Cort put down his pen and tried to shake some of the stiffness out of his hand. The Marshal's Office was warm and quiet – all he could hear was the cracking of the wood burner, the distant whistle of wind - and it had got dark outside whilst he'd been engrossed in his work. He'd been at the damned thing for hours and still wasn't happy with it. The day after their return to Redemption, Charlie Barton and his cronies – now calling themselves the Town Council – had approached him with the idea of conducting a Christmas Day service in town. He'd turned them down flat. He had no desire to stand up and preach a sermon to the same people who'd watched him kill men in the street and he was uncomfortable with the idea of masquerading as a priest, if only for a few hours.

But they'd kept on badgering him, finding swift solutions to every argument he'd presented. Eventually he'd agreed to preside over a morning gathering and deliver some kind of festive speech – something which steered clear of the Bible but offered hope and cheer to the people of this hard-pressed little town. He'd put off writing the words as long as he could but when Christmas Eve arrived and he could delay no longer, he found it more difficult than he'd expected. Not having the Bible to reference and quote meant he'd had to wrack his brain for personal examples of every point he was trying to make, and the effort was giving him a headache.

He rubbed his eyes, reached for the beer bottle on his desk and discovered it was empty. He was about to shout for Toby to fetch another but stopped himself. The kid wasn't his servant, though he tended to forget that sometimes, so he stood up and headed into the parlour to get one for himself. He could hear pots clattering in the kitchen out back and the smell of cooking made his stomach growl, but it was only just after 6pm and dinner wouldn't be ready for another long hour.

Having experienced the culinary efforts of Cort, Ben and Jack Bellows respectively, Toby had insisted, vigorously, that he take sole responsibility for their meals. Nobody had protested – none of them had the faintest idea what to do in a kitchen anyway – and Toby had been concocting a variety of exotic dishes for the past fortnight. He seemed to enjoy it but when he wasn't cooking, or out sourcing new and increasingly spicy ingredients from the Mexican traders, he was seldom far from Cort's side.

Cort didn't mind having him around, though it was a source of constant amusement to Ben and Jack Bellows, and he knew it was more than the simple case of hero-worship his deputies supposed. Toby was watching him at all times, listening and learning, and most days he'd ride into the desert for a couple of hours. Cort knew he was out there practising with his guns and one day he'd followed, given him some pointers and showed him a few gunslinger's tricks. Toby's eyes had lit up as he'd watched the fancy gun twirling and he'd jokingly challenged Cort to a quick-draw. There was gravity beneath the humour however, and Cort recognised a need to test himself so he'd obliged. Toby was nowhere close in terms of speed, but still faster than many of the men in town, and Cort figured this little demonstration of superior prowess would only make him keener. He wasn't wrong either; afterwards Toby was gone for three or four hours at a time.

Toby was currently bunking down in one of the jailhouse cells but Jack Bellows had firmly declined the other cell and taken up residency at a nearby hotel. That suited everybody just fine. Toby still hadn't forgiven him for the attack outside the cave and the atmosphere between them was frosty at best. Before Cort had hidden Henry Usher's money, which they'd counted laboriously and amounted to $405,000, he'd been persuaded to appropriate the extra five thousand in order to sustain them all. Though deeply uneasy with the idea of using money wrung from the hardworking efforts of others, Ben pointed out how Redemption would struggle to pay one lawman's wages, let alone three, and Bellows argued that if they were successful in exposing Henry Usher, there would be more of his money to spread among the wronged. He'd reluctantly agreed then ridden out into the desert alone, hiding the money in a secure spot where it would stay until its rightful owners came to claim it.

They'd all spent a dull couple of days writing letters to the most prominent victims of Henry Usher's blackmail. They realised pretty quickly that the money they'd stolen, although sizeable, wouldn't go far when split amongst the huge number of people involved so they'd targeted 60 men, all of whom lived within reasonable travelling distance of Redemption. It had amused Cort to see that $400,000 split 60 ways amounted to $6,666 per victim, though Ben and Bellows had failed to see the irony. It would take time for their letters to arrive, and they'd all said the same thing: if the recipients wanted some of their money back, and wanted to learn who was behind the blackmail scheme, they should come to Redemption. Afterwards, Cort had called a meeting with the new Town Council and put them in the picture – advising them there might soon be an influx of respectable citizens looking for answers, but that they should also be doubly alert for not-so-respectable men. He'd been careful what he told them but they needed to understand that if Henry Usher was angry before, he was mad as hell now.

