The absolute last thing that James West intended to do was step into Unger's house. He saw it as a minefield, a dangerous trap that he wasn't going to escape if he let himself get sucked into it. At the same time it seemed that Joseph Unger had successfully been weaving his lies. There was the sickly sweet smell in the air, the smell of a child's trust rotting.

As much as Jim cared about Hannah and Louise, and their happiness, he cared more about their search for truth. Both had openly accepted at one time that their past was all lies. West wasn't going to let them get dragged back into it. "Joseph Unger...isn't your father, Hannah." Jim called, causing the figure that had begun to step down from the front steps to freeze. He felt his prisoner move a second later, and tried to grab for the man, but his side ripped open, crippling him with pain before a fist connected with his jaw.

He saw stars and blindly punched out at air, knowing the Irishman had a hole in his knee and couldn't get far. A moment later hands were trying to yank the gun from his fist and he struck skin and bone this time. Once his knuckles found flesh, he pulled his fist back and delivered it several more times before there was splash of blood on his cheeks and Getzman grunted, falling away. As Jim straightened he saw that the Irishman was still on his feet, but now bleeding from the mouth.

Jim could feel his jaw swelling rapidly and anger swelling up with it. He'd been attacked, shot and sucker punched by this man too many times. West wasn't going to put up with it anymore. Eyeing Hannah from his peripheral vision Jim tossed the gun in her direction. The Irishman watched it arch then looked back to West with a satisfied grin on his bloodied face, moving into a fighter's crouch.

Jim didn't waste much time, stepping into the box and managing a tight uppercut before the Irishman grazed him with a fist. The Mick's head flew back, blood curving into the air with it, but he kept his feet and swung a left at Jim's face. Jim caught the arm, pivoted and pulled the man over his head, dumping him with little preparation into the cold, wet grass. Getzman recovered faster than Jim would have liked, rolling with his wounded knee outstretched, and quickly gaining his feet.

West scanned his enemy for weaknesses, the maniacal grin on the man's face implying that their weren't any. The next exchange of punches ended with neither man gaining any ground, and both breathing harder. The Irishman had been a street fighter, probably from birth, and had added a number of disciplines onto that basic knowledge. There were no rules, Jim discovered, when a moment later the Mick threw another left. Jim went to cover up before he realized it was a feint. Just as he was dropping his arms the Mick sank hard knuckles into the groove cut into West's side, pounding the injury once, twice before Jim kicked out a foot at the Irishman's knee and they both backed away.

West's side was stitching now, robbing him of breath and energy, and he could feel fresh blood rolling toward the waistband of his pants. The Irishman had gone down on his bad knee and was struggling to rise again. Jim met the man's eye and saw nothing. Only black coal buried in brown stone. West wondered if Unger truly understood the kind of man he had chosen to ally with.

There was a gunshot, a flash of powder igniting in the air and Jim caught a glimpse of Hannah wielding his hand gun, before the darkness returned. At first Jim thought that Hannah was aiming the gun at him, but as he straightened he realized that Getzman was her target and he moved, jerking the man to his feet again.

"You should have left him on his knees, Mr. West." Hannah spoke, her voice markedly quieter than it had been before. She started to move closer, the gun still firmly pointed at the Irishman. "Joseph Unger will have awakened, and it won't be long before he and his other men come to investigate. If this was meant to be a rescue, we should leave quickly."

Baffled, Jim said, "I don't...I don't understand..."

"Louise and I did our best to convince Mr. Unger that he had won us over. It was all we could do to survive. I thought that maintaining the story would give you an advantage over Mr. Getzman."

"Where is your sister?"

"She escaped, an hour ago. Unger and his men have been unconscious, knocked out by some sleeping powder we fixed into the food, but that isn't likely to last forever. Please, if we are to make our get-away..."

"Can you ride bareback?" Jim asked, nodding toward the Irishman's saddle-less horse.

Hannah gave the animal a reluctant glance then answered to the affirmative with a hesitant but resigned sigh and Jim gingerly took his gun from her hands.

Yanking on the Irishman, Jim gritted his teeth, "Planning to move?"

The man weakly shook his head. West didn't trust him at all but didn't have a choice for the moment. He moved with Hannah, cupping his hands and quickly hoisting her onto the horse. "Can you find your way back to Marcum?" Jim asked, his gun pointed once more at Getzman.

"Yes, Louise and I agreed to meet-"

"Don't tell me, just get there. Find Arte, get him up to date."

"Mr. West, I can hardly leave you here. You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine." Jim said, certain he sounded reassuring, but not feeling that way.

