It was quiet. Very quiet. It was so quiet that if he really listened, he could hear the squeak in the sign hanging out in front of the general store as it swung in the wind. Ezra Standish did not like quiet under the best of circumstances; in fact, he relied more on the noise to provide diversions for whatever it was he was really doing. When it was this quiet, there were no distractions.

And it was not even just a physical quiet. It was almost a spiritual quiet, and not the type that comes with peace of mind. No. This was one of those deathly quiets that let you know that something much louder, much worse than the ordinary, was on its way. This was the uneasy silence which prefaced a conflict.

Anyone looking at Ezra as he stared down the street would have thought that he was merely stepping out for a breath of fresh air. No one would have been able to guess the unease he felt.

Unfortunately, part of the problem was that there was no one around to notice that Ezra Standish was on the boardwalk of this small town. There was no one in the town.

Ezra was comfortable with his own company when he was in a room full of people. He knew he was almost always alone; it did not matter if he was with other people at the time, he was still quite alone. But he did not like this barrenness of population in a town which had been thriving only two months before.

Something was very wrong here. And Ezra Standish had no intention of sticking around to find out what it was. He was going back to Four Corners at first light. With that decision made, Ezra walked back down the boardwalk, quite satisfied that the town was indeed deserted. He went to the livery, where he had stabled Ace. Just as he had no intention of staying in town to determine the cause of the quietude, he also had no intention of remaining completely alone. Ace was his travel companion; they would have to watch out for one another for yet another night.

With the morning came more silence. Ezra was quite glad to leave this ghost town behind. He had heard of towns which just died, seemingly overnight, but he'd never really seen it. The last time he had ridden to Black Ridge the town had been just as lively as Four Corners. Actually, it was more so, or Ezra would not have bothered to return.

Ezra visited the town regularly, no less than once every three months. He stocked up on several "necessities" here: cologne, brandy, clothing, chocolates, and scented soaps. These items were just not readily available in Four Corners...at least not without a price. Ezra grinned. Let the others think that he was merely being dandified. He was also turning quite a profit from these journeys by selling choice items, such as the ladies' scented soaps, to the mercantile. Truthfully, Ezra preferred the light clean aroma of the soaps he bought to that of the lye that was more readily available.

Not only was this trip disconcerting, it was downright unprofitable. It was a complete waste of time.

As Ezra was riding out of Black Ridge, he heard a scream in the distance. But it was cut off so quickly, he really had no way of knowing whether it was real, or something he had merely imagined, in part due to the unnatural stillness which surrounded him. He paid the scream no more heed than he would the cry of a hawk and continued on his way home.

Buck watched the streets of the town from his customary seat outside the jail. He was leaning the chair back on the rear legs and resting his head against the building. In his hand, he held a cup of steaming coffee. All in all, he was comfortable.

Buck was watching the sweetest little filly walk across the street. She was dressed in a light blue gown, and he could just imagine what the cloth felt like. He grinned to himself then eased the chair forward and stood up. After putting the coffee cup down, he brushed the dust off of his shirt and straightened his hat. Then he walked toward the most recent object of his affections.

Buck walked quickly and approached her. "Afternoon, ma'am."

She stopped and looked at him for a moment before continuing. Then she smiled. "Indeed it is." She kept her gaze focused on the street ahead, but that was okay. Buck liked a little bit of a challenge.

"Where might you be headed this fine day?" Buck asked with a grin.

She turned her head to him and said simply, "To the hotel."

"I'd be honored if you'd allow me to escort you."

She smiled. "I don't even know your name. Why should I allow you to escort me?"

"Buck Wilmington at your service, ma'am," Buck said as he took off his hat.

She glanced at him. "It's nice to meet you, Mister Wilmington."

"Call me Buck. And you are?"

"Muriel Standish." She didn't elaborate. Muriel continued walking, but Buck stopped a moment, shocked, and had to run to catch up with her.

Buck called out, "Miss Standish?" as he ran up to the woman.

She stopped suddenly and looked at him coldly. "That is Missus Standish to you, Mister Wilmington. And I will thank you to remember it." The abrupt change in her demeanor was startling.