The Council weren't convinced by his sketchy explanations. Charlie Barton was angling towards getting himself elected as Mayor and he'd hit Cort with a whole volley of questions. He wanted to know how come he'd left town with Jack Bellows as a prisoner but arrived back with him as a deputy marshal. He wanted to know why everybody looked beaten up and why Cort's left arm was in a sling, he wanted to know about Toby and most of all he wanted to know what had happened to upset Henry Usher even more.

Cort desperately wished he hadn't decided to meet these men alone. Jack Bellows was a wily customer and could have spun convincing yarns to answer all their questions, but the best he could do personally was give them the truth. They weren't exactly happy with the news, hadn't exactly endorsed his actions but they'd tried to be understanding. Bellows' presence in town was something of a bugbear and the issue got raised several times. People were frightened of him and the way Cort figured, that was just fine. Bellows knew what people thought and played his part to the hilt. The day after their return he'd done some shopping and kitted himself out all in black. He'd taken to hanging around in the saloons and the whorehouse, guns prominently on display, looking like a dark and brooding bird of doom. His very presence served as a warning to undesirables and trouble makers, he made sure all newcomers were fully aware of the presence of the law and insisted they surrender their weapons to him whilst in town. He was a convincing deputy and he and Ben kept peace in Redemption very effectively. They made a point of questioning all strangers, turning away anyone who acted suspiciously, but nonetheless it was a tense and trying time. All of them were on edge: they knew danger was coming but they didn't know when or how it would arrive, or if they'd even recognise it.

Cort didn't miss the additional stress and worry of being the only lawman in town, but it seemed that right now he got landed with all the paperwork while his deputies got all the action. Doc Wallace had something to do with that – insisting he keep his left arm in a sling while his shoulder healed - and while it got him plenty of interest and sympathy, it also embarrassed the hell out of him. Kitty had taken a special liking to it and most days she came over from the whorehouse and kept him entertained for an hour or so. She wouldn't accept any payment, still insisting it was pleasure not business, and got a real kick out of bedding him while injured and apparently too weak to prevent her doing as she pleased. She liked teasing him, and he enjoyed pretending to be helpless.

He smiled at the most recent memory, her promise to give him a Christmas present he'd remember, then took his beer back to the desk. All members of Redemption's law force were expected in the saloon later, some kind of festive gathering, and he needed to finish the damned speech first. The distant clatter from the kitchen reminded him of something else he needed to do. Toby never said anything directly, but pretty much every day he made some kind of intimation as to how he'd like to be wearing a badge. Cort could have simply told him he was too young but there was no real reason to bar him on account of age. Toby was smart, tough, alert and eager to learn. He also understood better than most the threat Henry Usher posed to them all. Since it wouldn't cost the town anything financially to have an extra deputy, he didn't see any harm in giving the kid the promotion he so desperately craved. Toby cooked for them, picked up around the jailhouse, slept in a cell and he deserved something in return. Ben and Jack Bellows didn't have any problem with it, so long as Toby accepted he was the junior of the outfit and did what he was told, so when Cort asked the town blacksmith to make a couple of deputy's badges, he'd impulsively told the man to make it three. He'd stowed the third badge in his desk, planning on giving it to Toby as a Christmas gift. He eyed the drawer where it was waiting, wondering when would be a good time to present it, then sighed and turned his attention back to the scrawled sheets of paper scattered across the desktop.

"You need another beer?"

Cort glanced up, surprised. He hadn't heard Toby come in but there he was, slouched against the doorframe and holding a bottle. He was even more surprised to find the bottle in front of him was empty again. Clearly he'd been more engrossed in the speech than he'd realised. Toby brought the fresh brew over and he took a few gulps.

"You should give that thing a rest." Toby was frowning. "You shouldn't be working on Christmas Eve."

"I'm done." Cort gathered up the sheets of papers and put them in order. "It's ready as it'll ever be. How long's dinner?"

"Twenty minutes". Toby grinned. "You'll like this one, Cort, it's a new recipe I got today. Them Mexicans sure know how to get creative with food…"

Cort hoped he hadn't gotten too creative with the chillies. He'd eaten plenty of spicy food in Hermosillo, but Toby sometimes got a little carried away. Since they had a while before dinner he figured now was as good a time as any to offer his Christmas surprise. He rummaged in his desk drawer for the badge and tossed it towards Toby, who caught it deftly.

