Lee was not happy. Back at the office, Lacy wouldn't even entertain the idea of bothering Sheriff Holt. She insisted that he'd been up all night and needed sleep. That put the responsibility for decision making on Mayer, since he'd been left in charge of the sheriff's office. That really rubbed Lee the wrong way. Mayer was younger than the rest of them, and had always been his mother's boy, too polite, too soft, and too preoccupied with the concepts of right and wrong. Hell, he wouldn't even condescend to get drunk on a Saturday night. But he sounded decisive enough when he assigned Lee, George and Jace Colby to go out to Dewton and retrieve Canaday.

"What about you?" Lee challenged.

"Sheriff Holt told me to stay here," Mayer said.

"That didn't seem to be bothering you when you went out to the livery stable and left the sheriff's office empty," Lee pointed out.

"That's my business," Mayer said, his tone even but his eyes flashing with irritation, "You just keep your mind on yours. Get out to Dewton and bring back that cowhand."

"It'd be a lot easier if he met with an accident on the way back," Lee suggested.

"No," Mayer snapped, "You bring him here, alive."

"What for?" George asked, "We're just gonna kill him anyway."

"Just do as I tell you," Mayer growled, rounding on George and leveling a glare at him.

In that moment, Mayer's gaze was flint-hard, with no sign of the sweet, slightly sentimental and overly etiquette bound man they were all well familiar with. He looked all but murderous.

"You wouldn't be getting cold feet, would ya, Mayer?" Lee inquired, making no attempt to conceal his scorn.

Mayer gave Lee a glance, but he didn't move until George had backed off.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Mayer said, "I don't owe you anything."

"And just what in the hell does that mean?" Lee demanded.

"It means, you three get on your horses and ride. And bring that cowhand back in whatever condition you find him. If Sheriff Holt wants him dead, he can finish the job himself when he wakes up."

Mayer turned and strode to the deputy's desk. He sat in the chair behind it, and pointedly looked out the window facing the street, a sure sign of absolute dismissal. Lee and George looked at each other. George shrugged, and the two of them went out to locate Colby so they could drag him along. So far, Colby had had it pretty easy, and it felt good to get him out of bed and make him come on the errand.

Bringing in Canaday, particularly wounded, should have been a one man job, though having a second man to lookout for hazards aside from the prisoner was always a good idea. Mayer had assigned three men to accomplish the task, yet it somehow still didn't feel like enough to Lee.

Of course, Holt had gathered up some more men to serve as deputies, but for some reason Mayer didn't name any of them for this trip. If Lee had been feeling reasonable, he'd have seen the sense in sending out the deputies the Dewton sheriff had already met, but he wasn't feeling at all reasonable. And besides, he didn't much want to deal with that stupid kid sheriff. And he especially didn't want to deal with Canaday, particularly since he'd been forbidden from killing the man and getting it over with.

Colby was disgruntled, but not particularly concerned. He'd never tangled with Canaday, and hadn't spent all day yesterday trying to track him through the snow. Colby also wasn't much of a bar-fighter, so he didn't know that George was usually a force to be reckoned with.

Canaday had put George down like he was nothing, and flattened Lee as well just for good measure. It had taken the both of them together, fighting dirty, to get control of him in the first place; control they'd lost minutes later in the sheriff's office.

True, Canaday had since been shot and was probably in no shape for yet another round, but Lee had gotten a pretty good idea of the man's capabilities. It wasn't just that he was a mean fighter, though there was that too. He was wild as bobcat and just as difficult to hang onto, and somehow he'd lost his pursuers when conditions for tracking were all but perfect. Frankly, if Lee had his druthers, he'd walk into that Dewton sheriff's office and shoot Canaday in whatever cell they were holding him in, and then maybe shoot him again just to make sure he was dead.

But he figured the Dewton sheriff probably wouldn't stand for that.

Mayer didn't know why he went back to the jail room after Lee and George had left with Colby, and Miss Weston returned to her saloon. Actually, he knew why he went to the room, he just didn't know why he felt the need to say what he had to say. There was no sense in it, but he did it anyway.

When he entered, he found the Cartwright boys poking lethargically at the breakfast Miss Weston had provided, looking more worried about the food on their plates than their own impending deaths.

They gave him a glance when he entered, then proceeded to ignore him, as if they had collectively decided not to speak to him anymore. He supposed he couldn't blame them for that.

"Canaday was caught," Mayer said after a lengthy silence.

The look of utter horror in the eyes of both Joe and Hoss was unmistakable. Somehow, Mayer knew the fear wasn't for themselves, but for Canaday. They weren't afraid that he hadn't reached help for them, they were afraid that he was dead. Hoss was the first to recover.

He swallowed and asked, "How?"

"Sheriff in Dewton caught him in town," Mayer replied neutrally, "I don't know the particulars. I sent some men out to retrieve him."

"To kill him, you mean," Joe corrected, his look of fear melting into one of hostility.

"I told them to bring him back alive," Mayer said, then sighed, "But yes, probably. I..." he fumbled for the words to explain something he himself didn't understand, "I thought you should know."

"Thanks," Joe said, but clearly he didn't mean it, and Mayer didn't blame him.

Mayer left.

Suddenly he couldn't bear to be in the building, much less the room. He didn't think, he just left the jail room, closing the door behind him. Looking around the office, he felt suffocated and continued outside, closing that door as well, then leaning against it as the ice cold winter air hit his lungs.

There was no question in Mayer's mind as to what was right and what was wrong. He knew this was wrong, he knew! But what else was there for him to do? His mother was getting older, the place he shared with her was getting more rundown despite his best efforts. Even if he could have afforded to buy something nice for her, he couldn't get anything like that in Elodie because the shopkeepers couldn't afford the expense of shipping, especially not when they knew none of the residents would be able to afford the price necessary for them to make a profit on the venture.

