Deputy Alcott's impatient wait for the marshal's arrival finally came to an end at eleven fifty-five that morning. The man of the hour rode into Fox Den with a confidence fitting of someone with his reputation for catching outlaws.

Marshal Dario De La Cruz was proud-looking, with thick curly hair on his head and a thick curly mustache he waxed into an immaculate upturn. He was lean and lanky and the wrinkles on his face belied his agility and physical flexibility. The stories of the dangerous men he had tracked down were all true; thus far, he had never failed to find a criminal he sought.

Though the marshal looked like a million bucks as he rolled into town, the same couldn't be said about his horse. It was a pale, skinny creature with thinning mane and sunken eyes. It didn't whinny so much as make a gutteral wail; because of that, she had been nicknamed "Old Moan". So long had she been known by this moniker that even the marshal had forgotten her original name.

But Old Moan was a reliable ride. Despite the heat of the near mid-day sun, the horse didn't seem too worn out. Granted, she always looked like shit but there was a comforting consistency in such an appearance.

As the marshal and his mare made their way to the sheriff's office, Deputy Alcott could hardly contain himself inside.

"He's here! He's here!" He exclaimed and jumped about, as if he were a dog who had recognized his owner returning home.

"Good, he knows where to find us," responded Reynold dryly, though there was a bit of amusement at his colleague's childish delight. "Remember, you're not to talk unless directly addressed. He's here to see me."

Deputy Alcott remained at the window, face plastered against it with wide eyes and an ear to ear smile.

Marshal De La Cruz could see the young face watching with glee as he hopped off Old Moan. He was used to the adoration; it came with being successful at his job and the countless reports and stories the publications ran on his exploits. But as the sun beat down on him and the stiffness of his long journey horseback set in, the last thing he wanted was a kid following his every move with fascination.

It also didn't help that the marshal did not like Fox Den. It was not that the city had directly done anything wrong, but it held memories that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Many years ago, his childhood best friend, Gabriel Ghortfash, had accepted a position as the sheriff in Fox Den. At that time, the city was just a few small ranches and a lone building, but there were indications the place was about to hit it big as copper and silver were found nearby.

"I'll be the best sheriff in Colorado, Dary!" Ghortfash has sworn to his buddy. De La Cruz believed it; for all his eccentricities, Ghortfash was a just and fair man. He was also brave- if someone were in trouble, he would give his all to save them, with no regard for his own well-being. But what kind of danger could Ghortfash really face in a community like Fox Den? De La Cruz had teased him that he was taking a cushy job away from any real action, that he ought to become a marshal too. But Ghortfash proved perfect for the small settlement, and as it grew he was the friendly face of the law in the area.

But then, one day, he disappeared. De La Cruz had come to Fox Den back then to see if he could help; he knew Ghortfash capable of holding his own but that no one had found a trace of him was unlike his friend. He managed to piece together a few odd facts, here and there- Ghortfash was last seen one night in the local saloon, looking for his deputy, a man named Rexford Reynold who was going through a nasty break-up. Rexford Reynold was found the next morning at the bottom of the mountain path that led up to the Cheyenne Crossing Caves; his head was bashed and his right arm was gone, though there was none of the typical injury that normally came from limb removal. That same deputy insisted Ghortfash had gotten into a fight with a woman - but she wasn't a woman, but a witch? It was a jumbled story, in part from the deputy's head damage and in part because he had been inebriated at the time. But he swore the answers De La Cruz wanted would be back in the caves, and surely he would find something of Ghortfash there.

But the marshal had ridden to the caves. He found nothing, not even a trace anyone had been there for days. No one in town could recall the woman the deputy claimed had been involved in the supposed fight. The deputy himself soon stopped mentioning the woman at all, instead choosing to say nothing about what happened that night and what happened to his arm.

In the absence of Ghortfash, Fox Den had decided to appoint Deputy Reynold to Sheriff Reynold to fill the vacancy; he had done his job well as the number two lawman, there was no reason to believe he would not do just as well becoming number one. Reynold had reluctantly accepted the appointment, swearing to uphold justice and ensure that one day whatever happened to Ghortfash would be solved.

But years had passed and Ghortfash had seemingly been all but forgotten. But not by De La Cruz. The marshal, in fact, had always had his own idea what may have happened to his pal- something sinister, of course, as he had never returned. Something involving the now Sheriff Reynold.

The marshal couldn't prove it. But he had a strong feeling in his gut that the sheriff had been responsible for Ghortfash's disappearance... somehow.

As he tied Old Moan to the post outside the sheriff's office, De La Cruz brushed the dust off his clothes and straightened his cowboy hat. He was going to be professional. He was there for Sam Starcriss and Flat Harrigrove. But he was also going to take the opportunity to do some more scrutinizing of Sheriff Reynold. Much time had gone by- and in time, cracks started to show. Ghortfash would get justice, delayed though it had been.

"Enjoy that water, old girl," he said reassuringly to Old Moan as he walked to the office door.

Old Moan let out a disgusting bellow that caused two children playing nearby in the street to start crying in horror and take off running.