Author's Note: If we allow ourselves to do what we have some fears may not be quite right, we shall grow more and more sleepy, until the voice of conscience has no longer power to wake us. – McGuffey's Third Eclectic Reader.

Indisputably, historical records link violent lawlessness, and even lynchings, to posse comitatus.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

Then:

Heath had had enough of the Comstock Lode. Others might see shiny silver and gold, but the reality was a dangerous darkness where you scrambled to carve out ore for someone else's profit, and dodged unexpected jets of scalding water that could kill a man if they hit him, and made the tunnels into a steamy Hades for those unlucky enough to labor there. He shook the dust of it from his feet without regret, leaving the discarded piles of 'horse' for a feisty little mare, in order to drift west again back into California and seek work in the fresh air of one of the farms or ranches of Placer County.

Maybe in the future he would find himself in a mine again, but for now, he had to believe that a man was worth more than just grubbing in the earth for metal, even precious metals such as silver and gold.

He turned up only short gigs here and there, but found pleasure in it even so, chopping wood one afternoon as payment for a really delicious dinner, a kind of stew made with salt pork, white beans and duck. A casso-something, the woman had called it. The rich darkness of the duck meat tasted like every holiday Heath had ever experienced, all rolled into one. He loved duck.

Before long he was grubbing in the dirt again, but this time by daylight in the open air weeding a garden for a woman fresh from lying in. Asked to stay for a few weeks, he scrubbed the cabin, washed clothes, cooked meals, minded the baby, as well as the other children, and when the housewife was feeling better, helped the farmer with the outside chores.

Until he came. A posse was forming to go after the infamous Rote Gang, led by none other than the Great Seth Campbell himself.

As he'd told Ward, a posse was a tricky thing, but Campbell was a legend as a lawman. To ride with him would be an honor. And an education. Heath was willing to bet Campbell could track even better than Charlie Whitehorse.

The farmer, for his part, was willing for Heath to go. They could not really afford a farmhand, but they'd needed someone while the missus was down, and Heath had helped them a lot.

"Enjoy yourself," the farmer said to him at parting.

And Heath had smiled.

Because he had had no idea what was coming.

The posse followed the sun and the Rote Gang west.

And caught them just outside Placerville as the sun was setting.

The wanted men were alive when the posse caught them, but not for long.

And three men of the posse died with them.

Campbell was exultant. His fist pumped the air. "We nailed 'em. Good job, men! You've done your duty!"

It was a miracle Heath didn't throw up.

Heath tried not to think about what had happened, but he couldn't get it out of his head.

The flutter of a white handkerchief.

"Wait! We surrender!"

"Take 'em! Get 'em! Take 'em! They're ready for the taking!"

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

BAM!

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"What's wrong, kid?" Deputy Max Gunderson asked him, as he handed him the per diem and his portion of the reward.

Heath met the kindly eyes of the old man, and confided, "I think they wanted to surrender."

"No, no," the lawman assured him, glancing toward the other side of the room where the great Seth Campbell was regaling some of the citizens with the story of their great adventure.

"Yessir, it's a pity we weren't able to bring them fellas in ta hang, but at least they won't be robbing banks anymore."

Gunderson's voice pulled Heath's attention back to the man in front of him. "They said we won't surrender."

Heath thought about that. Perhaps he'd misheard.

"Wait! We surrender!"

If Heath had misheard, then what had the white flag been for?

The General Store bustled with shoppers but above the hubbub a voice was speaking. A familiar voice. "Do you know what makes this Elixir so good? Chocolate. That's right. An old Aztec recipe, chocolate and chilies. Good for anything that ails you."

"Ward?"

"So you'll take the whole case?"

"No, thanks, I'm not inter—

"Heath! When did you get to Hangtown?"

"With the posse," Heath murmured, none too proud of the association, for all his hero worship on setting out.

"The Campbell posse?" Sudden interest blossomed in the previously bored voice.

"That's right," Heath admitted. He turned to his friend. "Are you selling those, Ward?"

Ward sighed. "I'm trying to, anyway."

"How about Mr. Whitcomb leaves the case here, and when you sell them you can pay him?"

"Consignment, eh? Well, in that case, I'll try it. Just leave them here on the counter. I'll let Mrs. Whitcomb know when she comes in if any of them have sold."

Aztec Elixir was Ward's latest get rich quick scheme.

"It's not bad stuff," Ward insisted, while Nora made coffee and fried up some bacon, eggs, and oysters for the men. "Here, try it."

"I'm not sick," Heath objected.

Ward laughed. "It isn't just for ailments, it can be used as a tonic as well. It even cures melancholy, and if I know you, ole buddy, you're sure to have at least a touch of that."

"Oh, Ward," Nora chided. "You let Heath alone with that kind of talk."

"Well, it's true," Ward defended himself. "He's always down about something."

"That's not true," she said.

Heath shrugged, but accepted the open bottle cautiously, sniffed it, and finally put it to his lips for a long swig.

He set it down, blinking, then stared at his friend.

Ward stared back, and even Nora turned from her stove to see what was wrong.

It started as a low chuckle, but gradually grew louder and louder until the entire little room was filled with Heath's deep belly laughs of surprise and pleasure. Nora and Ward joined in, though as far as they knew, there was nothing to laugh at.

Finally, their friend's hilarity slowed.

It was Nora who asked, "Heath, what was so funny?"

Heath looked not at her, but at the bottle. "Ward, this elixir—Boy-howdy! It's the best thing I've ever tasted!"