the boys out to fetch them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary,\u201d Adam said, coolly. \u201cThey\u2019re in a place where they can\u2019t get at them. I\u2019ll fetch them myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree leaned back against the big desk with the cigar clamped firmly between the white teeth. He folded his arms. \u201cThis time tomorrow then, Carter. You get back here by then, and we\u2019ll get everything signed up. Taunton and Jacks will see you back into town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam would have much preferred to find his own way. His escort fell in alongside him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cRemember, Carter, twenty four hours,\u201d Tiptree called after him. Adam stopped in the doorway and looked back. There was a glint of suspicion deep in Tiptree\u2019s eyes that caused Adam to wonder if he\u2019d managed to fool him at all. \u201cDon\u2019t be late,\u201d Tiptree added around the cigar. \u201cAnd don\u2019t try anything funny. The last man who did that went for a nice long swim in the lake. I reckon he\u2019s out there yet \u2013 still paddling!\u201d At Adam\u2019s side, Curly sniggered, and even Jacks cracked an ugly grin. It seemed that, among them, only Adam wasn\u2019t amused.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNow, let me get this straight,\u201d O\u2019Donnell said. He peered at Adam through the pebble-ground lenses of his spectacles. Quite visibly, he scarcely believed what he was seeing, and he didn\u2019t credit a single word of anything Adam had told him. \u201cYou say you\u2019ve been abducted and threatened with death by one of the most highly respected and influential men in the city, who happens to think you\u2019re someone called Carter, working for the English?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d Already, Adam could see which way this interview was heading.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell leaned forward over the desk. \u201cAnd then they just let you go?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re expecting me back there tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you don\u2019t intend to go. That\u2019s probably very wise. Tell me, Mister Cartwright, just how much do you know about opium smuggling?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled a long breath. \u201cNot a thing, but Tiptree\u2019s not going to believe that.\u201d Behind him, in the line, somebody tittered. O\u2019Donnell glared, and the laughter subsided.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo these fellas just pulled you in off the street, did they?\u201d O\u2019Donnell persisted. \u201cAn\u2019 then they accused you of being an opium smuggler \u2013 now why should they do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBecause they mistook me for this man Carter!\u201d They were going in circles again, and Adam began to wish that he hadn\u2019t come.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Carter\u2019s the opium smuggler?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes! At least, I assume he is.\u201d Adam didn\u2019t want to make accusations he couldn\u2019t back up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell smiled kindly. \u201cMister Cartwright, isn\u2019t there someone who ought ta be looking after you? I mean, should you really be out on your own?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam considered taking a cab across town, and then decided against it. Having recently spent a further, enforced half-hour inside an enclosed carriage with Jacks and a sullen, uncommunicative Curly Taunton and their assorted, personal aromas, he felt the need of a breath of fresh air. Added to which, the interview with O\u2019Donnell had left him confused and beginning to doubt his own common sense. The whole afternoon was starting to take on an air of unreality, as if he had been living in someone else\u2019s dream.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pushing the entire affair, for the moment, into the back of his mind, he resumed his original intention of sorting out the problems of the damp and disreputable apartment buildings and of the repairs that hadn\u2019t been carried out. A damned good argument with Riley – if he couldn\u2019t get hold of anyone else – might make him feel better and put things into perspective.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a pleasant afternoon for a walk. The sun was still shining, although weakly, penetrating through a high, thin layer of cloud, and although it was cold, he knew the exercise would soon warm him up. If he stretched out his legs and walked quickly, he just had time to reach the upstairs premises of Towshaw, Riley and Pane before the offices closed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He\u2019d gone about a block and half before he became certain that he was being followed. By then, it was just a little late to do anything much about it. The street was suddenly all filled up with China-men. They came at him all at once from three different directions and jostled him to the edge of the sidewalk. A large, black carriage with high, black-lacquered wheels and curtained windows pulled up beside him. A curtain pulled back and a thin, distinguished man of distinctly Oriental appearance leaned out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Adam Cartwright? Won\u2019t you please step inside?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With a least a dozen Chinese around him and something small, hard and very sharp pressed into his back, it was an invitation that Adam was disinclined to refuse. He opened the door of the coach and climbed up inside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Oriental, a tall, thin man dressed all in black silk, nodded approval. \u201cDo sit down and make yourself comfortable.\u201d With a graceful gesture of the hand he indicated the richly upholstered seat across the carriage. \u201cOur journey is not very long.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat down on the cushions \u2013 dark, embroidered velvet shot through with gold thread. \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTo the home of my Master, just a few minutes drive to the east of the town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam eyed the China-man warily while his mind raced through the possibilities. \u201cI don\u2019t think I know you. What do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Chao Lin.\u201d The Oriental inclined his head politely. \u201cI have the indescribable honour to be seneschal to the household of Osimir Charlemagne.\u201d From the way he announced the name, Adam was expected to know it and to be suitably impressed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hated to disappoint him. \u201cI\u2019m new in the city. I\u2019m not aquatinted with your master.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chao Lin smiled thinly and without humour. \u201cBut my master knows you very well, Mister Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa ranch in Nevada. He requests the pleasure of your company for afternoon tea and has sent me to escort you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSuppose I don\u2019t want to go?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chao Lin shifted an inch in his seat. \u201cIt might not be the best idea to decline, Mister Cartwright. My master has suggested that, should you be reluctant to agree to his request, that I might use any means necessary to persuade you.\u201d A small, neat gun had appeared in his perfectly manicured, small fingered hand. Held comfortably in his lap with his wrist resting on the broad part of his thigh, it was aimed, very precisely, at the lower part of Adam\u2019s abdomen.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Knowing the sort of wound that could be inflicted, Adam felt his flesh crawl. He forced a smile to his face. \u201cYou make afternoon tea sound most attractive.\u201d Relaxing back into the cushions, he spread his hands wide. This, he reflected soberly, was getting to be a habit.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The house of Osimir Chalemaine was a fine one, constructed of scrubbed, white stone. Not strictly Chinese in design, it lacked the slim spires and minarets and the fluted, green-tiled roofing that it might have possessed in China and much of the fanciful ornamentation. Combining elements of two different cultures, it had a commanding aspect and an undeniably elegant grandeur that Adam, as an architect, could appreciate. Well away from the dirt and the grime belched out by the city\u2019s chimneys, it stood in large grounds of its own surrounded by a high, whitened wall and accessed by black-painted gates.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The gates swung open as the carriage approached, and the horses were driven right through without stopping. Through a gap in the thin, muslin curtains Adam glimpsed neatly trimmed hedges and well-mown lawns and shapely beds of bright, summer flowers. The carriage pulled up in a walled, cobbled yard, and a Chinese servant opened the door. \u201cIf you would kindly alight.\u201d Chao Lin invited. By now, the small gun had disappeared back into its hiding place. Adam suspected it hadn\u2019t gone far. He climbed out of the coach and looked about him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They were at the back of the house in a space that was completely enclosed by gates and creeper covered walls. The gates were closed and the wall was quite high. There was nowhere for him to run to if he experienced the inclination. The coach and pair were led away into the stables, and Chao Lin directed Adam in through another door. The room inside, an annex to the main house, was spotlessly clean and well lighted and very sparsely furnished in the Chinese tradition. A simple, woven mat lay on the polished floor. A very low, ornately carved table, burdened with fragrant flowers, had been artfully placed off-centre. One entire wall was open to the garden beyond.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Several servants appeared out of nowhere. They were all Chinese: small men who moved quickly and avoided looking into Adam\u2019s eyes. They all wore blue cotton tunics and trousers and little black hats with dark, plaited pigtails that sprouted out of the back. They offered cool, perfumed water with floating flowers and soft, warm towels for Adam to wash his hands and his face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYour gun, Mister Cartwright,\u201d the seneschal said pointedly. Adam remembered his manners and unbuckled his gunbelt. One of the servants took it and laid it on the table beside the flowers. Chao Lin showed Adam into the garden.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The air smelled sweetly of gardenias and honeysuckle blossom. Pale rays of sunlight, sharply angled now as the sun settled westward, filtered down through the leaves of filigree trees. The sounds of wind chimes and of hidden, running water broke the dense silence with tinkling music. Gravelled paths twisted and turned among beds of flowering shrubbery. Every corner brought a new discovery: a dark crystal pool with frilled golden fishes, a fine piece of statuary half hidden among the leaves, a bush all covered with scarlet flowers glowing like flame.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFollow the paths, Mister Cartwright,\u201d Chao Lin told him. \u201cAs in life, all paths lead, in the fullness of time, to the ultimate mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re quite a philosopher,\u201d Adam said over his shoulder. Chao Lin smiled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The garden was not large, and, as the seneschal had advised, all the intricate convolutions of the walkways eventually unravelled together. Whichever way a man chose to go, his path led him, eventually, to a tiny bamboo shelter set on a little lawn. Making his black silk rustle, Chao Lin bowed respectfully to the man inside. \u201cMaster, I have carried out your commands. This is Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne was a big man for a Chinese: as tall as Adam and almost as broad. His face was evenly featured. At about the same age, his smooth, Oriental face was evenly featured and intelligent. The front of his hair was all shaved away to give him a wide, oval brow; an elaborately plaited braid hung down his back. Unusually for this day and age, he wore a pencil-thin fringe of hair on his fine, upper lip. He wore purple, embroidered pyjamas.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne bowed formally, lowering his head just an inch; then he held out his hand. \u201cMister Cartwright, a pleasure indeed to meet you, having learned so much about you.\u201d He spoke flawless, tutored English without the slightest race of an accent. \u201cI\u2019m so pleased that you agreed to join me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYour invitation was most persuasive,\u201d Adam said, with a sideways glance and a sardonically raised eyebrow at Chao Lin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne\u2019s laugh was a pleasant, light, musical sound. \u201cChao Lin is my good right hand. I simply couldn\u2019t live without him. Won\u2019t you sit down, Mister Cartwright, and take tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam settled himself on a delicate, cane-work bench that looked too fragile by far to carry his weight. Charlemagne poured tea from a small, china pot into green glazed dishes. The tea was strong and smoking hot.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne sipped and smacked his lips in appreciation. \u201cThis is really very good. Won\u2019t you try some?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With deliberate care, Adam set his dish aside. \u201cIf you don\u2019t mind, I\u2019d prefer to know what this is all about. You have me picked up off the street and brought here at gunpoint without any explanation.\u201d He threw a quick, angry look towards Chao Lin who stood nearby, waiting and watching impassively. \u201cAnd then you expect me to sit and take part in a tea party!\u201d Adam continued with venom. \u201cI haven\u2019t been in this town for very long, but I\u2019m getting sick and tired of being pushed around.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll come straight to the point.\u201d Charlemagne put down his tea dish and gazed at Adam across the small, Chinese table, looking him right in the eye. \u201cYou have something which belongs to me, and I want you to give it back.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled a long breath and thought about it. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew precisely what Charlemagne was talking about. From across the small table, Charlemagne was watching his face very closely. \u201cYou are an intelligent man, Mister Cartwright. I think you already know what I refer to.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you spell it out for me?\u201d Adam suggested with a benign smile. With no idea how to extract himself from yet another difficult situation, he was playing for time in the hope that some opportunity might present itself. He was prepared to admit that it was a vain hope.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne clasped his hands together on the table top: a young man\u2019s hands, slim and long fingered with thin, white skin and nails that were perfectly shaped and polished, hands that had never done a day\u2019s work. His face was clouded with something that might have been disappointment.\u00a0 He regarded Adam with dark, hooded eyes. \u201cIf I must,\u201d he conceded in clipped, precise tones. \u201cYou have abducted a young woman, Pele Ti-sun, from my household and spirited her away. You have managed to conceal her in a place where even my extensive network of informants has been unable to locate her. Clearly, she is still in the city; you have not had the time, or the opportunity, to remove her. Rather than demolish the entire city, brick by brick – which, I assure you, I am perfectly able to do – it seems to me a much simpler expedient by far to ask you, face to face, where she is hiding. Do I make myself perfectly clear?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Indeed he did. Adam had started to bristle at the word \u2018abducted\u2019, and Charlemagne\u2019s flawless display of reasoning had done nothing to smooth down his ruffled plumage. \u201cThe young woman came to me for protection from your gang of thugs,\u201d he said quietly; controlled tension regulated the tempo of his voice. It was, after all, only a slight extension of the truth. \u201cI escorted her to a place of safety, and I have no intention whatever of telling you where she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Thinly, Charlemagne smiled. \u201cI can assure you that there are ways known to me of helping you change your mind very quickly. A little application of certain ancient techniques, and, by morning, you will beg to lead me to her on your hands and knees. But that aside,\u201d His expression lightened, and he made a throwaway gesture. \u201cWe are both civilised men with no need to resort to such crude barbarism.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t consider the ownership of one human being by another in anyway civilised,\u201d Adam countered, undeterred by the obvious threat. He had held this discussion before, at other times and in other places. It was one of the principle tenets by which he lived and one he would probably be prepared to die for.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI would challenge that opinion,\u201d Charlemagne said. \u201cBut the philosophical conflicts of our societies are deep and convoluted and would, inevitably, take many years of discussion and contemplation before they could be resolved. I am sure that you\u2019ll agree that this is not a suitable time to begin.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stirred uncomfortably. \u201cI do have some rather pressing business matters to attend to at the moment,\u201d he agreed. \u201cPele Ti-sun told me that you paid good money to bring her from China. In my book, that smacks of slavery.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cShe told you that, did she?\u201d Charlemagne\u2019s face became thoughtful. \u201cIt was my understanding that the woman didn\u2019t speak any English.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Realising that he had made a mistake, Adam\u2019s mind raced as he tried, frantically, to cover his tracks. \u201cI have a little Chinese,\u201d he said truthfully. \u201cJust enough to get by.\u201d<\/p>\n

He hoped that Charlemagne wouldn\u2019t put him to the test; Hop Sing\u2019s tuition might well let him down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHow very interesting,\u201d Charlemagne mused. \u201cYou are certainly a man of surprising talents. It is true that Pele Ti-sun was presented to me as a chattel in part payment of a substantial debt and that I sent gold to pay for her passage from China. I was hoping that I could instil on a young and impressionable mind some education and an appreciation of the arts, literature and good music.\u201d His almond-eyes narrowed. \u201cWhat else did she tell you in this remarkable conversation?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hesitated. He was in deep now, and he couldn\u2019t get out. He wondered how much the expression on his face was giving away; he wasn\u2019t well trained in \u2018inscrutable\u2019. \u201cShe said the she was a Chinese princess.\u201d Adam recalled the conversation in Mao Su-en\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne burst out laughing. \u201cDid she indeed! Well, I suppose that could be true when you consider that, in Northern China where she comes from, every third family with a half acre plot of land regards itself as a dynasty.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cShe also said that you were forcing her into marriage against her will.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His laughter dying, Charlemagne looked at him soberly. \u201cThat\u2019s not strictly the case. I was hoping, perhaps, that when she had arrived here and rested and seen the home that I could offer her, that perhaps we might meet, perhaps become friends, perhaps, one day, something better.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bemused, Adam leaned forward. \u201cYou mean you\u2019ve never met each other?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet. You must understand that things are done differently in China. You can be assured that my intentions towards the young woman are, as you would put it, strictly honourable. However, she ran away from my servants before she arrived at my house. Which brings us back to the point of this discussion. You know where she is, and I want you to tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat back in his backless seat and shook his head slowly. \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d Charlemagne had certainly given him food for thought, but he wasn\u2019t about to say where the young Chinese woman was hidden. He wanted to do some long, hard thinking, and he wanted to talk to Pele Ti-sun again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne got to his feet and stepped away from the table. Then he stopped and turned back. There was a frown of concern on his handsome, Oriental face.\u00a0 \u201cI would offer you a reward, Mister Cartwright,\u201d he said. \u201cA substantial amount of money. But I can see that you are a man who would never betray his integrity for mere financial gain. Therefore, I will offer you a different inducement.\u201d He held up his hand as Adam was about to speak. \u201cI am a reasonable man. I will give you twelve whole hours to reconsider you position \u2013 or to put you affairs in order, as you see fit. In either event, you won\u2019t disappoint me. You will tell me where Pele Ti-sun is concealed, or I will extract the information from you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At some point during the conversation, Chao Lin had removed himself; now he returned, and he wasn\u2019t alone. He brought with him a dozen Chinese. Adam thought they might be the same ones he had encountered in the alleyway the night before. They certainly looked just like them. Each of them carried a flat-backed stave.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne said to Chao Lin, \u201cYou know what to do. When you have finished, return to Mister Cartwright his property, including the gun, but bring him to understand that I mean entirely what I say.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam got to his feet as Charlemagne walked away. He found himself completely surrounded by grim faced Chinese. None of them was as tall as he was, but they were strong and determined and there were a great many of them. At the edge of the clearing, Charlemagne looked back. \u201cOh. Mister Cartwright,\u201d he said over his shoulder, \u201cDo feel free to scream if you wish. There is no one within earshot to hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Chinese knew exactly what they were doing. They stripped Adam of his jacket and waistcoat but left him in shirt and pants. They beat him soundly about the body and legs with the springy, greenwood sticks. Adam, to his intense dismay, stayed horribly conscious throughout.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The pain increased exponentially as the beating went on. It became a hundred times worse after they allowed him ten minutes respite and then started on him again He wasn\u2019t entirely certain when the blows stopped falling. By then, he wasn\u2019t thinking very clearly any more. His body was a blazing mass of agony, as if his skin had been entirely stripped away. All his nerve endings felt as if they had been dipped into liquid fire. His muscles twitched and jerked as if he was palsied, and he was blinded by the exploding lights in his head. He didn\u2019t know if he screamed or not, but his throat felt raw.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His memories of that cooling, twilight evening in the Chinese garden lingered a lifetime. They included the ice-cold shock of the grass against his burning cheek, a glimpse of silvered sky through the lacy foliage of an ornamental tree, gradually sliding out of focus, cold fluid, possibly water, poured in through his lips. Then there was the painful business of getting him dressed and a carriage ride through the gas lit streets of the city. His much-abused body felt every jar and jolt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They dumped him in an alleyway somewhere close to the docks. He lay quite still with his face in some stinking filth and listened, with some part of his mind, to the sound of the coach and horses driving away. He was left with only the rasp of his breathing and the frantic pound of blood through his head for company. They, and the unending pain, told him that he wasn\u2019t dead. A groan, born deep in his body, forced itself out through his lips. His hands clasped feebly at the grit underneath him, he was scarcely able to move. \u2018Though the pain still burned, his body had started to chill. His fierce intelligence drove him. He had to get on his feet and moving, or he would surely lie in that alley and die.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An unmeasured length of time later, upright finally, he staggered out into the street. Consumed by the pain, his senses were barely functioning. He was in a side street, somewhere near to the waterfront. He could hear the slap of the waves against wooden piers. A bitter wind blew in off the lake, cutting him through like a knife. It was a dark night, and very clear. Lifting his face to the sky, the stars came sharply into focus. Everything closer at hand was an indistinct blur. Hands outstretched, he staggered into a lamppost and clung there, reeling, while the breath hissed in through his teeth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then there were people around him, a big man on blue on either side. One of them touched him, and Adam cried out with pain. \u201cHad rather too much to drink, then, have we sir?\u201d A broad, Irish brogue suggested.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot – drunk.\u201d Adam lifted a hand to fend them off. He couldn\u2019t bear to be touched.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not,\u201d the Irishman said. \u201cYou just come along with us and we\u2019ll find you a safe place to sleep. You can talk to the judge in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone close at hand sniggered. Adam shook his head stubbornly. \u201cNot \u2013 drunk,\u201d he said again, but there was nothing he could do to prove it. He couldn\u2019t make himself understood. Despite his objections, one of the blue uniformed policemen took Adam\u2019s arms over his shoulder, and his body imploded with pain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale looked both ways – up and down the street. At this early, unearthly hour of the morning the city was almost asleep. The last, late-night revellers drove by in a handsome cab. Once it had turned the corner, he was completely alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale struck a long match on the rough, brownstone wall of the building and puffed his cigar into life. The flame lit his face from below: his rounded countenance was watchful, and his bright-blue eyes, rendered colourless by the night, were hooded and wary. Once he had the cigar well underway, he waved out the stub of the match and let it fall to the sidewalk. Then he went up the steps to the glass swing doors and pushed his way inside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sergeant O\u2019Donnell was on duty behind the desk. He had just finished a cup of hot, thick cocoa and eaten a corned-beef sandwich, and he was settling in for what he hoped might be a peaceful two hours until the end of his shift. He looked up with some disappointment as Teasdale arrived in front of his desk. \u201cAnd what can I do for you, Mister..?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTeasdale. Morton Teasdale,\u201d Teasdale said. \u201cAnd it\u2019s more a case of what I can do for you, really. I\u2019ve come to take a friend of mine off of your hands.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell paid him rather more attention, peering at him closely through the lenses of his glasses. \u201cAnd who might that be?\u201d he inquired with a hint of suspicion.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale glanced quickly around him at the empty precinct hall, then moved closer to the desk. His tone became confidential \u201cI understand you have a good friend of mine locked up in the cells: a man by the name of Adam Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell blinked at him. \u201cYou\u2019re a friend of Adam Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d Teasdale had the grace to look sheepish. \u201cI\u2019m supposed to be looking after him, but I\u2019m afraid he sort of got away from me tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell leaned over the desk. \u201cIt seems to me, Mister Teasdale,\u201d he said in a conversational tone, \u201cThat\u2019s he\u2019s got away from you several times in the last couple o\u2019 days.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amid clouds of tobacco smoke, Teasdale shrugged. \u201cIt happens. I can\u2019t have my eye on him all of the time. What are the charges?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell consulted the leather bound ledger that lay on the side of the desk. \u201cDrunk and disorderly,\u201d he reported. \u201cHe\u2019s due up in court first thing in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think that\u2019s really necessary?\u201d Teasdale offered a cigar and a seductive smile \u201cIs there really any point in hauling a man like Cartwright up in front of a judge?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPossibly not, but \u2018a place of safety\u2019 is a phrase that springs into mind,\u201d O\u2019Donnell said doubtfully. He accepted the cigar. \u201cThere is the little matter of the possible fine\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale reached for his wallet. \u201cShall we say thirty dollars? For the police widows and orphans fund, naturally.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019ll do nicely.\u201d O\u2019Donnell pushed the collecting box forward and Teasdale tucked three, crisp, ten-dollar bills inside. O\u2019Donnell fished about under the desk and came up, eventually, with Adam\u2019s gunbelt and the Colt .44. \u201cI reckon this belongs to your friend. The arresting officer found it close to where he picked him up.\u201d Teasdale buckled the gunbelt to make a big loop and draped it over his shoulder. O\u2019Donnell looked dubious. \u201cShould a man like Cartwright really be carrying a big gun like that? I mean\u2026\u201d His shrug was expressive. \u201cHe could do some real damage with that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale smiled. \u201cIf you got to know him properly, I think you\u2019d find that Adam\u2019s a whole lot brighter than he first appears.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t be hard. Kelly!\u201d O\u2019Donnell called to his colleague. \u201cYou watch the desk for me while we go and get Mister Teasdale\u2019s friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He led the way back and down, into the bowels of the building. The cells were mere cages of open-work bars backing onto the outside walls with a walkway in between them. Each cell had one small, high window, also well barred, to let in a little fresh air. The windows went some way to dispel the foetid miasma of strong drink and vomit and rank, male sweat, of urine and deep despair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

