July 13th

After being politely thrown out of town, things went downhill. Buck's horse threw a shoe just a few hours into Sunday morning and they rode double for more than a day until they could get to something that passed for a town. It had been a mining camp at one time and had grown up some, but there still wasn't much to it. There was a blacksmith, however, which was what they needed. Beyond that, there wasn't much there for them to concern themselves with; the whiskey was watered down and there wasn't a woman to be found. Once Buck's horse was back in shape they were only too happy to leave the place behind.

Shortly after leaving the camp, it started to rain, and then the rain became a downpour. The next two days were spent waiting for the rain to pass, and they were only able to find marginal shelter. Thankfully there were no worries about the temperature dropping, but the wetness was a nuisance, and it was almost impossible to keep a fire going. When the rain finally did stop, there was still the mud to contend with. Buck tried to make things look brighter by pointing out that at least the ground being wet meant they didn't have to eat dust while they rode. Chris wasn't too amused by the observation and pointed out that mud could suck a shoe off and leave them down a horse again.

By the time they found the next decent sized town, both Chris and Buck were tired, dirty, and irritated. Parts of them were still damp, and Chris was ready to get good and drunk, even more so than he'd been the week before. He was also ready for good food and a dry bed, and for the first night the creature comforts won out. He and Buck both made a trip to the bathhouse and splurged on a good meal before getting a room and having a decent night's sleep in a real bed.

The next morning, Chris woke in far better spirits. It felt good to be clean and dry, but he was still just as ready to get drunk. The past week hadn't been the worst or toughest week Chris had ever had, far from it, but he was still feeling put out about being run out of town and the events of the last few days had done nothing to soothe the irritation the sheriff's request had brought on. When he and Buck walked into a saloon that evening, Chris had only one thing on his mind, drinking until he couldn't drink anymore. And no one was going to interfere this time. He didn't even care if there was a woman involved. He just wanted to get drunk.

XXXXXXX

Chris opened blurry eyes and tried to remember where he was. A pounding head and empty stomach bespoke of a hangover and despite not feeling his best Chris almost had to smile. He'd come into town with the intention of getting out of his mind drunk, and if his head was any indication, he had done just that.

After a minute he was finally able to get his gritty eyes to focus on something, and that's when he noticed the bars. He blinked a couple of times and found that he wasn't imagining things; he was indeed in a cell. Chris jumped to his feet with a mumbled curse ignoring the spike of pain it sent through his head and the unpleasant roll it gave his stomach. Once he'd regained his balance and refocused his eyes Chris could only stare in disbelief before sinking back down on the cot with a groan. Getting drunk had been part of the plan, getting arrested hadn't.

Figuring he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, Chris lay back down and desperately tried to remember what he'd done. He had no memory of anything happening, no fights or anyone challenging him. He was pretty sure there hadn't even been a woman. He and Buck had just been drinking.

Thinking of Buck, Chris sat back up and looked around. Buck wasn't in the cell with him, and he didn't see him in the next cell either. That didn't bode well for Chris. Whatever he'd done, it looked as though Buck hadn't been a part of it. Or something really bad had happened. Starting to feel a little concerned, Chris got to his feet again and looked around the office. He didn't see anyone. Since he obviously wasn't getting any information for the time being, he went back to the cot.

Chris lay in the cell, eyes closed and tried not to focus on the ache in his head. Coffee would help his headache, but locked up there wasn't much he could do about acquiring any. For now, he'd suffer through it as best he could. At least the room was quiet, but that did mean he didn't have anything to take his mind off the possibility he'd done something really stupid last night or keep him from wondering what had happened to Buck.

Chris evidently drifted back off because his next conscience thought was hearing someone enter the office. He turned to look and found a man he assumed was the sheriff, or marshal, whatever this town had. The man hung his hat up on a peg by the door before going over and lighting the potbellied stove in the corner. Chris watched in silence as the man prepared a pot of coffee and tried to figure what the odds of him getting a cup were. The answer to that would probably have a lot to do with what he'd been arrested for.

The cot creaked when Chris pushed himself up, and the man turned his way. "Mornin'," he said with a smile. "Finally decided to wake up I see. Not that I'm surprised. The story is you took in quite a bit last night."

Chris winced and slowly stood up. The sheriff's voice was loud in his hungover condition, but Chris noticed not unbearably so. If he didn't know any better he'd say the man was making an effort to keep his voice low, and the smile appeared friendly enough. "Sheriff?" he questioned leaning against the bars of his cell.

The man nodded. "Dave Paxton."

"Chris." He decided to leave it at that for now. His name would have to come out sooner or later, but the sheriff seemed easy going enough right now and Chris hated to mess it up. His full name had turned the last one against him fast enough. "I don't uhh . . . I don't remember much about last night."

The man grinned. "Not surprised about that either."

"What I mean is, what am I in for?"

"Nothin'."

"What?"

"If you're askin' about the charges against you, there ain't none. Coffee?"

"Yeah," Chris said wondering what was going on. If there were no charges against him, why was he here? The sheriff brought a cup over and opened the cell door. It hadn't been locked, Chris realized.

"You can come out whenever you feel like it," Paxton said passing the cup over.

Chris accepted the cup and sat back down on the cot, more confused than ever, but too hungover to try and sort anything out now. After finishing the coffee Chris leaned his head back against the wall. The coffee had made things a little clearer and he felt like he might be able to make sense of something the sheriff said now.

"Why am I here?" he asked watching the sheriff through the open door of the cell.

"You passed out at the bar last night," Paxton explained. "When it came time to close up it was pretty plain you weren't going anywhere on your own and Mike didn't know what to do with you so he asked me if you could sleep it off here. I know bars aren't the most welcoming sight to wake up to, but it beats an alley."

Chris snorted a laughed that brought on another wince. "That's a fact." He had woken up in both situations in his life. A cell wasn't too bad when the door was standing wide open. Feeling steadier than he had a while ago, Chris got to his feet and walked over to the sheriff's desk. "What about my friend?" he asked as he sank into the chair front of the lawman. If he hadn't technically been arrested, Buck's absence was a little more troubling.

"Friend?"

"My saddle partner. He didn't pass out at the bar too?"

The sheriff shook his head. "No. More coffee?"

Receiving an affirmative nod Paxton refilled both cups. "What's this friend look like?" he asked sitting back down.

"'He's a little taller and stockier than me, but about my age. Dark hair; name of Wilmington."

The sheriff shook his head. "Sorry, son. Don't know nothin' about that. You were the only one there when Mike sent for me."

Chris didn't like the way that sounded. Buck didn't just run off. He was about to get seriously concerned when something occurred to him. "Any brothels in town?"

The sheriff smiled. "A couple."

Chris sighed, wondering why he hadn't thought about that before. What else would Buck have done if Chris had passed out? At least he didn't have anything to worry about now. Finishing his coffee, Chris set his mug down and offered the sheriff his hand. "Thanks for the coffee, sheriff. And the bed."

The man chuckled. "Anytime. I wish I could say that's the only thing all my guests were in for."

"If you don't need me for anything . . . . " Chris was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact he was free to walk. He usually had to contend with drunk and disorderly at the least.

The sheriff shook his head. "Nothin' at all."

Chris tipped his hat and stepped outside. Being Sunday there wasn't much activity on the boardwalk and Chris was grateful. The coffee had helped, but he was still feeling his hangover and he just wanted to get back to his room and lay down again. He hoped if Buck was there he wouldn't feel like talking.