Hannah had misgivings but turned the horse and rode from the yard before she voiced them. The night was cold and forbidding and the further she got from the small farm at the end of the road, the sicker she felt about leaving West there. Tempting the fates, Hannah pushed the horse just a little faster and held on tight.

Arte hadn't expected the second knock at the door but when it came he responded better than he had with the last. Giving one glance to the boy and mother now asleep in the bed, Arte stood and greeted what he assumed to be a new patient.

Instead he found a breathless, tattered, and exhausted Louise who folded into him without warning. Behind her stood a tall negro man, eyeing Louise with concern and Arte with caution. All Arte could feel was a temporary wave of relief.

"Come in..." He urged, moving out of the door and guiding Louise to the chair he had been sitting in moments ago. He knelt in front of her looking her over, finding a few bruises on her arms, and scrapes on her face and hands. She was pale and chilled but otherwise seemed unharmed. "Louise, what happened?" Arte coached softly. "Where is your sister?" He asked, sparing a few glances to the black man who seemed relatively at ease in the doctor's office.

"Father..." Louise said, her voice soft as a mouse.

For a moment Arte froze, and felt his heart almost grind to stand still. How could she have known? Who could have told her? Jim didn't even know...how could...then he realized who 'father' was and felt the bile begin to rise. "Unger...he's the one that took you?"

Louise nodded, took a deep breath, then forced herself to sit up straighter on the chair. "Hannah and I took a walk in that town. We'd been cooped up on the train for so long. Mr. West agreed to come with us but we were separated. And then he was there, Unger and two men we'd never seen before. He tried to convince Hannah and I that he had repented, changed his ways. That he intended to see us through the rest of our lives...provide for us.

We convinced him to take us to the train, to collect our things, in hopes that Mr. West would be there but he wasn't. Unger and his men took us from the train, brought us to a house. I know it may seem foolish but we were frightened..."

Arte shook his head but didn't interrupt her. As Louise took a deep breath to continue, a cup of steaming liquid appeared in front of her and Arte glanced with surprise at the silent negro man who had had the forethought to put it together.

"We devised a plan, Mr. Gordon, to go along with him until we could find escape. We managed to drug him and his men but..." Louise swallowed hard, setting her jaw before she admitted, "Hannah made me leave her behind. I was to wait at Mr. Marshall's house there, but..." Louise shook her head. "I couldn't. Oh I couldn't. And Mr. Marshall said that someone had left a horse in their yard earlier and he was good enough to saddle it for me. We rode here as fast as we could. We have to return...please, Mr. Gordon. She's all I have left. Once they find that I'm gone..."

Arte did what he could to console her, looking back to the man who had to have been Marshall. "Can you take me there?" Arte asked quietly.

Even as the man was nodding Louise was pulling away from him. "No I can't. I can't stay here. I have to go back with you. I won't slow you down, I promise. I must go."

"You're exhausted, Louise. You are chilled to the bone and going with me will only put you and your sister in further danger, please..."

Louise was getting to her feet despite his warnings, her voice growing stronger as she continued to protest.

"There isn't time for this argument, Louise. It would be foolhardy to take you with me." Arte said, his voice a little firmer. He glanced to the mother in the bed across the room, awake now and watching the conversation.

A conversation that they couldn't afford to have in that room any longer. Arte moved to his saddle bags collecting them before he headed out the door. Marshall had preceded him, loosing the reins of the horses and waiting patiently with them.

"I won't be left behind. She's my sister, Mr. Gordon!" Even as she protested Louise was glancing up and down the dark street.

Gordon stepped onto the horse that she had taken into town, and Marshall mounted his own. They were turning away from the doctor's office and taking off at a gallop without another word. Louise was not one to be defeated however and she soon found the small stable, the only stable still standing in the town, with a familiar brown horse.

Ten minutes after Gordon and Marshall passed the freedman's house they encountered Hannah on the road. Riding a saddle-less horse she seemed just as fatigued and yet determined as her sister. The argument on the road escalated until Arte simply took off, Marshall pursuing, and pointing over his shoulder that Hannah should continue on until she arrived at the farmhouse.

Hannah reluctantly did as she was told until she met Louise, in hot pursuit of Arte and Ezekiel. Together the women decided they could still be of help, but not necessarily dressed and unarmed as they were. They journeyed to the Marshall farm, greeting the lady of the house Helena Marshall excitedly before they began to hatch a plan.

