A/N1: Hey, pardner, more story!

Heaven and Hell

Book Two:

The Hells Are Everywhere

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

Sheep to the Slaughter

Tuesday, October 6, 1885
Idaho Falls

Chuck sat in his room. It was late Tuesday evening, still early in the week although late in the day. It had been a strange week - and it was just starting.

At church on Sunday, Jack Walker had delivered a strange and an impassioned sermon about an Old Testament story, the Genesis story of Jacob's labors for Rachel, the daughter of Laban. Laban tricked Jacob into labor for seven years for Rachel, then Laban substituted Rachel's sister, Leah, for Rachel. Jacob had to labor another seven years for Rachel.

Chuck had not been able fully to understand Jack Walker's role in what was happening to Sarah. The little he had seen, and the little Sarah had told him, made him regard Jack as willing for his daughter to do what Jack had to know his daughter did not want to do.

It was unclear if that was true, or completely true - but it was the impression Chuck had. The sermon though suggested something else. It was not just the choice of text or the particular angle taken on it.

No, along with that, there were significant looks in the direction of David and Daniel Shaw. The looks were hard to read but they did not seem conciliatory, happy. Several times, speaking of Rachel, Jack glanced at his daughter, seated beside Daniel. She was staring at the floor in front of her, rigid and motionless. Daniel's face was puzzled but also red; it grew redder and redder as the sermon marched on. David's face - he was on Daniel's other side - never changed, however.

"And so," Jack said, his voice rising in pitch as well as volume, "we tell the story to ourselves from Jacob's point of view and we think: 'Poor Jacob, tricked and used so by Laban.' But maybe Laban had reasons for holding his daughter back, maybe he had...worries about Jacob. Maybe Laban needed seven years - and then seven more - to reconcile himself to his daughter marrying that man!"

The congregation grew fidgety, uneasy. No one seemed sure what Jack's point was, perhaps including Jack himself. He was venting, venting something he only tenuously connected to the Genesis story. When the sermon died - 'ended' is too weak a word - the congregation filed out in uncertain silence. And although Jack was standing by the doors as usual, no one seemed to have anything to say to him that was not perfunctory. Chuck shook his hand, expecting the same coolness or casual disregard that he had so far gotten from Jack.

Instead, Jack gazed into Chuck's eyes. "G' mornin', Chuck." Chuck moved past, allowing the next person to step up, but he glanced down at his hand as if he could find proof there that Jack Walker had actually called him 'Chuck'.

Chuck had wanted to talk about it all with Ellie. She had been seated beside him during the sermon and had pinched him during a couple of the more passionate and hard-to-follow moments, but Devon had been waiting for her outside (she had gone through the red doors ahead of Chuck) and they were on their way to Lou's before Chuck could say anything.

He stood outside for a minute, trying to understand the morning, when he saw Daniel helping Sarah up into his carriage. As Shaw walked around to get in, his back to Chuck, Sarah glanced at him. The glance mixed things many things: affection, sadness, but also fear.

Chuck turned back to the door and saw David Shaw shake Jack's hand. The two men did not make eye contact, although David seemed to try to catch Jack's eye. Failing, he scowled darkly as he descended the steps.

On Monday, not long after Chuck finished his day of teaching, Chuck was sitting in Mrs. Fitzsimmons' living room, eating fresh, hot cookies and drinking a glass of milk. Molly was with him; she had been to her first day of school, and the cookies and milk were Mrs. Fitzsimmons' treat for the little girl - and her teacher.

Ellie had gone after breakfast to meet with Diane Beckman - hoping to find work. Molly was dunking her cookie in her mug of milk when Nehi strode into the room. Morgan was a step behind, a younger shadow of the older man.

Nehi pushed his hat back at a tilt. He sighed as if the world had ended. Morgan, wearing a brand new brown cowboy hat himself, took his hat off.

"What's wrong, Nehi?"

Nehi glanced at Molly. Mrs. Fitzsimmons came in at that moment. She saw Nehi's look and she helped Molly gather the cookies and Molly's milk, and they moved into the kitchen.

Nehi sat down. Morgan stood, hat in hand. "They's been a tragedy," Nehi said with gravity. "Out at Walker's ranch."

Chuck jolted. "Sarah?"

Nehi shook his head even as he studied Chuck. "I done been thinkin' as much. You's been sweet onna that gurl from the get-go'." His eyes narrowed to slits. "That s'plains a lot, I-ma thinkin'...