O\u2019Donnell held a whispered conversation with the officer on duty which Teasdale, smoking steadily, pretended to ignore. Then O\u2019Donnell came with a big bunch of keys. \u201cRemember,\u201d he said as he unlocked the door, \u201cIf anyone asks, I never saw either one o\u2019 you tonight \u2013 an\u2019 I\u2019ll not wantin\u2019 ta be seein\u2019 anythin\u2019 more o\u2019 him at all!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale smiled around the cigar. \u201cI understand perfectly.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam lay full length, face down, on the thin, grey mattress that covered the shelf-like bed. It was the cell\u2019s only furnishing apart from an open bucket that Adam hadn\u2019t yet used. He was half-asleep, or, perhaps, he was semi-conscious; it was kind of hard to tell which. He whimpered with pain as Teasdale touched him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Adam. Let\u2019s get you moving.\u201d Teasdale clenched his teeth around the cigar so that he could use both hands to get Adam up into a sitting position. Hurting, Adam fought him every inch of the way, but he had no strength, and his co-ordination was missing. He peered at Teasdale as if his eyes wouldn\u2019t focus. \u201cMort? Is that you, Morton?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s me.\u201d Teasdale jammed Adam\u2019s hat on top of his head. \u201cI\u2019m gonna get you out of here, and you\u2019ll have to help me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To give him his due, Adam did his best. His legs wobbled under him, and he still looked and acted exactly as if he were drunk. It took time and effort, but, eventually, Morton Teasdale got him as far as the street. He hailed a cab and boosted Adam inside before he gave the driver the address of Adam\u2019s hotel and climbed in after him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At first, when Adam came to his senses, he couldn\u2019t see much at all. The universe was dark all about him. It was filled with vagrant, dancing lights in all different colours, sounds that hummed and buzzed and hissed in his ears and constant, pounding pain. Then he recalled that he had to open his eyes in order to make things happen, and the light came bursting in on him, exploding inside his brain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam winced and said, \u201cOuch!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone moved in front of him, blocking the early-morning rays of sunlight that poured in through the hotel window with a sizeable hunk of shadow. Adam recognised the familiar, chunky form. \u201cMorton?\u201d Adam had a feeling that the sound came out as a groan. He lifted a forearm across his eyes to shut out the rest of the light. It didn\u2019t do much to block out the pain, which seemed to be constantly with him. It was only just beginning to subside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. \u201cWelcome back,\u201d he said with a grin. \u201cWhatever happened to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Preferring, for the moment to remain in the dark, Adam winced at the memory. \u201cI ran into some angry Chinese with very big sticks.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale chuckled sympathetically. \u201cI thought it might be something like that.\u201d Teasdale pulled out another cigar and started the ritual of lighting it. Adam removed his arm from his eyes and paid some attention to his surroundings. He was back in his own hotel room, flat on his back on the bedspread. His gunbelt and hat were hanging from the post at the end of the bed, and his jacket was draped over the dresser mirror. He wore his boots, shirt and trousers. His shirt was unbuttoned as far as his waist. He struggled to get a look at himself: to find out why it was that he hurt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve checked you over,\u201d Teasdale informed him as he waved out the match. \u201cDoesn\u2019t look like there\u2019s anything broken. Those China-men know what they\u2019re doing – most times – and I don\u2019t think you\u2019ll need a doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t believe him. \u201cI feel like I\u2019m burning in hell.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe pain will gradually fade,\u201d Teasdale assured him. He cocked his head on one side and looked at Adam quizzically. \u201cIf I were you, I\u2019d steer well clear of your Chinese friends for awhile. You must have said something to upset them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s grin turned into a grimace. \u201cI don\u2019t think that will be feasible.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale shrugged. \u201cWell, that\u2019s my advice anyway.\u201d He consulted his pocketwatch, then got to his feet and pulled his coat on over his shirtsleeves. \u201cI can\u2019t stay around to see that you take it. I\u2019ve got places I\u2019ve got to be. You take care of yourself, Adam. You lay there until it stops hurting and then try and get some sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam rather wished he could do that, but there were pressing matters that he had to see to. From the look of the light, he was hard up against Charlemagne\u2019s deadline, and he didn\u2019t expect that Chinese gentleman to allow him a great deal of leeway. He waited until Teasdale had closed the door behind him and the sound of his footsteps had faded away along the carpeted hallway. Then he rolled off the bed and got his legs under him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He clung to the bedpost while the room performed a stately, dip-and-sway dance around him, and waited with patience until it settled and resumed its God-given place on the floor. Then he limped to the dresser and took down his coat, half-afraid of what he might see. The face in the looking glass didn\u2019t look very different from the one he had always known. His cheekbones were gaunt, and he needed a shave that he didn\u2019t have time for, but everything else was the same. There was a hard, bright glitter in his deep-amber eyes, probably caused by the pain. He was surprised to find that, apart from the glowing, blue bruise on the side up his face where the unlovely Curly had clobbered him, there was scarcely a mark on his body. He had nothing to show for the beating, only the continual, stinging burn of his skin. Gritting his teeth, he shrugged himself back into his coat and buckled his gunbelt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He took a cab to the Chinese quarter; the long, jolting journey cost him dearly in suffering. The day was already well under way, and it was almost noon by the time he arrived. China-town was a frantic hive of industry; the narrow, twisted streets swarmed with busy people, over-ladened donkeys and thin, stick-legged dogs. It was a kaleidoscope of colour and movement that swirled around him and jostled him hard on every side. It was filled with confusion, strong smells and loud sounds.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The laundries were all in full operation, issuing great clouds of billowing, white steam and acres of snowy-white linen. A school held open-air classes in one of the laundry yards; fifty Chinese children chanted by rote beneath the banners of drying clothes. Communal kitchens, open to the street, vented rich, enticing aromas. Adam smelled onions and spices and fragrant meats. It made him realise how hungry he was; he couldn\u2019t remember the last time he\u2019d eaten, but he didn\u2019t have time to stop now.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He made his way to Mao Su-en\u2019s modest house. At first he thought it was entirely deserted, and his belly filled up with panic; was he too late? Had Charlemagne\u2019s army of watchers already traced the girl here and some awful fate befallen the family? Then Mao Su-en appeared from somewhere behind the building, and Adam breathed a long sigh of relief. The China-man had Pele Ti-sun trailing behind him, carrying a basket. The tiny, Chinese woman looked happier and healthier than when he\u2019d last seen her \u2013 had it only been yesterday? Her delicate features were faintly pink, and her lips were the colour of roses. She seemed very pleased to see him. Her dark eyes shone as she bowed to Adam. Adam bowed back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en ushered them into the house. \u201cYou know that you are always welcome, Adam Cartwright. But today you are troubled, even more so than before. I can see it in your face.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked \u2018round the room. Housing so many people, it was full of possessions, but still was as neat as a pin. \u201cI was afraid that something had happened to you. Where has everyone gone?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat could happen?\u201d Mao Su-en sat down at the table and indicated that Adam should sit down as well. \u201cThe children are in school, and everyone else is at work – in the laundry and down at the docks. Tell me why you are concerned?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pele Ti-sun served them tea. Strong and sweetened with honey, it was just what Adam needed. He swallowed it down and drew a deep breath. He took all of five seconds to gather his wits. \u201cI have to talk to you about Pele Ti sun.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAh!\u201d Mao Su-en smiled fondly. \u201cShe is indeed an enchanting flower that you have brought into my house. Already I am thinking of adopting her into my household as an honorary granddaughter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam licked his dry lips. He watched Pele Ti-sun slice vegetables into a pot; her small fingers were deft and swift with the tiny knife. He knew of the Chinese custom of adopting waifs and strays into the extended family. His anxiety must have shown on his face. Mao Su-en studied his expression. \u201cFor a princess, she is a very hard worker.\u201d His dark eyes sparkled with incipient mischief.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve found out some things about Pele Ti-sun that you ought to know before you decide to keep her. She may not be a princess after all \u2013 not in my sense of the word.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en\u2019s smile widened. \u201cI already know this Adam. It is you who misunderstood. Being a princess is not always a matter of wearing a crown on the head or living in a fine palace. It has more to do with what shines in a person\u2019s soul. In the short time that we have known her, Pele Ti-sun has won a place in all our hearts.\u201d He beamed across at the tiny woman, and she smiled back at him almost as if she understood what he said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam glanced at the still-open door. Warm afternoon sunlight streamed in from outside, lighting the dancing dust motes to a haze of golden fire. The sounds of the street were filtered here; afar off he could hear the sounds of children at play, letting off steam now that schooling was over. It was a world of normalcy that could all be about to change. He looked again at Mao Ti-sun. \u201cThere\u2019s something else that you ought to know. The man who is looking for her is some sort of Chinese warlord. He\u2019s a big man in town. His name is Charlemagne.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Ti-sun\u2019s face became grave. \u201cThis is another matter entirely. Among our people, Charlemagne is a man of great power and influence; he is, perhaps, the most powerful man outside of China and the Imperial family. It may be necessary to take Pele Ti-sun out of the city \u2013 to spirit her away – perhaps to the west.\u201d He sneaked a sly look at Adam. \u201cPerhaps she could find shelter with my cousin, Hop Sing, on your father\u2019s ranch in Nevada.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam tried not to splutter, but he knew that his face grew red. He could just imagine his father\u2019s explosion of anger should he bring a hoard of warring Chinese down on the Ponderosa. Smiling kindly, Mao Su-en reached out and covered his hand. \u201cDo not be afraid. It will not come to that. If necessary, we could easily find a nice boy to marry Pele Ti-sun, and then Charlemagne will no longer pursue her.\u201d Adam was not at all sure that the one solution was any better than the other.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam took a devious route back to his hotel. He had no desire whatever to leave a trail through the city that Charlemagne\u2019s henchmen could trace. At one point, he was certain that he was being followed; the itch in his back told him as much in no uncertain manner. He took refuge in a small, side street caf\u00e9 and sat, nursing coffee, where he could watch the street through the window. The sidewalks were crowded with people, and many of the faces were Chinese. None of them seemed to have any interest in him and, after a time, the uncomfortable prickling sensation that inhabited the region exactly between his shoulder blades, gradually faded away. It left him with a distinct feeling of unease that had no discernible cause.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An hour later, it was a very weary Adam Cartwright who trod the carpeted hallway of his hotel to the door of his room. It was already late afternoon, and, outside in the city, the shadows of evening were starting to gather. He was dead-dog tired. He felt that he hadn\u2019t slept for half of forever, and exhaustion was taking its toll. He let himself in with his key and kicked the door shut behind him with the back of his heel as he aimed his hat for the bedpost and ran the fingers of his other hand through his hair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was then that the smell hit him: the unsavoury aromas of sour armpits and putrid hair oil and pickled fish. Adam pulled up short, caught with both hands in the air. In the light of the lamp, already lighted and turned very low, and the greying light from the window, Curly Taunton threw him a discoloured grin. \u201cCome on in, Carter. We\u2019ve bin waitin\u2019 for ya.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The short, hairy man lay full length on the bed with his greasy curls on Adam\u2019s pillow and his hands clasped behind his head. Adam didn\u2019t bother to turn around; he already knew where Jacks was. The muscular bald man in the brown-leather vest could only have been standing behind the door when Adam came through it. Sure enough, he heard a grunt and felt pressure low down in the small of his back. Jacks had the little gun back in the folds of his fist, and it was pushed hard up against Adam\u2019s backbone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam cursed himself for all kinds of a fool: he should have known, he should have remembered, he certainly should have been more alert. He only had himself to blame for whatever he had coming. \u201cI might have know I hadn\u2019t seen the last of you two,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He stretched himself mightily as if to make himself taller \u2013 without any noticeable affect. Then he smiled his ugly smile again. \u201cTake the gunbelt off, Carter, and throw it down on the bed – but don\u2019t bother ta take off your coat; we got a little trip ta take, an\u2019 you\u2019ll be comin\u2019 along with us.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam did as he was bidden and divested himself of the Colt .44. \u201cI suppose we\u2019re going to see Tiptree?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThis fella\u2019s getting clever!\u201d Curly said to Jacks with a wink. \u201cShame he\u2019s left it so late.\u201d Jacks grunted agreement. Curly gestured towards the door. \u201cC\u2019mon Carter. Mista Tiptree\u2019s made you another appointment, an\u2019 he\u2019s sent us to see that you keep it, this time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They used the back stairs to hustle him out of the hotel, badly frightening one little dark-skinned maid as they pushed her out of the way. Curly went first, opening doors and making sure that the coast was clear before Adam and Jacks went through. Having, apparently, learned his lesson from last time, Jacks stayed back and kept the small pistol well out of Adam\u2019s reach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A carriage was waiting outside the back door, and there followed a nightmare journey through the rush-hour city streets. The driver, one of Tiptree\u2019s own men, knew where he was going without being directed, and he drove at a break-neck pace. He took several short cuts through side streets, making incautious pedestrians leap for their lives, and down garbage cluttered alleyways scarcely wide enough to accommodate the axles of the coach. The three passengers inside sat, grim faced and silent, and watched each other as the carriage rocked and rolled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was full dark when they arrived at their destination, and already turning cold. Although there was little cloud in the sky, the air was ripe with the promise of rain. The coach rolled to a halt in an enclosed yard, and Curly indicated to Adam that he should alight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The only illumination was that of a gibbous moon that fell faintly onto the cobblestones. Adam caught a glimpse of a mountainous pile of barrels that once had held beer but now stood empty, awaiting disposal. Then he was bustled in through a door, and the night was shut out behind him. Beyond the door was a long, ill-lit passageway littered with boxes and the hulks of broken and disused furniture, crates of bottles and other general detritus, and then another door. Adam found himself delivered, as neat as you please, in another office in front of another desk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It might have been any mundane office set up in the back room of any western saloon, rooms with which he was achingly familiar. It had the same, dense, but somehow impersonal atmosphere filled with the smells of tobacco smoke and spilled beer and cheap, woman\u2019s perfume. A coal fire burned in the grate of the brick-built fireplace. The green-shaded oil lamps lighted the room, reducing the spectrum of available colours to muted greens and creams and brown. The only exception was the brilliant red splash of Tiptree\u2019s bright-red cravat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree had exchanged the green-velvet smoking jacket for an elegant wool and cashmere evening-suit that broadened his wide shoulders even further with plenty of padding and narrowed his waist by artful application of the tailor\u2019s craft. He sported a frilly white shirtfront between satin lapels and the red cravat at his throat. He made Adam, in his well-worn grey coat and pants, feel positively undressed.\u00a0 Tiptree sat back behind the solid, dark-wood desk with his handsome face in the shadows cast by the green-shaded lamps. Adam could see the hard and unforgiving glint in his eyes and the bright white teeth firmly clamped around the omnipresent cigar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly pushed Adam hard in the back and sent him stumbling forward. \u201cWe done what you said, boss, an\u2019 brung you Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree gazed at Adam a long moment without speaking. Then he got up and came round the desk, trailing cigar smoke behind him. He looked Adam over head to toe. \u201cI\u2019m disappointed in you, Carter.\u00a0 Didn\u2019t think you were the sort to let me down.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Very much attuned to the presence of Curly and Jacks in the back of the room behind him, Adam pulled a long breath. He knew he had left it far too late to use the \u2018mistaken identity\u2019 explanation. Tiptree would never believe him. He was beginning to wonder himself. \u201cI haven\u2019t had time yet to recover the documents,\u201d he ventured with a show of angry belligerence. \u201cYou should learn not to push a man!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTime!\u201d Tiptree took the cigar from between his teeth and jabbed a ridged forefinger into Adam\u2019s chest. \u201cWhat the hell else have you had to do with your time?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t bother to tell him. He didn\u2019t think Tiptree would believe that, either. \u201cI need another twenty-four hours. Then I\u2019ll be able to tell when and where the first shipment will be delivered.\u201d It was the best offer that he could think of.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree laughed in his face. \u201cYou\u2019ve had all the time that you\u2019re gonna get, Carter. If the English want ta do business, they\u2019ll have to send somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen you\u2019ll never get hold of the opium.\u201d Adam was getting desperate. \u201cIf anything happens to me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a monopoly in this town,\u201d Tiptree told him. He was obviously enjoying Adam\u2019s discomfort. He grinned wolfishly. \u201cOnce the stuff arrives on the docks, the English will have to sell it to me \u2013 either that or go tip it away in the lake.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tiptree paced across the room to the fireplace, then turned on his heel and paced back. The cigar was firmly back in his teeth. \u201cAs for you, Carter, you just found yourself out of a job.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s back itched. He was acutely conscious of Curly shifting his weight behind him and of Jacks\u2019 ominous, silent threat. He tried the last thing that he could think of. He didn\u2019t expect it to work. \u201cI have friends who\u2019ll come looking for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Enjoying himself, Tiptree allowed his white smile to widen. \u201cThen we\u2019ll have to make sure that they find you.\u201d He nodded to Curly. \u201cMister Taunton, take Mister Carter outside someplace and kill him. Be inventive. Make it look like a robbery.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam turned \u2018round to find Curly smiling. The short, sturdy man produced a huge, great gun from somewhere under his coat. He pointed it squarely at Adam\u2019s belly. \u201cThat\u2019ll be a pleasure, Mista Tiptree.\u201d Despite his voluble objections, Adam was hustled out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The chilly night air hit Adam like a cold, wet slap in the face. Like every man about to face death and knowing all about it, his perceptions were razor sharp and his reactions, hopelessly slow. He felt that he moved like a snail through thick molasses while the rest of the world sped about him. Across the width of the yard he could easily read the blue stencilled lettering on the sides of the barrels: the brewers name, A. A. Watkins, and the identification code.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The moon had set behind the roofs of the buildings, leaving the stars alone in the un-dark sky; they reflected as pinpoints of light in the surface of spilled, oily water. He heard the sharp hiss of the breath in his lungs, Curly\u2019s harsh rasp close behind him and a grunt that could only be Jacks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From the middle distance came the noises of traffic out in the street: everyday people doing everyday things, neither knowing nor caring that here, in the back streets, a man was going to die. Two dogs snarled in a fight for a dead rat\u2019s body, then ran away yelping when someone cursed and aimed a bottle in their general direction. The sound of shattering glass was loud in the night. Adam found himself sweating and starting to shake. Curly jabbed him hard in the back with the business end of his gun.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly and Jacks walked him, at gunpoint, out of the yard and along an unlit side street. Gravel crunched under their feet. They didn\u2019t go far: half a block or a little bit more. Adam smelled the flat, cold smell of the shipping canal somewhere away to his right. They pushed him into an alleyway just wide enough for the three of them to stand abreast. Adam found himself the meat in the middle, a rose in between two sharp thorns.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He went all through the standard, stock phrases that dead men utter, knowing that they wouldn\u2019t do any good,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly Taunton merely smiled, his gusting breath rank and disgusting in Adam\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI can pay you,\u201d Adam offered.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The big gun jammed hard into Adam\u2019s belly, Curly reached into his coat and helped himself to Adam\u2019s wallet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam drew breath. \u201cYou won\u2019t get away with it.\u201d Curly showed him discoloured teeth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some way away, two men shouted back and forth to each other with some note of urgency clear in their voices. A carriage went by in the street. Adam made use of the moment\u2019s distraction; it was the only chance he was going to get. Quick as he could, he turned and ducked down, kicking out backwards at Curly with all the effort he could muster. He thought that he missed. He drove himself hard into Jack\u2019s, somewhere under the ribcage, and drove him into the wall. The foul breath whooshed out of Jack\u2019s lungs, and the gun went off in his fist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt the scorch of the bullet burn along his ribs. His shirt was suddenly wet, soaked with his own, cooling blood. Curly hit Adam alongside the head with the barrel of the great big gun. Adam slid to his hands and his knees as a bright blaze of pain exploded behind his eyes. Blood tickled as it ran into his ear.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Out in the street someone shouted again and a pistol fired, sounding a long way away. Curly lifted the big gun again; the barrel flashed in the starlight. Adam heard men\u2019s voices and men\u2019s feet running on pavement. Then the gun barrel descended and everything went black.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eight<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam Cartwright was dead. He knew it was so because it was quiet and peaceful and nothing hurt any more. Not too much anyway. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn\u2019t it? So he had always believed. Oddly, though, there was still a lingering soreness from that beating in the Chinese garden, like the residual itch of fading sunburn tingling on his skin. And then there was that searing pain in his side that he couldn\u2019t quite account for. It followed exactly the curve of his lowest rib, and it burned like the fires of eternal torment. Adam wondered whatever he\u2019d done that was bad enough to deserve that. It hurt rather less not to breathe. Working that out all by himself made his head hurt with a fierce, blinding-white agony. Surely, being dead should be peaceful. There should be music and angel choirs singing. Whatever was happening, it just wasn\u2019t right.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So perhaps \u2013 just perhaps \u2013 he wasn\u2019t as dead as he thought that he was. With all that pain to return to, it was almost a disappointment. The blood in his head was starting to sing above the white-hot pounding.\u00a0 He made a conscious effort to pull in a breath and felt his chest rise. The movement fired the pain in his side and started the round off again. He was trapped inside a vicious circle. There was nothing else for it; if he were alive, he\u2019d just have to take matters in hand. He felt his face frown as he set thoughts of the hereafter aside and picked up the threads of his mortal existence.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone spoke to him, close at hand but sounding a long way off. The voice was a man\u2019s \u2013 a long, low rumble. Adam couldn\u2019t make out the words. He tried hard to concentrate, to gather together the evidence his shattered senses were trying to feed him and to make something intelligible out of it all. He lay on his back on some firm, yielding surface. His hand clasped weakly at rough fabric underneath him, most probably a bedspread or some sort of quilt. He could smell warm lamp oil and fresh cigar smoke, the sharp tang of iodine and, more faintly by far, the lingering stink of Curly\u2019 hair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone \u2013 the same someone, Adam supposed \u2013 put something that felt icy cold alongside the pain in his head. Adam flinched away from it, and the breath hissed in through his teeth. Hellfire blazed a fresh path \u2018round his ribcage, and Adam cried out aloud in protest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026Adam? Just lie still and you\u2019ll be alright.\u201d The voice belonged to Morton Teasdale; Adam was sure of it, and Adam didn\u2019t believe him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He pried his eyes open. The pale light of the lamp, set on a table close to his side, dazzled him. As he had suspected, he was back on his bed in his hotel room. At least someone \u2013 Teasdale? \u2013 had turned over the pillow so that his head didn\u2019t lie where Curly\u2019s had. For some reason, that was important. The several Morton Teasdales that Adam could see gradually coalesced into one image, but it continued to shimmer about the edges as if it were about to shatter into a million different pieces. Adam didn\u2019t trust them to stay united and closed his eyes again<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He had been stripped to the waist, and there was a thick swathe of bandages wrapped around his middle. From the way his side hurt, he figured they were all that were holding his insides in. He knew that couldn\u2019t be right. He\u2019d been gut-shot before and the pain just wasn\u2019t the same. He lifted a hand to his head, and his fingers came away sticky. Teasdale moistened the cloth in a basin of water, already stained dark-pink with blood, and pressed it back to the side of Adam\u2019s head. Adam ground his teeth together against the fresh burst of pain, but, this time, he didn\u2019t resist. He couldn\u2019t help groaning.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, at least you\u2019re back with the living,\u201d Morton Teasdale said around his cigar. \u201cYou must have inherited an almighty thick skull from somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI got it from my Pa,\u201d Adam told him hoarsely, eyes still closed tight. \u201cHe\u2019s as stubborn and hard headed as an old mule.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale refolded the cloth and dabbed again, applying firm, gentle pressure. \u201cIt\u2019s a good job you did. They sure gave you a good pistol whipping. You really ought to be dead.\u201d He pressed Adam\u2019s hand against the cloth to hold it in place and walked across to the dresser. Adam opened his eyelids a crack and watched as he picked up the bottle that Adam had purchased \u2013 how long before? – and eyed the level critically. Teasdale poured a generous measure into a glass and carried it back to the bed. \u201cNow get this down you.\u201d He helped Adam to lift up his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam choked on the whiskey but managed to swallow it down. It set up a molten pool in his belly that rivalled the blaze in his head, but after a moment it began to settle him back into the real world.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid,\u201d Teasdale said, watching him closely, \u201cThat Taunton and Jacks got away from us. I was too busy picking you up off the ground and making sure you were still breathing to go after them.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTo tell you the truth, I don\u2019t remember too much of what happened after Taunton hit me,\u201d Adam confessed. A frown creased his face as he struggled with recalcitrant memories. \u201cIt seems to me that I heard someone shouting \u2013 it sounded like your voice. Was it you, Morton?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale looked at him thoughtfully. In his forget-me-not eyes Adam glimpsed, just for a moment, that deeper, darker, persona watching him, judging and weighing. Then Teasdale saw his doubtful expression growing, and the mask slipped smoothly back into place. \u201cI have an uncanny knack of being in the right place at the right time,\u201d he said with the familiar grin. \u201cIt just good luck that I was passing by with a couple of friends, or those two thugs would have splattered your brains all over the roadway.\u201d Parting Adam\u2019s hair with careful, blunt fingers, he inspected the wounds in his head. \u201cYou could probably do with a stitch or two in there. Come morning, we\u2019ll get a doctor in to sew you up.\u201d It was not a prospect for Adam to look forward to.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale poured him another stiff drink and measured one out for himself. Adam eased himself up in the bed \u2018til his head and shoulders were resting against the headboard. He winced and sucked his teeth against the pain that burned in his side. He could see a slight seepage of blood coming through the bandages. The ball had burned a bright path around his ribs, and it looked like he would have another beautiful scar to add to his growing collection. He accepted the glass that Teasdale offered. \u201cI need to thank you for all that you\u2019ve done. I make that three times straight you\u2019ve saved my hide.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThink nothing of it. That\u2019s what a man\u2019s friends are for.\u201d Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Teasdale removed the cigar long enough to drink whisky. \u201cTell me Adam, what the hell are you doing in Chicago? This isn\u2019t you sort of town.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam eased his position painfully and sipped from his glass. The effects of the liquor were spreading through his body and making him warm and a little more comfortable. \u201cI came looking for a man who wants me dead. I don\u2019t know his name or anything else about him. He sent a hired gun all the way to Nevada to kill me. I traced him as far as this, but now the trail\u2019s gone cold.\u201d He told Teasdale in detail about his search for Harbinger\u2019s history and the letters that Ruby had burned \u2013 the ones with the Chicago addresses. By the time he\u2019d finished, he\u2019d talked himself into a stupor.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale lifted the Colt out of Adam\u2019s holster where it hung on the bedpost and hefted it in his hand. \u201cAnd what\u2019s the plan when you find him? Do you plan to use this?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam blinked at him. He knew that the whisky was having an effect, that it was dulling his senses and making him sleepy, but it seemed to him that the cheerful-faced drummer was gone; in his place was an entirely different, grave featured character with a steely glint in his eyes. \u201cI\u2019m not absolutely certain,\u201d Adam said slowly, trying to think it through with a brain that wasn\u2019t working too well. \u201cI\u2019ll use it if I have to, I guess, but mostly, I want to ask the man why.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale put the big gun away and took Adam\u2019s empty glass away from him. Adam was feeling so very tired; against his will, his eyes were beginning to close.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad about that, anyway,\u201d Teasdale said with a sigh. \u201cOtherwise you wouldn\u2019t be half the man that I think you are.\u201d Adam wasn\u2019t sure that he heard him quite right, and he was much too tired to think about it. Teasdale tucked a warm blanket around Adam\u2019s legs. \u201cI have to leave you, Adam. I\u2019ve got people to see. I\u2019ll be back in the morning in time to eat breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam mumbled something in response, but by the time that Teasdale had closed the bedroom door, Adam was asleep.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he woke up, it was morning. Sunlight was streaming in through the bedroom window. From the noises that filtered up from the street, he had slept in late. His lower rib ran with liquid fire that seared with every breath, but the pain was more localised now, and there was no fresh blood on the bandages. The torment inside his skull pounded in time to his heartbeat. Adam was cold, just a minor thing to add to his general discomfort, and one he could do something about. With his elbow held close in to his side, he eased his legs off the bed. The room dipped and swayed dangerously. He held tight to the bedpost \u2018til the world stopped pulsing and threatening to burst apart.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stood up carefully and walked to the mirror. This time, he had to admit, his very own father wouldn\u2019t have known him. His eyes were sunken and shadowed with pain; there were clots of blood in his midnight-dark hair, and over a colourful assortment of cuts and bruises, he wore the substantial beginnings of a beard.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It took half an hour to clean himself up to his own satisfaction. Careful scraping with a keen edged blade eventually removed all the whiskers, and he felt a lot better when that job was done. He was towelling himself off when a sharp knock came at the door, and Morton Teasdale let himself in without waiting for Adam to ask him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re up and about already,\u201d he said with a grin. \u201cIt saves me rousting you out of bed. How are you feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam considered all the obvious answers. \u201cHungry,\u201d he decided at last. \u201cWhat was it you said about breakfast?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo time for that.\u201d Teasdale rummaged through Adam\u2019s belongings and came up with a halfway clean shirt. \u201cCharlemain\u2019s found out where you\u2019re keeping your Chinese lady, and if you want to save her from a fate worse than death, we\u2019d better get moving!\u201d Adam didn\u2019t wait to ask questions; he grabbed his coat and his hat and the Colt .44 and followed Teasdale out of the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ride across town was not nearly so swift as either man would have preferred. At the height of morning rush hour it took several minutes to hail a cab, and then progress through the traffic was slow. There was considerable confusion at one major junction where several thoroughfares met. Somebody\u2019s carriage had broken an axle, and one of the horses was down. The animal\u2019s legs were still kicking, but Adam, who had a great deal of experience with horses, was certain that it was already dead. He was about to get down and walk the rest of the way, but Teasdale shook his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot a good idea in your condition. You wouldn\u2019t get there any faster, and you might bust that wound open again. I reckon you\u2019ve lost enough blood without throwing away any more.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam wasn\u2019t feeling too pleased with himself. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have left her with Mao Su-en. I should have know that Charlemagne would have me followed and find her.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems a fair assumption.\u201d Teasdale seemed annoyingly relaxed about the whole affair. He lounged in the leather backseat of the taxi, minus cigar, and watched the disorder outside with an amicable eye. \u201cThat was probably the point of having you beaten and turning you loose. He knew you\u2019d go running to check on her safety. Now, stop beating yourself over the head.