"you know, marshal," Sheriff Reynold remarked as he followed De La Cruz out of the saloon, "it's not really seen as good form around here to drink someone's milk and not pay for it."

The marshal had stopped his hurried walking just outside of the building, looking in vain for any signs of Sam and Flat. He did not turn back to Reynold when addressed.

"I suppose so," he answered dryly, "but it's not seen as good form to lie to a marshal either."

"Simpson wasn't lying. He answered your questions."

"Not fully."

"He did the best he could."

"Just like you've done the best you could to find any trace of Gabriel Ghortfash?"

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Is that what has you bothered, marshal?"

"It's had me bothered a long time, Reynold. But I'm sure justice will come sooner or later to whoever had something to do with your predecessor's disappearance. What bothers me more at the moment is that I sent a clearly worded letter indicating I'd be coming to Fox Den today to pick up to known outlaws that, apparently, have made no efforts to hide themselves and even have developed a routine known to everyone in town. Yet, here I am, and suddenly no one has seen or heard from them. Seems to me they were somehow tipped off about me closing in and skedaddled."

"Simpson said they could be working a day job," volunteered the sheriff.

"Great, then take me to every horse ranch in a ten-mile radius. Because stealing horses is what they do, so if they're 'working' they're going to be wrangling what isn't theirs to sell."

Reynold had this far omitted from telling the marshal about the theft by Sam and Flat at Old Man McAffey's place, as it had been his piece to hold over the two to get them to go to the caves for his long-wanted arm. It would be difficult now to bring it up without looking even more incompetent to the marshal; but everyone knew Old Man McAffey's ranch was the largest in the area. It would be hard not to take the marshal there, if that was what he wanted.

As he mulled over what to do, Deputy Alcott came out of the saloon with an armful of different glass bottles.

"Sheriff, look!" He beamed, "Mr. Simpson was nice enough to give these to me! Told him I wanted some more for shooting practice and he obliged! Isn't that swell?" He turned to De La Cruz. "Sheriff said you'd be too tired right now, and I know you're probably frustrated, what with not being able to find Sam and Flat and knowing they're out stealing horses, but if it'll help you relax a little I can take you to my shooting spot..."

"Asberry," sighed Reynold, "we're working right now. It's not shooting time. And we don't know that Sam and Flat are stealing horses, they just aren't here right now."

"So you think it's more likely they knew I was coming to Fox Den today and fled?" the marshal cocked an accusatory eyebrow. "How would they know to do that?"

"No, I never said that. We just know they aren't here. No reason to assume they're up to no good. For all we know they could be doing something really good for another person."

"That's a highly unlikely yet highly specific theory, sheriff. Care to explain?"

"I just think we can't assume-"

Suddenly, a voice called out from down the street: "Oh, yooohooo! Sheriff!"

Alcott, De La Cruz, and Reynold looked over to see its source. It was a couple, about a block away, quickly approaching.

"And who's this?" De La Cruz inquired, as it was clear the other two present knew.

"Classie and Claudius Cavanaugh," the sheriff answered with a lack of excitement.

Classie and Claudius were brother and sister. Their father, Cyril Cavanaugh, had been a preacher in Fox Den for many years, until his untimely death two years earlier from cholera. Classie was a pretty young woman with big, blonde curls and a pushed-up button nose. She loved to wear pink dresses, the more ornate the better. As such she was wearing a light pink dress that day, that had rows and rows of pink three-dimensional flowers sewn on it. While she dressed to the nines that outwardly projected modesty, Classie's reputation around town was the exact opposite; she was a known floozy and shameless flirt.

Her brother, Claudius, was a few years older that her and had the same blonde curls and pushed-up button nose, though it looked less flattering on him. He had been away at university studying law when his father had passed away. He returned home without completing his degree, though that did not stop him from feeling he was adequately trained enough to play the part of a lawyer. Claudius seemed to be the only man in Fox Den not aware of his sister's reputation (or, perhaps, he did everything he could not to admit it); if anyone so much as batted an eye back at Classie in his presence he would threaten to take them to court, all the while not knowing Classie was making plans of her own with the same men whenever he was not there.

Deputy Alcott, as an adolescent, was not as familiar with Classie's reputation, but knew enough to know that she was experienced in love. However, she was attractive, and as such, Alcott had a bit of a puppy dog crush on her. His cheeks became rosy as he saw her approaching.

"Claudius, Classie," Sheriff Reynold greeted them, "how can I help you today?"

Classie gave the sheriff a playful wink. "Sheriff, has anyone ever told you how dashing you look in uniform?"

"A time or two," he replied with a neutral tone. Reynold was well aware of Classie's antics. But after his failed engagement and entanglement with the prairie witch years earlier, he had all but sworn off women.

Claudius stepped in front of his sister. He had a concerned expression. "Sheriff, we went to your office, but didn't see you there. I'm glad we've caught you here now. We need to talk to you."

"What about, Claudius?"

Claudius glanced over at Deputy Alcott and Marshal De La Cruz. "We'd like to talk to you alone, sheriff. It's about a...sensitive matter."

Classie did not seem to share her brother's worry. "It's alright, Claudius. I don't mind. We can talk about it here."

"Classie, no, this matter must be handled delicately," Claudius countered, "the deputy is but a boy, he needn't be exposed to such things."

Deputy Alcott's eyes lit up with curiosity. "But I'm mature for my age, Mr. Claudius. What is it?"

"And we don't know who this gentleman is," continued Claudius, motioning to De La Cruz, "we would not want him thinking improper things about us or our family."

De La Cruz crossed his arm. "Sorry, I'm a US marshal. I think improper things about everyone."

"A marshal?" Claudius blinked and looked over De La Cruz a moment. At once his eyes grew large.

"My goodness! You're Marshal Dario De La Cruz! The capturer of the Cohen Crowe! I remember your photograph! I read about that case when I was away at school and it has always stuck with me how brave you must have been!"

The marshal did his best to be humble. He wasn't in town for flattery, but as had been the case with Alcott, it was unavoidable with his reputation. "Yes, well, I had no other choice but to be brave. Wouldn't have been able to get the job done otherwise."

Classie, noting her brother's enthusiasm, laid her hand lovingly on the marshal's shoulder. "Well, I do like a man who is good at his job," she purred.

"So, what brings you to Fox Den?" pried Claudius, subtly bumping into his sister to get her knocked away and remove her wandering hand.

"I'm here on a case," the marshal replied, "looking for some outlaws."

"Oh, so the man who robbed the bank yesterday is wanted at the federal level?" Claudius's concern returned. "So that fellow must really know what he was doing! Sheriff, we have to talk."

"'Man who robbed the bank...'?" De La Cruz trailed off, shooting an annoyed glance at the sheriff. "So, you mean to tell me there was a bank robbery here yesterday and I'm only now hearing of it?"

Sheriff Reynold was not having a good day.