Elodie was dying, and Mayer didn't know how else to save it.

Mayer touched the deputy badge on his chest. This wasn't what he'd agreed to put it on for. Way back when Sheriff Holt had first approached him for it, Mayer had been interested in ridding the town of gunfighters and thieves, and protecting it from drifters looking to tear up a town to pass the time. It was a responsibility then, now it just felt like a weight.

Taking a deep breath, Mayer decided to go find Josh. Maybe he could do nothing about the injustice being done to the Cartwrights, but he could do something about the deplorable conditions their horses were being kept in. He could fantasize, at least for a little while, that he was still the champion of the innocent and the powerless, which was what he'd signed up for, what his mother believed he still was.

She believed in him so much that she didn't even ask what Sheriff Holt had wanted, getting Mayer out of bed in the middle of the night. She didn't question what was going on, simply trusted that her son would take care of it, and would tell her if she needed to know. She didn't usually want to know what he was doing until whatever was happening was all over, because the thought of him in danger was understandably terrifying.

He wondered what he would tell her when she inevitably asked at the end of all of this.

He was saved from having to think too long on it because he found Josh right where he expected to, in the darkest corner of Lacy's Saloon, dead drunk and oblivious to the world. He noticed also that Miss Weston's dog was present, sitting at the base of the stairs and gazing fixedly at Josh.

The dusk colored animal was as big as a man, with long legs and large paws, upright ears and a piercing gaze that seemed to see right through people. The animal showed no reaction to Mayer's presence, and neither moved from the spot at the bottom of the stairs nor stopped staring at Josh.

Mayer picked up the remains of Josh's last drink, a beer, and poured it over his head to wake him.

Josh came to consciousness swinging, but Mayer simply stepped out of his way and observed quietly as Josh spun himself out of his chair and collapsed onto the floor. Josh flipped over and squinted up at Mayer.

"What you want?" Josh slurred.

"I want you to do your job, Mr. Jones," Mayer replied coolly, "And take care of the horses."

"Aw, nobody's gonna look for them horses anytime soon," Josh muttered, grabbing onto a chair to help himself sit up, "I'll get rid o' 'em when I get 'round to it."

"I don't mean that," Mayer said, "I mean feeding, watering, grooming. Do you have any blankets for them? Or else a way to patch those cracks in the wall that are letting the wind in?"

"What do you care?" Josh inquired, closing his eyes as his hand slipped off the chair and he fell back onto the floor, where he continued with, "They ain't yours horses."

"And they're not yours, either," Mayer told him.

"I'm the one 'at's got to sell 'em," Josh said, giving up on the idea of sitting up and crossing his arms in front of him defiantly, "That makes 'em my problem."

"You won't have anything to sell if you don't take care of them," Mayer pointed out.

"So what? I get a cut from the Cartwright boys, don't I?" Josh asked, opening one eye enough to look up at Mayer.

"Yes," Mayer admitted, "Everyone involved will."

Josh closed his eye, said, "Good 'nuff," and then began to snore.

Mayer shook his head, then kicked Josh in the boot.

"What?" Josh snapped.

"If you won't take care of the horses, Mr. Jones, then I will," Mayer said.

"Fine," Josh replied, "Just leave me alone."

"Glad to," Mayer informed him, and stepped over the prone Josh on the way to the exit.

Before he made it out, Mayer noticed Miss Weston over by the bar, gesturing urgently. As he approached her, it became apparent to him that she had been crying. Her face was a mess, and her hair had never looked as unkempt as it did now.

"Miss Weston?" he spoke her name inquiringly, using a low voice so it wouldn't carry upstairs to whatever room he presumed Sheriff Holt was occupying.

"Deputy Mayer," Miss Weston replied, her voice cracking as she sniffled.

"Is something wrong?" Mayer realized the question was ludicrous; everything about what was happening was wrong, in fact he couldn't remember the last time anything had been right in Elodie.

"Oh!" Miss Weston cried, then continued to sniffle, pulled a handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes ineffectually.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't tell me what's the matter," Mayer said, using his best patiently prodding tone to encourage the distraught woman to open up and speak to him.

"It's the Cartwright boys," Miss Weston finally gasped, before she had to sniffle some more.

"The Cartwrights? What could they do to make you so upset? They're locked up," Mayer exclaimed, though he managed to keep it to just above a whisper.

"Oh it's not what they've-" she broke off, grabbing her trembling lower lip in her teeth, then taking a shuddering breath before trying to speak again, "Oh we've done an awful thing."

"Yes, Ma'am, I know," Mayer admitted softly, "But we've all got our reasons."

"I know, I know we do," Miss Weston said, "But... I feel so guilty about it, and we haven't even gotten to the worst part yet. I'm... I'm not sure I can go through with it."

"Miss Weston, you haven't got to do anything. Sheriff Holt and us deputies will take care of it."

"I understand that," Miss Weston told him, "But... I know what's happening, what's going to happen. And yet... here I am... not only doing nothing to stop it, but actively condoning it. You understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mayer said, thinking he understood more than she could possibly imagine.

Miss Weston did not appear to have a mind to continue talking. She turned away and blew into her handkerchief, and then kept her back to Mayer.

"Excuse me," he said, "I have something I need to tend to."

She did not acknowledge him, did not even appear to hear. Miss Weston showed no sign of awareness that he was leaving her establishment until he pushed the door open, at which time she spoke, her voice barely audible.

"Deputy Mayer," she said, "We can't do this."

The statement felt like a knife in his heart, the painful stab of truth, and he was surprised to hear himself responding with, "Yes, Ma'am. I know."