It took the Irishman no more than a minute or so to recover. The still, quiet that Jim had enjoyed as he watched Hannah make her get away was broken by the Mick shouting at the house, hoping to rouse his fellows. Jim was fairly confident that if Hannah's warning shot hadn't wakened them, Getzman's shouting wasn't likely to. Still he was uncomfortable with the man's caterwauling and he delivered a right hook to the man's jaw to shut him up. Getzman went to his good knee this time, and stayed there, dizzily shaking his head.

Jim shook out knuckles that were beginning to swell and jerked the Mick to his feet again, half-dragging him back to the cover of the barn near the road. Inside he struck a match, located an old lantern, and lit it, scanning the rundown building for some rope. What he found he used to tie the Irishman, then looked over the man's wounded knee.

The wrestling and fighting had kept the bullet wound from clotting, but the blood loss didn't appear to be life threatening yet. The groove cutting along Jim's side just under his rib cage was painful, but no longer bleeding.

The barn had been emptied of most of its useful tools, housing the few horses that Unger and his men had brought with them, and a large, enclosed carriage. Other than rotting hay and a rusted pitch fork there was nothing in the barn that Jim could use. Even if he'd had a cannon he didn't know what he would have done with it. There was plenty of rope however, and West was entertaining the idea of sneaking into the house and hog tying every one of Unger's men while they slept, when the Irishman began to thrash around.

When Jim glanced over, instead of a man struggling to free himself from his bonds, he caught the whites of the Mick's eyes and a terrified look directed at a pile of field stones stacked in a corner. A second later a long slender shadow flickered through the hay and West grabbed the Mick by the cloth between his shoulder blades, dragging him away from the pile and up a short set of stairs leading to a raised platform that served as a miniature hay loft.

The effort was exhausting and Jim weaved on his feet, before he sat down hard on the platform, breathing heavily. Getzman was just as breathless beside him, laying awkwardly.

"You'd shoot a man...and do ye're best to kill him with yer fists...but you won't let 'im get bit by a snake?" Getzman asked, baffled.

Jim felt sick to his stomach, the blood loss, lack of food and sleep, all catching up with him. He didn't have the energy or the desire to answer the Irishman and wanted nothing more than just a few moments to sleep. When the sloshing in his head lessened he moved back to his feet and eyed the carriage, then the horses below. They were calm enough, apparently unbothered by the presence of their scaly barn-mate.

Jim checked the Irishman's bonds then stepped carefully back down to the ground floor gathering the tack he would need to hitch the horses to the carriage. He'd already led one of the animals from its stall and into the harness before he heard the first confused voice shouting from the house. Unger's men had awakened and discovered that the girls were missing.

The Mick heard the voices too and Jim met his eyes in the same moment that one of the men outside noticed the glow of the lantern in the barn. Getzman took a deep breath and started to holler and Jim dropped the second harness, charging over the mess of buckles and leather between the horse and the driver's box, and tearing up the stairs slapping a hand over the Irishman's mouth. He pulled his gun and twisted painfully, aiming the weapon carefully at the top of the lantern, intending to snuff the flame without shattering the basin and scattering fuel all over the barn. He pulled the trigger a second before Getzman bit down hard against his hand.

Gagging on the cry of surprised pain, Jim forced his hand even deeper into Getzman's mouth until the pressure caused the Irishman to widen his jaws, and West quickly yanked the wounded appendage free, then pistol whipped the Irishman into silence.

"Should've left you for the snake..." Jim muttered, wincing at the dark splash of blood visible on his palm in the gloom of the barn.

The gunshot had confused the men outside and the sudden extinguishing of the light dissuaded them from getting any closer to a building that potentially held an armed enemy.

"Where are they!?" That was Unger. Sounding indignant and accusatory, and perhaps a little hung over.

The other men couldn't answer him, and as his eyes adjusted Jim could see them, through a narrow opening in the slats that formed the side of the barn, spreading out across the yard, as if the girls might have been hiding in the tall grasses. Three of the five men with Unger were heading for the barn.

Probably for the same reason Jim had extinguished the lantern, the men did not have illumination with them, but in the slight glow from the moon they still made fine targets. What he needed most was elevation and a reliable source of ammunition.

The one he could easily attain, the other... First however West moved in the darkness to the Mick and removed the ropes from around his wrists and ankles. He searched the man's pockets for the one thing that no Irishman could do without, found the flask and sprinkled a fair amount of its contents over Getzman's clothing. He tipped the flask over the Mick's mouth too, then left his empty derringer crammed into the man's lifeless hand. The scene set, Jim stepped up the only ladder that led to a second hay loft and pulled it up after him, laying as low as he could in the stink of the rotting hay, the smell once more turning his stomach.

