"Howdy, marshal," said Sheriff Reynold as Marshal De La Cruz walked into the office. Deputy Asberry did his best to stand calm and quiet besides his boss, but his excitement was evident from the smile on this face and the fidgeting of his hands.

"Sheriff Reynold," the marshal replied, "it has been awhile."

He extended his right hand in expectation of shaking, but then recalled the sheriff's handicap. He switched to his left hand. The two men exchanged greetings.

"I imagine you got my letter and have been expecting me?" De La Cruz continued. Sheriff Reynold nodded, but Deputy Alcott nodded even more.

"Is this your son?" the marshal inquired as he looked at young Alcott. There was not a particular family resemblance, but the boy could have taken after his mother.

"Ah, yes, this is-" before Reynold could answer, Alcott himself had extended his right arm to the marshal. He nearly grabbed the lawman's hand and began to shake it quickly.

"-I'm Deputy Asberry Alcott!" He exclaimed loudly, not letting his grip break, "Oh, Marshal De La Cruz, it is an HONOR to meet you in person! I've been reading all about you since, golly, since I could read! You're one of my idols, the-"

"-Asberry," Sheriff Reynold said with some firmness in his voice. At once the young deputy paused, remembering his subordinate's orders not to address the marshal unless given permission. He reluctantly released his hold, but the smile of adoration remained plastered to his face.

De La Cruz was tired and not in the mood for Alcott's energy, but the boy's behavior was all to familiar to him. He did his best to be gracious. "Thank you, deputy. I'm flattered to hear I've been a positive influence on your life."

"You must have ridden some distance?" Sheriff Reynold continued, "Based on your letter, you indicated you've been out west?"

"Yes, I was in Brody's Cross, Arizona, before being assigned to this case involving horse thieves fleeing Kansas. I just finished hunting down a gang of train robbers. It was a hairy situation. But all in a day's work."

"Well, certainly these horse thieves are going to be much easier work."

"I imagine you've seen them around town? Or maybe not? I am told they aren't known to be violent."

"Yes," the sheriff again nodded, "I've seen them around-"

"-they definitely look like they're criminals, marshal!" interjected Deputy Alcott, "Only ever see them doing two things: loafing about outside the General Store or drinking in the saloon! You can bet if they aren't at one place they're at the other, unless they're off doing criminal stuff! What varmint! I -"

"-Asberry," Sheriff Reynold cut him off, "the marshal didn't ask for your opinion, please remember what we talked about."

At once the deputy's face turned red, embarrassed that he spoke out of turn. Surely he had made a fool of himself in front of his beloved marshal.

De La Cruz, however, was processing what the youth had said. "So, they're creatures of habit? Is that right, sheriff?"

Reynold put his hand behind his back. "Yes...that is accurate, marshal." He did not want to lie to the marshal, but Reynold certainly did not want the information as forthcoming as Alcott was providing it.

But the marshal continued: "And when did you get my letter? Indicating I was coming to town to collect those fellows?"

Reynold pondered a moment. He wanted to answer vaguely, but with Alcott standing there, ready to clarify anything the marshal wanted to know, he gave in. "About a week ago, I suppose."

"So, what you're telling me, sheriff, is that these two men are creatures of habit, and you've known for a week I was coming to arrest them for horse thieving...but you don't already have them locked up in your jail waiting for me?"

Reynold did his best to stand confidently. "Well, no. It wasn't...it wasn't clear in your letter that's what you wanted."

"'It wasn't clear in my letter'?" replied De La Cruz, no disguise to his irritation. "I wrote you a letter indicating who I was coming to get and their crimes so you knew the justification. If these two men are always in the same two places, why wouldn't you just find them, bring them in, and keep them in the jail for me?"

Alcott could sense the tension. Remembering what the sheriff had said earlier, he tried to help: "well, but marshal, they haven't done any horse thieving in Fox Den, so we had no reason to bring them in."

"You have a letter from a US MARSHAL telling you they've done horse thieving and are wanted men, that supercedes whatever good behavior they've been on here!"

The deputy nervously looked over to his sheriff. That was what he had assumed, too, from his years of reading crime periodicals, but Sheriff Reynold had insisted otherwise. The sheriff was always on the ball with legal presence , though; something about the letter must have left the sheriff a little mistaken, that's all. How could a good sheriff like Sheriff Reynold make such an error, though? The boy's poor brain struggled to compute.

Reynold remained silent and stood as he was.

"Okay," De La Cruz readjusted his hat, "if they're creatures of habit, they should be easily found, shouldn't they? Where was it your deputy said these fellows haunt? Outside the General Store and the saloon?"

"Yes, sir, that's right," answered Deputy Alcott, but looked to Reynold who still remained quiet.

"Okay, and where is the General Store?" The marshal walked to the window to peer out. He didn't have to look hard: right across the street from the sheriff's office above a wooden building hung a sign that read GENERAL STORE.

"I don't see anyone,' De La Cruz said bluntly. "I assume usually when they're loitering at the General Store you can see them from here?"

"That is correct," replied Sheriff Reynold, but remained motionless otherwise.

"So, every day they're usually this close to your office- to the jail, even- and you...you didn't think it was clear from my letter that maybe you should bring them in and hold them for me?"

"It was not clear from your letter, no."

The marshal glanced back and forth to the sheriff and the deputy in silence for a few awkward moments. Then he clapped his hands together and walked towards the door.

"Okay," he said with a hint of command, "let's go."

"Go where?" blinked Deputy Alcott.

"Well, Sam and Flat clearly aren't outside the General Store. Let's go see if they're at their other favorite location, the saloon." He opened the door and motioned to the two. "After you."

Alcott, looking back with wide eyes to Sheriff Reynold walked out first. The sheriff followed after, his face still blank as he stared ahead, not making eye contact with the marshal. It was challenging for him, keeping things vague and still staying honest. He did not like to lie but the marshal could not understand how important it was for him that Sam and Flat retrieve his arm and bring the witch to him.

De La Cruz watched the sheriff and noted his avoidance to look at him as he passed by. To the marshal, it was telling behavior. The lawman had already chosen not to arrest known criminals despite the letter he had received- what other decisions had he as chief legal enforcer in Fox Den made that may have been questionable? Certainly Ghortfash never would help misunderstood the meaning of a letter from the US Marshals.

Ghortfash. With his friend back at the forefront of his mind, De La Cruz shut the office door behind him. He would need to find out just how much (or, more likely, how little) Sheriff Reynold had investigated Ghortfash's disappearance over the years. The sheriff surely knew Ghortfash was, thought De La Cruz, and why he hadn't ever been found. No doubt because the sheriff had put him there.

All forms of invective directed at Sheriff Reynold echoed through the marshal 's head as the trio walked to Simpson's Saloon.