Elliott Marston stared through the bars at his visitor. "But I've already answered these questions." Elliott Marston closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. "Don't you have the answers written down?"

"That was the police." The large man in the badly fitting suit rummaged in his tattered case with one beefy hand. He pulled out a notebook and pencil. "I'm with the army. Sergeant Albert Tomlinson. Intelligence Unit."

A more sensitive man might have been offended at the look on Marston's face. "Really?"

"Now then," He licked his pencil and shifted into a more comfortable position. The chair creaked ominously. "Now then, why did you kill this 'ere - what's 'is name now?" Tomlinson checked his book. "Ches Watters?"

"Because he tried to kill me first." Marston measured out his words as he watched the pencil move slowly across the page.

"But you're still alive." Tomlinson put his finger on the flaw in the other's argument. "'ow's that then?"

"I pulled my gun faster than he did." Marston began to count the bars in the cell door.

"Pulled it where?" The sergeant looked up and frowned. His pencil hovered over the page.

"I pulled it out of my holster with my right hand, pointed it at Watters and pulled the trigger." The rancher patiently enunciated each syllable. "And he did the same. But he was slower at it than I was. So I shot him first."

"Ah." The sergeant scribbled away. "Why couldn't you say that plain right away then?"

"Sorry." There were fourteen bars. Marston transferred his gaze and started counting the bricks in the wall.

"Now then, why did 'e try to kill you?"

"Because I told him to let go of my wife's brother. Watters grabbed him and tried to drag him out of the stable." Had it been thirty-two or thirty- three? Marston frowned and started counting again.

"Why did 'e grab 'im in the first place?" Tomlinson looked up, his brows knitted in perplexity.

"I don't know. He just did." Yes, there were definitely thirty-three. Marston looked at the other man for the first time.

Tomlinson put down his pencil and crossed his arms. "For no reason at all? Don't seem likely to me."

"I didn't say he had no reason." Marston controlled himself. "All I'm saying is I don't know what it was."

For a long moment the sergeant regarded him. Then he picked up his pencil again and resumed work on his notebook. "All right then." He finished and looked up. "What did your wife do?"

"Nothing. She was too far away."

"Didn't scream or nothing?" Tomlinson leaned forward in a confidential manner. "Most women woulda been screeching like a wet hen, if you wants my opinion."

"Well, Sam's not like that." Marston pulled his thoughts away from his wife. It was too painful.

"Sam?" The sergeant's eyes popped. "I thought we were talkin' about your wife!"

"My wife's name is Sam."

"But that's a man's name." Tomlinson frowned in concentration. "Look 'ere. This sounds mighty strange to me. Why would a woman have a man's name? Eh?"

"It's a family name." Marston closed his eyes again and dropped his head in his hands. "Her father picked it out."

"Well that's as may be." The sergeant sat back in his chair and looked at the rancher as if from a great height. "But when you first hear it, it sounds almost pre-verted, if you know what I mean."

Before Marston could respond to this statement in an appropriate manner, the sound of the heavy metal door reached them. It screamed on its hinges then clanged shut again. Hurrying footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Elliott!" Sam appeared, her face framed by the bars. "Are you alright?"

"Sam!" Marston rocketed to his feet, then leaped to the door. "What are you doing here? This is no place for you? Melvin!" He transferred his attention to the lawyer hanging back in the shadows. "How could you -?"

Sam punched him through the bars. "Don't you shout at Melvin. He tried to keep me away." She put her hands over his. "It didn't work."

Collins looked at his client with smouldering resentment. "You could have warned me, you know."

Marston looked at Sam and smiled in spite of himself. "Well, you wouldn't have believed me." He lifted one hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. "Sometimes I can't believe it myself."

She smiled back and clutched his fingers. "Believe it, mister."

"What's all this now?" Sergeant Tomlinson lumbered forward, frowning in an authoritative manner. "I ain't finished questioning this man."

"Mr. Marston has been released. I have the authorization right here." Collins reached through the bars and waved the papers in the air.

The sergeant took them and read them carefully, his finger running along each line. There was silence for a moment, then a loud harrumph as he returned the papers to the lawyer. "All right then. Be off with you. Think is was a bloody church social going on 'ere." He gathered up his notebook and case and disappeared down the hall.

Marston pulled his coat and hat off the bed and reached for his wife's arm. "Let's go. We've got a lot to talk about."

"Yes." Sam swallowed hard. "We do."