"But, no, thank the Lord, Dee-vine," Morgan looked lost at this point, turning from Nehi to Chuck, "it weren't Miss Walker - it weren't no person. Sumbuddy drove about a hun-erd o' Walker's sheep offin' Devil's Point. They's a whole heap o' carcasses at the bottom, all blood an' wool. Like'n a bad, bad dream. Miss Walker a'standin' on the Point, a-cryin', an her father' a-cursin', an' him a preecher…"

Chuck sat forward. "Is that a lot of sheep, Nehi. I mean, I know it is, and it's awful, but I take it a hundred sheep is only a fraction of the sheep the Walker's have."

Nehi pulled at his beard, getting longer everyday. "That's true, Dee-vine. They's got hunnerds an' hunnerds o'sheep. I doan know why annybuddy wanna drive sheep offin no cliff."

"Morgan," Chuck said, "what's going on?"

Morgan shrugged. "I met Nehi Sunday night at The Bar None. I saw him ride in a few minutes ago. He looked shocked. I asked him what was going on - like you just did me - and he told me to follow him in here."

Chuck was finding the two of them so close to each other oddly disconcerting. They looked like opposite ends of one person's life. But maybe that was the effect of this strange news.

"Were there any witnesses, Nehi?"

"A couple of young shepherds. Five men, all a-wearin' black rode in an' cut out the sheep, drove 'em away, toward Devil's Point…"

"Five, Nehi? The Number Gang."

Nehi nodded. "That's what t' sheriff is a-thinkin', evverybuddy else, too."

"What do you think?"

"It doan seem like no job they's evver did. Maybe 'twas them. Ain't no countin' on evil, not even when it's the Nummer's Gang," Nehi snorted at his own joke, "an Constane ain't no fool, but I's no-ways convicted 'twas 'em."

"The number does seem significant…" Chuck said, aloud, but to himself.

"What do you mean, Chuck?" Morgan. He was now settling into the conversation.

"One hundred sheep. The Parable of the Lost Sheep. A shepherd has one hundred sheep but one is lost, so he leaves the ninety-nine to find the one…"

"Oh, right. I remember," Morgan commented. Nehi was nodding. He remembered too.

"It had to be a task, cutting out one hundred. It could be a coincidence, I suppose, but…"

"No, that's right, Dee-vine. Them shepherds said the men cut t' sheep out deliberate-like. The sheepherds didn't have no guns, and so cuddin' fight 'em off or even stall 'em. They got wurked ovver pretty bad theyselves."

Chuck sat back, tenting his fingers, thinking. Sarah said that Jack often preached of sheep. He had the first time Chuck heard him. But he hadn't preached of sheep on Sunday - unless you took his sermon refer the one sheep he was about to lose, his Rachel, Sarah. Could the mass killing of the sheep have been the Shaw's retaliation for the sermon? But how was the Numbers Gang involved? Why would Thad Howell lead his men on such an odd, cruel errand?

"Nehi, how far is it to the Shaw's ranch?"

"About as far as to the Walker's, but inna other di-rekshun. But, no, Dee-vine. I's a-seein' it in yer eyes. No, doan do 't. Nothin' good can come-a ya a-goin' out there..."

"I'm just going to go talk, Nehi. Look at the place. Fix it in my mind. Nothing else. And I have a reason. I was told today that Monica Stutts and her father have left the railroad camp. Left Saturday night. Her father has taken a position as the Shaws' new cook. The old one left. Monica'll be busy all week helping him get started there. I would like to take her a book to work on if she has time. So, it will be a teacherly errand."

Nehi looked unsure. "Why doan 'cha a-take Morgan here wi' ya?"

"Okay, I will. We'll go after school tomorrow, Morgan?"

"Sure. I'm still trying to find work. Nothing else to do."

"Oh! Morgan!" It was Mrs. Fitzsimmons. "My sister says that Mart needs a hand at Large Mart. Stop and talk to him tomorrow. I recommended you to Mirabelle and she said she'd talk to Mart."

"There's a Mart in Large Mart?"

Mrs. Fitzsimmons laughed. "Chuck can explain."

She went back into the kitchen, calling out Molly's name and offering another mug of milk.

