Sheriff Ewald Cherry was born in St. Louis, Missouri but spent thirty-one of his thirty-seven years in Brody's Cross. He wasn't particularly well-liked but the townsfolk were accustomed to his habits and idiosyncrasies. When the old sheriff had expired on account of venereal disease, it seemed a given that his unmotivated and uninterested deputy would hold the position for a year at most. Somehow, Cherry had been sheriff for a decade come that Christmas. He wasn't good. His lassitude and apathy made his job tenuous for himself and others. When faced with hardship, however, it allowed Cherry an indifference not many men possessed.

A clear example of this could be drawn from the time Farmer Roy Gray, unhappy with national politics, got it in his head to storm the sheriff's office and hold him accountable.Cherry had nothing to do with policy changes or reforms but to Gray, the sheriff was the closest he could get to a government official short of the mayor, who was out of town visiting Michigan at the time. No amount of hate or aggression expressed loudly spurred Cherry into action. Growing frustrated and ignored, Gray spat in the lawman's face and wound up with a broken jaw. Not that Cherry put more effort in than it took to break Gray's face. He left the farmer whimpering on the floor, his eventual treatment at the charity of passers by, and kicked back at his desk.

And when Gordon Whitefeather pulled a shotgun on the lawman as he imbibed a generous helping of the Tate family sherry, he didn't so much as flinch. Cherry hadn't heard the larger man creep in from the back in the same manner he had that morning. He heard loud and clear when the firearm was cocked.

"You should be dead," said the foreman grimly.

That's a bit much, mused the sheriff impassively.

Cherry set the drinking glass beside the bottle and raised his hands. "For what? Helpin' myself to the liquor?" Then, "I didn't see you this mornin'. I figured you folks ran off to Texas. I hear Miss Lacey made it to the coast."

"Mind steppin' outside with me?" proposed the foreman. "I'm not lookin' to have you painted over every room in this house."

Cherry permitted the foreman to lead him into the outdoors. They marched to the edge of the pasture and, stopping beside the fence, the man with the gun said, "I see that's Levi Asper's horse out front."

"Yeah," said Cherry. "That's because Levi Asper is here."

The foreman prodded the sheriff in the chest. "Why? You out of his pocket now? I hear he came by and picked you up."

Cherry chuckled. "His bedside manner wasn't that professional. Got some mighty powerful medication, though."

The foreman wasn't in the mood. Things had gotten stressful enough lately. It was his turn to collect provisions and make a hasty check on the house. Finding Levi Asper inside would have been bad enough. But Sheriff Cherry, in light of what he'd heard and seen? Unacceptable. "Why is he here?"

"To speak with Herman Tate." The more who believed it, the better for Cherry. With Herman relying on him for his freedom and guidance, he had high hopes that he might be able to use the shapechanger to grant him access to the Tate coffers.

The foreman lowered the weapon. "What?" Then, "Mr. Herman is here?"

"He is," said Cherry.

Gordon looked back towards the Tate home. "When? I didn't see him get back." Then, "I didn't see his horse out there with Mr. Asper's."

Cherry looped his thumbs through his belt loop. Glancing at the long barrel in the foreman's hands, he inquired, "Why should I be dead, Gordon? You started to say somethin' about that earlier."

The foreman, paying the sheriff no mind, returned to the house, and walked to the front. Cherry trailed behind, catching sight of the other man peeking through one of the remaining parlor windows when he rejoined him. Before the sheriff could make any further comment about the prodigal Tate son, the foreman's eyes grew large. Dawning horror crossed his features and he turned quickly to Cherry, keeping his voice low. "We have to go! He just killed Mr. Asper!"

"Fuck," said Cherry, erroneously attributing the act to Herman. Schim was going to have a field day tearin' him a new one on how he'd said from the start it was a bad idea to use the demon. And Cherry, when Schim started placing the blame, would remind the deputy that he was the one to insist that the rancher be left alone with Herman to give him closure and satisfaction for a crime that had nothing to do with either of them. "Well, Gordon, if you're fixin' to shoot somethin'--"

The foreman didn't hang around. He was sprinting away, gaining distance by the second. Cherry grumbled, drew his pistol, and glanced in at the scene. There was Herman, all right. And nearby, coated in red, was the same son of a bitch who'd gone after him. Cherry at once understood Gordon's meaning and came to a further conclusion of his own.

