Cort's legs were wobbling as he headed towards the parlour. He tried to blame it on lack of food, blood loss and injury but deep down he know the real reason. He was scared, and he felt ridiculous for being rattled over something like this. Yesterday he'd stood before three gunfighters intent on killing him and whatever was going through his head then, fear hadn't been part of it. But the idea of coming face to face with a representative of the church was shaking him to pieces.

He approached the parlour door and stopped, rubbing at his face, trying to pull himself together. He clutched the blanket tightly around his shoulders, embarrassed at having to face Henry Usher without the benefit of proper dress but his clothes were gone, nothing in the lean old doctor's wardrobe would fit, and he'd had to make do with this.

He felt Wallace's hand between his shoulders, propelling him closer to the door.

"Just get it over with. Holler if you need me and don't go drinking my liquor while you're in there. It won't help you."

Cort opened the door cautiously, his heart racing. The room was acrid with odours of parchment, mothballs, dust and chemicals and he wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze. The walls of the parlour were lined with books and there were a couple of glass cabinets containing phials and bottles of fluids. It was too warm, a fire blazing in the grate, and a couple of refined old armchairs were pulled up close to it. Cort could see a man's form in one of them, stretched out casually, a glass of liquor in his hand. He wasn't sure if Usher knew he was here, wasn't sure what to say, so he took a step into the room, closed the door quietly and cleared his throat.

Usher stirred and got lithely to his feet. He was smiling.

"Do forgive my manners, I got comfortable there with the fire and bourbon."

He walked forwards, hand outstretched, still smiling and Cort took in his finely tailored three-piece suit, fancy shirt, thick silver watch chain and expensive boots. He automatically dropped his eyes to Usher's waist, seeking the gun belt but of course Usher was unarmed and he felt a little guilty for even looking. Then the man from his dreams was standing before him, shaking his hand with a warm, firm grip. Usher was a big man; taller than Cort by a couple of inches, heavier by at least forty pounds and looked to be in his early fifties, his age only belied by silver streaks in his finely coiffed hair. He exuded style and confidence and the smile he offered seemed genuinely friendly. It reached all the way to his eyes, the same ones Cort remembered from the desert, but these eyes were warm and concerned.

"It seems you're not much better off than last time we met."

Cort pulled at the blanket, wishing it was bigger. "At least I had clothes then."

The smile didn't falter. "Sit by the fire, son, I don't want you catching cold."

Usher strode to a dresser in the corner of the room and Cort sat in the other armchair, watching him pour whisky into a glass. His heart had stopped pounding so hard and he was reassured by the warmth and sincerity of Usher's greeting, but he couldn't let his guard down. He still didn't know what this man wanted from him.

The glass of whisky was pushed into his hand. "The doctor's worried about you."

Cort smiled. "He's worried about me drinking his booze."

He took a gulp of the liquor. It was good bourbon and he relished the slow burn as it slid down his throat and into his belly. Usher sat down and now he looked serious.

"What happened to you?"

Cort frowned, unsure of the question.

"If you mean John Herod and all, I…"

Usher interrupted. "I know what happened after they dragged you here and I know what Herod made you do. I'm asking what happened to your faith, Cort. When I met you in the desert you looked half dead but I was pretty sure I was looking at a man of God. Now, barely a month later, I find you trying to keep law in a town which doesn't know its meaning, getting drunk every night and dreaming about purgatory."

Cort was startled. "How do you know that?"

Usher shrugged. "Like I said, the doc's worried about you and you didn't answer my question."

Cort eyed him cautiously. "Any reason why I should?"

Usher's smile was back. "None at all, though it might help you some."

Cort thought about it for a moment, not sure he should say anything, but this man had pretty much saved his life and he owed him something for that at least.

"You'll probably think I'm making excuses but the truth is John Herod took my faith and a lot more besides. My soul always belonged to him more than God, and the bastard knew it. Renouncing violence was easy enough in Hermosillo, but he knew the minute he put a gun in my hand and stuck me in a gunfight I'd pull the trigger." He shrugged. "I killed a man for the first time in three years and then I was done with preaching. I was never much good at it anyway."

Usher shook his head. "That's wrong."

"I know. I should have just let the injun shoot me, but I was too much of a coward. That gun was stronger than my faith and I wasn't convinced I was going to heaven so I killed him before he killed me. That day I turned my back on God, and God turned his on me."

Usher was still shaking his head but there was a smile tugging at his lips. Cort wondered, with irritation, what was so damned amusing about the sorry affair.