Nehi stood up. "Ya ought-a talk to the sheriff a-fore ya head out to Shaws. Let 'im know where yer going. I cain't go. I gotta run ride out 'n meet the coach. Constance is wurried that the Numbers Gang's gotten stirr'd up an' will strike agin'."

"I'll tell him, Nehi."

"Chuck!"

The conversation was interrupted by an excited Ellie. "Chuck!"

"Yes, Ellie, what?" Mrs. Fitzsimmons came in with Molly tagging along, Molly sporting a milk-mustache.

"I got a job!"

"Already? That's great. What is it? Lou's?"

Ellie shook her head, reaching up to unpin the small hat she wore. "No, Dr. Woodcomb hired me as his assistant."

"Devon? I didn't know he needed an assistant." Or could afford one, given the drop in business.

"Well, he saw me on my way to Mrs. Beckman's. I stopped...er, he stopped me, you know, to say hello. We had talked at Sunday dinner about his practice and my old interest in medicine. He told me he thought about me...thought about it overnight and decided to offer me a job. I actually started right then. We...um...we made a housecall, one for which Dev...Dr. Woodcomb needed a woman assistant."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons caught a look from Ellie that matched her tone, and she asked Molly to come back to the kitchen, so they could shave off her milk mustache. "Can't have two white-whiskered folks in my house at the same time, folks'll think I'm running a home for the elderly."

Nehi touched his face self-consciously. "Maybes I should be a-shavin', Spendin' so much time aroun' you, Dee-vine, s'makin' me look a li'l like one-a them there ol' time prophets."

Ellie sat down where Nehi had been. "Dr. Woodcomb and I paid a call on the ladies who work for Anna Wu. Dr. Woodcomb, Chuck, he said you shamed him. Not worrying about your reputation but just accepting folks. He's treated them before, but always made them come to him. This time, we went together."

"You was upstairs 'n the Bar None, Miss Bartowski…" Nehi whistled. "That's mightly li-be-ral thinkin' by you an' the Doc."

"It's good we went. Zondra had...a complaint."

None of Chuck, Nehi or Morgan asked for details. In fact, all blushed.

"I helped her, showed her how to use the...medicine that she needed. Anway," Ellie cleared her throat, "I have a job I am excited about. I will be learning as I go, becoming something of a real nurse."

"That's great, Ellie, really. And I am excited to hear that Devon is taking the fight to the town. As I told you, he's had a difficult month."

"I know, Chuck. We chatted about that yesterday, and again today. How could anyone think that man murdered a woman? Pffft. Nonsense."

Chuck nodded. "That's what I think." Nehi nodded too. Morgan added a nod after a brief pause.

Nehi and Morgan left. Ellie went to change for supper. Molly was in the front yard, helping Mrs. Fitzsimmons plant flowers. Chuck looked out the window at them, then noticed Ruth Justus, standing on the boardwalk in the distance, staring at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' house.

Sarah was in her bedroom. She had her mother's picture in her hands. It had been taken by a traveling photographer a year or so before her mother's sudden, fatal illness. She was beautiful. Somehow, the blonde of her hair shone even in the grainy black and white photograph. And her gentle smile made Sarah smile back, as it always did. It made Sarah feel better - that was why it was in her hands.

It had been an awful day. The shouts of the shepherds. The ride to Devil's Point. The wholesale slaughter, the mass of white and red at the bottom of the cliff, sheep burst on the rocky ground. Sarah had stayed for a long time, trying to comfort her father, who was tomb-silent and grey. He had vomited when he first saw the scene. It had been all Sarah could manage not to do so too. She had stumbled back to the wagon and leaned against it until she could stand on her own.

Her father gave final orders and they rode back, neither speaking. Sarah could feel her father's rage - bottled and capped but storming away inside him. She was enraged too, and deeply sad. The cruelty and waste of it. It made no sense. Why would the Number Gang do it? True, the Gang had twice stolen her father's payroll - and that had put tremendous pressure on her father, on her. But still - to slaughter defenseless animals?

When they got to the ranch, Sarah went to her bedroom and took up her mother's picture, hoping for solace. It had been in her hands often since she set the date with Daniel.

Sarah's mom. Emma.

Sarah's childhood had been a mess. Her father had met her mother during his travels, early in his days as a confidence-man, early in the days of his masquerades. It had happened in Dumfries, Virginia.

