Maisie Conlon smiled at the lawman standing on the porch of 75 Tremont Place. "It was good of you to come out at this hour, Marshal," she said.

"Remember now, I can't do nothin' less'n they all give a statement."

"Those who are well enough will be along first thing in the morning. Goodnight Marshal." Silky's housekeeper firmly closed the front door, took a deep breath, re-tied her robe about her person, and returned to the kitchen.

Taking in the scene in front of her she tutted. Cotton swabs lay discarded on the floor, evidence of the ongoing treatment to Han's blistered feet. Regardless of the hour, word of the fire had spread, so that a little over an hour ago the survivors had welcomed the sight of Doctor Coleman's old buckboard rattling down the smoky Row toward them.

Deep in concentration Jed sat at the kitchen table stripping down the Remington, gun parts spread all over the clean tabletop. As he shook out one of his cleaning rags, the smell Han hadn't been able to identify in the shed had come back to him in a rush. It was gun oil.

Completely oblivious to the close proximity of a firearm, Silky sat next to him, nursing his head in his hands and uttering an occasional moan. Now that he wasn't quite so drunk the inevitable hangover was beginning to manifest itself in the form of the mother of all headaches.

"Who was that?" Han asked nervously, the loud knock on the door five minutes earlier having startled them all.

"It was Marshal Hardy. Somebody reported the fire."

"And?"

"I told him what he needed to know, for now." Maisie filled a mug with fresh coffee and plonked it unsympathetically in front of Silky. "Drink!" she ordered, before returning a softer gaze to Han. "Said you'd all go see him tomorrow."

The thought of speaking with Marshal Hardy set Han's nerves on edge. Involving the law was not something he wanted to do again. It appeared his insistence that Silky pay the marshal a visit hadn't solved anything; in fact, it had made things worse. The saloon fire had been swift and terrifying, but he was sure it was only the beginning of the Flyte's vengeance which appeared to not only be directed at Silky, but anybody associated with him. And now Jed had shot one of their henchmen...

"It's too dangerous to stay here. We need to get out of town."

"Billy's much too busted up to travel," protested Doc Coleman. "I wouldn't advise—"

Han didn't hear him. "What time does the first train leave?" he asked. The railroad had got them away from Fox Flanagan well enough and this time they wouldn't have to ride a box car.

Doc Coleman shook his head. "You ain't gonna make it very far on those feet. They'll be too big for your boots once I've bandaged them."

"I'll wear a pair of Silky's, they're bigger than mine. And anyway..." Han summoned up his most engaging smile, "...you've got a buckboard outside, Doc. How about you give us all a ride to the station?"

"Patchin' everyone up is about as involved in this as I intend to get, young feller," replied the doctor as he applied a salve made from egg white and lard to a large blister on Han's big toe; his none too gentle touch eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a fit of coughing from the patient.

Maisie stepped forward, her arms folded and a stern look on her face. "Augustus Coleman! You took an oath when you became a doctor, didn't you?"

"That I did, but—"

"And what exactly was that oath?"

Doc Coleman sighed. "To do no harm."

"Well you'll be doing a whole lot of harm if you left us here at the mercy of those villains. Why, any minute they could set fire to this house just like they did the saloon. We could all be burned alive. Do you want that on your conscience?" Maisie was nothing if not persistent.

The medic hung his head. Like Silky, he knew from experience that arguing with this woman was a waste of breath — she had an answer for everything.

Interpreting his silence as assent, Maisie smiled contentedly. "Good, that's settled then. We'll take the early train." She reached into the pocket of her robe and consulted the small watch which usually hung among the keys on her chatelaine. "It's a little after four now. That means we have less than two hours to pack the essentials, and for this one..." she glared at Silky "...to sober up some more before we leave. I'll go upstairs and get started."

"You wouldn't happen to know where that train is bound for, would you ma'am?" Han enquired, praying the answer would not be east. Remaining in Denver was dangerous, but he didn't want to head back to Missouri anytime soon either.

Maisie smiled. "It'll take us west — all the way to San Francisco."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

With his feet wrapped in fresh cotton bandages, Han painfully made his way up the stairs to the bedroom he usually shared with the two boys. Much to his relief, upon opening the door he observed that Billy appeared to be resting peacefully, his head and shoulders elevated on pillows to ease his breathing.