"Merry Christmas, Deputy."

Toby's face flushed and his eyes were gleaming as he turned the star over in his hands. "You won't regret this, Marshal, I promise."

Cort nodded. "Just remember you're a junior partner. You do whatever me and Ben say, you hear?"

Toby grinned as he pinned the badge to his shirt. "Do I get my own bedroom too?"

"Only if you share with Ben!"

Toby shook his head vigorously as the street door opened to admit the man in question, closely followed by Jack Bellows. The cold weather hadn't let up for long and both of them stamped their boots and shook snow from their hats as they came in. Outside it was snowing heavily and a gust of icy air snaked around the room. Bellows sniffed appreciatively as he strode through the office and into the parlour but Ben pulled up in front of Toby, his eyes on the badge.

"Welcome aboard, Deputy, but just remember you're a junior in this outfit and…"

"Cort already said all that." Toby scowled and stomped back towards the kitchen. Ben watched him go.

"You reckon he'll do as he's told?"

Cort shrugged. "He's done a pretty good job so far."

"He'd walk into the fires of hell if you asked him." Ben flopped down in the chair opposite and put his feet up on the desk. "I don't know about us mere mortals though…"

Cort sipped at his beer, watching him. "I don't see any reason why he should take orders from Jack Bellows, but I know he'll follow you."

Ben looked dubious but Jack Bellows returned at that moment with beers for them all and they enjoyed a sociable dinner before heading down to Horace's saloon. The place was busy and Cort used it as an opportunity to inform the townsfolk of the latest addition to their law keeping force. Toby was wearing his badge in a prominent spot, practically glowing with pride, but most of the saloon drinkers were nonplussed by the announcement. Cort figured that was okay; Toby needed to prove himself before they'd truly accept him, but a couple of men sidled up and asked if he'd be replacing Jack Bellows. They weren't much pleased to learn that wouldn't be the case. Shortly before midnight Kitty came in with a couple of other whores, which meant business was slack over at the bordello. She instantly started making eyes at him and it wasn't subtle. Cort went over to stop her, before people noticed, and she took it as an opportunity to whisper things in his ear which made him glad his coat was long enough to cover his crotch. Finally she told him his Christmas present was waiting at the jailhouse, then took her leave without a backwards glance. He gave it fifteen minutes before following, telling Ben and Toby he needed to get a good night's sleep, though the grins on their faces informed him that neither was buying it.

Cort had planned on waking early the next day in order to give his speech a final look over before the service began at eleven, but things didn't go to plan. Kitty kept him occupied until the early hours of the morning and he was so exhausted afterwards that only Toby's persistent banging on the door of his bedroom dragged him into the land of the living. It was well after nine and the new deputy had cooked up a Christmas breakfast to be proud of. They all spent so long drinking coffee and shooting the breeze afterwards that he clean forgot about his task.

Outside it was cold and overcast with the promise of more snow to come. Horace's bar had been chosen as the place of gathering and Cort hurried down there, keeping to the boardwalks in order to avoid the snow which was six inches thick in the street. He was nervous and intended to drink a glass of whisky before the service started. He wasn't sure why he was feeling this way; he'd spent three years preaching to the people of Hermosillo, sermons which often stretched his knowledge of Spanish to the limit, and he'd never gotten butterflies in his stomach or the clammy shakiness he was experiencing now. Back then, however, he'd been devoted to the service of God; little more than a vessel for the Lord to speak through. Now he was just a man, trying to breathe a little hope into a town beaten down by fear and oppression.

The saloon was full of people when he arrived; men, women and children all dressed in their finest clothes. Cort had left his gun belt back in the jailhouse, feeling it inappropriate to the spirit of the occasion, but not many others shared the sentiment. Most of the men were armed, including Ben, Bellows and Toby who showed up a little later. Cort had also left his sling behind. His shoulder still ached from time to time – more than usual after Kitty's latest visit - but he was too embarrassed to stand before the entire town wearing the damned thing. By the time 11 o'clock came around he'd drunk enough whisky to take the edge off his nerves, enough coffee to sharpen his wits and the words which had seemed so clumsy and hesitant on paper positively flowed with vigour and energy as soon as he began speaking. He stood on the stairs leading to the upper level of the saloon, which afforded him a fine view of his audience, and he knew his words were having an effect by the rapt expressions on people's faces. But even as he was talking there was a part of him feeling real regret. When he'd been a preacher this was what he'd liked best – addressing his congregation on Sundays, with the whole town turned out to listen, watching the impact of his words as though they were real, physical darts flying into the hearts and souls of men. He was invigorated by his message of hope, so affected by the powerful emotions present in the room that he was only dimly aware of the street door opening to emit three strangers. Ben, Bellows and Toby were standing near the back of the room and they noticed too. All three of them went over to the newcomers and after a few seconds of talk, they all went outside.