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That didn\u2019t make Adam feel any better. \u201cI should have taken her somewhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you have in mind?\u201d Teasdale asked, quietly.\u201d Charlemagne has a very efficient and pervasive intelligence network thoughout the city and the surrounding countryside \u2013 thoughout the country for that matter. There\u2019s nowhere you could have hidden her that he wouldn\u2019t have found her before very long.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked at him sharply. \u201cHow do you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPart of my job.\u201d Teasdale shrugged. Adam was about to put more pointed questions when the cab jolted back into motion. Agony tore at his side and pitched the inquiry out of his mind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The cab driver wouldn\u2019t go all the way into China-town. The streets were too narrow and twisting, he said, and too full of people. Adam, \u2018though angry, could see his point. Progress through the press of the crowds was bound to be slow; it had to be faster on foot. Adam paid the man off with a small handful of silver and took a short cut through the laundry yards.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The going was tougher that he was expecting. Soon, he was gasping and clutching his side, and, once, he clung to a gatepost while his vision blurred until he almost saw double. He wondered how much blood he had lost. People peered at him oddly, curious Chinese faces that wondered what this big American might be about. Adam wasn\u2019t about to be defeated; he gathered his determination and ran on. The pounding of his feet on the pavement sent vibrations up through his skull. Teasdale kept up with him easily. For such a big, rounded man, he moved with surprising energy and grace.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As they turned the corner into the street where Mao Su-en lived, Adam saw that he was too late. The too-familiar, black, high-wheeled carriage and its spirited team were parked half way along, effectively blocking the roadway. The street was a-swarm with blue-suited Chinese, undoubtedly Charlemagne\u2019s army. Adam hurried as best as he could and squeezed past the coach and horses where there was barely room. He clutched his side and drew his pistol. Teasdale was pounded the pavement close behind him. For the first time since he\u2019s known him, Adam saw a gun in the ex-drummer\u2019s hand: a large, black efficient weapon with considerable stopping power, it had appeared, as if by magic, from somewhere under his coat. Adam wasn\u2019t surprised.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en\u2019s tiny house stood in glorious isolation in a sea of milling Chinese. The occupants of the neighbouring houses stood watch \u2013 those who hadn\u2019t run away \u2013 held back by a dozen or more of Charlemagne\u2019s blue-clad servants. Off to one side, looking rumpled and anxious but essentially undamaged, Mao Su-en was restrained by two burly soldiers, one on either side. He caught sight of Adam, and his wise eyes brightened with sharp concern.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne himself stood with his back to the black coach and horses. He stood very tall, resplendent in black and gold robes trimmed with real silver, and his arms were folded over his chest. The plaited pigtail that hung down his back was ornamented with mirror bright fragments. He turned as Adam ran up from behind him and seemed genuinely delighted to see him. He bobbed a bow, then looked with interest at the colours that adorned Adam\u2019s face. \u201cMister Cartwright, I am so glad that you have been able to join me. I was afraid that you might not arrive in time.\u201d His dark eyes flicked away to Teasdale and then back, dismissing him instantly. Teasdale was once again wearing his jovial, moon-shaped face. Charlemagne continued, \u201cPlease, gentlemen, put your weapons away. This is hardly the place or the occasion for gunplay.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Clutching the pain in his side, Adam finally caught up with his breath. \u201cWhat have you done with Pele Ti-sun!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne continued to smile, although his eyes became wintry. \u201cAt the moment, Mister Cartwright, I have done nothing whatever \u2018with her\u2019 as you so charmingly put it. As yet, I have not set eyes on the young woman, although I am expecting that pleasure momentarily. Now, please lower you gun as I have asked, or I shall be forced to have it taken away from you.\u201d The edge on his polished tone promised at least a broken arm for his trouble.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam felt a touch on his wrist. It was Morton Teasdale\u2019s hand. \u201cPut it away, Adam,\u201d Teasdale said. He tucked his own gun under the tail of his coat. Adam didn\u2019t quite see where it went, but Teasdale\u2019s hands came away empty. Adam released a long pent-up breath and followed the given example. He slid the Colt back into his holster.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Pele Ti-sun?\u201d Adam demanded again. He was well aware that his temper was getting the best of him; it showed clearly around the edge of his fraying manners. He didn\u2019t care to do much about it. He needed to get this business sorted out so that he could go back to bed. The analytical part of his mind warned him that his mouth was about to get him into trouble, and Teasdale plainly agreed. From the corner of his eye, Adam could see the worried expression on his new friend\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In answer to his question, Charlemagne nodded towards Mao Su-en\u2019s house. The sounds of a search came from inside. As he listened to all the bangs and the crashes, Adam seriously wondered if any of the family\u2019s valued possessions were likely to survive. He glanced at Mao Su-en, but the elderly Chinese gentleman\u2019s face was now impassive as he listened to the destruction taking place in his home. Adam wondered if he could do the same with such equanimity.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In another moment, everything went quiet, and Chao Lin, stately in a long, matt-black silk garment, appeared in the open doorway. He brought Pele Ti-sun, held by the wrist, and two, burly, Chinese strongmen followed behind them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam started forwards to help the woman. Teasdale grabbed him by the sleeve of the coat. \u201cThere\u2019s more of them than there are of us,\u201d Teasdale told him, \u201cAnd this time, I don\u2019t have my friends with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked at him sharply. It was that tone of voice that he\u2019d heard before, once, in the midst of a whirlwind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dragged from her hiding place inside the house, Pele Ti-sun fought like a tiger, kicking and clawing and trying to bite. Adam remembered very well how it felt to be on the receiving end of that breathless, silent resistance. Like Adam, Chao Lin was too tall and too strong for the struggles of the tiny Chinese woman to have any appreciable effect. Pele Ti-sun\u2019s cheeks were bloodlessly white, spotted with vivid colour. Her dark eyes spat fury. Chao Lin presented her before his master, holding her squarely before him by both upper arms. Pele Ti-sun was so busy fighting with Charlemagne\u2019s seneschal that she hadn\u2019t yet glanced at Charlemagne at all. The tall China-man\u2019s face had undergone a transformation at the sight of the woman. His expression was rapt, beguiled and entranced.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en, released by his guards, came across to stand beside Adam. He rubbed at his arms where he had been held, and his eyes were troubled. \u201cI could do nothing to stop them, Adam. They burst through the door and were on us before I knew they were there.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about it,\u201d Teasdale said with a nod and a wink. \u201cEverything\u2019s gonna be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne bowed to Pele Ti-sun and spoke to her in quick-fire Chinese. It all went by far too quickly for Adam to follow. Mao Su-en translated for him. \u201cHe is welcoming her formally to America and to Chicago and offering her the freedom of his dwelling.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pele Ti-sun stropped struggling, finally; probably she was exhausted. Her small chest heaved with exertion. She looked at Charlemagne, seeing him properly for the very first time. Her eyes widened. The moment stretched endlessly as the two of them stared at each other. Feeling the small woman\u2019s body gradually relax Chao Lin let go of her arms. He stepped back respectfully and tucked his pale hands inside his voluminous sleeves.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pele Ti-sun gathered her composure. With her bright eyes fixed on Charlemagne\u2019s face, she made a neat, formal bow. Charlemagne spoke to her again, rather less formally, and Pele Ti-sun made a brief response. Her cheeks became pinker, and she started to smile. Adam looked enquiringly at Mao Su-en. The small Chinese man was beaming. \u201cLord Charlemagne has bestowed a personal greeting, and Pele Ti-sun has accepted the invitation to visit his house. It seems that, after all, Pele Ti-sun is quite taken with her benefactor.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As he looked from one to the other, Adam found that he had to agree. Teasdale dug him hard in the ribs \u2013 the other side to his injury but making him gasp nonetheless. \u201cWhat did I tell you? I think they call it \u2018love at first sight\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne bowed to Mao Su-en. \u201cHonourable Grandfather, I offer my most humble apologies for the damage done to your home. I promise you that everything that has been damaged will be replaced a thousand fold.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mao Su-en returned the bow. \u201cYou are most generous, Lord Charlemagne. It is said, in this country, that omelettes cannot be made without breaking eggs.\u00a0 I would ask a favour of your benevolence: that you will permit Pele Ti-sun to visit my home often. She has become very dear to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne\u2019s lips quirked in the faintest suggestion of a suppressed smile. He cast a long, sideways glance in Adam Cartwright\u2019s direction, and Mao Su-en followed the look. \u201cPele Ti-sun is, of course free to come and go as she pleases,\u201d Charlemagne told him. \u201cI am sure that she will spend much of her time with her new found family.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam handed Pele Ti-sun into the high-wheeled carriage. \u201cYou take care of yourself, now,\u201d he told her, well aware that she didn\u2019t understand what he said but saying it just the same. \u201cIf you ever need me, your Grandfather knows where I live.\u201d Pele Ti-sun smiled at him happily, and fresh roses bloomed in her cheeks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne bowed low to Adam, then held out his hand for a firm handshake in the western manner. \u201cMister Cartwright, I am forever in you debt. Pele Ti-sun is fair of face, and she had the nature of storm and sunlight, chasing each other over the landscape. She is quick-witted and eager to learn. It is my hope, with time, when we know each other better, that we will find true affection in each other\u2019s heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was happy enough to shake the China-man\u2019s hand, \u2018though he dislike his methods and was dubious about the service that he himself had performed. \u201cI hope that everything works out well for you both.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Charlemagne gazed at him, then laughed abruptly. \u201cSometimes I wonder if I will ever understand your American sense of humour. You will, of course, accept a substantial reward. You will find me a generous man.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary.\u201d Adam was wary. \u201cI didn\u2019t exactly lead you to Pele Ti-sun willingly.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen call it reparation for any physical discomfort you may have suffered and donate it to your favourite cause.\u201d Charlemagne climbed into the coach. \u201cI absolutely insist.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As he watched the carriage drive away with Pele Ti-sun waving out of the window, Adam\u2019s face was bemused. He felt the weight of Teasdale\u2019s hand fall on his shoulder. \u201cWhat is it, Adam?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t realise that I\u2019d said something funny,\u201d Adam said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale laughed out loud and slapped him hard on the back \u201cCome on, Adam! Let\u2019s go and get something to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men ate breakfast in a corner coffee house away from the main thoroughfares, a comfortable place where they could still hear the background hum and buzz of the city traffic and, at the same time, hear themselves and each other speak. Despite the furious pounding that still filled his head, Adam discovered that he was famished. He had lots of hot coffee and scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread, thickly coated with butter to replace lost calories and golden honey to provide the quick spike of energy that he needed to get through the day. Morton Teasdale consumed a more modest meal, then lit his first cigar of the day and sat back to watch Adam eat. There was a faintly indulgent smile on his round-featured face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam managed to put away far more food than either of them would have believed. Finally replete, he settled back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction and a last cup of coffee. Now that his belly was full, his head hurt rather less. He eyed Teasdale with just a trace of suspicion. \u201cMort, there are one or two things I want to ask you about.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale gazed right back at him across the coffee house table. A wary amusement sparkled in his summer-blue eyes. \u201cI thought that there might be. Ask ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam considered. He had a great many thought and emotions milling about inside his head; it was hard to know where to begin. He took several seconds to put things in order. \u201cFor someone who doesn\u2019t live in this city, you seem to know a great deal about it and the people who live here, men like Charlemagne and Tiptree. They\u2019re both shadowy, background characters who live on the edge of the law. Would you mind explaining how you became so well acquainted with them and their operations?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Prepared to wait for his answer, he finished his cooling coffee, all the while watching Teasdale\u2019s face. He didn\u2019t know Teasdale all that well, and he hadn\u2019t known him for long. It would be easy enough for the man to lie to him or to fob him off with some foolish answer. Adam would admit that he wasn\u2019t the best judge of character; he\u2019d picked some dubious friends in the past and suffered for it. Somehow, he didn\u2019t think this man was about to do that.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale puffed out a great cloud of smoke and inspected the layered grey ash on the end of his cigar. He smiled a small smile that might have been self-depreciation but, somehow, wasn\u2019t. \u201cAs I mentioned last night, it\u2019s what I do for a living. It\u2019s part of my job to get under the skin of a society like this, to find out all about the men behind it and the motivations that make them tick.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo what are you, then? Some sort of policeman? Or one of those Pinkerton agents I\u2019ve been hearing about?\u201d The furious headache made thinking difficult.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale contemplated Adam\u2019s face. His bright-blue eyes were intense and penetrating, as if they would pierce to the other man\u2019s soul.\u00a0 Once again, Adam got the itchy sensation that his character was being balanced and weighed. He resisted the urge to wriggle. Then Teasdale relaxed his scrutiny. He almost smiled. He said, very quietly, \u201cLet\u2019s just say that I work for the government.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They sat and gazed at each other while Adam took the time to absorb that information and its implications, and Teasdale gauged his reactions. \u201cSo, if you\u2019re a government man,\u201d Adam said slowly, thinking it out as he went. \u201cWhy is it that you\u2019ve been following me about?\u201d Teasdale raised a polite, inquiring eyebrow, and Adam explained. \u201cEvery time that I\u2019ve got into trouble, you\u2019ve been there to haul me out \u2013 not that I\u2019m not grateful.\u201d He hastened to add. \u201cBut is there any reason in particular that you\u2019ve been watching me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale chuckled. \u201cThe answer to that is yes and no. Our first encounter was purely accidental; I just happened along at the moment you needed a hand. I was as surprised to see you as you were to see me. Once I found out that John Dee Tiptree was so interested in you, and why, I thought it might be worth keeping an eye on you. I\u2019m sorry I couldn\u2019t save you that whack on the head.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ruefully, Adam fingered the soreness up above his hairline. The raw wound was crusted over and dry. \u201cI\u2019m kinda sorry about that to. What about Charlemagne?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale\u2019s eyes became bleak. \u201cLord Charlemagne has an agenda all of his own. He\u2019s a man with his toes in a great many muddy puddles, but at the moment, he\u2019s not on my list of suspects.”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had a feeling that that subject was closed. \u201cHow did you know that Charlemagne and Pele Ti-sun were going to hit it off together?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Laughing again, Teasdale shook his head. \u201cYou\u2019ll just have to put that one down to intuition. Now you answer one for me. What do you propose to with Charlemagne\u2019s money?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam grinned at him. \u201cDon\u2019t you worry. I\u2019ve got big plans for that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Back in the outdated, upstairs premises of Towshaw, Riley and Pane, Adam spoke beguilingly to Miss Sylvester, and, before very long, he was ushered back into Riley\u2019s cool, gloomy office.\u00a0 He spent the next twenty minutes making a fair imitation of his father, pacing the faded carpet back and forth between the desk and the window and expressing at length his irritation and his opinion of the firm\u2019s efficiency. Altogether, it was a fine display of temper that would have made old Ben proud. If nothing else, it relieved the stress of the last few days and made Adam feel a whole lot better.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Finally, he turned and put both hands down flat on Riley\u2019s desk. \u201cBelieve me, if it was down to me alone, I\u2019d take my family\u2019s business away from this antiquated, outmoded and generally useless collection of incompetents and give it to a company that can conduct our affairs properly!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley gazed up at him with a certain degree of equanimity. Throughout Adam\u2019s lengthy tirade, his long, thin face, unhealthily pale to begin with, had become even whiter and was now almost bloodless. His manicured, white hands clasped each other on the blotter in front of him, and, interestingly, small beads of perspiration glistened on top of his head in among the roots of his thinning hair. He had sat behind his desk and listened to Adam without attempting to speak until Adam ran out of steam. His lips had become a thin, hard line that spoke of his own irritation, but he held his tone well in control, \u201cMister Cartwright, won\u2019t you oblige me and please sit down?\u201d His pale eyes met Adam\u2019s furious amber gaze without flinching, and he gave a small, sharp wave of the hand towards the brown leather chair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam followed the direction of the gesture with angry eyes. Basically a reasonable man, he supposed that Riley had his own point of view, and that now, it was his turn to do the listening. He concluded that he might as well be comfortable while he did it and settled himself in the chair.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley sat back and made a white steeple out of his fingers. His leather seat creaked in the sudden quiet that invaded the room. The noises from the street sounded very remote and the clock\u2019s tick, abnormally slow. Adam released the last of his pent-up annoyance. \u201cGo ahead, Mister Riley,\u201d he said with a nod of the head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSince the last time you were here,\u201d Riley began, \u201cI and the two younger Mister Towshaws have conducted a complete and thorough audit of your family\u2019s account. It quickly became apparent, as you pointed out, that a number of small but fundamental errors have been made over a considerable length of time, and that these have had a profound and regrettable effect on the management of some of your properties.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re saying that you got it wrong,\u201d Adam said bluntly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley sighed. \u201cI\u2019m saying that some of your written instructions were misinterpreted and the funds provided for the renovation of the apartment buildings shunted into another part of your business account. None of the money is missing. It had merely been reassigned.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mollified but not in the least placated, Adam glared balefully. \u201cHave you seen the conditions those people are living in? The damp and the dirt and the dangerous stairwells? It\u2019s a marvel than no one\u2019s been killed! Perhaps you should go down there and see the state of those places for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley\u2019s lips twitched at the sharp sarcasm in Adam\u2019s voice. \u201cI will if you insist, but I don\u2019t believe it will be necessary. Instructions have already been issued to a local builder to make the most essential repairs. Now, if you will allow me to order some tea, perhaps we can discuss the details.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gritted his teeth and swallowed resurgent irritation. \u201cTea might be a good idea,\u201d he conceded.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley crossed the room in his squeaky shoes and made the request of Miss Sylvester in the outer office. Back in his chair he said, prosaically, \u201cIt might interest you to know that, following a meeting of the partners, Mister Towshaw Sr. has resigned his controlling interest in favour of his sons and has, in fact, decided to retire completely. I understand that he intends to take up fishing.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Despite being entirely in the right, Adam felt almost guilty at forcing the old man\u2019s retirement. He knew how his father would feel. He simply couldn\u2019t envision Ben Cartwright equipped with a fishing rod and found, abruptly, that he didn\u2019t want to. He accepted a teacup from the winsomely smiling Miss Sylvester and prepared to go through line and verse of the reconstruction proposals with Riley.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The agent seemed to have the balance just about right: repairs to the steps and the railings were already being carried out and should be completed by the end of the week.\u00a0 Arrangements had been made to replace the roofs of all three buildings, and also the rotting window frames. \u201cI suggest that whatever funding might be left over is set aside to renew the interior decorations once the walls are dry,\u201d Riley advised, and Adam had to agree. A good coat of whitewash on those dismal, inside stairways would make them lighter and brighter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He added his signature to the last of the documents and handed it back across the desk. His estimation of Riley\u2019s abilities, and of his personal integrity, had increased several times over in the space of an hour \u2013 so much so that he was prepared, despite his earlier inclinations, to entrust the man with the other small project that he had in mind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThere is one other thing you can do for me, Mister Riley,\u201d he said, sitting back in the armchair. \u201cI want you to open another account in my name and keep it entirely separate from the Ponderosa business.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley hesitated, as if wondering if he really wanted anything more to do with this big, voluble and forcefully energetic man. Then he nodded and drew a fresh sheet of paper towards him across the table. \u201cThat won\u2019t be a problem. Would you care to explain the nature of the business you intend to conduct?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m expecting an unspecified, but impressively large, sum of money to come into my hands, donated by a gentleman by the name of Osimir Charlemagne. I want to use that money to set up a fund to provide an education for two or three of the brightest boys who live in those tenement buildings. I\u2019ll not be staying in the city, and I shall need someone reliable to administer the fund for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A faint smile on his lips, Riley finished his notes. \u201cI\u2019m sure the firm of Towshaw, Riley and Pane will be delighted to undertake your instruction, Mister Cartwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam waggled a finger. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I\u2019m asking. I realise that ethics require you to put the business through your company\u2019s accounts, but I want you to undertake the administration of the account yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riley\u2019s smile broadened into a full-blown grin. He stood up and offered Adam his hand. \u201cMister Cartwright, I can assure you that it will be a pleasure!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam and Teasdale had dinner together in the grand, wood-panelled dining room of a restaurant in the more stylish part of the town. Their small, discretely screened table was set with white linen and silver and crystal glassware, and the meal was served on fine, bone-white china. Adam had steak – the finest he\u2019s eaten since he\u2019d left the Ponderosa and the close vicinity of Hop Sing\u2019s kitchen. He had soft, white, mashed potatoes and sweet, green beans, and the meat was so tender that it melted away in his mouth. To follow was an apricot-flavoured pudding with a hot, creamy sauce.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The room was warm and softly lit, and the wine was uncommonly good. Waited upon by soft-footed, dark skinned servants, they were encouraged to sit at the table long after the meal was over and their stomachs comfortably filled. For the first time since he\u2019d arrived in the city, Adam felt himself relax.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale puffed a cigar into life, and Adam ordered a second snifter of brandy. He had no doubt in his mind that Teasdale had chosen this discrete, very exclusive place to eat with a particular purpose in mind. Contented to be in the other man\u2019s company, he was prepared to sit and wait patiently until he came to the point.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The government man seemed to be in no particular hurry. He smoked his cigar halfway through and chatted of this and that, and then launched again, as once before, into tales of his journeys abroad. Adam held the large, globular glass close to his chest and breathed in the aroma of the brandy as it gradually warmed in his hands, and the mellow fumes lifted into his head. He remembered to nod and to smile in all the right places.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eventually, after a long pause for breath, Teasdale said, \u201cAdam, I want to ask you a favour.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam smiled and made and expansive, one-handed gesture that didn\u2019t involve the brandy. \u201cGo ahead. I think you\u2019ll find that I owe you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t owe me a thing,\u201d Teasdale said. \u201cBut this is something that I think might interest you as you\u2019ve already been involved in it up to your neck.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wriggling his butt, Adam settled himself deeper into the chair. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell me about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not indeed.\u201d Teasdale blew a neat smoke ring and watched it drift upward towards the shadows that gathered about the ceiling. \u201cThere\u2019s a ship coming into port tomorrow: a French trader with an English captain and a mixed crew aboard. I\u2019m expecting it to arrive at the docks late in the afternoon, and I\u2019m reliably informed that Mister Tiptree\u2019s opium is on board.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt must be a great thing to have informants like that,\u201d Adam said with a vulpine grin. His interest gleamed bright in the depths of his tawny-brown eyes. \u201cI\u2019d be delighted to see Mister Tiptree get his come-uppance. How can I help?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTiptree knows all about the French trader.\u201d Tiptree smile held a faint hint of mischief. He knocked a long coil of ash from the end of his cigar into the ashtray, then lifted his eyes to Adam\u2019s face once again. \u201cI made sure that the information reached him in good time. Without his go-between with the English, he\u2019s bound to send his own men to intercept the shipment before the duty-men get their hands on it. It would be nice to catch them red-handed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam frowned and asked a question that had been bothering him for a while, \u201cWhat did happen to Carter?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Slyly, Teasdale grinned. \u201cMister Carter won\u2019t be interrupting out operation. I had him quietly arrested the moment his feet touched the docks. I have him under close confinement some way out of town. The thing is, Adam,\u201d Teasdale pointed with the glowing stub of cigar. \u201cTiptree and his henchmen still think of you as being Carter. If Tiptree\u2019s men see you on the dockside, it might draw them out into the open. We\u2019d stand a damn good chance of grabbing them all in one operation.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSounds good,\u201d Adam said. \u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI simply need you to show your face. Let them think that you\u2019re Carter, still involved with the deal. You can safely leave the rest to us. I\u2019ve men of my own to make the arrests, and I\u2019ve enlisted the help of the city police to back us up in case any of them bolt for it and try to escape.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou make it sound easy.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo I?\u201d Teasdale chuckled. \u201cBelieve me, it won\u2019t be, but I think we can pull it off. Just promise me one more thing, Adam?\u201d Adam raised an enquiring eyebrow. \u201cTry to stay out of O\u2019Donnell\u2019s way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was cold; a bitter wind blew in off the water. And it was dark. The moon was waning; a mere, slim crescent, it hung low over the eastern shoreline of the lake and gave little light. Half-shuttered lanterns hung on the gabled fronts of two, widely spaced buildings: faint, glowing eyes that spilled a pale radiance over the nearby boards. Weak phosphorescence shone under the water where golden algae clung to the wooden pilings. Everything else was in absolute darkness, the ships and the waterside buildings were mere silhouettes, black and against the less-than-black sky. The air smelled of coal dust and sulphur and tar and oiled rope and the chill forests across the lake to the north.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At this hour of the night the docks were unpeopled; nothing moved except for the restless water and an occasional venturesome rat. The only sounds to break the stillness were the slap and suck of the waves and the creak of the mooring ropes, the distant background buzz of the city and, closer to hand, the quiet hiss of men\u2019s breath.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam hunkered down and made himself as small as he was able, fitting into the shadows behind a stack of anonymous barrels and boxes. From his place of concealment, he could see the whole width of the dock, past the three ships that bobbed at the quayside with the looming dark swell of their hulls overhanging the planking like pregnant bellies, to the heave of dark water beyond the end of the wharf. Tucked into the small space beside him were two of Teasdale\u2019s fellow agents \u2013 hard-faced, tough looking men who didn\u2019t have a great deal to say for themselves but exuded an air of ruthless efficiency that Adam envied and carried big, business-like guns under the tails of their coats.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The French trader was the last ship in the line: a two-masted sloop with squat, ugly lines and some sort of carved bird for a figurehead. The name painted in French upon her bow translated as \u2018The Spotted Crow\u2019, which, somehow, seemed appropriate. She had slipped into port in the last of the light \u2013 so late that Teasdale\u2019s dockside informant had begun to suspect a delay. She had come nosing out of the grey mists of evening and tied up at the quay amidst a frenzy of last minute activity. She had not discharged any cargo, but most of the crew had gone ashore along with several, wobbly-legged passengers clutching their hold-alls and their carpetbags and looking green around the gills. A watchman had sat on deck for a while, smoking a pipe, and then he had gone below. Now the ship lay quiet, apparently deserted, rocking a little with the lift of the waves and sawing gently on her hawsers. No lights showed on her decks, and the windows of the cabin were tightly shuttered so that no pale chink of illumination spilled out. It was an hour since anyone had gone on board.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was cold and uncomfortable and growing impatient. It wasn\u2019t this way in Little Joe\u2019s books. There, this cloak-and-dagger business was all danger and rush, even if the prose wasn\u2019t always too well constructed. There was none of this waiting about in the bitter wind. Adam knew that real life wasn\u2019t like that, but he had expected a little more action. Irrelevantly, he found himself wondering what Joe was doing right about then. He shifted himself to ease his position. The agent beside him put a hand to his arm. The gesture and the look that went with it said, \u201cBe silent. Be still.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So Adam kept still another twenty minutes, crouching in the cold, damp dark. By then, his back and his legs had started to ache. He was acutely aware of the chill and of the splinters in the rough boards under him, the cold-water smell of the lake and the steady, over-fast beat of his heart. He began to think of the comforts he might be enjoying: a good meal, a cigar, the bite of good whisky and the luxury of some sweet-smelling lady\u2019s clean bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then the agent beside him came to attention. There was no movement or change of expression \u2013 merely a tightening of awareness that transmitted itself directly to Adam. He looked where the other man looked and saw a faint movement out on the dock. Someone was finally coming. A man emerged from the deep shadows of the dockside buildings. A tall man, loosely coupled and lanky, in a loose grey shirt and dark pants held up by suspenders over his shoulders. He wore no coat, and Adam shivered in sympathy; he must have been cold. The man paused in the lamplight and fumbled a while, rolling a thin cigarette. The flare of a match lit craggy features, once sharp, now turning to fat, and a shock of shaggy black hair. The man took a long draw of smoke and looked all about him. Finding no one about, he went on down the dock, moving swiftly now, towards the French trader. He passed just a few feet from where Adam was hiding and threw down the match. He ran up the gangplank and vanished into the bowels of the ship.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s companion leaned close to his ear. \u201cThe captain\u2019s man,\u201d he said in a whisper. \u201cGuess he\u2019s bin ta see Tiptree.\u201d He eased his gun out from under his coat and thumbed back the hammer.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was activity now, up on the deck. Splinters of light danced in the darkness as closely shuttered lanterns lit someone\u2019s way. There were some thumps and some bangs and a muffled curse, and the man in suspenders reappeared. He carried a box on his shoulder that looked like it might be heavy. He hauled it down the gangplank and dumped it down on the dock. Two more men followed him: dark clad, similarly laden; one of them wore a sailor\u2019s cap. They all went back for a second load. Adam licked his dry lips. Now that things were starting to happen, he was getting nervous.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Six boxes were stacked roughly on the wharf. Three men stood beside them, smoking: one a pipe and two of them, hand-rolled cigarettes. They spoke together in low tones that carried no words. They stamped about on the dock for while, breathed out white breath and chaffed their hands. They seemed to be waiting. Then they argued a bit, and at the angry instigation of the man with no coat, they all trooped back up the gangplank and disappeared into the Frenchman\u2019s hold. Adam\u2019s friend grinned. \u201cGuess Tiptree\u2019s keepin\u2019 \u2018em waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The wait continued. Adam saw the gleam in the agent\u2019s eye. Then there was movement close beside him. A soft rustle of clothing and Teasdale appeared out of nowhere. He squeezed into Adam\u2019s space.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The big man was slightly breathless; the air steamed in front of his face. In grey suit, brocade waistcoat and watch-chain he was incongruously dressed, but without the omnipresent cigar he seemed almost naked. \u201cTiptree\u2019s been in touch with the captain\u2019s man. I guess you saw him come back?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The agent on Adam\u2019s left nodded in silent agreement.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve struck some sort of deal,\u201d Teasdale went on. \u201cI understand the captain\u2019s not very happy: he was expecting to deal with Carter. Apparently, he knows him.\u201d His teeth showed white in a grin. He peered around the barrel at the end of the stack and looked at the rough pile of boxes. \u201cLooks like the stuff\u2019s all ready for collection. Tiptree\u2019s men are in the area, heading this way. Could be any time now.\u201d For that, at least, Adam was grateful. Teasdale shot him a glance. \u201cYou ready?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m ready.\u201d Adam sucked in his breath.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