He'd barely settled when he heard a voice close to the door shout, "Whos'ever is in there...we've got ya covered. Give yourself up!" The voice was young, probably about the same age as Angus had been, but this boy was clearly from the west. Kansas territory probably.

"Mebbe he's dead. Shot himself." Another voice suggested hopefully, sounding a little older, but not in the least wiser.

"You 'git. What are the chances a person shootin' himself would also shoot out a lantern. Hey in there! Final warnin!"

"Why are you men lolly-gagging? Get in there and see to the horses!" Came Unger's voice from the yard. Jim cleared a handful of straw out of his field of vision and waited as the door creaked open. The horses whinnied at the sound, but otherwise remained still. The one that Jim had already hitched to the carriage pulled at the harness a little.

"One of the horses is hitched!" The younger voice said, then shouted, "Hey! You gillies in here?"

"Yor a little old for hide an' seek ain't ya?" The second voice said and a moment later its owner cried out in pain. "OW! What was that for?"

"Y'all don't say things like that to a lady."

"Captain ain't never said they was ladies."

A lantern was bouncing from the house, across the yard toward the barn. Jim was suddenly overcome with the urge to dig in even deeper but he knew any movement would give him away. His distraction would either work or it wouldn't.

As the light spilled into the barn Jim could see that the bearer was Unger himself. All three men spotted the Mick at the same time. As they moved closer they expressed disgust at the blood covering the man, and then at the alcohol that he reeked of. Unger observed the man's condition, the one horse hitched and the gun in the man's hand. He spat on the unconscious Mick and kicked his backside hard, kicking him again and again until the man began to come around. Both of Unger's men stood as far away as they could get and said nothing, only occasionally eyeing one another in surprise.

As soon as Getzman's eyes opened Unger dragged him upright by his collar spraying him with spittle and epitaphs, accusing him of being a traitor and a coward. "You led that government man right to me, you vile-" The rest of what he had to say was cut off when one of the horses in the stalls started to stomp its feet angrily at something on the ground, tossing his head in agitation.

That snake, Jim thought, watching as the panic quickly spread until every horse in the barn was throwing a fit. Including the horse hitched to the carriage.

His new plan had only half-formed in his mind when Jim's once in a lifetime opportunity presented itself. Drawn by the commotion that had started in the stalls, Unger and both his men had moved under the loft Jim inhabited, the lantern going with them. The Mick was left temporarily on his own and began crawling off the platform Jim had dragged him onto, trying to gain his feet.

His enemy for the moment entirely distracted Jim got his boots under him as quietly as possible, judged the distance between the upper loft and the top of the carriage, took three steps and jumped. He landed as loudly as he could, crying out at the horse still hitched and snatching at least one of the reins, flicking it as hard as he could against the animal's back. The already spooked horse took off, taking the carriage with it, out of the barn and into the darkness.

Shots followed but far too late to hit anything and Jim scrambled for both of the reins, directing the horse onto the road.

A temporary solution, West thought, putting some distance between himself and the barn. That was until ten minutes had passed and he saw Artemus Gordon and another man racing towards him through the moonlight, both on horseback. The partners reined in cautiously several yards away from one another before they drew closer.

"Artemus...thank God...the girls?"

"Louise is safe, we left her back in Marcum in Doctor Weeks' care. Hannah should be at Mr. Marshall's home presently. James West, Ezekial Marshall." Arte added as almost an afterthought, then walked his horse closer inspecting the myriad of cuts, bruises and blood covering his partner. He hoped that what looked terrifying in the dark, would be less so in the light.

"Unger and his men are back there, and probably on their way here." Jim said. "I suggest we find someplace else to regroup."

Arte nodded then glanced to Ezekiel who quickly understood and said, "Gentlemen, follow me."

"Jim! There's a horse coming!" Arte whispered harshly, and both men automatically cocked pistols, knowing there was nowhere to hide. The horse that rounded the bend however, had no rider, and a very familiar limp.

Jim laughed and stepped down from the carriage tenderly, limping slightly himself as he moved to greet the faithful animal. "Sorry for leavin' ya back there, pal." He whispered to the horse, then tied the stallion's loose reins to the railing of the carriage. Jim and Black Jack took up the rear, the entourage moving as quickly as possible through the darkness until they reached the farmhouse.