All the smile went out of Buck's voice as he responded, "Yes, ma'am." The woman haughtily strode down the street as Buck watched. He made a note to speak with Ezra about this woman. Then he went to the saloon and had a drink.

The saloon was quiet. In the murky smoke-filled air that seemed a permanent fixture of the place, two men sat quietly at a center table. A bottle of whiskey was placed within easy reach of one man, and a beer sat in front of the other.

The first man, dressed in somber tones of black, reached over and picked up the bottle. He poured some of the pungent liquid into a glass, then downed the contents of the glass quickly. He looked at the other man. The other man looked at his cards. "You gonna bet, Vin?"

Vin grinned. "I just wanna make sure I can win, Chris. It don't happen often. Seems I give most my money to Ezra."

Chris nodded. "Best hurry and win what you can then, Ezra's due back day after tomorrow."

Vin raised his beer and took a drink from it. Then he placed his wager and won the hand. "I guess playin' with Ezra is learnin' me how to play this game, eh Chris?"

"I guess." Chris' eyes smiled at the exchange then looked back to his cards.

Ezra rode back into Four Corners. He was tired, irritable, and altogether not in a good mood. The weather had turned ugly shortly after he left Black Ridge and he'd spent the better part of the two-day trip back to Four Corners riding in drizzle. A good, steady, cleansing rain he could tolerate. Drizzle, however, just bothered him. It was a non-committal weather condition that ineffectively watered the plant life, yet managed to wet him enough that his clothes were uncomfortable.

He stabled Ace and brushed the chestnut horse down, then he paid extra to see to it that the steed would receive some hot mash. He considered going to the saloon, but his body was wracked with a violent sneeze, and Ezra decided that it would be more prudent to change out of his wet clothing first.

Ezra gathered his saddlebags and headed towards the hotel. On the way past the restaurant, he ordered a hot meal, and arranged to have the young son of the cook bring it to his room.

Just as he approached the hotel, he heard Buck Wilmington call out to him. Though he was not in the mood to speak with anyone, he also was not feeling inhospitable enough to completely ignore his associate.

"Mister Wilmington," Ezra said as he turned to greet Buck.

"You're back awful early, Ezra," Buck said.

"Indeed. I do not mean to be discourteous; however, no doubt you'll note that my apparel is in a decidedly unwearable condition. So, if you'll excuse me..." Ezra said as he started to turn.

However, Buck's next words made him pause. "I'll let ya go in a minute, Ezra. Just wanted to know if a 'Muriel Standish' meant anything to ya."

Ezra felt the color drain out of his face. "Good lord." He leaned against the building, completely unprepared to handle this.

To say Buck was confused by Ezra's reaction would be an understatement. Granted, he had met the rather ill-natured creature in question; nonetheless, Buck had assumed that she was just a mite irritable from her journey and had merely been trying to discourage his flirting. Even he had to admit that he could be a bit heavy-handed from time to time.

"Ezra, you okay?" Buck asked.

Ezra merely gave him a pained look. Buck had never seen such emotion on the man's face. Ezra looked decidedly unhappy about Muriel Standish's arrival.

"You gonna tell me about this lady, Ezra?"

"Not, I think, at this time, Mister Wilmington." Ezra's comment was infuriatingly incomplete. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish to change into some less travel-worn garments." Ezra practically ran into the hotel, leaving Buck standing on the boardwalk more confused than ever.

The screams which had been carried on the wind lessened by one. But no one who could help was around to hear the sounds, much less notice the loss of one voice.

Muriel Standish walked along the boardwalk towards the saloon. She was looking for someone, and, if she knew the man's irritating habits, he would be there. Muriel had heard he was in this little town. His presence was an added bonus to her true business in this part of the country. Muriel wanted Ezra to suffer the way she had suffered. Indeed, Muriel had made a special detour just to exact retribution from him.

She stormed into the saloon and quickly scanned the occupants. He was not here. Someone...that tall fellow...must have warned him she was here. Well, he wasn't going to get off that easily.

No, he was going to pay for what she had suffered because of him...what her husband had suffered because of him.

