Paladin didn't seem to be in a talkative mood. After Lucas tried around several campfires to ask more questions about Jesse Jones, he realized that he wouldn't get very much information from the man in black. He finally contented himself to wondering aloud to Mark about their old friend.

"You don't think Mr. Jones killed anybody, do you, Pa?" the boy asked as they sat around their final night's campfire.

"No, I don't, Son," Lucas answered. "I think it's just a big mixup."

"Yeah, maybe they thought it was him, but it was actually someone who looked like him that did it!" Mark cried enthusiastically.

"Something like that," agreed Lucas with a fond smile and ruffle of the boy's hair. Paladin approached them at that point.

"We'll be riding into Reno in the morning," he announced. "We'll find all the answers we need once we get there. But I warn you, don't be too hopeful that what you'll find out is good news. A man can do almost anything when he's desperate enough." The father and son looked at each other with somber expressions after Paladin's statement, and the three went to sleep without another word being spoken.

If there was one thing he wasn't, that was a hero. Bret had said that many times, and he knew he would say it many more times. He repeated it to himself every time his conscience got to bothering him about capturing and possibly killing a man for money. Hey, it's his skin or mine, he reminded himself. So really it was a matter of self-defense, right? He shook his head as if to rid his mind of the disturbing moral swamp it was wading through. It worked, and he said to his brother who was riding beside him,

"Say, Bart, what's the most money you've ever had at one time?" The idea of those beautiful, crisp pieces of paper immediately put him into a better mood. His brother thought for a moment, then replied,

"I think that would have to have been after that game in San Francisco that lasted the whole day. You remember that one?" Bret nodded.

"Sure, there's no way I could forget that pile of money."

"I ended up with, what was it, $40,000?" Bret whistled, shaking his head.

"You know, Bart, I just never knew you could be so smart. I might have to start taking lessons from you."

"I'll charge you for 'em, if you do," Bart said with a wink. "You think $5 a day's a fair rate?" They both laughed and continued on their way. They never noticed the man stalking them from above, being sure to keep out of sight behind the rocks. He kept his rifle in his hands, and said to himself,

"You can't outrun me, Maverick. I'll get you sooner or later."

Major Adams sighed. There were certainly times that he could kill that Charlie Wooster! And this was one of them.

"Now, now, now, Major, just let me have my say. If that Barkley fella is coming back, with or without the law, the only thing we can do is hand over Jones. They'll take him anyway, and we'll just get killed in the process. If we hand him over, then we can keep ourselves alive. What do you say, Major? Should I go and find him so he can get ready to go?" The Major tried to hold in his frustration, he really did, but it erupted anyways.

"Wooster, are you goldarn stupid? Can't you tell that Barkley doesn't want justice? All he wants is revenge! And I'm not going to help anybody kill someone, especially a good man like Jones."

"But Major-" the cook was interrupted by the arrival of Flint McCullough and Bill Hawks.

"Major, Hawks and me just saw some men riding towards the train. Might be trouble." The Major let out another long sigh.

"That's just what we need."

"Don't forget what I said, Major," pestered Wooster.

"That's just what I'm trying to do!" the Major shouted at him. "Now let me make the decisions around here!" The cook scuttled away to finish his cooking.

A few minutes later two men rode into the middle of the wagon train. One had a U. S. Marshall's badge on, and the other was clearly his deputy.

"Welcome to our wagon train, Marshall," Major Adams greeted them. "I'm Major Adams, and this is my scout, Flint McCullough, and this is Bill Hawks." Both men nodded at him in turn. "What can I do for you?"

"Major Adams, Flint, Bill, nice to meet you. My name's Matt Dillon, and this is my deputy, Festus."

"Howdy, folks!" said the deputy cheerfully. Matt rubbed his healing shoulder for a moment, then continued.

"We just passed through Reno, looking for a wanted man, and we were told this is where we could find him." Flint looked at Bill, and Bill looked at the Major, while the Major looked anywhere so he didn't have to look anyone in the eye. After the silence stretched out a bit too long, the Marshall commented, "Well, were they right? The name of the man I'm looking for is-"

"Jesse Jones, I know, I know, Marshall!" interrupted the Major. "Yeah, you came to the right place." Both Flint and Bill looked at the Major in surprise.

"But Major-" Bill started to say, but the Major cut him off with a raised hand.

"Bill, the law's going to find him sooner or later, so we might as well turn him over without a fight. It would be better for everyone that way."

"I'm glad you see it that way, Major," said Matt. "Besides, he might become desperate and endanger some of the folks on the wagon train if you tried to hide him."

"Not Jones," Major Adams said with some bitterness. Matt shrugged his shoulders.

"You never know." Just then, Charlie Wooster came rushing up to the group of men.

"Major, Major, guess what?" The Major rolled his eyes while saying,

"Wooster, I'm not going to try guessing, so you better spill it fast or get back to cooking."

"Yes sir, yes sir," said the cook in words that almost tripped over one another. "Well, you see, after we had that little talk, and I knew you weren't going to listen to me, I decided to go and find Jones and convince him that he needed to give himself up, and, well, I couldn't find him. I went to the Carsons' wagon, you know, the folks that have that daughter who took a fancy to him, and they said they saw him mount his horse and ride away not more than an hour ago. They wondered where he was going but figured it was none of their business." As soon as the cook's story was done, Matt reined his horse around and called to his deputy,

"Come on Festus, we better catch up with him."

"I'll go with you," called Flint. Before he rode away, though, he turned in the saddle and said to the Major in parting, "Well, Major, it looks like we were all fooled by Jones." Then he rode after the Marshall and the deputy, leaving the Major stewing in his confusion.