Responding to the serious look on Han's face Jenny quickly joined him in the hallway. "What is it?" she asked.

"I came to say I'll sit with Billy while you go home and pack a bag."

Jenny smiled sweetly. "Maisie told me y'all are leaving; but there's no need for me to pack, Hannibal. I'm not coming with you."

"Not coming!" exclaimed Han, a little louder than intended.

"Shhhh," Jenny chided. "No, I'm not, and neither is Billy. He can't make a journey like that. After he's taken y'all to the station, I'm sure Gus won't mind giving us a ride back to my place."

"But what if Titus comes after you?"

"Then I'll deal with him. Jed isn't the only one around here who knows how to use a gun, you know. As soon as Billy's recovered, we'll leave."

Han knew Jenny's decision was the right one, but it would not stop him worrying about their safety. Thankful that he'd taken the time to limp to the shed and retrieved their money before the doc started on his feet, he dipped two fingers into his pants pocket and held out a tight roll of ten dollar bills.

"Here. You'll need a stake to help you get started again."

"Where did you get that?"

Han looked a little shamefaced. "I ain't gonna lie to you, Jenny. I stole it." Then, in case she thought he'd been cheating the saloon's patrons again, he added quickly, "Not from anyone around here."

Jenny's blonde curls shook. "I can't take all your money."

Before he could stop himself Han gushed, "Oh, I got plenty more."

"I see," said Jenny, trying to suppress a smile. This young man was full of surprises. He had a shrewd, nimble brain which would make him a decent living one day. On which side of the law that living would be, she was not entirely certain.

Secure in the knowledge that the remainder of the money was safely hidden away in the lining of his coat, Han took her hand in his, pressed the roll into it and urged, "Please, take it."

Reluctantly Jenny's hand curled around the cash before she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "Thank you, Hannibal. I shall miss you and Jed so much," she said tearfully.

"We'll be sure to come up and say a proper goodbye before we leave," Han said, hugging her back.

With sadness in his heart Han returned down the stairs to hear a raised voice coming from the kitchen. Quickly pushing open the door he was confronted with the sight of Silky, hangover temporarily forgotten, his face puce and his pale blue eyes blazing as he pointed a trembling finger at the gun barrel Jed was cleaning.

"I don't hold with firearms of any kind, boy and you know it! Get that... that damn thing outta here now!"

Slowly and deliberately Jed placed the barrel on the table and stared at Silky. There it is again, thought Han, same look I saw out there in the street.

"Get it out, I say, or by golly you're gonna feel my belt on your back!"

At the threat of violence, Han's own anger flared.

"Don't you dare touch him," he snapped, silently wishing he had a dollar for every time he'd stepped up and taken Jed's punishments for him back at the Home for Waywards. He had the scars to prove it. "You may not like guns, but that one saved your life. If Jed hadn't returned fire, the shooter would've gotten off a second shot and —"

Silky was not sure he had heard right. "He did what?"

"Jed shot the fella in the arm."

"Wrist," the would-be gunman corrected, quietly.

"Okay, the wrist. It was real impressive, as it happens; in the dark with the smoke an' all. Least you can do is show a little gratitude."

"He has a point there Silky," reasoned Doc Coleman. "Truth be told, both these boys risked their lives savin' your sorry hide tonight. Hannibal went back into that blazin' buildin' all by himself to drag you out, and if Jed hadn't shot whoever was tryin' to kill ya, we wouldn't be listenin' to you hollerin' at them; we'd be plannin' your funeral."

Because he couldn't remember anything from the time he'd retired to his room with the bottle of whiskey to the moment he came to his senses on the street outside the burning saloon, this piece of news had Silky feeling more than a little shaken. He stumbled to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face.

"Well... just see you get that...that thing...cleaned and off my table, right quick," he blustered, impatiently wiping away a line of water droplets clinging to his bushy eyebrows. "I don't ever want to see it again, y' hear?"

Loath to make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep Jed picked up the barrel and continued polishing it.

Leaning back against the sink Silky hung his head as he reflected on the doctor's words. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "It appears I owe you both a great debt. I won't forget this."