More minutes ticked by, and the waiting stretched further. Then, at a given signal that Adam failed to see, Teasdale tapped him on the shoulder. \u201cHeads up, boys. Here we go.\u201d His own gun appeared in his hand. \u201cAdam, what I want you to do is to walk from here to that white painted building: the one that juts out.\u201d He indicated the direction with his chin. \u201cKeep it casual, and let them get a good look at your face.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam straightened up in the shadows and stretched the kinks out of his back. Teasdale gave him a nod of encouragement, and Adam started the long, lonely walk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The white painted building was constructed of eight-inch wide boards nailed to a stout, wooden frame. Each whitewashed board overlapped the one underneath. It had one, single window, divided into four small squares by narrow glazing bars. The window frame was painted black or dark green \u2013 it was hard to tell which. Before he was half way there, Adam figured he knew every knothole in the planking intimately and every nail head by heart. He knew how it felt to be the bait in a trap, and the itch in his backbone was driving his mad.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sound of his breathing was harsh in his head, and he could hear the pound of his blood. He was sweating, and his heart was trying to climb into his throat to choke him. He walked with a well-measured tread: not fast but not slowly. He walked with a firm sense of purpose and resisted the urge to run.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At about halfway, he remembered what Teasdale had said. He stopped and looked about him as if taking careful stock of his surroundings. He made sure that the light from the lanterns fell on his face. It was then that the world erupted around him. Somebody shouted, and everything happened at once.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Men started running and yelling. Somebody fired a shot. The sound was flat and short and rebounded just once off the face of the buildings. A man\u2019s voice shouted urgently out of the shadows, \u201cHey, Carter, get down!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone else answered from the deck of the boat, \u201cDon\u2019t be fooled! That isn\u2019t Carter!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then Adam found himself caught in crossfire from three different directions at once. He dived and rolled, scrambled desperately for the scant cover of the bollards at the edge of the wharf.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Further down the quayside, men chased one another; Adam heard the sharp tattoo of their footsteps transmitted through the planks of the decking. Somebody fired a shot, and somebody yelped with pain. The shouts receded. Bullets whistled around Adam\u2019s head, and a ball, more accurate than most, showered splinters into his face. Hissing, he pulled out the Colt and searched for a suitable target.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It went suddenly very quiet, one of those inexplicable lulls in a gunfight when every man paused to assess his situation and reload his gun. Adam lifted his head. Men were still moving about in the shadows; none of them were coming his way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was more, sporadic gunfire and more footsteps running. Men were firing snap shots at each other, missing more than they hit. Adam decided to try for some more secure cover; here at the edge of the dock he was a sitting duck. The white wall of the painted building looked singularly inviting. Those eight-inch boards were thick. He got his hands and knees under him. Something stabbed at his side. The long, shallow groove in his side had broken open again, and his shirt was soaked in his blood. Snarling, he gathered himself and ran for the building. Someone yelled and someone else answered. In all the confusion, Adam no longer knew who was who. His one concern, at that particular moment, was to get his all too vulnerable hide out of the line of fire.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam ran hard for the side of the building. A thick cloud of gun-smoke drifted in front of him, half obscuring his view. He smelled the sharp, peppery smell of gunpowder and felt its sting in his eyes. A figure emerged from the cloud: familiar, unwelcome, effectively blocking his path. Adam slid to a halt. He recognised the short, wide stature and the ugly face of \u2018Curly\u2019 Taunton. Curly smiled at him sourly. \u201cHello, Carter. I thought I might run into you.\u201d The huge gun was clenched in his hand and pointed in Adam\u2019s direction.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam still held the Colt. He lifted it slowly. \u201cDrop the gun, Taunton. I\u2019m taking you in.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The unlovely Curly laughed in his face. \u201cI reckon that pistol whippin\u2019 done somethin\u2019 ta the inside o\u2019 your head, Carter. You\u2019ve forgotten which side you\u2019re on.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t forgotten\u2026\u201d Adam began.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam! Watch out!\u201d The voice was Teasdale\u2019s. It came from a long way away. Much to far to do Adam much good – he had to shift for himself. Without pausing to think about it, he ducked down low, twisting \u2018round as he went. A bullet whistled over his head, so close that he felt the wind of its passing part his hair. He caught sight of Jacks\u2019 burly figure off to one side; the small gun in his fist was still smoking. Before he could bring the Colt to bear, the hairless man in the leather jerkin had disappeared into the smoke and the shadows. Adam figured he might have known the two of them wouldn\u2019t be far apart.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With Jacks out of sight, Adam looked for Curly. The short, hairy man had vanished round the end of the building: the same white-boarded wall that Adam had been running for. Filled with grim determination and a dark spark of anger, Adam went after him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly hadn\u2019t gone far. His escape had been cut off by several of Teasdale\u2019s men further along the docks. Trapped, he ducked to one side, turned on Adam and fired a quick shot. The bullet went wide. Adam hit the decking and rolled, knocking the breath out of himself. The Colt came up, straight and levelled. Someone yelled. Distracted, Curly turned at exactly the instant that Adam squeezed back the trigger. The big Colt bucked in Adam\u2019s hand, and Curly went sprawling.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale arrived, all out of breath. He crouched down at Adam\u2019s side. \u201cYou all right?\u201d His face was anxious but broadened into the familiar grin at Adam\u2019s nod of assurance. Adam got to his feet, his hand clasped to the pain in his side, and both of them went after Curly Taunton.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Curly couldn\u2019t walk, but he sure could crawl. He\u2019d dragged himself some distance into the deeper shadows but there was no way he could hide. He\u2019d left a long trail of blood and slobber behind him that made him easy to find. The ball from Adam\u2019s Colt had hit him high in the leg, in the fleshy part of the buttock, carrying dirt and fragments of cloth from Curly\u2019s none-too-clean trousers deep into the ugly wound.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t usually shoot a man in the back,\u201d Adam told Teasdale, and Teasdale laughed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about it. He\u2019ll have a grand time on the surgeon\u2019s table getting that cleaned out!\u201d Teasdale grabbed Curly by the back of his greasy collar and hauled him back into the light.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By then, the firefight was over. Most of Tiptree\u2019s men had surrendered and were standing forlornly on the dock with their hands in the air and Teasdale\u2019s men in close attendance. There was nothing left to do except to hand them all over to the police.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A cigar firmly installed between clenched, white teeth, Morton Teasdale re-strapped Adam\u2019s side with tightly wound bandages. Adam gritted his teeth and hissed at the pain, but he knew that the bleeding had to be stopped. When he was done, Teasdale helped him back into his shirt, then turned to the dresser and poured out two generous measures of whiskey, finally emptying the bottle that Adam had bought on his first night in town. The two of them sat side by side on the edge of Adam\u2019s bed to drink it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale sipped and smacked his lips. \u201cO\u2019Donnell caught Jacks and most of the others not far from the docks,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ll pick up Tiptree, but he\u2019s a man who covers his tracks pretty carefully. I doubt we\u2019ll be able to make any charges stick.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam fingered his ribcage gingerly. The wound still burned but the seepage seemed to have slowed to a stop. He was grateful for the warming whisky; after the excitement of the evening\u2019s entertainment, it was doing interesting things to his insides.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d Teasdale said, exhaling smoke, \u201cthere\u2019ll be a reward for the recovery of the opium. Government agents don\u2019t qualify, so I guess that leaves you in line.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d Adam looked at him in surprise. A reward was something he hadn\u2019t considered.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale shrugged. \u201cIt\u2019s either that or let the government keep its own money. Never a good idea.\u201d Both men chuckled. \u201cBetter by miles to put it into that special account you set up for the boy\u2019s education.\u201d Teasdale added, and Adam agreed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale looked at his pocket watch. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late, and I\u2019d better be going. You need some sleep, and I\u2019ve three men in the hospital that I have to visit. Two of them took bullet wounds, and one fella fell of the dock and broke his ankle.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds like bad luck.\u201d It wasn\u2019t funny, but Adam had a job to keep the smile off his face. He thought it might be an effect of the whisky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale chuckled as well. His whisky glass empty, he stood up and reached for his hat. He took a step towards the door. \u201cOf course, it leaves me short handed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cShort handed?\u201d Adam looked up at him. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t think I was in Chicago to chase down the likes of Tiptree and his nefarious crew? They were merely an incidental. I have more important things to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Looking at him, Adam saw a glint in his eye. It was almost an invitation. There was something else that Teasdale wanted to say to him, Adam could see it written across his face; for once in his life, the big man didn\u2019t know where to begin. Adam was glad to give him the opening that he was looking for. \u201cSomething I can do to help?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale\u2019s blue eyes became deeply thoughtful as he held a considered, internal debate with himself. The moment stretched. Then Teasdale said, slowly, \u201cThere\u2019s something big going down in a couple of days or so. I could use a good man if you\u2019re willing \u2013 and if you feel up to it.\u201d He gave Adam a long slow wink \u201cYou get an allowance for powder and shot.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam met his eyes, smiling, interested, just a trace wary. He put a hand to his ribs. \u201cI shall be up to it. Just tell me what you want me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPlenty of time for that.\u201d Teasdale\u2019s grin returned, but this time the smile was warmer, less superficial. \u201cWe\u2019ll talk about it tomorrow when you\u2019ve had some sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When Teasdale had closed the door and he was alone, Adam finished the last of his whisky. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was tired but the tawny eyes that gazed back at him held amusement in their depths. Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa ranch in Nevada had never thought of himself as a government man. Mindful of the wound in his side, he undressed himself carefully and got into bed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*******<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Morton Teasdale gathered his men together in an old style coffee-house complete with waitress service and lace-edged tablecloths, and he bought them all breakfast: huge platefuls of bacon and eggs, hot, fresh bread and butter and as much strong coffee as they could get down them. He cheerfully dug Adam in the still-sore ribs with the sharp tip of his elbow \u2013 hard enough to make him wince \u2013 and confided, \u201cThere\u2019s nothing quite like and empty belly to take a man\u2019s mind off his job. Can\u2019t afford to have that happen today, can I?\u201d Chuckling at his own good humour, he perched on the edge of a table, raising himself head and shoulders above everyone else, and tapped the edge of a knife on a drinking glass to call for attention. \u201cHeads up, boys. Let\u2019s all be clear in our minds about what we\u2019re doing today.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam sat back in his chair and prepared to give his full concentration. Teasdale had explained to him earlier much of what he expected to happen, but there were a great many variations to the well rehearsed theme, and Adam wanted to know as much as possible about the job he was going to do. The murmur of conversation gradually died away, but Teasdale waited patiently until he had silence and every man\u2019s eyes were turned his way. This man was a hard-eyed stranger with a stern demeanour and eyes of blued-steel; the cheerful, blustering persona that Adam had known was nowhere in sight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale looked round at the assembled faces, studying each man in turn. \u201cAs you may or may not know,\u201d he began, dryly, \u201ctoday is the final day of the Republican Party Congress up on the hill.\u201d There was a general ripple of laughter throughout the room. Adam smiled wryly. He had heard about the Congress \u2013 it would have been difficult not to \u2013 but he had been too tied up in his own affairs to give the matter the attention it rightly deserved.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale continued, \u201cOur job is to protect the delegates, of course, but specific threats have been made against the life of one of the nominees.\u201d His hard, blue eyes went round again, shifting quickly from face to face. There was no more laughter. Every man\u2019s eyes were intent. \u201cWhatever the shade of your politics, gentlemen, we can\u2019t allow extremists to jeopardise the processes of our democracy. You\u2019ll all be given your individual assignments. I know that you can all be relied upon to carry them out.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a stern faced group of men, smartly dressed in dark suits and ties and carrying their guns carefully concealed under the skirts of their coats, who made their way up the hill to the brown-stone building affectionately known as \u2018The Meeting House\u2019. It was a massive edifice, built to impress, and it stood on a plot of land all on its own. Square in design and several storeys high, it had an elegantly carved fa\u00e7ade on every side with lots of tall, arched windows and high cornices along the roof. At the front, a flight of stone steps crossed the full width of the building and swept up to an impressive array of glass panelled doors.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale stationed his men at strategic points, and a number of his most experienced agents accompanied him inside. Adam found himself positioned across the street from some sort of service doors: plainly a place where nothing much was expected to happen, but he was content to serve in any way that he could. \u201cJust keep your eyes open and don\u2019t go to sleep,\u201d Teasdale told him. Adam wondered what he should watch for. Teasdale told him, \u201cTrust your instincts. They\u2019ll tell you soon enough when to start paying attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Summer had come at last to the city streets of Chicago. The nights were still cold, as Adam had discovered, but the days were pleasantly warm. Pale, yellow sunshine cast dark shadows and bright, golden highlights and gave the dour old industrial town a certain transient magic all of its own. It was a short season in this northern state, and, eager to make the most of it, the people responded with vigour. Gone were the ruffs and the scarves and the gloves and the heavy, dark overcoats. The men cut striking figures in handsome dress suits and fancy waistcoats, sporting top hats and spats and carrying silver-topped canes. The women wore gorgeous dresses in every conceivable colour. Cut in close imitation of the latest Parisian styles they had low, ruffled necklines that caught Adam\u2019s eye and full gathered sleeves and neat little bustles behind. All the ladies shaded their pale skins with parasols, and each of them carried a fan.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spent a pleasant hour, watching them go back and forth. Then, as morning grew towards afternoon, the street became quieter. Only the gentlemen delegates entered The Meeting House where three nominees were fighting it out for the presidential nomination. The ladies departed like a flock of bright birds, heading en-masse for the teahouses and hotel parlours and dress-shop salons. He yawned and stretched and flexed his broad shoulders. The sun had gone around so that his warm, sunlit corner had become shadowed and decidedly cool.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Across the street, the service doors had been busy with lots of comings and goings. Horses and wagons had called at frequent intervals, delivering this and that, food and drink and other consumables and, once, a huge pile of laundry. Then that source of interest too died away. Leaning, with arms folded across his chest, and his hat pulled over his eyes, Adam became almost sleepy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The service doors opened one more time. Someone was moving about in the darkness inside. Adam stifled another yawn. His attention drifted and then snapped back – hard. What was it Teasdale had said? Stay alert? Trust your instincts? Adam\u2019s instincts were suddenly jumping. He unfolded his arms and straightened up. Something peculiar was going on. Adam didn\u2019t know what it was, but he knew that he didn\u2019t like it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Someone shouted, away down the street. Someone was running; Adam could hear their footsteps. He stuck out his head to find out what was going on but didn\u2019t see anything amiss, only people walking and horses waiting\u2026 There was movement in the darkened doorway opposite. Two men came out. They wore white jackets and black pants and shiny, black shoes. Both of them carried guns.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Without realising that he had drawn it from his holster, Adam found his Colt in his hand. He thumbed back the hammer. The two men studied the street, both of looking each way.\u00a0 Adam, in the shadowy corner, went unnoticed. A third man emerged behind the first two, walking out backwards, a gun in his hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around the corner, on the steps at the front of the building, there was more shouting. Someone fired a shot. Adam\u2019s three, white-coated gunmen started running that way. Adam went with them, tracking them on the other side of the road. At the end of the street, men were shouting and running about in a state of high excitement. Adam could see Teasdale, bareheaded, holding his gun, standing in the middle of the road. The front of his coat flew open as he waved his arms and directed operations. The pale sunlight struck down on his thinning hair, lightening it to gold.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The white-coated gunmen increased their pace; Adam ran with them, not knowing, or caring, if he was heard. One of the gunmen paused in his running and pointed his pistol at Teasdale. Teasdale\u2019s back made a very broad target, hard to miss. Adam yelled at the top of his voice. \u201cMort! Behind you!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale turned. The gunman fired. Teasdale\u2019s gun went off in his hand. Both men dropped like stones. The two remaining white-coats parted, going different ways. One of them came right at Adam.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam skidded to a stop. The impression he got was of broad shoulders inside the white jacket, a snarling face with a bristling black beard, an ugly gun barrel rising. Adam brought up the Colt and shot the man full in the chest. The big gun bucked, and Adam smelled fire and freshly burned gunpowder and the sharply metallic smell of hot blood. Blood bloomed bright on the front of the white jacket. A look of surprise came suddenly to the dead man\u2019s face as his blood splattered and sprayed: more blood by far than could ever have been imagined. His eyes were still open, staring at Adam, as he dropped to his knees in the steadily spreading pool. His gun fell out of his hand. Adam didn\u2019t stay to watch him fall on his face. He was off and running, chasing the escaping man.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He saw the fleeing figure vanish around the back of the building, running hard. Adam went after him, carrying in gun in his hand. He went round the corner as fast as he could, coat tails flying behind him. He found himself in a street busy with midday traffic. The roadway was filled with horses and coaches and handsome cabs, and the sidewalks were crammed with people. All Adam could see in front of him was Teasdale\u2019s stricken face.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The white-coated figure was off in the distance, ducking in and out of the people. Adam wasn\u2019t about to let him escape. He couldn\u2019t get a clear shot; there were too many people and too many horses, and the man was simply too far away. Adam went after him. Ladies squealed with pretended alarm, and men shouted angrily as they snatched their women folk out of his way. He danced and dodged in amongst the snorting horses and avoided the carriage wheels.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The fugitive figure darted \u2018round a corner into one quieter side street and then another. Adam\u2019s boots pounded hard on the pavements as he gave chase. This street was almost deserted. The white-coated man was nowhere in sight. His chest heaving, Adam slowed down to a walk. His quick eyes scanned the faces of the brown stone buildings that fronted the roadway on either side. They were fine, town houses, grandly appointed, with three stories above ground and one below. The wells of the basement windows were surrounded by black painted railings with gilded spikes on the top. The windows in the houses watched him. The doors were all firmly closed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A carriage with two fine, dappled grey horses in black leather harness waited at the side of the road. Further along, two heavily corseted matrons hurried into one of the houses, alarmed by the sight of the naked gun and by the angry determination etched deep into the face of the man who held it. A man, a gentleman in top hat and tails, thought to approach him but then withdrew, made cautious by the latent, predatory fury that emanated from Adam\u2019s every move. It was the right thing to do. Discretion, in this case, was deservedly the better part of valour. Adam was in no mood to be thwarted. Now, he was alone; the street was deserted: the people melted away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s breath hissed. The grey horses fidgeted and tossed their heads as he passed, wary of the sharp smell of man-sweat. Adam ignored them. He prowled the street on soundless feet, his golden eyes searching.\u00a0 He couldn\u2019t remember ever being so angry before, almost out of control. The blood murmured with rage in his veins and sang melodies of sweet retribution inside his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben Cartwright\u2019s voice whispered words of wisdom in the back of his mind. \u201cAre you sure this is the right thing to do, son?\u201d And that of Roy Coffee, long-time sheriff of Virginia City, friend and staunch upholder of justice, \u201cLet the law take care of it, Adam. You know that I\u2019m right.\u201d And preacher Johnston in a Sunday morning sermon with bright sunshine spilling in through the stained glass window that the town had bought for the church, \u201cVengeance is mine\u2026 Sayeth the Lord!\u201d** Adam didn\u2019t want to hear it. He closed the clamour out of his head. The white-coated trio had cost him one very good friend, and Adam was hard-set on revenge.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He needed to concentrate. The voices of his father, the sheriff, the preacher all faded away. It was the silent spectre of Abediah Harbinger that stalked at his elbow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was a flash of white that gave the man away. Fleeing from Adam\u2019s righteous fury and unable to run any more, he had taken refuge between two of the houses and hidden himself in a dead end alley. He hadn\u2019t taken the trouble to shed the white coat, and it was that which gave him away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam spun \u2018round in an instant, the Colt at the ready, dropping into a gunman\u2019s crouch. The white-coated man threw up his hands in surrender. \u201cDon\u2019t shoot me, Mister! Don\u2019t shoot!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Somewhere along the way, he\u2019d lost his gun, or thrown it away. It lay at the mouth of the alley, close beside Adam\u2019s feet. Adam kicked it towards him. \u201cPick it up, you bastard!\u201d he snarled through clenched teeth. \u201cI\u2019ll give you a fair chance to use it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The man trembled; Adam could see his limbs shake. He was tall and thin and the white coat fitted him badly, as if it belonged to a much bigger man. His pale face was made oval by his receding hair, and sweat beaded on his loose, upper lip. It shone in the post-noon sunshine like dew on a summer morning. His eyes were filled up with fear. He shied away from the gun as if he feared it might bite him. \u201cYou gotta believe me! I was followin\u2019 orders! Your friend just got in the way!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let the air sigh out of him and hauled in another, long breath. He wasn\u2019t prepared to let go of his anger just yet. \u201cThat wasn\u2019t the way I saw it. Now, pick up the gun!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo! I ain\u2019t gonna do it!\u201d The white-coated man cringed back into the garbage that littered the back of the alley even here, in the better part of the town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam held the Colt steady and level, pointed at the other man\u2019s head. \u201cGive me one good reason why I shouldn\u2019t blow your brains out here and now.\u201d To his own ears, his voice sounded like that of a stranger, harsh and relentless \u2013 ruthless in its intensity. His finger tightened on the trigger. The man saw death in his eyes. He held out his hands in front of him. He begged; he pleaded. He fell to his knees.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam observed him dispassionately. He had no doubt at all that he could get away with the killing if that was what he wanted to do. He thought about it. Was that the road he wanted to take? A road that would bring him, at the end, to the same fate that had awaited Harbinger: death in a sunlit street at the hands of someone younger and faster. Angry as he was, he wanted revenge but not cold blooded murder; that wasn\u2019t the sort of man that he had grown up to be. The tension eased out of him, and he lowered his gun. \u201cIf my friend\u2019s dead,\u201d he said with a hiss, \u201cI\u2019m going to enjoy watching you hang.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sound of running feet came from the street. Four or five men rushed \u2018round the corner. Teasdale\u2019s men. Behind them, only slightly more slowly, came Teasdale himself. The big man\u2019s face was parchment-white and sweating, and he was considerably out of breath. His arm was hanging limply from the shoulder, and the sleeve of his coat was soaked with his blood. Adam was very pleased to see him.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The agents were given coffee in The Meeting House, in one of its many reception rooms: an elegant gallery with afternoon sunlight slanting in through the row of long windows that ranged all along one side. Adam found himself one hero among many. All the conspirators had been captured or killed, and every man on the team had a story of his own to tell. An intense murmur of conversation went back and forth together with the laughter of relieved tension. Now that the operation was over, the men were relaxing, and Adam began to make new friends. Taciturn and reserved by nature and inclination, the government men started to accept him as one of their own.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With his arm heavily bandaged and supported in a sling, Morton Teasdale came into the room. He was accompanied by another man of singular appearance and the most commanding presence of anyone that Adam had ever known. Conversation died away as all eyes turned in the two men\u2019s direction. The men moved very slowly through the room, from one small group to another. Teasdale introduced each man in turn, and the newcomer made a point of shaking hands and making brief conversation with every man that he met.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He was a tall man: taller than Adam, taller than Hoss, taller than any other man that Adam had seen. He was broad in the shoulders, but his remarkable height made him look gaunt, emaciated. Dressed in a rusty-black dress suit with an old fashioned, long-tailed coat, he had long, loose-jointed legs, long arms and the most enormous hands.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As he came closer, Adam got a proper look at his face. It was quite unforgettable: all flat planes and angles, it had a razor thin nose, a wide, straight-lipped mouth and a thrusting jut of a chin. His hair was black, lank and looked oily, and he had bristling side-whiskers and huge, protruding ears.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was the last man in line. \u201cAnd this is Adam Cartwright,\u201d Teasdale said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam put out his hand and found it engulfed in a powerful, dry handshake.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMister Cartwright,\u201d the stranger intoned in a deep, sonorous voice. \u201cMister Teasdale has told me of the part you played in foiling the attempt on my life and securing my deliverance, and I would like to thank you personally for what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam gaped at him, transfixed, lost in the depths of the dark brown eyes that saw right through to his soul. He drowned in the man\u2019s overwhelming charisma. He made some response \u2013 he never could remember quite what \u2013 and the talk went back and forth for a bit. Afterwards, he could only hope that he had come across as halfway intelligent.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then, the tall man was gone; he walked away from Adam and, in one sense at least, entirely out of his life. Adam gazed after him for a very long time. He felt a deep sense of loss.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Looking at Teasdale, he finally found his voice, \u201cWho in hell was that?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With his good arm, Teasdale slapped him hard on the shoulder and laughed. \u201cThat, my dear Adam, was Mister Abraham Lincoln, the next president of these United States.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam bought a bottle of bourbon and carried it back to the table where Morton Teasdale sat and trimmed a cigar. In the last several days, he had become quite dextrous at doing the job one-handed. The two friends had returned to \u2018The Duke\u2019s\u2019, the corner drinking house not far from Adam\u2019s hotel where Adam had first encountered Curly and Jacks, and Teasdale had come to his rescue. Adam sat down with his back against the wall and poured out two, generous drinks. \u201cNow that you\u2019ve finished here, what do you plan to do next?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale scraped a match and applied it to the cigar, puffing out clouds of smoke while he gave the matter due consideration. \u201cI think,\u201d he said thoughtfully, waving away the flame, \u201cI shall do some more travelling. I have some furlough due to me and the inclination to take it somewhere warmer. Perhaps I shall go back to the South American jungles and take another look at those native temples. Would you like to come with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was sorely tempted. Very reluctantly he shook his head. \u201cI have some unfinished business.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale smiled gently and gave a one-shouldered shrug. \u201cPerhaps another time, then. When my arm\u2019s healed up, I guess I\u2019ll go back to Washington for reassignment. You know what they say about government men.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do they say?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale made an elaborate, one handed gesture with the cigar that left curlicues of smoke drifting in the air. \u201cThe say that once you\u2019re a government man, you\u2019re always a government man.\u201d He looked at Adam quizzically. \u201cThat\u2019s something you\u2019ll have to remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d Adam raised an eyebrow over the edge of his glass. \u201cSurely what I did doesn\u2019t constitute working for the government?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d be surprised.\u201d Teasdale chuckled. \u201cSomewhere, there\u2019s a minor bureaucrat writing your name in a book. One of these days you just might get a letter.\u201d The absolute horror on Adam\u2019s face made him laugh out loud. \u201cIn the mean time, what will you do with yourself? Where will you go from here?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam frowned and shifted uncomfortably.\u00a0 He poured himself another big drink and sat, turning the glass \u2018round and \u2018round in his fingers. \u201cI don\u2019t really know,\u201d he admitted. It was a problem that had bothered him for a while. \u201cThe trail I was following has gone completely cold. I\u2019m no closer to finding out who it was that hired Abediah Harbinger than I was the day I arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Teasdale balanced his cigar carefully on the edge of the table and reached inside his coat. \u201cIt\u2019s just possible that I can help you there.\u201d He pulled out a single, folded sheet of paper and opened it up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stared at him, astounded. \u201cHow can you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou forget who it is that I work for. Government service does have some advantages. I have sources of information that the ordinary citizen simply doesn\u2019t have access to.\u201d Teasdale consulted the paper. \u201cAre you acquainted with someone called F. J. Hillier?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie?\u201d Adam simply stared at him, aghast. There was no way on Earth that he could believe what he was hearing. \u201cFreddie wouldn\u2019t do that to me! We\u2019ve been friends for more years that I can remember! Hell, we were in business together!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Silently, Teasdale handed over the paper and let Adam see for himself: the single name, neatly hand-inscribed in the centre of the sheet. Adam read it over and over until his eyes started to blur. This was official, government information; the impressive, departmental heading printed in bold lettering across the top of the paper left him in no doubt about that. Watching his reactions closely, Teasdale refilled his own glass. \u201cThe instructions went through several intermediaries, which is why you found it impossible to track the man the man down. Why don\u2019t you tell me about this business you were in together? Perhaps the answer to your mystery lies there?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam put the paper down on the table, the fingers of his left hand still resting on it as if he were afraid that it might disappear.\u00a0 He couldn\u2019t take his eyes off that name. With his right hand, he picked up his glass. \u201cFreddie Hillier and I were partners in a mining operation, back in the early days, before the big strikes on the Comstock Lode.\u201d He took a long swallow of whisky and felt it burn its way down. It was just what he needed. His fingers were numb, and there was a buzzing somewhere inside his head. \u201cWe took a fair amount of silver out of that hole, but it was only a pocket. The mine played out in a year. Freddie built a house with his share of the profits, not far from Carson City. He still lives there with his wife. I bought a packet of virgin land up in Oregon with mine. I thought I might start a place of my own one day \u2013 if I ever get to leave home.\u201d He smiled ruefully and Teasdale chuckled.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIs it possible that your mine\u2019s started paying again? You must have a contract that leaves your shares to each other if one of you dies. That\u2019s the usual thing. Perhaps that\u2019s why Hillier wanted you out of the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot Freddie,\u201d Adam said with firm conviction. \u201cWe\u2019ve not seen each other in a good long while, but Freddie wouldn\u2019t do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPeople change,\u201d Teasdale suggested gently. He was still watching Adam\u2019s face, carefully assessing the reaction of the man he knew as a friend.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam heaved a sigh and shook his head, clearing it of the confusion and disbelief that was clouding his thinking. There was only one thing that he could do. He tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. \u201cThe only way to find out is to ask him. It looks like I\u2019m going home to Nevada.\u201d He filled up their glasses, and the two men toasted each other.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nine<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Summer lingered in the Washoe Valley. The sky was a dusty blue, and the sunlight was golden. It hadn\u2019t rained for a very long time. The sparse grasslands and the brush-covered hills were burned crisp and brown. Only the late, summer-yellows of the cottonwood trees and the deep, rich green of an occasional stand of live oaks added colour to an otherwise seared and withered landscape. The stagecoach rocked and rattled over dry, rutted roads, throwing up a huge plume of dust behind it and splashed without slowing through rivers that ran low in their beds. Water sprayed out from the wheels in bright, silver curtains that left transient rainbows to hang in the air, memories of passing that gradually faded away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For Adam Cartwright, the bone-jarring discomfort of the bouncing stage, the dazzle of the over-bright sunshine and the clear-cut, mind-numbing distances, the fine white dust that stuck to the sweat on his skin, the rumble of iron shod wheels and the strong, sharp smell of sweating horses were all a part of coming home. He hadn\u2019t realized how much he had missed them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The frontier metropolis of Carson City, destined before very much longer to become the territorial capital of Nevada, sweated and stank beneath a shimmering miasma of its own creation. The dirt and the stench and the unbelievable noise at the height of its vibrant prosperity combined together to produce an atmosphere of barely organised chaos that was individual and unique. The silver boom on the Comstock Lode was still running full-flood, and the town was telling the world all about it at the top of its collective voice.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The stage rolled into Main Street at about mid-morning, running half an hour ahead of time. Still travelling at considerable speed, it vied for road-space with the endless convoys of mule-drawn ore wagons, ox carts, wagons-and-horses, buckboards and buggies and a small herd of cows. It delivered its passengers, Adam and four other equally dishevelled, dirt-covered men, to the depot in the centre of town.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stepped down from the coach, and the heat and the smell struck him full in the face – at the same time shocking and familiar. He pushed his hat to the back of his head, and squinted hard against the glare of bright sunshine that bounced up from the pale dirt of the street. The city was crowded, not only with the traffic that thronged in the roadway but with a heaving, seething mass of sweating humanity. Men, women and children packed the sidewalks and filled the buildings and dodged in and out of the traffic as they tried to cross the street. They talked and shouted and bellowed and yelled; the children screamed, and yellow dogs barked, and somewhere, someone was singing. A salvation band played on the street corner; the mission bell rang, and a dozen saloons belched bawdy music. Already, as he breathed in the air, Adam\u2019s blood ran faster as he picked up the pace.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam left his baggage at the stage line office, and he hired a horse. Before midday, he had left the town limits behind him and was following the road north and west towards the swell of the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As he rode, keeping an even pace, he reviewed everything he could remember about Freddie Hillier.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men had met some ten years before; Adam had been a young engineer, just qualified and fresh out of college, newly returned to the west. He\u2019d had fire in his blood and fire in his eyes and fire burning hot in his belly. He\u2019d been arrogant and big headed and at odds with his father, impatient with tried and tested methods and full of himself and his big ideas. A grim smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered; in those far-off days, he\u2019d thought that he could remake the world simply by spitting on it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And then, quite by chance, on one hot and dusty Saturday afternoon with the wind blowing hard out of the desert and driving a man to take shelter, he had encountered Freddie. Freddie, in those days, had been a young man cut from a very similar cloth to Adam: ambitious, hopeful, a little less introverted, perhaps; he was of much the same age but of a very different background. He was the son of a preacher man, a real, old-fashioned bible thumper who\u2019d spout hellfire and brimstone at the drop of a hat and eternal damnation at every turn of the page. Freddie had been packed off to a seminary school where he\u2019d learned to read and to write and to figure, and where he\u2019d also learned that the one thing that he didn\u2019t want to do with his life was to follow his father into the cloth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s lips jerked with amusement as he remembered that evening. He\u2019d offered sympathy born of personal experience. Freddie had bemoaned his fate. The two, young men sat long into the night and watched dust clouds roll over the moon. They\u2019d shared several bottles of cheap, rot gut whisky and swapped tales of the many injustices visited by fathers upon their sons. By the time the sun hauled itself over the hill they had both felt better; they were both very drunk, and they were the very best of friends.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie Hillier had proved the perfect foil for the young Adam Cartwright. They\u2019d kicked around together, on and off, for a couple of years. They\u2019d drunk and caroused and whored together and sown their wild oats. By the time they were done they had smoothed away each other\u2019s jagged edges, and two rough-diamonds had become perfectly polished stones.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The house that Freddie had built stood a long way back, out of sight of the road. It occupied one end of a gently sloping meadow filled with wild flowers that were still in bloom despite the late date. It was backed by a stand of beech trees, turning to purple and gold. The trees had grown a great deal since Adam had seen them last; they were taller and wider and pressed closer to the walls of the building. The house itself was the same. It stood two storeys tall with high, pointed gables over the upper windows and a steeply slanted roof. Still the colours of the natural wood, it merged into the backdrop of trees and hills and, beyond it, in the distance, the misty peaks of the mountains. There was no barn or sprawl of corrals; Freddie wasn\u2019t a farmer or a ranching man. There was a coach-house and stables built to one side of the house and a neatly planted flower garden around the front porch.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The peace and the prettiness of the Hillier\u2019s retreat did nothing to soothe Adam\u2019s soul. He tied the horse to the hitching rail and strode up the path between the roses to the porch steps and the handsomely wide front door. It was Freddie\u2019s wife who opened the door to his knock. Somehow, with his preoccupation with tackling Freddie, Adam hadn\u2019t been expecting that. He took off his hat and feasted his eyes on her. \u201cHello, Phil,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He found that his memory had betrayed him. He had forgotten how utterly lovely she was. She was a truly beautiful woman: a little older, perhaps, than when they\u2019d met, a little tight around the mouth, perhaps, but a beautiful woman nonetheless.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She was dressed in a gown of deep, emerald-green with a lavish froth of white lace trimmings about her wrists and neckline. She was tall and slender with a tiny waist and proud, high breasts that Adam had always admired. They strained against the rich, brocade fabric. Her hair was as dark as a moonless midnight with no trace of grey; it swept up and back into an elaborate coil that was held with an emerald-headed pin. She had deep, dark eyes and a pale, pink-satin skin and lips the colour of roses. The lips parted now and trembled at the sight of him. Something, some shadow, some phantom from the past shifted in the bottomless wells of her eyes; it came and went even before the surprise. \u201cAdam,\u201d she breathed his name. He saw her chest rise in a sigh. She put a pale, beringed hand to her hair, unconsciously patting. \u201cAdam, I \u2013 I never expected to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s good to see you,\u201d he all but whispered. \u201cI\u2019d almost forgotten how lovely you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She flushed, just a little, but her dark eyes didn\u2019t waver; they stayed fixed on his face, drinking him in. One hand held to the doorframe as if steadying her against swaying. She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and then the ghost of a smile brushed her lips. \u201cYou can\u2019t stand there on the porch all afternoon. You\u2019d better come inside.\u201d She stepped back, leaving the door open, and Adam followed her in.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the traditional western manner, the front door opened directly into the parlour. The room, the whole house, in fact, was a reflection of the woman\u2019s personality: the woman who brought strange and not altogether comfortable memories flooding to the forefront of Adam\u2019s mind. It was a bright and airy room with afternoon sunlight flooding in through the windows. It had shadowy nooks and secretive crannies and secluded, comfortable corners. There was well-stuffed furniture with gold tasselled cushions and curtains to match, polished brassware and lots of shiny, dark wood. The colours were warm pinks and cool greens, bright gold and white with touches of hot, fiery red and sombre, dark brown. Adam drew breath, and the air was fragrant with roses and the well-remembered essence of the woman\u2019s perfume. It went straight to his head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman turned to face him, still pink in the face, but composed. She spread her hands. \u201cAdam, you\u2019re the very last person I expected to find on my doorstep.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam stood just inside the door and fiddled with the brim of his hat. He had forgotten \u2013 almost forgotten \u2013 the effect that she had on him. His fingers tingled and a serpent coiled tight in his belly. She made him feel like a boy again, awkward and gangling, but also, he felt like a man; his blood sang sweet songs of conquest, and his mouth became dry. \u201cIt\u2019s been a long time, Phil. You look well.\u201d His voice sounded hollow and hoarse. He sucked in air through his teeth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Again that shadowy something, a ghost of fear, of anger \u2013 of hate passed swiftly over her lovely face. She lifted her chin with a hint of defiance. He had always admired her fire. \u201cIt\u2019s been a long time, all right, Adam. It\u2019s been four years since I\u2019ve seen you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had the grace to look abashed, but he refused to feel guilty. \u201cYou know how it is. Life moves on; people grow older. People change, and people grow apart.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s hands clenched in the skirts of her dress as if she felt pain and was determined not to show it. She moistened her lip with the tip of her tongue. He saw emotion flow on her face, shock, surprise \u2013 something darker and deeper. Then a mask of composure slipped into place. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to explain.\u201d The lovely face smiled, and fresh sunlight shone in the room. \u201cIt is good to see you. I\u2019ve fresh coffee if you would like some.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam still stood by the door, hat in hand, awkward and embarrassed. \u201cNo Coffee, Phil, thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen why have you come here after all this time?\u201d The question was brutal, brutally put.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He answered honestly, wishing it were otherwise. \u201cI came to see Freddie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie.\u201d The smile became brittle, the voice slightly shrill. \u201cFreddie isn\u2019t here, Adam. Couldn\u2019t you guess?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s not at his office in town. I stopped by there and asked.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what did they tell you?\u201d The demand was harsh and unreasonable. Adam didn\u2019t know how to answer. She saved him the bother. \u201cI know, they told you he was working from home. That\u2019s what they always say. Do you want the truth? Sometimes he does that, but not very often. He comes here to eat and to sleep. He acts like a stranger, but that\u2019s only to be expected, isn\u2019t it?\u201d She gestured helplessly. \u201cBut you don\u2019t want to know about that, do you? Why should you? After all these years you just step back into my life and ask for Freddie.