Frank quickly calculated, if only to prove to himself, that he had settled all past debts. He swallowed the last of his whiskey before turning back to the stranger with a look of incredulity. His eyes showed the exasperation he felt as he cocked his head to the side saying thickly,

"I'm a what?"

The stranger held onto his excitement as he said, "A wanted man, a most wanted man, Mr. Hopkins." He pointed to the stool next to Frank and asked, "May I?"

There was nothing threatening about the man and Frank was curious to understand him. As he considered what impact the man's next words would have on his future, Frank rolled his head to one side and it bobbed ever so slightly. The gentleman took that as a gesture of invitation and pulled up the stool alongside Frank. Immediately the bartender came over. Mr. Teague ordered,

"Whiskey, and Henry, another for Mr. Hopkins."

Frank put up his hand, "No, I'm done, but thank you all the same."

Frank noticed the faintest degree of surprise on Mr. Teague's face. The gentleman called to the bartender, "Just one, Henry."

As Frank waited for Mr. Teague to receive his drink, he rolled the smooth tumbler between his strong hands asking, "So, Mr. Teague, how do you know me?"

Again, the slightest sign of surprise and Mr. Teague answered, almost to himself, "Well, I suppose that's as good a place to start as any." Then he hunched his shoulders forward, elbows resting on the bar, in the same manner Frank was sitting. Frank thought it looked like an unnatural position for the man.

Then as if it would explain everything, Mr. Teague stated, "I'm a writer, Mr. Hopkins."

Frank didn't see an answer in the remark and gave Mr. Teague a sidelong glance as he nodded once slowly. Mr. Teague grinned saying, "Perhaps you'll know me better when I explain that I wrote the stories about Buffalo Bill and the wild, wild west, under a different name naturally."

As Mr. Teague expected, that caught Frank's attention and he sat straighter exclaiming, "You're boshin' me!"

Mr. Teague grunted as he swallowed his whiskey. Frank added, "I always figured the man who wrote those stories lived in the East, in the city where the publishing houses are."

Mr. Teague smiled at Frank's knowledge, knowing it was a result of his travels. Mr. Teague straightened into a more comfortable position and answered, "Well, I do live in the city sometimes. But to write about the West, you have to live in the west, if you're going to capture it's spirit and put it on paper so others can read it, live it."

Frank replied, "That makes sense. I've never read your stories, but I've met people that have, and I used to work with Buffalo Bill."

"Yes, I know," Mr. Teague set his empty glass back on the bar. "Where did you disappear to after the race across the Arabian desert?"

Frank tensed. The question was personal. He was not ashamed of his heritage, but it was more than this stranger was entitled to know, so Frank squinted again replying, "What did you mean earlier when you said I was a wanted man?"

Mr. Teague respected Frank's privacy and answered, "I meant just that. After the race you seemed to vanish. . ."

Frank didn't appreciate what the comment seemed to imply and said heavily, "Didn't know anyone was looking for me."

Frank's brand of humility was rare and Mr. Teague smiled to himself as he answered, "Oh, there were people looking for you, all right, reporters, writers . . ."

Frank was amused and asked, "Were you looking for me too, or did you just stumble on me here?"

Mr. Teague chuckled at the forthright question and responded, "Well, like I said, I know the West, I knew about you when you were with Buffalo Bill, and I knew you'd appear when you were ready."

Frank stiffened uneasily, feeling as if someone had been spying on him throughout his life and he was only now becoming aware of it.

Mr. Teague continued, "So, the answer to your question is yes and no. Henry," and Mr. Teague pointed to the bartender, "knew I was in town and when he saw you come in, sent one of his boys over to find me."

Frank threw his head back and cast a look over at the bartender now sweeping the floor. Frank's face was grim, he still felt like he had only part of the story. So he asked flatly, almost stubbornly,

"And why were you looking for me?"

Mr. Teague answered, "Well, at first I wanted to put you in one of my stories. Well, heck, I just wanted to meet you. You've accomplished something no other man outside of the Arab world has. Don't give all the credit to your horse either. And I wanted to find you because no one else could. You were the mystery unsolved. But you were gone a long time and I went back to the city to publish another story. While I was there waiting, reading the newspaper I saw your name, and another name I recognized among the advertisements."

Mr. Teague paused, noticing Frank was listening intently and uncomfortably. Mr. Teague continued, "This was about nine months after you returned from the race. Someone from across the world was looking for you, a man I also happen to know, though I have never met him, the Sheik Riyadh."

Life bolted into Frank's entire being as he sat up asking in surprise, "The Sheik? Looking for me?"

Mr. Teague now involved in his own story kept on, "The Sheik said it was an urgent matter of friendship. The ad ran for months. I tried to get in touch with the Sheik, but the man who usually served as our contact, our courier, couldn't be found."

There was a distant look in Frank's eyes as he said absently, "Aziz."

Mr. Teague seemed to explain that to himself, "Yes, well of course you would have met him when you traveled to Arabia."

Frank's mind was in Arabia now as he remembered his parting words to the Sheik. He had handed the man his Colt saying, 'But you've won a friend.' The handshake was of camaraderie and respect. Unbidden the memory of the raid on the Sheik's tent came to Frank's mind as well. He could clearly see Jazira fighting off a desperate man, Aziz slipping stealthily away without offering any assistance. Frank, not hearing what Mr. Teague was saying, said suddenly,

"Aziz is dead."

Mr. Teague stopped speaking and paused before saying, "Well, I wondered what had happened."

Frank's face showed his concern as he asked, "What else did the ad say?"

Mr. Teague looked puzzled and said, "As I was saying. . .I've been collecting articles about you. You're going to be a great story one day. And I saved the ads as well. I have them in my room at the hotel. You're welcome to read them yourself."

Frank stood up immediately and laid enough coins on the bar to cover the price of both drinks. Mr. Teague sat a moment longer, looking at his empty tumbler, then up at Frank saying, "And the Sheik was not the only one who sent out advertisements looking for you. Six months ago, there was another advertisement, and this one was not from the Sheik."