"Well, that's more like it," said the doctor. "Now, go get ready, the lot of ya. Ain't long now 'til that train leaves."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The shrill whistle of the west-bound train cut through the fresh, early morning air. Hannibal Heyes had estimated that the buckboard ride from Tremont Place to the station would take no more than ten minutes, and having allowed time for the purchasing of tickets he figured they would be safely on board a minute or two before the train departed. As it happened, his calculations were a little off. In fact, there had been barely enough time to stow their luggage in the overhead rack and take their seats before the whistle sounded for a second time and the train lurched forward, engulfing the station platform in a huge cloud of steam.

As the train pulled away from the station and gradually picked up speed, Jed gazed out of the window. After all he had been through with Billy, saying goodbye had been upsetting, and despite Jenny's assurances that they would be fine in Denver, the possibility of never seeing his friend again weighed heavily on him.

In an effort to dispel his cousin's melancholy Han nudged his arm. "Different from our last train ride, huh? Upholstered seats kinda beats smelly straw, don't it?" he chirped. Only having raised a weak smile in response, Han tried a different tack. "You said you wanted to see the ocean, well, San Francisco is on the coast so it looks like you're gonna get your wish."

Without diverting his eyes from the passing scenery, Jed asked, "D' ya think Billy will ever see the ocean?"

"Jenny and Billy will come visit the first chance they get," his cousin assured him, although he doubted that was true.

For the next half hour Han enthusiastically pointed out various things of interest through the grimy carriage window before finally acknowledging Jed's lack of interest. Almost ready to give up, he decided to try one more way to engage with him. He glanced discreetly at their fellow travellers. Maisie had come prepared for the long train journey and was busy knitting, the needles appearing to click in time with the rhythm of the train. Silky, on the other hand, was snoring softly.

Using Jed's preferred name Han leaned toward him and murmured, "Uh, Kid, how did you manage to shoot that fella in the wrist? I know Danny said you had talent with a gun, but I sure didn't get the feeling he meant you were that good."

Aware that sooner or later he would have to come clean, Jed whispered back, "I've been practicing."

Han had suspected as much. "You have?" he asked, feigning surprise. "Where?"

"Billy and me didn't spend all day runnin' straight to the Pike and back, y' know. Sometimes we'd go by the crick to look for them crawdads we saw when we arrived. Well, one day we ventured a little farther and came across this old barn. We weren't trespassing or nuthin'; you could see nobody used it 'cause the straw was all rotten. It stank somethin' awful. Billy said it would be a good place for me to practice since there was nobody around to hear."

"But, how did you know where to find the gun?" asked Han, relieved that Jed was talking to him at last.

"I remembered Miz Conlon telling you about an old shed, so Billy and me went lookin' for it. Oh, and I took some of the money too. Not much," he added hastily. "Just enough to buy a box or two of bullets to practice with." Kid looked a little sheepish. "You mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad at you," Han admitted a little grudgingly. "You've learned to shoot real good, Kid. Just be careful how you use a skill like that, okay?"

Kid Curry nodded.

Carefully watching Silky to make sure he was still asleep Han murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "Where's the gun now?"

Kid indicated the old carpet bag deliberately placed by his feet where he could see it. "At the bottom of this bag, wrapped in one of my shirts."

Han chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Make sure to hide it real good when we get settled in San Francisco, 'cause if Silky finds out you've still got it he'll throw a fit."

"I'll keep it hid," the blond assured him. "What does Mister O'Sullivan have against guns anyhow?"

Han shrugged. "I asked him that a few days ago, but he wouldn't say. Guess it must be something real personal."

Kid returned his gaze to the passing scenery for a while until yet another question crossed his mind. "You got any idea where we're gonna live now?"

Realising that in all the excitement he had forgotten to ask, Han cleared his throat and spoke over the noise of the wheels. "Uh, Miz Conlon, ma'am, where are we gonna stay when we get to San Francisco?"

Maisie's knitting needles didn't miss a beat as she replied, "Mister O'Sullivan has an old friend there who he's sure will help us out. His name is Soapy Smith."

"Soapy?" the boys said, laughing.

"Not so loud," chided Maisie. "Soapy's a nice enough fellow, but his business can be a little, you know... outside of the law."

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry looked at each other and grinned. Life with Silky O'Sullivan was turning out to be quite an adventure.