"I got to Hermosillo the day after Herod's men came for you and I spent some time talking to your congregation. They sure were sad you'd gone and most of the women were crying, thinking you were dead. Some of them were real pretty too. They loved you, Cort, kept saying how much they enjoyed your services, how you brought the Bible alive, how you always knew the right thing to say or do to help them, how much better their lives were. How do you figure that to be lousy preaching, boy?"

Listening to Usher talk of his congregation was a wrench, and Cort could picture those well-remembered faces, twisted with grief and concern. But surely not for him, he didn't deserve the respect or compassion of decent, hardworking people like those.

"Everything I did in Hermosillo was a lie. I deceived that town and I sure as hell deceived myself. I'm a killer, pure and simple, and no amount of remorse or confessing to a priest will change that. I know where I'm headed Mister Usher and why don't you tell me why you've been following me?"

Usher's face darkened. "What's wrong with you? You of all people should know how God grants forgiveness to those who truly seek it. The Bible isn't a lawbook son, it's a guide to morality and if you've taken life and know it's wrong, God will forgive. But if you don't have the courage to even ask that favour then you may as well swill around in torment for all eternity. You'll only have yourself to blame."

He got up, snagged the bottle of bourbon from the dresser and refilled Cort's glass.

"I'll be glad to hear your confession, any time you like."

Cort watched the whisky flow. He didn't recall drinking the first glass but was grateful for a second. It felt like he was on pretty thin ice.

"I'll think about it, and you haven't answered my question."

Henry Usher was the picture of tranquillity as he topped up his own glass, sat down and folded his hands across his belly. He levelled a peaceable gaze in Cort's direction.

"I'd been hearing stories about you for years, back when you rode with Herod and his gang. I confess I didn't care for what I was hearing, but it was mostly you people were talking about, not your boss, and that made me wonder. I dug a little deeper, found out more about the kid with the fast gun who followed Herod like a dog but carried out his business with something you might call compassion. Seemed you wasn't so keen on hurting and killing innocent folks for sport, like the rest of them, seemed you stopped a lot of ugliness when you could, and people remembered that."

Cort shrugged. "It makes no difference if I had a conscience. The fact is I did everything Herod asked of me, and I killed more men than I can remember."

"I'm not saying it was right, but I'm not here to pass judgement. When I stopped hearing your name in those stories I got curious again, but nobody knew what happened or where you'd gone. Then, three weeks ago I got word you'd set up some kind of mission in Hermosillo, that you'd found God, and my heart filled with joy. I figured I'd pay you a visit but I was too late and by the time I'd caught up you were John Herod's property again. I sure wasn't going to mess with him."

Cort nodded. It explained why Usher had simply left him in the desert that night.

"I want to thank you for what you did back there. You saved my life, though it might have been kinder to let me die."

"I figured you were dead, Cort. I figured as soon as you got to Redemption John Herod was going to kill you. I can't tell you how happy I was to discover you survived all that unpleasantness."

Cort was beginning to feel the effects of the bourbon and hoped the next part of this conversation would be over with quickly. The narrow bunk in the little orange room was starting to seem very pleasant indeed.

"Are you going to tell me what you want now, Mister Usher?"

"I heard you were smart, son, haven't you figured it out for yourself? Do you think I followed you halfway across the territory for my health? I believe a man with your talents deserves more than a crappy marshal's job in a hole like Redemption."

Cort frowned, unsure where Usher was going with this. Usher shot him another warm, embracing smile.

"I'm offering you employment, son."

Of all the possible motives Henry Usher might have had for hunting him down, this one had never crossed Cort's mind. If he hadn't just heard the words come out of Usher's mouth he would never have believed it possible.

"You're a man of God, a real man of God, and I know something about your church and the good it does in this territory. What possible use would I be to you?"

Usher sipped his bourbon, an appraising look in his eye. Cort didn't like being studied like this and picked at the blanket nervously.

"I admit I was going to ask you to join us as a priest. My ministry is expanding so fast I can barely keep track and I need good, charismatic preachers in my churches. Men who can make religion mean more to folks than being bored for two hours on a Sunday morning. It seems you're not ready for that yet but since you've taken a liking to the law, perhaps a job in security might suit you?"

It might have been the whisky scrambling his brain, but Cort had no idea what Henry Usher was talking about. He'd suspected some kind of religious offer was coming, and been ready to turn it down, but how did security fit into the church?

"I'm not following."

"It's quite simple. My churches make money from donations. We use them to build more churches and bring the word of God to towns which need us most. Towns like Redemption for example. That money piles up fast and needs protecting until we can get it to our banks in Tombstone and Tucson. I'm sure I don't need to remind you about the number of outlaws and gangs on the roads these days."