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam met her eyes evenly. \u201cPhil, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She shrugged and laughed – a harsh, savage sound. Patterns of light and shade played over her face as feelings chased one after the other. \u201cWhy should you be sorry? You don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like.\u201d She turned away from him then and moved across the room to the window. She stood with her back to him, her head held high as she looked out at the meadow and the late-summer woodlands beyond. She wrapped her arms tight around her body as if she were cold, and Adam thought that he saw her shiver. Silhouetted against that soft golden light, she was remote, unreachable and infinitely lonely. Adam wanted to go to her, to touch her, to put his arms\u00a0 \u2018round her and hold her close, and once, indeed, that\u2019s what he might have done. But now she was Freddie\u2019s wife. He stood where he was, firmly rooted to the spot.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He asked, \u201cIs Freddie ill?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNot in the sense that you mean. The doctors have given him a clean bill of health.\u201d She still had her back to him. He couldn\u2019t see her face. He heard the flat tone of her voice. \u201cIt isn\u2019t your fault, Adam. I guess you had your own life to lead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He had no answer to that. The woman turned \u2018round to look at him; with her back to the light, her face was in shadow. He saw the pain in her eyes and wished he could do something to take it away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie\u2019s my friend, Phil,\u201d he said gently, \u201cYou\u2019re my friend. If there\u2019s anything that I can do\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie\u2019s not here.\u201d Her voice sounded weary, infinitely tired. \u201cFreddie\u2019s gone up to the mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe mine?\u201d Adam reacted with surprise and alarm. \u201cWhy on earth would he go there? There\u2019s nothing there any more. It\u2019s just an empty scrape in the hillside.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now, the bitterness rang clear in the woman\u2019s strong voice. \u201cHe spends a great deal of time there, these days. Perhaps he hopes to rediscover something he lost!\u201d That wasn\u2019t fair, and both of them knew it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shoulders hunched against the onslaught of pain, Adam looked at the floor. There wasn\u2019t a great deal more to be said. Certainly there were no words of comfort that he could offer; no words at all that would change the past. He left her there standing with her back to the light and her face in the shadow, her eyes unseen. As he walked away he heard the ring of laughter fresh in his ears. Not today’s laughter, harsh, bitter and reproachful, but rather the laughter of the past, echoing down through the years, happy and carefree, laughter that rang to the rafters, Phil\u2019s and Freddie\u2019s and Adam Cartwright\u2019s.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just once, from the edge of the meadow, before the trees closed in around him and blocked off the view, Adam looked back at the house. The front door was closed, and no face showed at the window. If the woman watched him depart, she watched from the shadows, out of his sight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He turned his horse\u2019s head and rode westward, climbing into the hills. As always, he left a small part of his heart behind him. Phil was a beautiful woman and a lovely lady to boot. She would always hold a special place in his affections. At one time in his life, Adam had thought that she was the woman designed in heaven especially for him. They\u2019d done all the usual things together. He\u2019d wined her and dined her and escorted her to dances and took her for long, moonlit drives by the lake. He was sure that certain, interested parties had been making plans for a wedding, but he and Phil had never spoken of marriage.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Their passion had burned hot for almost a year, but then it had cooled and faded, and they had drifted apart. Although love, of a kind, still lingered, Adam had found other interests and other women, and eventually, Phil had married Freddie. Adam had been best man at their wedding. It seemed to be his fate in life. It had occurred to him then, and many times since, that he just wasn\u2019t a marrying man.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie and Phil had been the perfect couple, and, at first, Adam had joined them on special occasions to make it a threesome. But then he had become deeply involved with his family\u2019s business and hadn\u2019t had all the free time that he\u2019d like, and Carson City was a long, long ride from the Ponderosa. The courses of their lives had diverged. The couple had continued quite happily, or so it had seemed, until the day of Freddie\u2019s accident, and then, of necessity, their relationship had altered drastically.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Angling sharply across the hillside, Adam took a well-remembered shortcut through the woodlands. He put the hired horse to the steeper slopes, and, feeling the animal\u2019s muscles surge under him, he found he enjoyed being back in the saddle. The sunshine was warm on his face, and the woods were quiet. He emerged, at last, onto the old road that wound its way upwards at a much gentler angle: the road that he had graded and levelled himself. It was overgrown and eroded and, in places, entirely washed away by the violent storms that blasted out of the mountains and swept all before them. He wasn\u2019t surprised. Allowing the horse to pick its own way, Adam remembered landmarks.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was the white, rounded rock that sat in the bend of the road, looking for all the world like the top of a dead-man\u2019s skull sticking up out of the earth; there was the steep sided gully where a wagon and a six-mule team had tumbled over the edge \u2013 the man had only just scrambled clear. And there were the three white-barked birch trees that had given the mine its name. Of the skeletal oak that had once stood at the sharp dogleg at the head of the trail, there was no sign at all.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam drew rein and looked down at the signpost. A half-board of wood, it jutted out of the ground like some ancient and half-rotted tombstone. The legend it bore was almost weathered away, but Adam knew what it said by heart: \u2018The Three Sister\u2019s Mine\u2019, Proprietors: Frederick John Hillier and Adam Cartwright.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When Freddie Hillier had first bought the claim from a sick and elderly prospector on his way home to die peacefully in the arms of his family, he\u2019d looked around for a partner. His old friend, Adam, with his expertise and ever-growing experience as an engineer, had been the obvious selection. For nearly a year they\u2019d taken silver out of that hillside: high-grade ore. But it had only been a small deposit and quickly played out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By that first day in spring, when the accident happened, Adam and Freddie had already decided to close the seam down. Freddie had been in the mine with two other men when a part of the roof fell in. As mining disasters went, it was no great catastrophe. No one had died. By the time Adam got there from fifty miles away, it was all over. The only lasting legacy of that afternoon was that Freddie could no longer father children. Adam\u2019s gaze drifted away from the sign and followed the curve of the old, rutted road up towards the mine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Time and the weather had reduced the mine buildings to a sorry collection of jumbled, shattered timbers, slowly disintegrating into the landscape from which they had come. Only the walls of one shack were still standing; it had no roof, and the door was missing. The single window had long ago smashed, and the opening gaped like a mouth in a prolonged scream of soundless agony. It was the shanty that Adam had once used as an office. Looking about him, he half expected the wind to moan mournfully through the ruins; it would have been appropriate, he felt, but all was still and silent in the golden, afternoon sunshine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A horse stood tethered outside the broken shack: a sturdy bay with two white tufts on his heels. Adam rode up alongside and stepped out of the saddle, tying his horse to a shattered stump of timber.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hillside, on that late afternoon, was peaceful with the bright sunlight slanting down from the west. The inky-dark shadows were creeping. The surrounding trees, taller now than Adam remembered, loomed. He resisted the urge to yell for Freddie. To break that brooding stillness with a human shout would surely be sacrilege. Here, in this abandoned and forgotten place, lay buried two young men\u2019s dreams for an early fortune and one man\u2019s promise in life.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam turned slowly, looking about him. Nothing moved in the woods or the crumbled buildings. If it wasn\u2019t for the horses, the place might have been unvisited for years. It was as if it were listening, holding its breath, a stage waiting for the last act of a long running drama to unfold. The players were present and the curtain about to go up. The gravely soil crunched loudly under his heel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He tugged undone the string tie at his throat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. His skin was damp with perspiration, and his belly felt tight. There was only one place that Freddie could be. He sucked a deep breath and started uphill to the mineshaft, walking with long, uncompromising strides. There was no silver left in this hillside, of that he was certain; The Three Sister\u2019s Mine was, as Adam himself had said, an empty hole in the ground. His half share in the claim was worthless. There was no reason that he could think of that Freddie would want him dead. He was a man with a lot of questions to ask, and he was grimly determined that soon, he would have answers.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nevertheless, it was with some apprehension that he hesitated in the mouth of the mine. He reached out his hand to touch the exposed, grey stone. Out of the direct rays of the sun, the rough surface was cold beneath his palm: cold with the bone-deep chill of the earth. The hillside breathed its cool, dark breath full in his face, dank and musty; it smelled of age and dust and long abandonment.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Coming out of bright sunlight, he could see nothing inside the cave. The tunnel, of Adam\u2019s own, ambitious design, was high enough for a tall man to stand upright, and, if he stretched his arms out wide, he could just brush the walls with his fingertips. Adam had rejected utterly the damp, dark warrens beneath the earth where men worked and died bent double, and had insisted on the broad dimensions for the comfort and safety of the miners despite the expense. The twin iron rails that had been laid for the ore wagons had been torn up and carted away the same day that the mine closed down; the metal was valuable and had been pressed into service elsewhere. Now, it was hard to see where they had been. The floor, roughly levelled, was littered with dirt and stones and bits of broken timber and, here and there, some picked-clean animal bones. The light from outside didn\u2019t penetrate very far. The tunnel ploughed straight into the hillside and was filled with an impenetrable darkness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam reached for the oil lamp that had always hung just inside the entrance and found it was missing. The wooden peg where it hung, wedged into a crack in the wall, was empty, and, for a second, Adam was confused. But, of course, Freddie had the lantern; Freddie would have used it to light his way. Adam took a long step into the gloom. \u201cFreddie?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His voice didn\u2019t echo. It fell flat on walls of cold stone and was absorbed by the listening darkness. There was no answer. A sift of fine dust drifted down from the ceiling. Adam looked up with some anxiety. Carved through the solid rock, the first part of the passage had required little shoring. Adam had put in stout posts here and there, wherever he had been the least bit suspicious of walls or ceiling. He wasn\u2019t the sort to take chances with other men\u2019s lives.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, he began to see grey images in the unremitting gloom, familiar shapes in the rocky outcroppings, rocks he remembered from long ago. Further along, a lot more woodwork had been required, and most of it was still in place, although Adam could see places where posts had been taken away, over the course of the years, for use in other workings elsewhere. In other spots timbers were split and twisted, timbers that would need urgent replacement if this were still a working mine. The walls themselves were mostly intact and, on the whole, very little loose stone had fallen down from the ceiling. It was in the main chamber, far underground, that the fateful roof-fall had happened.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stepped very carefully as the darkness closed in about him. After all this time, he was uncertain of the tunnel\u2019s integrity. Feeling his way, he stubbed his toe and stumbled against the remains of an ancient, pine sleeper, still sound and unrotted in the dry, dusty atmosphere. Far off down the passage, as if in response, something tumbled: the metallic tinkling sound of stone falling on stone. Adam froze, his heart in his mouth, but the small noise wasn\u2019t repeated.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The tunnel climbed, just a little, and doglegged right, following the long extinct seam of silver. In front of him, Adam could see a faint trace of light: distant, unsteady, the light of the lantern in the terminal chamber. That was where Freddie must be. His hand on the timber, Adam ducked low to avoid a beam. He stepped over a rock and, with scarcely a sound, entered the chamber.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was roughly oval in shape, with various alcoves and several side passages leading off in different directions. These were the evidence of the miners\u2019 last, desperate efforts to find a resurgence of the lost silver vein: efforts that had been entirely unsuccessful. The lantern sat on a flat rock in the middle of the floor. The light it cast was pale and insubstantial and uneasy shadows wavered from every crack and cranny. Freddie was there, facing the wall. He seemed to be studying intently the crystalline structure of the rock.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had no wish to sneak up on the man. \u201cFreddie,\u201d he said, quietly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie didn\u2019t answer. He didn\u2019t move. He didn\u2019t seem to have heard.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie,\u201d Adam said again, louder.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Leaning heavily on the silver-headed stick that supported his shattered hip, Freddie Hillier turned \u2018round. His face was very much as Adam remembered it. It was oval, long in the jaw with a small neat mouth and what Adam had always thought of as honest, brown eyes. His cheeks were looser, slacker, and his reddish fair hair was a great deal thinner. Looking at Adam, seeing him standing there with his back to the entrance, Freddie\u2019s face registered surprise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam?\u201d He took a step forward, limping heavily, all but dragging his leg. He angled his head to get Adam\u2019s face into a better light. \u201cIt is you, Adam! What are you doing here?\u201d He moved as if he would hold out his hand for a handshake, and then found that he couldn\u2019t because that was the hand that was holding him up. \u201cWhat are you doing here!\u201d he demanded again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI might ask you the same thing, Freddie,\u201d Adam said lightly, with just the faint trace of a smile in his voice. He looked about him at the rocky chamber with its shifting, unsteady shadows. \u201cI stopped by the house. Phil told me where I could find you. I must say, this is a very strange place to spend your afternoons.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie\u2019s quick eyes danced this way and that as he appraised their inauspicious surroundings. They glinted in the lamplight with what might have been wry, self-depreciating amusement. \u201cWhy not? This is as good a place as any for a man like me.\u201d Now, Adam could hear the still-raw bitterness in his friend\u2019s tone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPhil seemed lonely to me,\u201d Adam suggested, watching Freddie\u2019s expression. \u201cI think she\u2019s unhappy.\u201d He stood at ease, the long fingers of both lean hands resting lightly on the edge of his belt, his elbows spread wide. His right hand was not far from the butt of his gun. He knew that Freddie carried a pistol under his coat, rigged for a left-hand draw. If Freddie really was the man who wanted him dead, he might just plan to use it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then Freddie did laugh – that long, low chuckle that Adam remembered so well. \u201cUnhappy,\u201d he repeated finally, considering the word. He felt its texture and savoured its flavour with the tip of his tongue. \u201cI guess that about sums it up, Adam. You always did have a magical way with words.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled breath. \u201cI\u2019m sorry it didn\u2019t work out for you.\u00a0 I\u2019d hoped for better.\u201d It was a standard phrase of commiseration, but Adam meant it. Freddie and Phil were his friends, and he really had hoped that their marriage would be a success.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around then, the old mine creaked and groaned as pressures shifted on ancient timbers. Adam gritted his teeth. \u201cWe really ought to get out of here Freddie. This place isn\u2019t safe.\u201d In the uncertain light of the lantern, Adam\u2019s engineer\u2019s eye had picked out several places where the roof looked unstable. \u201cLet\u2019s go and talk outside.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI like it here.\u201d Freddie grinned, but it wasn\u2019t the grin that Adam recalled from the times the two of them had gotten into mischief and escaped by the skin of their teeth. This grin was twisted, without any humour, reflecting the inward paths of Freddie\u2019s soul. \u201cThis pit already cost me the best part of my life.\u201d Freddie took another step, more of a shuffle, really. Obviously, he was in pain. Adam remembered that the doctors had said that the leg would always hurt him. Freddie made a sharp gesture with his free hand: half in anger, half in despair. \u201cWhat does it matter if the rest of it follows. What do I have to live for?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou know that it isn\u2019t like that. You\u2019re a successful businessman. You have a lovely house, a beautiful wife\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cA wife in name only,\u201d Freddie said in that same, self-mocking tone. \u201cPhil always wanted children: a huge family. The problem was, she wanted to have them with you. You knew that, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was about to deny it, but then he stopped and thought. Had he known it? Young and ambitious with plans and dreams of his own, had he given it any serious consideration at all? He and Phil had had good times to be sure, but after that first, hot flare of excitement had died away, had there been anything else? For him, friendship, certainly \u2013 with the woman who had become Freddie\u2019s wife. But for Phil – had she yearned for something more? \u201cFreddie, you don\u2019t think that I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie, who knew him so well, had been watching the flow of his thoughts as they crossed his face. \u201cYou and Phil? Never!\u201d he scoffed. \u201cYou\u2019re far to much of an honourable man! But it was always you that she wanted.\u201d His voice became wistful, there in the dark. \u201cShe only turned to me when you lost interest. I was happy with that, because I loved her, you see. I loved her more than life. But I was always second best \u2013 and since the accident, I\u2019m not even that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie looked long at the tall, lean, finely formed figure before him, the handsome face half lit by the light of the lantern. \u201cThey would have been beautiful,\u201d he muttered half to himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam frowned. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie\u2019s chin came up. His eyes caught and held the light. \u201cYour children, Adam, yours and Phil\u2019s. I can see why she wanted them \u2013 likely she still does.\u201d The words came out slow and painful. \u201cI worship her, Adam, so much it kills me to see her unhappy. You\u2019ve been a good friend, the best. It\u2019s still not too late. Phil adores you. I know she does. If you\u2019d give her children I\u2019d love them just like my own, see that they had a fine education and a good start in life. You would be their \u2018Uncle Adam\u2019; see \u2018em just as much as you wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s face changed as the true meaning of what Freddie said slowly sank in. It settled like a cold stone into the pit of his stomach. Phil was a desirable woman, he couldn\u2019t deny that, and the eager, honest, uncritical love of a child always woke a need deep inside him, but not like this. Dear God, no!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie, you don\u2019t mean this; you\u2019re in pain, upset. You and Phil can work things out, adopt if all else fails.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam held up his hands to defend himself. His feelings showed on his face. \u201cno more, Freddie. Let it go. We\u2019ll bury this in the dark heart of this old mine and never think of it again. Now, come on up to the daylight with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam had never considered his relationship with Freddie and Phil from that point of view. It was a brand new concept, and he wasn\u2019t sure how he should deal with it. \u201cI didn\u2019t know that you felt like that, Freddie. It\u2019s never been my intention\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI know it hasn\u2019t. And I never meant you to know. We were doing just fine \u2013 making a real go of it, you know that? Just waiting for the first of the children to come along. But since this happened,\u201d Freddie motioned again at the ruined leg. \u201cWe just drifted apart. Now we share a house and a name, but that\u2019s about all.\u201d His low chuckle was ironic.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An idea blossomed in Adam\u2019s mind. \u201cAnd you hold me to blame for the accident. Is that what this is all about?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie frowned at him \u201cHow could you be to blame? You weren\u2019t even here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s breath hissed. \u201cI was the engineer. I was ultimately responsible for the safety of the mine. If I\u2019d been here that day, I would have seen that cave-in coming and gotten you out in time.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then you\u2019d have been caught in it too,\u201d Freddie said softly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam breathed carefully, in and out, keeping it steady. \u201cIs that why you wanted me dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A short silence extended. The cavern was filled with wan, yellow lamplight and two hard, fast heartbeats. The earth moved again. Old timber moaned. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about, Adam,\u201d Freddie said finally. \u201cMake it plain.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam let both hands drop to his sides, unconsciously squaring up and adopting a gunfighter\u2019s stance. His tone became tighter, harder. \u201cThen I\u2019ll spell it out for you.\u00a0 Someone hired a man to kill me, a professional gunfighter named Abediah Harbinger.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI heard about that! I heard that you faced his out in the street, and that you beat him fair and square.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t relax. \u201cIt\u2019s taken me a long time to track down the man who set Harbinger on my tail.\u201d Left handed, he fished the paper out of his pocket: crumpled, now, and grubby from constant handling. Adam had read it over and over, making himself believe it, trying to understand. \u201cIt took the help of a government department to find the answer.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Slowly, he extended his arm, holding the paper out to Freddie. Equally slowly, his eyes held by Adam\u2019s steady gaze, Freddie reached out and took it. He shook it out of its single fold and read it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s your name, Freddie,\u201d Adam said. \u201cIf it wasn\u2019t Phil, and it wasn\u2019t the mine, tell me why you did it. Why did you send Harbinger to kill me?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie tore his eyes away from the name on the paper and looked at Adam\u2019s face. His eyes were wide, his expression stricken. \u201cIt\u2019s my name, all right, but it wasn\u2019t me. I didn\u2019t send a man to kill you. I wouldn\u2019t do that! We\u2019re friends, you and me. The very best of friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He handed the paper back, wiping his fingers down the front of his coat as if they had been soiled by the touch of it. Adam stood still and stared at it. Could it be possible that he had travelled all these miles only to find himself back with the same mystery that he had begun with? Had he followed another red herring and found himself at another dead end? He didn\u2019t want to believe it, but he didn\u2019t have any choice. He knew, deep down in his heart, that Freddie was telling the truth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie had limped away from him, leaning heavily against his stick. Now he stood with his back turned, his shoulders hunched, looking down at the flickering flame that burned in the lamp. Adam\u2019s sharp mind worried steadily at the problem, following each twist and turn. \u201cBut if you didn\u2019t hire Harbinger, then who\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie turned and looked at him. The lamp light shone bright in his eyes. Both men arrived at the same conclusion at exactly the same time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, Adam. You finally figured it out.\u201d The words were accompanied by the solid sound of the ratchet turning as a big gun\u2019s hammer was pulled all the way back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie\u2019s eyes shifted from Adam, their focus changing as he looked at the person who had appeared behind him in the entrance of the chamber, silhouetted against the faint spill of evening light that filtered from the mouth of the mine. His face registered shock and surprise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam turned \u2018round slowly. He looked at the gun and the steady hand that held it. It was levelled at his chest. His gaze travelled upwards to the beautiful face. He let out his breath and nodded once \u2013 a curt acknowledgement of recognition. \u201cPhil.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman smiled a very thin smile. \u201cHello again, Adam.\u201d She had exchanged the green dress for a silky white blouse and a dark-coloured, divided skirt specially designed for riding astride. Her hair was let down and tied loosely into the nap of her neck, and a hat on a corded string hung halfway down her back.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam looked from her face to the paper he held in his hand. Speaking softly, he supplied the missing name. \u201cFelicity Jessica Hillier.\u201d He raised his eyes again. The paper slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor. \u201cI never thought that it could have been you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Phil was still smiling that same, thin smile; her eyes gleamed in the light with a hard, bright glitter of anticipation. Adam got the impression that she had waited a very long time for this single moment of triumph. \u201cYou\u2019re a clever man, Adam. I knew all along that you\u2019d hunt me down in the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou covered your tracks very well.\u201d It was the truth, and besides, Adam thought that a little flattery might not come amiss about now. Then he finally got to put the question that he\u2019d come such a long way to ask. \u201cWhy did you do it, Phil? Why did you set a dog like Harbinger on my heels?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s eyes glowed. She was enjoying this. \u201cBecause I loved you once, Adam. I really did.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam couldn\u2019t help thinking that she had a very strange way of showing it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPhil\u2026\u201d Freddie took a lame step forward, hobbling on the stick. \u201cWhat do you think you\u2019re doing? Adam\u2019s been our good friend all these years!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFriend!\u201d Phil spat out the word as if it were dirty. The gun barrel swung back and forth between the two men, covering them both in its line of fire. \u201cI loved you Adam, with all of my heart, but you went out of your way to destroy my entire life! You took away everything I cared about. I lost your love, and Freddie was right when he said I wanted to have your children. You denied me that, as well. And then you even took Freddie \u2013 this damn mine of yours destroyed the vibrant, affectionate fun-loving man that he was and left me with the empty, useless shell of a man that he is now!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam saw Freddie\u2019s shoulders slump. He had the look of a man defeated. He held out his hand to his wife; it was shaking. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t like that at all! It was an accident! Adam wasn\u2019t responsible! He wasn\u2019t even here!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was busy calculating angles and distances, trying to work out in his head if he could launch himself across the intervening space and grab both woman and gun before she could pull the trigger and send him to hell. He was fast, and he was strong, but Phil Hillier was a determined woman, and she had the upper hand. He didn\u2019t care much for the odds. He made a smooth gesture with his left hand; he hoped it would distract her attention away from the Colt. \u201cIt would never have worked out between us,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019re too much alike, too independent. We\u2019d have ended up tearing each other apart.\u201d Even as he said it, he knew it was true.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Phil Hillier took a long step backward, putting paid to all Adam\u2019s plans. It was almost as if she had read his mind. She had put more space between them than he could cross with a single bound. \u201cI knew that you didn\u2019t want me,\u201d Phil snarled at him. \u201cThe great Adam Cartwright had much grander plans!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t like that!\u201d Adam objected.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She smiled lopsidedly, without any humour. A small, bright light glowed deep in her eyes. \u201cI was happy enough with Freddie \u2013 just seeing you once in a while. Then this had to happen!\u201d She gestured wildly with the gun, encompassing the chamber, the roof and the walls and the three fragile human beings whose whole world it had become within the sphere of her disgust. Following the motion with his eyes, Adam made more calculations. Now that she was talking, he was counting on her getting careless \u2013 on her giving him an opening to get his hands on that gun. Freddie, all but immobile with his crippled leg, was entirely out of the equation.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The gun barrel swung back in his direction. \u201cI made a decision,\u201d Phil went on with that slight lift of the chin that Adam knew well. \u201cIf I couldn\u2019t have you, then no one else would. The man I hired made a mess of it, so I guess I get to do the job myself. I\u2019m going to kill you Adam, and then I\u2019m going to kill Freddie as well \u2013 put him out of his misery.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPhil!\u201d Freddie raised his hand towards her. \u201cThink about this! You don\u2019t know what you\u2019re saying!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you imagine for a moment that I haven\u2019t thought about it?\u201d Phil\u2019s voice was loud with contempt. \u201cDo you think that I haven\u2019t though about it for months on end, every night in an empty bed!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not going to get away with it,\u201d Adam said. He was edging sideways with the utmost care, widening the gap between Freddie and himself, lengthening the arc that the gun had to travel to cover them both. \u201cPeople will come looking for us. We both have families and friends. What will you tell them?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Felicity smiled a radiant smile. Her eyes held a cold, hard glitter. Even in the midst of whatever madness gripped her, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. \u201cI won\u2019t need to tell anyone anything. You went east, Adam; no one will know that you ever came back. As for you, Freddie, everyone knows the amount of time you spend in the crumbling old mine. You will have had another unfortunate accident when the roof falls in again. I don\u2019t suppose that they\u2019ll even bother to dig you out. If they do, it will look as if you were two old friends who fell out and shot one another.\u201d She smiled another cruel smile. \u201cPerhaps you were fighting over me! I\u2019ll be the distraught widow and grieving friend!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to do this. We can still have a life together,\u201d Freddie pleaded hopefully. \u201cI still love you Phil!\u201d Adam moved again, more a shift of weight than a step.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too late for that!\u201d The woman\u2019s eyes switched back and forth between the two men. Adam saw the determination shift in her eyes. \u201cMy mind\u2019s made up. You first, Adam.\u201d The gun muzzle centred on Adam\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam braced himself for a bullet \u2013 prepared himself for a leap. He had reckoned without Freddie.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Freddie let out a yell, short and sharp. As the woman\u2019s eyes flicked towards him, he threw the silver-topped cane directly into her face. Unsupported, his leg buckled under him. He fell to the floor, sprawling headlong. Adam launched himself, diving for the gun in Phil\u2019s hand. The gun went off. He felt the scorch of heat on his face and the roar of the explosion made his ears ring. The bullet went wide, whining off into the darkness. The recoil of the gun threw the woman off balance. She stumbled back into the post that supported the wall. The post collapsed, and the rocks began to fall in on them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The rumbling continued much longer that it ought to. Adam was thrown to his hands and his knees. The earth itself trembled under him. The light from the lantern trembled as the cavern filled up with dust, and then it went out, plunging them all into darkness. Adam pressed himself close to the ground and held on tight while dirt and stones pounded his back and his legs. A voice cried out. It might have been his. The air was so full of flying dust and debris it was impossible to breathe.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It seemed to go on for hours. Afterwards, he realised that the time measured less than two minutes. Gradually, the earth stopped drumming. The thick air was filled with the rattle and clatter of falling stones. Cautiously, Adam opened his eyes. He found that the world had turned utterly black. He could hear the rasp of his breathing and feel the pulse of his blood. He was alive and, from the feel of his arms and legs, nothing was broken. He couldn\u2019t see anything. He raised himself up on his hands. There was a fresh clatter of falling stone as debris fell from his body to mingle with the rubble that already littered the floor. He spat dirt out of his mouth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cFreddie? Freddie, do you hear me?\u201d It was hard to speak without coughing; he had breathed in a lot of dust. He sensed a movement and heard a man groan not far away from where he was lying. He reached out a hand and touched flesh, warm and yielding: Freddie\u2019s arm inside the sleeve of his coat.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam,\u201d Freddie was coughing as well. \u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI think so.\u201d Adam wasn\u2019t certain. He still couldn\u2019t see anything. Either he was totally blind or he was entombed in darkness. He started to crawl on hands and knees, groping in front of him, vainly trying to locate the lantern. He had gotten all turned around and had no idea which way he was heading.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He felt Freddie\u2019s hand on his ankle. \u201cAdam, I can\u2019t see anything. Why is it so dark?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So it wasn\u2019t his eyes. That was one blessing. Adam raised himself higher. He screwed up his eyes and peered into the blackness that surrounded them both. It seemed to be lightening, very slightly, in one particular direction. The tunnel that linked their tomb to the outside world was only partially blocked by the rock-fall. As the heavier particles fell out of the atmosphere and the air began to clear, the faint light of fading daylight filtered into the chamber. It was a grey mist of light, a guiding beacon in the dark. \u201cWe\u2019re gonna get out of here, Freddie.\u201d Adam started towards it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAdam,\u201d Freddie said from behind him, \u201cWhat happened to Phil? Where is she? Did she get away?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam was shifting rocks with his hands. His muscles cracked as he lifted first one and then another. His feet slipped in the shale. Then he stopped. Looking downward, his face became grim. He pulled at another rock. \u201cShe\u2019s here, Freddie,\u201d he said, soberly. \u201cI\u2019m afraid that she\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Phil Hillier lay on her back with one arm extended. Her hand was cupped and empty; the gun was lost under the loose, flowing stone. One of the falling boulders had hit her alongside the head; most of her lovely face was missing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On his hands and one knee, his lame leg dragging, Freddie crawled over. Adam couldn\u2019t stop him seeing her; all he could do was get out of the way. Freddie reached out and touched the woman\u2019s shattered cheek with tentative fingers, for all the world as if he were trying to put it back together.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam leaned back on the cold, stone wall. It was hard and solid and reassuring; it belied the recent fluidity of earth and stone. He wiped a hand over his face. It came away dirty and wet. Gradually, his breathing and his heartbeat settled, and his vision became clearer. He could see Freddie, hunched over Phil. His friend\u2019s shoulders were shaking.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At last, Freddie quieted. He raised his tear-stained face. \u201cAdam, I need your help. I can\u2019t get her home on my own.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam put out a hand and touched Freddie lightly on the shoulder. \u201cOf course I\u2019ll help you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam picked his way through the litter of rocks and rubble to the entrance of the mine and emerged into the last light of the day. The hillside was already clothed in the deepest shadows. The trees loomed like black ghosts overhead, ebony towers tall against the darkling sky. Overhead, one by one, the stars were coming out. Already the air was cooler, and a light breeze lifted out of the valley. He paused a moment \u2013 to allow Freddie some time alone with his wife and to fill his own lungs with fresh air before he went back to help carry her out of the mine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s mind was full of concern and a deep sorrow for Freddie, and with grief for the loss of his friend, but he also felt a certain elation. A great weight had lifted from off his shoulders. He was free of the spectre that had dogged his footsteps, of the phantom that haunted his dreams. He no longer needed to fear the dark shadows or the sudden slam of a door or the soft sound of a footfall on the sidewalk behind him. The air that he breathed was clear and free.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Out of the silent gloom of the evening a soft voice whispered his name.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Startled, Adam looked back at the black maw in the hillside. There was no one there. He shivered violently as, somewhere, a long way from there, someone stepped on his one-day grave. The resurgent itch in his back warned him that not all was yet well with the world.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The last of the daylight died from the sky. Adam\u2019s face was grim and his step determined as he strode down the hill in the starlight to fetch up the horses.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ten<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The carnival had come to Virginia City, complete with cymbals and drums. The grand parade filled \u2018C\u2019 street from one end to the other with a dazzling display of colour and movement and noise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There were shapely women in scanty dresses adorned with frills and flounces and ribbons and feathers. They wore bells on the ankles of long, shapely legs, and they preened and they posed and they pouted at the women spectators, and they blew inviting kisses to the all men. Men in bright shirts rode high-stepping horses. They made figures of eight in the air with their ropes, cracked long leather whips and fired off their guns. The shots thrilled the children and terrified every horse tethered at the rails.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tumblers in brilliant, silk costumes performed handsprings and cartwheels and backflips in the dust of the street. A lofty, black-haired juggler in nothing but red-and-white striped tights threw rubber balls high in the air. Two men strode along on tall, wooden stilts while another breathed great gouts of fire. A six-man brass band rode by in a wagon, each man playing a different tune. The resultant cacophony was strangely compelling. With all the commotion, Sheriff Roy Coffee figured his town had gone mad.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At first sight, Roy was a singularly unprepossessing man whose private thoughts tended to dwell, for the most part, on the future contents of his belly. That was very much the case now as he made his way through the press of excited people on the sidewalks towards the stage line office. Breakfast was almost digested, and he was starting to think in earnest about lunch. A deceptively large man, he wasn\u2019t fat but was tall and wide, cleverly disguising his size with a perpetual slouch and a nonchalant attitude. As always, he had a firm grip on the pulse of his town; he liked to know all of the coming and goings and the tittle-tattle that made the place tick. To that end, he made it his habit to be there when the twice-weekly stage rolled in.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He was there in his accustomed place, lending support to the post that held up the boardwalk canopy, when the stagecoach arrived, dead on time and virtually unnoticed by anyone else in the mayhem that was going on all about them. Adam saw him from the stagecoach window: a familiar figure in baggy, grey-wool pants, a battle scarred brown leather vest and a hat that was somewhat frayed. He knew the ageing sheriff to be a fair minded but uncompromising man whose faded, grey eyes missed nothing; he was also a very good friend. Adam felt a sharp surge of emotion. The sight of Roy Coffee in his usual place made him feel as if he really was coming home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The driver yelled and hauled on the reins, and the sweating, four-horse team came to a halt. Roy called up to him. \u201cYou got any passengers, Ravine?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOnly the one fella,\u201d Ravine answered, wrapping the thick reins around the brake lever. \u201cReckon you know \u2018im.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam reached out of the window and turned the handle to open the door. He stepped down into the street. He saw the changes of expression cross the sheriff\u2019s weathered face: interest and speculation, surprise and delight as recognition dawned. \u201cAdam Cartwright! You\u2019re a sight fer sore eyes! I was thinkin\u2019 just the other day that it was about time you was coming back.\u201d Adam smiled at his friend\u2019s blunt manner. Roy never was one to mince words.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The two men shook hands with enthusiasm. \u201cRoy, it\u2019s good to see you.\u201d Adam\u2019s broad grin made his face muscles ache. He gazed \u2018round at the town, all decked out with flags and striped bunting and red-white-and-blue banners strung across the roadway from building to building, at the people that pushed and shoved and shouted and at the seemingly endless parade. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on here?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Roy reclaimed his hand and made a disgusted throwaway gesture. \u201cAll sorts of tomfoolery,\u201d he said dismissively. \u201cThese folks\u2019ll be in town fer a week. No one\u2019ll get any work done, and Lord alone knows the trouble they\u2019re bringin\u2019 with \u2018em.\u201d As always, Roy had his eyes on the law and disorder – that, and the rounding up of stray children, was a principle part of his job.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The stagecoach driver dropped Adam\u2019s battered old carpetbag down from the top of the coach; it landed with a thump in the dirt at his feet. He had brought back with him little more than he had taken away: only the rifle that he had bought in Kansas. The driver handed down the canvas wrapped long gun with a little more respect.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sucking his teeth, Roy eyed the Henry with interest. \u201cWhere you bin, then? Ben ain\u2019t bin sayin\u2019.\u201d In Virginia City, Roy was the font of all knowledge. He made it his business to know other people\u2019s, and mostly, he got to know what he knew by asking. Adam knew that his lawman friend would have every detail out of him before very long, but he wasn\u2019t quite ready to tell all yet. Knowing that Roy was slow to take offence, he chose to ignore the question.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He looked up and down the street, breathing in the atmosphere, absorbing the sights and the sounds. \u201cIs my Pa in town?\u201d If anyone knew, it would be Roy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNope. Ain\u2019t seen Ben nor your brothers in more \u2018n a week. Guess they\u2019re all tied up with the fall roundup.\u201d He gave Adam a long look of appraisal. \u201cReckon they\u2019ll be right glad ta see you. You\u2019re a mean man with a rope an\u2019 a brandin\u2019 iron, an\u2019 help\u2019s bin hard ta hire this year.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam reflected that his timing might have been better. It looked like he was going right back to work.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou plannin\u2019 on stayin\u2019 in town fer a bit? Sure is gonna be hot.\u201d Roy pulled out a big bandanna and mopped at his neck. \u201cAny chance I c\u2019n interest you in a beer?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam chuckled as he gathered up his meagre belongings. He knew Roy too well; he thought he could get him talking over a few well-chilled pints. Roy, of necessity, was a good judge of men. There wasn\u2019t much that got by him. He would have noted Adam\u2019s leanness and the way that he favoured his side. \u201cI guess I\u2019d better pass on that. Can I leave my bag in your office \u2018til one of the hands comes into town with the buckboard?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSure can.\u201d Roy looked disappointed, but then he brightened. There would be other occasions, and good stories often ripened with keeping, something like wine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The parade had passed by, and the crowd had started to thin. With Adam carrying his gun and his bag, they picked their way along the boardwalk to the sheriff\u2019s office and gaol. Roy made one last attempt, mainly because he knew it was expected, \u201cYou sure you won\u2019t let me buy you lunch? It\u2019s Tuesday, an\u2019 I know fer a fact that Belle\u2019s cookin\u2019 yore favourite..?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Roy, but I really ought to be on my way.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Roy gave it up for the moment. \u201cWell, you know best I suppose. You be sure ta bring those brothers o\u2019 yours ta the shindig on Saturday,\u201d He gestured in the direction of the vanished parade. \u201cSure wouldn\u2019t be right without a bunch o\u2019 Cartwrights, an\u2019 perhaps we can have that beer.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou can count on it. Thinking about his brothers, Adam decided he might just buy some peppermint-candy sticks to take home with him\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam borrowed a horse from a friend and rode south and west, heading for home at an unhurried pace. So far, autumn had brushed the Ponderosa only lightly with the golden hems of her skirt. Up here, on the high ranges, the air was warm and fragrant and the sunlight, mellow. In the sheltered, well-watered valleys the grass was still green. Elsewhere, the aspens and willows were yellow, the oak trees, a fiery red; the beech had turned to purple and the birch to shades of copper and gold. The parched pastures were sere, scorched to every conceivable version of bronze and brown as they awaited, with thirsty anticipation, the first winter rains. In the middle distance, the low roll of the hills was shrouded in a deep, purple haze. Afar off, the towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada were an indistinct blue ranged against the dusty blue of the sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The land itself welcomed him home. Every tree, every rock, every turn in the trail was familiar. This was the country where he had grown up, the country that he called his own. The big, log house nestled in its sheltering clump of pine and scrub-oak. Adam rode his horse into the sun-baked yard and tied him up at the rail. The barn doors stood open, but all the stalls were empty. Even Hop Sing\u2019s chickens had gone to roost out of the heat of the day.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The front door, as always, was latched but not locked; it opened at the touch of his hand.<\/p>\n