It was no surprise to Ezekiel that the wood smoke escaping the chimney smelled faintly of sausage, eggs and frying bread. Nor did the man seem surprised when a young negro boy tore out of the house on the heels of an older brother, heading to the barn to assist in making each of the new menagerie of animals as comfortable as possible. Jim, Arte, Ezekiel and his two sons remained in the barn until the last of the work was done, and the wound on Black Jack's flank was cleaned and dressed. The bullet, unfortunately, would have to remain in the muscle for the time being.

When they entered the house Arte and Jim sighed in frustration to find both Louise and Hannah at the breakfast table helping Helena expand the simple meal. Equal surprise was expressed at the condition of both men, Jim especially, and the kitchen became something of a circus with one end of the room dedicated to triage, and the other to meal preparation.

Jim was provided with a clean change of clothes and they sat down together to eat the meal, a bizarre family gathering in the middle of what felt very much like a war. It had begun to remind Jim a little of some of the homes they had inhabited during the war years, homes that had to be shared by the residents, whether they were sympathetic to the northern cause or not.

By the end of the meal both secret service agents had introduced themselves to the Marshalls and Louise and Hannah had explained how they knew the former slave, now freed, family turned farmers.

Ezekiel, as it turned out, had offered his services when he discovered that a local archaeological dig needed men for the backbreaking work of moving sod and sifting it through grates. There was also the tedious task of cataloging and labeling everything deemed an artifact. As there was less work to be done on the farm Ezekiel sought the extra money and signed up with shovel in hand. A brief conversation with a curious and forthright Louise turned Ezekiel from ditch digger to clerk, and he put his unusual intelligence in the realm of reading, writing and arithmetic to the task.

By the time he left the job to begin the harvest, the professor in charge of the project had asked permission to keep Ezekiel's name and address in a file in case he needed him for another job. He doubted he would see another dig, Ezekiel said, but the work had put some good money in his pocket, most of which was safely tucked away.

"I always heard about rainy day money. I never thought I'd be fortunate enough to have any. Now we got somethin' to add on to." Ezekiel said, smiling in appreciation at Louise who blushed, and smiled back.

"Ezekiel been teachin' the boys about readin' and writin'. Once I saw the kinda money it make I started learnin' too." Helena said, a little shy to admit to it at first, but Ezekiel's proud grin encouraged her.

After the meal was cleared away blankets were provided and mattresses pulled from the beds to make a temporary hostel of the kitchen. Helena and Ezekiel took themselves back to bed for the few hours they had left before their morning's work truly began, leaving their impromptu guests on their own.

Hannah and Louise sat together on one of the mattresses, their blankets pulled up to their chins, neither one appearing tired in the least. Jim was asleep in minutes, but Arte too found himself unable to drift off.

"Mr. Gordon, are you still awake?"

The voice had been Hannah's. Arte stood and moved to the pile of firewood in the corner of the room, feeding a log into the kitchen stove before he sat in one of the chairs around the table. He waited as Hannah hesitated through the question she wanted to ask.

"Before Mr. West...rescued me he...he was under the impression that Louise and I had been coerced into believing Joseph Unger's claims...I wasn't certain then why he said it but...but Mr. West said that Unger wasn't my father. And he...he seemed to believe it himself."

Arte felt his stomach lurch, something akin to stage fright shooting through him. After taking a deep breath Arte began to explain what he had discovered when he first arrived in Marcum. He told them what it seemed his partner had already shared, about Hudson's protective nature and his knowledge of their mother. Arte avoided bringing up Hetsy. He'd finally remembered where he had recognized the name from. It had been one of the aliases on the wanted poster bearing Gordon's picture.

After joining the secret service he'd read more than a few articles on the criminals known as serial murderers and Hetsy, although never caught, was believed to have been one of them. Even if Hudson and Hetsy really were the same man, Hudson was dead and Hannah, Hudson's daughter, did not need to know the darkness of the man's past.

By the time he explained to her Doctor Weeks' theory, combined with the final confession of Anna Unger, both girls were silent, tears spilling down their faces.

"So then my father...my real father...was Sergeant Hudson?" Hannah asked.

Arte nodded.

"Why would he-" Then Hannah cut herself off and nodded, her eyes lighting a little. "He must have assumed that letting me believe what we had been told was better. After all, we thought Fath- we thought he was dead."

Hesitant to interrupt, wanting to do everything that she could to support her sister, Louise still could not resist asking the question that had been burning through her very being. "Do you know...who my father is?"

Arte started to open his mouth then found that he could no longer speak. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Louise, a wave of regret, shame and fear overwhelming him.

