As soon as the bandits had ridden off, the Kid and Amanda Grady rushed over to where Shecky lay, injured and unconscious. Will Brock immediately sank to his knees and began to mumble what sounded like prayers of thanksgiving for being delivered from evil. His boss, Harold Brock, was complaining bitterly about his lost pocket watch: "You said to hide it, so I hid it! But they found it anyway, didn't they? Do you know it was 18 karat gold? Do you realize how much it's worth? Do you?"

"Well, I'm guessin' priceless, since it belonged to your grandpa," Kid answered blandly as he jogged over to the stagecoach to retrieve a canteen. Amanda had pulled Shecky's head into her lap and was stroking his face gently, oblivious to the blood seeping from his bushy black hair and staining the front of her skirt.

"You might be able to get it back," Kid offered helpfully. "In a couple weeks, you can try lookin' in the pawn shops in the towns nearby. You'll have to pay for it, of course. But you'll get a good deal on it."

Bridger looked at Curry incredulously. "It wasn't really my grandfather's watch," he sputtered. "My grandfather didn't have a penny to his name. I'm a self-made man."

"With a little help from your wife, sir," put in Brock, who seemed to have wrapped up his prayers and now felt quite relieved - in fact, even a tad giddy at finding himself still among the living. Bridger shot him a glare, then smiled sheepishly.

"At least they didn't get my wedding ring," he commented, reaching deep inside his pants to retrieve the heavy gold ring with the ruby jewel. "Ida would have eaten me for breakfast!"

Both men laughed loudly at that, revealing a rare glimpse of an actual human being somewhere inside the pompous banker, which for some reason made Curry warm to him, just a little bit. Maybe that's why he let his guard down a few moments later when Amanda, reminded by the retrieval of the hidden ring, remembered Curry's six-shooter tucked in her garter.

Curry had gently removed the injured man from the teacher's lap, laid him on his belly, and was bathing the gash on the back of his head with a wet cloth, torn from a clean shirt he'd found among the strewn luggage.

Miss Grady discreetly reached under her skirts and produced the Colt, which she gingerly handed to Curry. Pleased to have it back in his possession, Kid twirled it around his finger a few times and almost shoved it into his holster, which he recalled at the last minute wasn't strapped around his hips, but lying in the dirt where Jude had tossed it. Instead, he added one last flourish and tucked it into his waistband. Too late, he noticed three pairs of wide eyes were staring at him. A faint echo of Heyes' voice saying, "Not unless you go and prove it to him" flitted through his memory as Brock give a sharp and pointed look at Bridger, who nodded thoughtfully. Shecky chose that moment to wake up, reaching up to grab at the wet cloth. Amanda was at his side in an instant, saying, "You're alright, Mr. Sheckerson, you just have a nasty bump on the head."

"Those varmints still here?" the injured driver asked, hanging on Curry's arm as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"No, they're long gone," Curry answered

'Well, then, let's get this mess cleaned up," the driver said, struggling to get to his feet.

"You just rest here a bit, Shecky," Curry urged. "We'll take care of it."

The passengers then gathered up the books, clothing, and other items scattered about, repacked them in the trunk, and got them loaded back onto the stage. Truth be told, Bridger didn't do too very much of the actual work, believing himself to be much more valuable as a supervisor than a lowly laborer.

When they were ready to leave, Shecky insisted he could drive the coach, but it was obvious he still felt weak and dizzy. No matter how much the others insisted that Mr. Jones could drive, he wouldn't hear of it, until finally Amanda offered to let him lie his head in her lap inside the coach. This turned out to be an offer he couldn't refuse.

"I'm just not entirely sure of the way," said the newly recruited driver.

"Oh, it's easy," said the veteran. "Just follow this road until you see the station. We're about 12 miles away or so. When you enter a forested area, you'll know you're close. When you get a coupla miles away, the horses'll practically race each other to their stalls."

Two hours later, they entered the woods. It was starting to get a little too dark to see, but just as Shecky had said, the horses sensed they were nearing home. The animals could see well enough in the dim light and knew where they were going, so Kid was really just holding the reins, not particularly doing anything with them.

When he judged they were about a mile from the Way Station, Kid saw a light up ahead and reckoned they were nearer than he'd thought. But as the light got closer and closer it became apparent it was not coming from a building, but rather from a lantern held by a mounted man.

"Yo, there, Shecky!" called a male voice. "That you?"

"It's Shecky's stagecoach," Kid yelled back, "but he ain't drivin' it. He's inside."

Horse and rider cantered to meet them. Once at the stage, the man asked urgently, "What's a matter with Shecky? He sick or something?"

"A little banged up," answered the Kid. "We got held up."

Amanda's voice came from somewhere beneath him, "He got hit in the head, but he's feeling much better."

"Harrison!" Shecky's voice was heard to say. "You worried about me?"

"Yes, I am worried about you, you ornery cuss! You're over an hour late! And Mary's fit ta bust! I came out lookin' for ya."

"Thanks to the good care I've been receiving from this lovely young lady and the drivin' by that young man up there, I reckon I'm doin' just dandy."

"Mr. Bridger, Mr. Brock. You two gentlemen alright in there?"

"We're fine, Bill. Just a bit annoyed and very hungry."

"Good. I'll ride ahead and tell Mrs. Harrison to reheat supper. Want the lantern, pal?"

"Oh, that's okay, Mr. Harrison. Seems the horses know the way."

"That they do, young feller. And thanks for taking care of my partner." Harrison reached up to shake Curry's hand. "Names' Bill Harrison."

"Jones. Thaddeus Jones," said Curry as they clasped hands.

It wasn't long before Kid saw more lights through the trees, glowing softly and welcoming from the windows of the two-story inn and streaming from the open doors of the nearby barn. The horses were practically running now, knowing they'd soon be getting their dinner and a well-deserved rest.

"That's right, fellas," Kid murmured to the team. "I know exactly how you feel."