Corf forgot about it instantly and finished up his speech, receiving loud and raucous applause for his efforts. Afterwards he stood by the bar for a while, talking with well wishers and accepting the drinks they bought him. He was beginning to feel the effects of all the booze, starting to think about the Christmas dinner he'd soon be eating with Charlie Barton and his family, when Ben shouldered his way through the crowd and pulled him aside.

"We got trouble." His voice was low and urgent.

Cort cocked an eyebrow. "Those three strangers who walked in?"

Ben nodded. "Three came in, but there's twelve more of them outside."

The alcohol in Cort's system was preventing him from truly appreciating the warning in Ben's voice.

"Who are they?"

Ben frowned and counted off on his fingers. "Let's see now: we got the Marshal of Bisbee and three of his boys, we got four of Mayor Anderson's boys, the Marshal of Tucson and three of his boys, the county Sheriff and two of his boys… That makes fifteen of them. You get the picture?"

Cort wasn't sure he got it at all. "What do they want?"

"They want you, Cort. They've come to arrest you for shooting Tyrone Williams and they're planning on taking you back to Bisbee!"

Cort's heart started banging in his chest as he realised, with a jolt, exactly what was happening here. This was what they'd been waiting for, and it was every bit as subtle and discreet as Jack Bellows had warned. Ben nodded as he watched understanding dawn, his face reflecting Cort's feelings exactly.

"Henry Usher just made his move, Marshal, and it seems he's got every lawman in south east Arizona on his side. How we gonna deal with this?"

Cort glanced around at the crowded saloon. There were more than enough people here to back him up, and fifteen men against a whole town wasn't much of a threat however you looked at it. He suddenly wished he hadn't drunk so much whisky, he suspected it was impairing his judgement.

"What happens if we run them out of town?"

Ben shrugged. "They say they'll come back with troops and take you by force."

Cort grimaced. "I don't have too many choices, do I?"

They made their way out of the saloon but the exchange had not gone unnoticed and several people, Charlie Barton among them, came over to enquire if there was a problem. Cort figured their presence would be useful, if only as witnesses, and by the time he got outside there were at least ten men in tow.

The freezing cold air sobered him up instantly and he tried to gauge the situation. The newcomers were gathered on the porch, together with Bellows and Toby, but none of them seemed especially threatening. Cort recognised a couple of the faces – stud players from the hotel in Bisbee - and he figured them to be Mayor Anderson's boys. Another man stepped forward; tall, bearded and grizzled looking. He was wearing a marshal's badge and looking directly at Cort.

"You're Cortez Thompson?"

Cort nodded. "Who are you?"

"Billy Reynolds". The man offered his hand. "Town Marshal of Bisbee."

Cort shook. "Town Marshal of Redemption."

He felt Billy's hand go slack in his own, and he was suddenly wearing a look of extreme caution.

"You're Marshal? I figured you for the town preacher!"

Cort smiled without much humour. "Don't be fooled by appearances. Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Billy shrugged. "You killed a man and plenty of folks seen you do it. Now we gotta take you to Bisbee and hold a trial."

Toby was standing by Cort's shoulder and he spoke up instantly. "Anyone who saw that fight knows it was fair! I saw Tyrone Williams challenge Cort, and then he cheated and got shot."

Billy nodded. "I'll put your name down as a witness, son."

Toby wasn't finished, and he sounded suspicious as hell. "No other marshal would blink an eye over a gunfight like that. Why's this one so special?"

Billy Reynolds eyed him for a moment and his hand moved towards his gun. Cort noticed how everybody in his posse followed suit. He felt the townsfolk around him tense and knew they were all doing the same thing. This could get ugly real quick and Billy was watching him intently.

"Come quietly, Marshal, or we got a real problem on our hands."

Cort nodded. "We've got a problem alright, but seems to me you're in no position to make the rules here. How about we head over to the jailhouse and talk things through?"

Billy Reynolds shrugged and his hand dropped away from his holster. "How about we do that!"