Ezra Standish was not going to leave his room. His cousin's wife was here in town, and she had developed a decided dislike for him at the moment he'd first met her. That dislike had not lessened any when she realized that he was a professional gambler and con-artist. Muriel was a temperance lady, and she despised gambling. Why she had come here, he did not know. But he was certain she was planning on harassing him. And he really was not in the mood. The woman could be quite vicious.

Ezra made it a practice to never hit women, regardless of what they said. Even in a situation in which he would have punched or even shot a man for the same remark, he would not harm a woman. Even if this woman was responsible for his cousin's death. Muriel, however, had a tendency to make him want to reevaluate this practice.

Muriel probably blamed Ezra for Jed's death. Jed had been engaging in a con with Ezra when it had happened. Muriel had charged into the room, screaming about morality and scheming. Jed had been shot and killed; Ezra had barely escaped.

He'd left Muriel to fend for herself and fled. In his mind, she'd brought it on herself. Ezra had never once regretted leaving her there. But until this moment, he had not realized how much he had been hoping the Covingtons had killed her alongside of Jedediah.

At noon, two dusty men saddled their mounts. They rode quickly and quietly. If anyone had seen them, no notice would be taken. They looked like two trail herders heading west, seeking work.

The two riders hastened into Creek Hollow, a town between Black Ridge and Four Corners. They surveyed the town, checking the saloon and the jail, getting a feel for the strength of the local law, looking at the women.

They looked at one another and nodded. He would be pleased. Perhaps he would even give them a reward.

Buck knocked on Ezra's door. Ezra had not come out of his room since his return two days before. Sam Thomas had mentioned that Ezra had a letter that he'd not picked up, and Buck decided to go visit the gambler and deliver it.

When Ezra did not immediately answer the door, Buck called out, "Hey, Ezra. You in there?"

The door opened, and Ezra indicated that Buck should enter. As soon as Buck was in, Ezra shut the door.

"Just what in the blazes are you doin' hidin' in here, Ezra?" Buck demanded.

Ezra merely cast him an unreadable look. Buck knew damned well that Ezra wasn't going to tell him, and he left it at that. Then he held out the letter. "This came for ya."

Ezra raised an eyebrow as Buck offered him the letter. Buck knew it was from Maude, and with Maude, one never knew what to expect.

Ezra took the letter and glanced at Buck, indicating he wished some privacy. Buck nodded and started to leave, but he couldn't resist one final comment, "You gonna tell me about that pretty, if untamed, filly?"

"I suggest you do not attempt to break her, Mister Wilmington. It might prove fatal. Now, if you will excuse me," Ezra said as he turned away and started to read the letter. It was clearly an expression of a request for solitude. Buck respected that and started to leave.

Just then, Ezra said, "Oh dear God."

His curiosity peaked, Buck asked, "What is it?"

Ezra turned back to him, "Mother was supposed to arrive in town a couple of weeks ago. This letter clearly states she would be coming through Black Ridge."

Buck shrugged his shoulders. He didn't understand the problem. "So?"

"They do not route stages through ghost towns, Mister Wilmington. And Black Ridge is definitely a ghost town." Ezra squared his shoulders. "I need to send a telegram." With no more words, Ezra left the room.

Buck considered following him, but decided against it. He knew Ezra well enough to realize that he'd probably gotten more information out of him than he had any reason to expect, and it was because Ezra had been caught off guard. Still, Buck was surprised to hear that Ezra considered Black Ridge a ghost town.

Towns just didn't get abandoned overnight. It was a slow process, and Ezra had been going there at least once every three months. Buck knew that Ezra would not continue to go to a dying town. He could feel it. Something was wrong.

Ezra sent a telegraph to Creek Hollow, the stage stop after Black Ridge, and to Potter's Landing, the stop before it. And then he waited.

And waited. The wait was nearly unbearable.

Finally, the telegraph sounded from Potter's Landing. The stage had indeed left, and someone did remember seeing a woman who matched Maude's description on it. Then Ezra waited some more. When the telegram came from Creek Hollow, Ezra knew what he was going to find out. He wanted to be wrong, of course, but he did not believe for one moment he was.

The stagecoach had not been through Creek Hollow.

Somehow, something had happened in Black Ridge, and now Maude was missing. Ezra thought about this for just a moment, then headed to the saloon. For the first time since he'd joined this group of men, he was going to ask a favor. A big one.