Stepping inside, he found that he might never have been away. A pine-log fire burned on the hearthstone, its smoke ascending to heaven through the grey stone chimney. The air, neither hot or cold, but, somehow, just right, was scented with resin. The checkerboard was set out on the circular table, all ready to play. Joe\u2019s latest dime novel lay face down on the arm of the sofa and there, in the armchair, were his father\u2019s paper and pipe.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No one answered Adam\u2019s shout; the great room of the house was deserted, and so was the kitchen. Hop Sing was nowhere in sight, although the work of the small Chinese cook was clearly in evidence. A haunch of pork roasted in the oven of the black, iron range on a bed of sweet potatoes and honey-soaked apples. A fresh apple pie with a crisp, sugar crust sat on the scrubbed kitchen table. Sorely tempted but ultimately virtuous, Adam helped himself to coffee from the pot that simmered, as always, on the back of the stove and stole just one cookie out of the jar. The coffee was bitter and very black, just the way he preferred it, and the crisp cookie crumbled to sweet, crunchy crumbs on his tongue. Munching happily, he carried the refilled cup upstairs to his bedroom.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was as if he had never been away. Someone had regularly tended the room. It had been dusted and aired, and it smelled pleasantly of polish and leather and his favourite hair oil. All his things had been laid away neatly in readiness against his return: his guitar, his books and his treasured drafting tools on the desk in the light of the window. He wound up the musical box that had belonged to his mother and indulged himself, listening to its tinkling tune while he changed his city suit for more comfortable attire.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A short time later, in a well-loved old shirt and threadbare, but still serviceable, black pants, he climbed back into the saddle on the borrowed horse and turned his head to the hills. For the sake of his soul, there was one more visit that he had to make before he could truly consider himself home. The trail he had chosen switched back and forth through the pine forests, climbing steadily towards the blue vault of the afternoon sky.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He crested the high ridge and drew rein, easing himself in the saddle and feasting hungry eyes on the glory of Tahoe: lake of mists, lake of mystery, lake of native legend. It was as beautiful as he had remembered, ever changing but always the same. The water lay, unruffled and icy cold, in a deep cleft in the earth \u2013 a transparent, azure blue. The serried ranks of ponderosa pine, their foliage already blackened by the high altitude frosts, marched unbroken, all the way to the water\u2019s edge. Beyond the lake, the hillsides rose steeply towards the still-distant peaks of the mountains. It was a sight so close to his own, personal vision of Paradise that it never failed to stir him. Tapping the horse with his heels, he rode slowly down to the shoreline.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It was there that he discovered that he wasn\u2019t alone in his desire to seek communion and solace from the lady of Tahoe. There was a horse already tethered to a silvered branch of driftwood dragged up on the beach: a powerful, heavy-boned buckskin that Adam knew well. Tying his own horse alongside, he quickly located the familiar, much loved figure.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Big and broad-shouldered, silver-haired but unbowed by the weight of the years, Ben Cartwright stood looking out over the water. The crystal clear wavelets lapped at the toes of his boots, and the breeze from the lake, cooling, now, as the afternoon turned into evening, tugged at his shirt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