Louise sensed the change immediately and moved away from the wall, getting to her knees in a gentile fashion before she peered closer at the man who had been broadening their understanding of the world in ways that no professor ever could.

Hannah found herself looking between Louise and Arte, like watching a frantic tennis match until she drew in a sharp breath.

"Louise..." Arte said, taking her hand in his own, unaware that he had been shaking until he saw her hand shake in response to his touch. "If I had known all those years ago...that you...were...mine. That you lived." He couldn't finish the thought, and was already shaking his head. He should have anyway, he thought. He should have pursued Anna to the ends of the earth instead of accepting that all he had loved had perished, and bitterly moving on.

Louise was silent for a long time, barely breathing, clinging to Arte's hand but making no other contact with him. Her mind was a riot of memories, old and new. Of being a weak child, but stubborn, creative and always asking questions that were unbecoming of a lady. Of harsh words from her father, from her step-mother; of knowing that neither of her parents understood the way she thought, or her unending thirst for knowledge. Of always knowing that she was different, even from Hannah.

Then meeting Mr. Gordon. Sensing that he knew them, though they had only just met. The moment when his debonair and kind face suddenly melded with that of a photo that had for the longest time represented all that was evil in the world for Louise and her sister. Feeling mistrust and hate, and those feelings changing into surprised relief.

When she finally did move it was at first hesitant and slow, then sure and powerful. Louise stood, drew Arte to his feet, and slipped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. As she felt his arms close around her, she was enveloped by something she had wanted since the day she was born.

All of her childhood she had watched young girls hugging their fathers in this way, delighting in the warmth, safety and fulfillment that came from knowing that no other man on earth could love them so much, so freely, so unconditionally as their father. With Joseph Unger, even the rare moments of contact were cold, and calculated. But this...this was what she had hoped for all her life; had wept in despair for when there was no one to give her away on her wedding day.

This was the true definition of home.

As Arte held his daughter against him, his first and only child, he understood something new and wonderful. A sense of home of his own. He gently lay a hand against the back of her head, and wished that he had been there to see her grow, lose her first tooth, scrape her knee, then overcome. To have been there on her wedding day, to give her to the man she had chosen to marry. Or to have comforted her the day she was told her marriage had ended, her husband a respected but dead war hero.

When Louise pulled away she gave Artemus a quiet, tired smile, then gently pecked his cheek, retreating to the mattress that Hannah had since vacated, lying down and closing her eyes. Arte did what he could to return to reality. To remember that there was danger lurking, and he would need sleep if he was going to protect his daughter...daughters so far as he was concerned.

It took him a long time to get to sleep and morning came all too soon.

With the morning came a column of thick black smoke that Ezekiel noticed as soon as the sun began to rise. He quickly awakened Artemus, pointing to the thick cloud. "There are no other structures on this road but that farm at the end of it. That isn't a field fire."

A hunch stirred in Arte's gut, answering a question that had been bothering him subconsciously for most of the night. How had Louise escaped and arrived at the Marshall's home without being seen by James West? There had to be another road, a back way of some kind. When Arte asked, Ezekiel showed him a footpath that wound through the woods starting at the back of his property. Primarily the path was meant to provide access to the river and to the trees for firewood. Arming himself, Arte took a horse down the path at a cautious pace, drawing closer and closer to the column of smoke.

Before he reached the property he found a small dock built into the river bank. A shallow draft boat might have been moored there and no one would have known or suspected.

The house and barn Unger had held the girls in were engulfed in flame. Arte was certain that the property had been vacated but just the same he stuck to the treeline, watching as the walls fell in, able to feel the heat from the conflagration from fifty yards away.

When he returned to the Marshall house he found his partner awake, sore and grumpy.

"Why would Unger set everything on fire?"

"Destroying evidence? Perhaps this is his modus operandi." Arte said with a frustrated shrug. He was more convinced now than ever that Unger had murdered Anna long ago, along with another man...Hudson had made the accusation in Marcum, then burned the tugboat Hercules and scuttled it. "You said that Unger accused Getzman of being a traitor? What would stop him from killing him and burning down the barn and house to cover the act?"

"He's gone?"

"Yes, probably via the river. We aren't going to be able to track him." Arte said.

"We'll put out a wanted poster." Jim said, then realized what had begun the whole escapade in the first place and watched his partner until the irony had occurred to him too. "What about the girls?"

Arte took a deep breath and crossed his arms, looking at his shoes before he said, "Uh...about that, Jim. There's something I should tell you..."