His mother had been a Methodist pastor's daughter, and Jack Walker had fallen for her as soon as he saw her, blonde and immaculate in a white dress. He had been running a scam on her father's congregation, promising them a church organ on subscription. The difficulty - the hook - was that the subscription required a large initial payment, one that would tax the small congregation's resources.

Jack had been seated in the rear pew, and, when Emma's father finished preaching that first Sunday Jack was there, her father invited Jack to explain the subscription and to show drawings of the organ. He did. As always, he was good at his job, charming and clever, gaining the confidence of the people around him.

The congregation came up with the down payment - but it took them a couple of weeks. During those two weeks, Jack romanced Emma. She fell for him with the same stone's plummet. In the end, Jack couldn't bring himself to do it, to steal from the congregation. He came up with an excuse for it - the organ company suddenly going out of business (it had never existed, of course) - and returned the church's money.

Jack then asked Emma to marry him. She accepted his proposal, despite her father's increasing doubts about Jack's character. They married a few days later. Emma left Dumfries with her new husband. It did not take long for her to get pregnant and to realize what Jack really was. Emma tried desperately to reform him. She deeply loved him and wanted to be his wife - and she was carrying his child. Jack vowed he would reform. For a time, he tried. He got regular work and Sarah was born. But Jack slowly backslid into confidence-games. Eventually, Emma realized that, and she left him, taking Sarah with her. Emma went back to her father, back to Dumfries.

Jack, shocked and hurt by the loss of his wife and daughter, followed them. He begged and made new promises and he stopped the confidence-games. Until Sarah was about three, all was good. Jack and his father-in-law re-established a relationship and Jack spent some time studying with the pastor.

But then an old friend of Jack's arrived in town. He had a plan for a major confidence game, and he needed Jack. Emma had gotten sick that winter and was still very weak. Jack was trying to care for Sarah, for Emma, and keep his job. The temptation of his friend's plan was too much. He joined the confidence-game with his old friend. It worked. They made a small fortune and divided it between them. Emma found out what Jack had done and she told him she was done, she was quitting him since he could not quit his old life. But she was still unwell. Her father died at around the same time, sending deepening her emotional depression along with her physical weakness. Still, weak though she was, she was adamant: she would no longer live with Jack as husband and wife.

Jack decided to leave and he decided to take Sarah. Emma was too weak to care for her and the pastor had been Emma's only other family. So, one night, Jack packed the two of them up and they boarded the train, leaving Emma behind.

For the next several years, Jack did not so much raise his daughter as train a new confidence-artist. The beautiful little girl, a smaller version of her mother, had her father's gifts. She was a wild, untamed child, her hair a tangle, her clothes a mess - unless Jack needed her to be presentable, and play a role in a con. She was rude and uncouth - as Emma later put it - used to being around grown men, and not grown men who had long ago fallen off virtue. Her father kept them at bay when she got old enough for her beauty to tempt them, and Sarah had by then developed a low opinion of men generally.

At around that time, Sarah was 14 or 15, she wasn't sure herself anymore, she and her father had conned another confidence-artist out of a huge amount of money. Just as they were about to skip town with it, Emma showed up. She had recovered from her long illness and had been searching for her husband and daughter.

There had been an immediate tug-of-war for Sarah, but, as they fought, her parents to their own surprise, found that they were still in love. Jack somehow convinced Emma to join him again, join them, be his wife, take the money, and head west.

They ended up in Idaho Falls and began the sheep ranch. Jack had, finally, gone straight. He started preaching on the side, partly out of his wife's good influence, partly out of the delayed influence of her father. Emma then began to work to raise Sarah, reel her in. The process was slow - Emma sometimes jokingly called it her version of The Taming of the Shrew. For a long time, it was unclear whether Sarah's wild upbringing or her mother's smooth refinement would win out, as Sarah raced across the countryside on horseback and became a crack shot. Eventually, though, her mother's love outlasted Sarah's miseducation - and her mother's Virginia finish began to rub off onto the daughter. It was not a change Sarah disliked, even if it did discomfit her.

Just as Sarah and her mother grew close, Emma became ill, dipped quickly, and died. No one had been prepared. Not Jack. Certainly not Sarah. She was trapped between versions of herself - the wild girl and the gentle beauty, a changeling stalled in mid-change.

She was still stalled - and maybe now would always be. Daniel Shaw wanted the gentle beauty and only the gentle beauty. He would not tolerate the wild girl. If he knew about Sarah in black, astride her black stallion, he would have been enraged.