If this was the same hombre that killed his partner, Schim had no doubt gotten a good look. And if he got a good look, he'd no doubt be expecting Cherry to make good on his word and dispatch the bastard. As Cherry had learned, pistol shots didn't work when it came to that wolfman. Rather than stick around and be held to his obligation, Sheriff Cherry opted to skedaddle. He couldn't be called upon to act if he wasn't there.

To his amazement, he managed to catch up with the foreman as the latter's stamina began to falter. Cherry didn't make a habit of running long distances and thanked his lucky stars for the adrenaline. Hell, he wasn't even winded as he stopped beside the foreman. The foreman had to catch his breath and Cherry remarked, "What does he want?" He glanced back the way they had come, placing his free hand to his hat and bemoaning, "Why the hell did he have to go after Levi Asper? Why him?" The prominent son of the oldest family in Brody's Cross? There was no way Cherry wasn't going to wind up saddled with this. He scuffed his foot and kicked a stone in frustration. "God damn it!"

"He wants Mr. Herman," said the foreman ruefully.

Cherry knew that but didn't care for the excuse. It was an inconvenience. "He can have him!" he exasperated. "He doesn't need to give me a headache!"

"It's a bad crowd Mr. Herman runs around with," remarked the foreman. "I didn't like them before and I certainly don't like them now."

Cherry sighed and scratched his chin. After a moment of reflection, he said, "I'm gonna burn the place down." It seemed one solution to keep this from turning into something he was asked to investigate. "If there's anythin' you or the ladies want, I'd go get it because I'm not gonna wait for folks to start askin' questions."

The foreman frowned and raised his shotgun. "The hell you are, Sheriff."

"Stop pointin' that at me." Cherry pushed the muzzle aside. "You're gonna get wrapped up in this too if I don't take care of it. You want people askin' you how Levi Asper ended up dead in the Tate place?"

The foreman soured. "What happens after you raze our home? How do you propose to get Mr. Herman away from those men?"

"You don't live in the house proper," said Cherry. "And it seems to me Mr. Herman's fate is sealed."

"I have lived with the Tate family for twenty-six years," said the foreman. "I have a cottage on the land and it's always been a cozy home. How long do you suppose it will take to lose that land when it comes to light that Mr. Asper burnt up with the house and there's no landowners around to speak of? Who wouldn't believe that Mr. Herman had a hand in it? If not him, why wouldn't suspicion turn on those of us still livin' here? A fire isn't the solution you think, Sheriff."

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"I'll say the body's Herman," said Cherry. "I told 'em he was back. No reason he can't go away again."

"Why would anyone believe you?"

"Because I'm sheriff," said Cherry. "My word carries some weight."

The gun was trained. "You are not burning the house down." Cherry mumbled profanity and the foreman continued, "I worry about Mr. Herman."

"I wouldn't," said Cherry knowingly. "He is what he is."

"He shouldn't know men like that. He never should have crossed their path." The foreman hissed an unhappy, "They shouldn't have come here." He narrowed his eyes, catching Cherry's gaze. "It makes me wonder."

"Wonder what?" inquired Cherry, lacking any interest in his voice.

"If Mr. Herman is like that." The foreman cocked the weapon. "And if you're like that."

Cherry side-stepped to avoid the line of fire. The foreman kept him in his sights. "Like what? You think I'm a wolfman?"

The foreman nodded.

"Do I look--" started Cherry, raising his pistol unannounced. He plugged the foreman in his forward elbow before the other man realized what had happened. The foreman squeezed his trigger but his aim had been thrown off. Cherry managed to feint to the side, toppling over as the recoil from the misaimed shotgun knocked the foreman back. It was over quickly and despite his position in the dirt, it was Cherry who held the upper hand.

"Leave it," he ordered coolly as the foreman tried to retrieve the firearm. Seeing Cherry's sincerity, he collapsed onto his back, laughing bitterly, hugging his elbow close and applying pressure. Cherry pulled himself up, collected the shotgun, and loomed over the reclining foreman. "Have you lost your mind?"