White stones crunched under Adam\u2019s boots, alerting the older man to his approach. Ben turned, his right hand dropping instinctively toward the gun on his hip.\u00a0 Then his handsome, care-lined face brightened with recognition. The low voice rumbled, \u201cAdam!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The hand came out and clasped Adam\u2019s warmly, and then he was engulfed in a brief but heartfelt bear hug. \u201cSon, it\u2019s good to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam returned his father\u2019s smile. \u201cIt\u2019s good to be back, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben leaned back on his heels and studied Adam\u2019s face. He noted the fresh lines of pain and the shadows that lingered in the depths of his eyes. His own dark eyes clouded with concern. \u201cIs it over?\u201d he asked quietly. \u201cDid you do what you set out to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam pulled a long breath and looked at his father squarely. \u201cI reckon it\u2019s over.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Exhaling softly, Ben asked, \u201cWould you like to tell me about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ghost of a smile returned to Adam\u2019s face. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you, but not yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben knew his son well enough not to press him. Adam would talk when he was good and ready but not one moment before. Adam, in turn, appreciated his father\u2019s restraint. He would tell the whole, long story in his own time and in his own way, but first, he had to get it straight in his head. He looked out at the lake. The shadows were shifting, the water becoming darker. The cool air moved against his face. The spirit of this beloved place entered his soul and brought him peace.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s touch was light on his shoulder. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late, son. Let\u2019s go home for supper.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They returned to their horses and rode companionably back towards the house. The smell of wood smoke drifted across the gloom-filled valley, and Hop Sing was lighting the lamps.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 King Louis IX of France 1214 \u2013 1270.<\/p>\n