Sarah had let Chuck have a glimpse of the wild girl in his room, but she had not explained any of it to him; she wasn't sure he grasped the significance of the little she said. He had only gotten a good look at the gentle beauty, and while she trusted he would embrace the wild girl too, she worried that he might falter when he knew about the wild girl's past, her dishonesty, the dishonesty (the conning of a confidence-artist, but still..) of her family.

Sarah worried that it had been that dishonesty that killed her mother, that her mother had literally been unable to live with the dishonesty.

Sarah's deep fear of telling Chuck about that dishonesty was among the reasons she was capitulating to Daniel. Sarah thought she could live - after a fashion - without Chuck but was not sure she could live through him rejecting her.

Sarah traced her mother's face with her finger.

The glass covering the photo felt cool, not warm as she remembered her mother's face had felt, not warm as was the smile beneath the glass.

Sarah was worried. The killing of the sheep seemed a bad sign, almost apocalyptic. She worried that her father was no longer willing to accede to the Shaw's wishes as the realization of those wishes came nearer. She worried that the killing of the sheep was a response to her father's mad sermon the day before. She worried that Chuck might force a confrontation with Daniel - and she knew Daniel would willingly kill Chuck.

She worried.

She lay back on the bed. She needed a plan. She had accepted all of this for too long. It was time to trust Chuck's heart and trust that she was his choice, no matter what her past.

There had to be something she could do, something other than worry, other than capitulate.

"Oh, Mom, tell me what to do, please."

The photograph continued to smile but it did not speak.

Chuck walked into the sheriff's office. He had stepped in before with Nehi but had never really looked around.

It was a bare, brutal affair. The inner walls of the building were unfinished, unpainted. The sheriff's desk was really just a large table, Nehi's desk a smaller one. Wanted Posters decorated the walls. A rack of rifles hung heavily on one wall. A doorway led from the front room into the back, into the cells. That door was open, and Chuck could see that the bars of the cells were about four feet or so from the wall, so that there was a narrow walkway between the wall with the door and the cells.

Mark Constance had his giant boots on his desk, an old, rusty tin cup in his hand. He was sipping coffee. He nodded when Chuck came in but did not change posture.

"Hello, Sheriff. Nehi asked me to tell you that my friend Morgan and I are riding out to Shaw's ranch. I need to take a book to Monica Stutts. Her father just started cooking for David Shaw."

Constance closed his eyes instead of nodding. Chuck started to turn and leave when Constance spoke.

"Mr. Bartowski, Chuck, I've heard a tale or two abou' Daniel Shaw havin' words with ya at The Bar None. My li'l tale-tellin' birdy rates the problem between ya to be Miss Walker, Shaw's wife-to-be. Now, you're a grown man an' it ain't my place to order ya aroun' when ya ain't brekkin' the law, but ya need to be careful. The law's stretch'd thin out here, and it hardly restrains some folk. Doan go getting yourself killed in a fight ya can't win, a fight I cain't help ya win. Not as things are."

Chuck had turned back to listen. "I won't, Sheriff."

Constance raised a skeptical eyebrow. "'Course you might manage to lure Shaw inta murderin' ya, and then I might be able to take the boy down. Much as I'd like that, I like you more, Chuck. Doan go bein' no martyr. Nehi calls ya 'Divine', an' I like it, but ya better not take that talk-ta heart."

Chuck stepped toward the sheriff. "Look, Sheriff, I just want to mention something to you. I was out at the railroad camp on Saturday, as you asked. I didn't find out much but I did have an odd moment."

Constance's other eyebrow rose interrogatively. Chuck: "I heard Thad Howells say something much like Number One said when my stagecoach was held up. His voice - Howell's voice sounded identical to Number One's."

Silence hung in the room, nearly as heavy as the rifle rack. "S' that so? Thad Howells, Number One?" Constance scratched the side of his head and narrowed his eyes. "Huh. Food for thought, Chuck. I take it ya know about Devil's Point?" Chuck nodded. The sheriff took a notebook out of his pocket. A short pencil was shut inside it. He opened it and wrote for a second. "Thanks again, Chuck."

Chuck left without understanding the sheriff's reaction. But Morgan was outside, already on a horse. He had Jenny by the reins. Chuck swung himself up - he was getting good at it, smooth - and they headed to Shaw's ranch. He put the sheriff's reaction out of his mind but he did mull over the sheriff's warning.