Cort smiled. "You want me to kill in the name of the church?"

"No, son, I want you to be a deterrent." Usher spoke slowly, like he was explaining something to a small child. "You might not realise but you've still got a fearsome reputation. I reckon most outlaws would think twice about robbing coaches carrying church money if they knew John Herod's old deputy was heading up the guard."

Cort's head was starting to throb. The doctor was right, whisky was no good for him right now and Henry Usher, for all his charm, intelligence and conviction seemed to be missing a fundamental point. He tried to focus his thoughts and explain coherently.

"That reputation you mention will draw out every desperado in the territory. Even if they don't care about the money, which is unlikely, they'll want to pit their gun against mine so see who's fastest. If I was guarding your money you'd wind up with more interest in it than you could handle. If you want proper security I suggest you go visit the Pinkertons.

Usher didn't seem to be giving up and his persistence was tiring.

"You're an easy target here, Cort. Redemption's a town in chaos and you're killing yourself trying to control something one man should never be expected to. They're paying you exactly how much to put your life on the line every day?"

Cort smiled. "I reckon you know how much."

Usher nodded. "I'm offering you a job where you'll get to own more than one set of clothes. You shouldn't have to sit around in a blanket whenever your shirt gets soiled."

Cort felt his face redden. "I'll get it back tomorrow."

Usher pressed on. "Church money will always be a target but my ministry doesn't make itself vulnerable and outlaws are starting to get that message. I'd appreciate it if you'd at least think on it a while, we haven't even discussed pay yet."

Cort was pretty sure Henry Usher had made another fundamental miscalculation.

"Money's not important to me anymore. I lived for three years in Hermosillo on the grace of God and the hospitality of the people. Right now I'm living on the charity of the folks in Redemption and as long as they want me enough to keep me fed and give me a bed, I'll do whatever they need."

Usher laughed, but there wasn't much humour in it. "I saw something of Redemption's charity last night. The whole town turned out to watch you die in a gunfight and took bets on the outcome. That's a fine, Godly charity and no mistake."

Cort only wanted to lie down and sleep. Usher didn't seem to be getting his message so he tried to make it as clear as possible.

"Mister Usher, tonight you've made me realise I might still have business with God, but it's something I need to work out with him directly. I don't think the church is going to figure in my life for a while so I'd like to thank you for your kind and generous offer, but I feel Redemption's the best place for me right now."

Usher nodded and stood up. Cort noticed how all the warmth had gone from his eyes. Now he was faced with the penetrating stare remembered from his dreams.

"Something might happen to change your mind, Cort, and I'll pray for a miracle. I'll be around for the next day or so, if you need me."

He headed towards the door, slapping something down on the arm of Cort's chair as he passed.

"Courtesy of the church. Buy yourself a new blanket, son."

The door closed and Cort glanced down at what he'd left. It was a twenty dollar bill.

Henry Usher moved quietly along the main street of Redemption, avoiding the lights and knots of drunken revellers spilling from the saloons and hotels. The town didn't know he was here or that his men were camped a mile outside the southern perimeter. He needed to get back to them quickly and adjust their orders.

He was puzzled and disappointed. He'd gone to Wallace's house believing that recruiting Cort would be easy, convinced the outlaw-turned-priest-turned-marshal would follow him willingly. He'd been certain that a man living on a moral knife-edge would do anything to redeem himself and not once considered the possibility of rejection. He couldn't understand Cort's motives, or why somebody who desperately needed the forgiveness of God would choose the law over the church.

Henry Usher wasn't used to being denied and he didn't like it, but he tried to remember how the Lord placed every obstacle across his path for a good reason. He needed to accept this new challenge and find a way to show the marshal how the law of the church was stronger than the law of the land.

He'd got lucky last night. The three drunken bums who'd tried to outgun Cort had been cheap, stupid, dispensable labour, but next time his own men would be involved and he wasn't taking any chances with their lives.

He lengthened his stride as he cleared the last of Redemption's buildings and covered the mile or so back to his camp quickly. By the time he spotted the campfire, his men hunched around it, a plan was clear in his mind.

His deputy, Jack Bellows, saw him approach and came striding over. He looked relieved.

"You okay, sir? You been gone a long time."

"I'm fine. We just got a change of plan is all."

"Anything I can help with, Mister Usher?"

"What's the word on Ben Carter?"

"We got eyes on him. Last I heard he was having fun in the bordello."

Usher nodded. "Tell those boys to stay alert; I don't want that bastard sneaking off in the night. We'll take him tomorrow at sundown."