**\u00a0\u00a0 Romans Ch.12 v.19.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sources:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A History of the North American People by Paul Johnson.<\/p>\n

Cassell\u2019s Dictionary of Modern American History.<\/p>\n

America by Tindall & Shi.<\/p>\n

The Penguin History of the U.S.A.<\/p>\n

Kansas City. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

The Tree Guide. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

State of Kansas. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

State of Missouri. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

Riverboats, Paddleboats and Steamships. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

St Louis. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

Chicago. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

Food and Drug Administration Museum. (Web Site)<\/p>\n

\u2018Abraham Lincoln\u2019 Television Documentary (The History Channel)<\/p>\n

\u2018World\u2019 encyclopaedia.<\/p>\n

Encyclopaedia Britannica.<\/p>\n

Potters Bar 2002.<\/p>\n

Next Story in the Fourth Wife Series:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Peace on the Ponderosa<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tags: Adam Cartwright, Fourth Wife<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/g><\/svg><\/i> \"Loading\"<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 Adam crosses the country, seeking the answer Harbinger never gave.<\/p>\n

Rating:\u00a0 PG-13.\u00a0 Implied sex, violence. (114,500 words)<\/p>\n

Fourth Wife Series, links to all stories within the series are included.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9737,"featured_media":11501,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12887","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-drama","wpcat-23-id"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":true,"total_views":2489,"today_views":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/07\/BlackHatBrownStudBand.jpg?fit=640%2C480&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":62779,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=62779","url_meta":{"origin":12887,"position":0},"title":"The Last Bullet (by VickiC.)","author":"vickic","date":"March 6, 2012","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary:\u00a0 Alone and in trouble, can a memory help him? 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Rating:\u00a0 G\u00a0 135 words Written for the 2024 Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?cat=9"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/Christmas-Traditions.jpg?fit=639%2C480&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/Christmas-Traditions.jpg?fit=639%2C480&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/Christmas-Traditions.jpg?fit=639%2C480&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]},{"id":14303,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=14303","url_meta":{"origin":12887,"position":4},"title":"Pride Before A Fall (by JC)","author":"JC","date":"May 12, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary: \u00a0 A poem about what can happen when a man's pride gets in the way of love. \u00a0If the subject\u00a0is a Cartwright, it's bound to be Adam. 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