Chuck and Morgan chatted on the ride but did not talk about anything of substance. Well, except for Morgan's new job. He'd been hired at Large Mart and was to start the next day. That occupied them for a while.

Chuck was nervous about the visit and Morgan could sense that. They talked about their childhood in Boston, people they had known. Chuck told Morgan more about Carina, Zondra, and (though Chuck knew little about her) Anna Wu.

The conversation died down and they rode on in the slanted afternoon sunlight. After a few minutes, they came over a small rise and under a tall gateway, Shaw, was burned into the wood overhead. In the distance, they could see the ranch, built on the same plan as Walker's ranch, but on a larger scale. There were numerous outbuildings, barns, and bunkhouses. People moved in large numbers, all seemingly orchestrated. It seemed as much a barracks as a ranch.

As Chuck and Morgan drew near, they saw Daniel standing just off the porch. He had his hand up, shading his eyes, hatless. Turning, he went into the house. By the time Chuck and Morgan got to the porch, Shaw was on it, gun strapped on, a hat on his head. He leaned against the house, a grin on his face. A hand Chuck had never seen met them and took the horses. Daniel said nothing as they dismounted. Chuck ran to catch up with Jenny and dug a book out of the saddlebag. It was Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. He walked up onto the porch.

"Hello, Daniel. I brought this book out for Monica Stutts. Her dad's working here now, as you know, and she's helping, and I thought she could use this book to keep up with her studies. There are some geometry problems on a sheet inside for her too."

Shaw smirked. "You puzzle me, teacher. A doctor making housecalls, I understand. That's life and death. But you? What do you have to offer that matters to any man or woman with red blood in his or her veins?"

Chuck meant to bite his tongue but he missed. "The problem with explaining education to the uneducated is that they are the uneducated. It's like trying to explain perfect pitch to someone who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Shaw stood, rigid. His hand dropped to his side, his fingers curled.

"Daniel!"

David Shaw stood in the doorway. He looked worse than he had at church. Not angry but...ill. His skin was grey, his eyes rheumy. He moved carefully. Chuck realized, seeing him now without his jacket, that his shirt was hanging loosely, blouse-y, too big. Clearly, he was unwell.

"I thank you for going to so much trouble for a student, Mr. Bartowski. Please come in."

David stood back from the door and Chuck and Morgan entered. The house was expensively appointed, done in brilliantly polished wood and black leather. Chuck carried the book across the room to put it on a table. As he did, he noticed a daguerreotype on the table, a tall, lovely blonde woman, her face inexpressive. As he put the book down, he asked David about it. "That is a beautiful woman. May I ask who she is?"

Chuck turned. Daniel was scowling but David was staring fixedly at the daguerreotype. "That was my wife, Rena, Daniel's mother. She died giving birth to Daniel." David's tone made it clear that no more was going to be said about her.

David pulled a cord and a bell rang in another part of the house. He invited them to sit. Chuck introduced Morgan to David. Daniel alternated between staring at Chuck and glaring at his father. A few moments later, Monica Stutts came in. She was carrying a tray. On it were glasses and a pitcher of water. She poured water for everyone and left without making eye contact with Chuck. Thirsty, Chuck drank the entire glass. David and Daniel sat with their glasses in their hands, untouched.

Chuck stood. "Well, I just wanted to leave the book for Monica. We'll go now." David got up slowly. Daniel jumped up and opened the door. His smirk as he held it made Chuck boil. "You know, Daniel," Chuck said, "I was talking to Doctor Woodcomb and he tells me you were in my city, Boston, a while back. We must have run in different circles."

Daniel's smirk weakened for a second then it strengthened. "I doubt you spent much time on Beacon Hill."

Chuck nodded. "True, but I imagine even you didn't spend all your time there either."

Shaw's black eyes darkened and Chuck walked out. Morgan followed. A tense couple of minutes passed as they waited for the horses. When the hand brought them, they got on quickly and rode away. When they were past the tall gate, Morgan whooshed out a breath. "What the hell, Chuck? Daniel Shaw was in Boston? And you only found out about that once you got here?"

Chuck didn't answer. He had seen the ranch. He was contemplating that daguerreotype.

A/N: So, there. Moving ahead. Thoughts?