"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cole. Please, don't shoot me." It was more a whimper than a plea. He really was a youth.

"So you know who I am then," he practically growled, "and that you're not him?"

"It was just a lark and a fast way to make money. I'm sorry it was your name I used, but I had no idea you were anywhere in the area. Honest."

"Crime is not just a lark and there are easier, less hazardous ways to make money."

"I swear I won't ever use your name again."

"But you'll use someone else's? I have to turn you in."

"Please, can't you just give me a warning? I won't use someone else's name. You'll never hear of me again."

"It's not my place to issue warnings, but you're young. We'll see what we can't work out with the stage company's owner. Get dressed. I ain't escorting you around town half dressed."

He blanched. "Out here in the hall? There's a lady present," he said, referring to Ruth.

"Which is another reason I'm asking you to get dressed. You didn't have no concern for modesty when you came out dressed like this in the first place."

Nonetheless, Ruth turned around, giving him a chance to pull his shoes and shirt on.

"He's decent," Kid informed her.

Clothes taken care of, they left the dilapidated brothel.

"Where's your family?" Ruth asked.

"Don't have any," Colt answered.

"That explains a lot. Don't make it right though. You go to church?" she asked.

The boy looked at her like she was crazy. After all, she'd just caught him sneaking away from a prostitute's room and he'd admitted to his crimes. "No, ma'am. Not since I went with my grandmother when I was little."

"Well, there's your problem right there. Life's hard enough without trying to do it on your own. You got to walk with God."

Kid hid an amused smile at the lecture he was getting from Ruth. She only stopped when she spotted a familiar face coming in the other direction.

"Oh no, here comes my writer friend," Ruth said. "I hope he's not back for the next thrilling part to his fiction story."

"He better not be," Kid said in no mood to have patience with the man.

Instead of a frown, the journalist now flashed a smile. He was looking at Kid, not Ruth. "One of my informants just told me you caught the man robbing stagecoaches, Mr. Cole. I can make your name famous, and I don't mean infamous but have Kid Cole be synonymous with hero. I just have to have the story of you catching the thief in your own words. What do you say to that?"

Kid took a step closer in a way that made the man take a step back. "I think that your first story better be an apology to my wife for printing lies about her in the paper."

He swallowed thickly. "I think that can be arranged."

"If you've printed an article to my satisfaction, we'll talk when I get back."

"I'll go get started on it right away," he said, before scurrying off.

"That should take care of that problem," Kid told her.

"Newspaper men are funny birds," Ruth said with a shake of her head. "Or at least, he is. Whatever sells papers, regardless of the truth."

sss

Kid took Colt to Franklin alone.

Ruth went to the hotel room and found Lydia was already ready for bed.

"No point in getting another room until Kid gets back," Ruth said to Camille. "You two can have the bed. I'll just pile some blankets on the floor."

She and Camille took their turns getting ready. Lydia's deep breathing indicated she was asleep when Camille finally climbed onto her side of the bed.

Ruth ventured a question she'd been wondering about as she settled onto the floor. "How'd you get into the business?"

"My purity was taken when I was 17 by a supposed friend of the family. What choice did I have about the path my life took after that? No man would have me. That was also the first time I got in the family way and my family disowned me for it."

"That's terrible. You were taken by force. Didn't that matter to them?"

"No, damaged goods is damaged goods."

Ruth shook her head. She couldn't understand that kind of thinking. Where men got by with crimes like that but a woman with no say-so in the matter was forever tainted.

"But I embraced it. I decided I was going to be the best I could be at it and I was. I found out French women were more desirable, so I faked a French accent and gave myself a French name. Anything I could do to get ahead, I did. I worked my way to madam and I was saving up for a fancy, classy place with crystal chandeliers and thick carpet. At least now, I have enough put back to begin a new life away from St. Louis. The whole business sickens me now anyway. So don't feel sorry for me."

Ruth did feel sorry for her though. Mostly because she was missing out on the Savior's love.

"You think I had something to do with losing the last baby, don't you?" Camille asked.

"I think whether you did or not, you're grieving the loss."

"I am and all the other losses too. My sins weren't enough for me. I had to add murderer to the list. God taking this one was just. Why should I be able to make up for it in some small way?"

Lydia was awake or she'd never really been asleep to begin with. She sat up in bed and put a comforting hand on Camille's shoulder, which broke the fallen woman down and she began to weep bitterly.

"They're with Jesus in heaven and if you let Jesus be your friend and make God your father, you'll get to meet them in heaven cause He loves us no matter what bad things we done. Sister Ruth taught me that."

Camille cried harder. "It can't be that simple."

"It can be," Lydia said. "It's so simple even children like me can understand."

Something in Lydia's manner and words got to Camille and Ruth watched as Lydia lead Camille to Christ.

"'And a little child shall lead them'," Ruth said softly to herself. Ruth was touched by Lydia's deep compassion, not a common thing in one of her tender years. Maybe she understood better than anybody not asking for the cards you were dealt.

Camille went to the corner chair to pray or think over what had just happened to her.

"You'll make a good revivalist, Sister Lydia," Ruth said.

Lydia glowed, not with self-satisfaction but with the happiness that came from seeing a soul saved.

sss

A week later found Kid and Colt in Franklin and in Edgar's office.

"The idea is too crazy to even contemplate," Edgar argued.

"But what better person to advise you on how you can better protect your stagecoaches than a former robber of them?"

Colt looked too afraid to say anything. He was a shade or two too white and he trembled. The gallows were a hairbreadth away.

Edgar was debating in his mind. He wanted retribution, but the temptation to keep it from happening was strong as well. "Can you shoot Mr. Phillips?" he asked at last.

"Yes, sir." He paled even more as he realized that Edgar might be trying to get his charges upped to killer. "I haven't ever shot anything but animals though," he added.

"How would you like to ride with my drivers? Your job would be to protect important passengers or cargo, to stay alert for any signs of trouble. Think you could handle it?"

Relief slipped into Colt's limbs so fast, he staggered. "I sure could and I'll give back what I haven't spent."

"Oh, you can bank on that," Edgar said. "And what you have spent will be docked out of your pay."

"You're lucky," Kid said to Colt, removing his bonds. "Mercy's not always so quick to be had out here or anywhere."

"I know, thank you, Mr. Hunter, and thank you, Mr. Cole. Tell your wife I'm going to start attending church right away."

"She'll be glad to hear it." He turned to Edgar. "Well, I brought you the culprit and a new worker to boot. Where's the money?"

Edgar grumbled but handed over the rest of the reward money. It had all worked out well, but it had been an exhausting few weeks. There has to be an easier way to make money, Kid said to himself as he thought about the additional week it would take to get back to St. Louis. He was more than used to traveling by now, but it could get wearing sometimes.