A/N: I don't own the lyrics in the chapter. Well, sports fans, this shall be the final chapter of my fic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. See you next time!

"Are you ready to go?" Chavez asked after breakfast the next morning. "We have a lot of work to do today."

"I know, and I'll get to it when I can get to it," I promised. "Would you get Storm ready for me, please?"

"Anything for my querida," said Chavez, kissing my cheek before he left.

I filled our kitchen sink with water from the well and grabbed a cake of soap from the cabinet. I pushed up my sleeves and got to work on the breakfast dishes. I was in a good mood, so I broke into a song from my days as Rampaging Riddle, one I hadn't sung in years.

"...This is the end of my story
This is the end of my song
Frankie is down at the jailhouse
And she cries the whole night long
He was her man, but he done her wrong..."

The song got completely stuck in my head, so I kept singing it long after the dishes were clean. I strolled into the backyard with my old hip-swaying gait, ready to look for my knife. I knew roughly which direction it had gone, so I had an idea of where to start. I got on my knees and groped around in the brush. After a few minutes, my hand found the familiar steel handle. I sheathed my knife, stood, and headed for the barn.

A sound in the distance made me stop in my tracks. The footfalls of a horse. I knew it couldn't be Sparks or Storm and we had no neighbors to speak of. Who the hell could it be? Instinctively, my hand flew to the pearl-handled six-shooter in my belt. I stood my ground, ready to give this stranger a proper greeting. Suddenly, a shot rang out. I jumped; the bullet landed harmlessly by my feet. I fired back, quickly emptying my revolver as I dodged the stranger's bullets. Cursing, I reached for my belt to reload.

"All this time, and you're still the best dancer in New Mexico," cackled a male voice.

I squinted through the sunlight blocking my vision. The stranger turned his horse so I could see him better.

"Goddamn it, Billy!" I howled angrily, holstering my gun with a flick of the wrist. "I coulda killed ya, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!"

"Nah, you missed me by a mile, 'Rena," said Billy. "Your aim's gettin' rusty."

I let his comment slide. Folding my arms, I asked, "What the hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Billy put a hurt little boy look on his face. "Can't a fella drop in on his pals anymore?"

"I hope dropping in is all you're doing," I said. I figured he was on the run again and needed a place to hide.

"My days of hidin' out and runnin' away are over," Billy declared. "Remember the coward who shot me in the back?"

"Yeah, Pat Garrett," I replied.

"Well, the dumb bastard thinks he killed me, so everybody's stopped lookin' for me." Billy snickered, tickled to death on having bested Garrett. Chavez sure was right about him; he was the luckiest white-eye in New Mexico.

"Would you care to come inside?" I asked Billy. Now that he was here, I felt obligated to entertain him.

"Only if you got somethin' to eat. I'm starvin'," he answered.

I led him inside and got him settled at the table. I scrounged up some cold leftover bacon and eggs, plus a biscuit with jam. Billy didn't say a word until he'd finished every bite. I cleared the table and watched Billy's gaze travel to the stack of paper on my desk.

"You writin' a book or somethin'?" he wondered.

I nodded. I'd spent most of my time during my depression writing out my life story. I entertained the notion of getting it published, but I wasn't sure if it was good enough.

"Mind if I read it?" said Billy.

"Feel free," I said. "Let me know how you like it."

Billy walked to the desk, picked up the first page in the stack, and sat at the table with his feet up. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud: "My name is Serena Marisol Riddle, and this is my story. I was born on March 7th, 1859, the daughter of a white teenaged settler and an Apache medicine man. My mother was ashamed of her relationship with my father, so she abandoned me within hours of my birth, leaving my father to raise me by himself..."

The End