"You would have been fine," said the foreman. "He was."

"If you're so sure, why try?"

"I'm not sure," admitted the foreman. "Ninety-percent."

Cherry groaned. "What is it lately? Is there somethin' in the water?"

"There's a wolfman in Brody's Cross," said the foreman. "That's what it is."

"Because of that, you shoot at me." Cherry holstered his pistol and kept the shotgun firmly in hand. "This is mine now."

"Think about it," challenged the foreman. "You shouldn't be up and walkin'. I saw what that man did to you."

"If he killed Levi Asper," said Cherry, "then he could have killed me if he wanted."

"He tried," said the foreman. "If I hadn't come along, he would have."

Cherry tapped the foreman's knee with the barrel. "Then why didn't you take a shot and save Mr. Asper?"

The foreman said deliberately, "For the same reason I imagine you didn't draw, Sheriff."

The lonely walk back to town was spent fuming inwardly. It was bad enough Amanda Schim had taken to gnawing holes in his hand. Now Gordon Whitefeather was waving shotguns under his nose? What was it with these people? Since when did getting mauled by a wolf make you into one? And while on that subject, why would a wolf be able to shake off bullets? He couldn't deny what he'd seen in the man with the different eyes any easier than he could explain why that might carry over to him.

He was almost back to Brody's Cross when he spied the figure coming towards him from down the road. Cherry's initial thought was a woman dressed in strange and exotic garb coming towards him. Her clothing rustled and flapped against the wind with alien qualities. It wasn't until the figure was practically on top of him that the sheriff realized it was no woman. Rather, it was a recently deceased rancher, his thoracic cavity spread wide with his torn flesh trailing, careening at full speed.

"Cherry!" wailed the angry spirit, "This is your fault!"

"Shit," said Cherry. He waited patiently for the entity which once was Levi Asper to catch up before stating, "I didn't do that to you."

"The hell you didn't," shouted Asper.

"Not that I don't commiserate, seein' as that hombre was the one who got me the other day, but I don't see how you can blame me." He lifted his hand to examine it. "I got a nasty habit of chewin' on my nails."

Asper growled, "I'm dead, Cherry!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" the sheriff asked. He couldn't raise the dead. Asper would have to accept it.

"Where were you? You ran off and left me to that madman!"

"Gordon Whitefeather stopped by," said Cherry.

The ex-rancher laid into the sheriff as though his critiques mattered. "If you were a decent sheriff, you might have shot the fiend before he did this to me!"

To think he and Gordon Whitefeather had just had this very chat. Cherry shrugged. "My pistol didn't do nothin' to him."

Asper pointed firmly at the shotgun. "And what about that?"

"That I got by shootin' Gordon," laughed Cherry. "After you were a goner."

Asper luminated in otherworldly rage. "I don't see why you're laughin'!"

Cherry waved him off and returned to his journey. "I reckon you know your way to where ever it is you're meant to go."

"You're gonna do somethin' about this," said Asper. "You're gonna organize a posse and run that man down."

Cherry whistled and shook his head. "Nope."

"You will," declared Asper. "I'm goin' to tell everyone what you tried to pull with your fake Herman Tate. You're already on thin ice, Sheriff. When they hear that I'm dead and you're to blame, you won't be laughin'."

"Levi," sighed Cherry, "I didn't touch you."

The ghost continued to harague. "Just where did you find your terrible impostor? I didn't believe for one minute it was Herman Tate!"

"That's because he wasn't," said Cherry. "He was Father Spiegelman."

"What?"

"He was Father Spiegelman up until a few days ago," said Cherry. There was no reason to hide the fact. Asper was dead and couldn't do anything about it. If he was anything like Schim, he'd learn quickly that Cherry was the only living soul to hear him.

"Whatever that means. You should know he's run off with the monster who did this. I think they were in cahoots from the beginning. I think you were in cahoots with them!"

"Think what you like."

"Prove me wrong," challenged Asper. "Get the bastard who did this and maybe I'll believe you're an innocent party in this."

"I don't care what you believe," said Cherry.

"You ought to," insisted Asper. "I hold your fate in my hands."

"I find that very unlikely," said Cherry.