"Sheriff," Sam ventured, "what exactly are you proposing?"

The offer of dropped charges and protection from the approaching marshal had an undeniable appeal to Sam and Flat. They had left Kansas in hopes of starting anew- but money was hard to come by and they had fallen into their old ways. Being given another chance to stay out of jail seemed like an opportunity they could not pass up.

Sheriff Reynold took note of the four ranchers playing Faro in the corner; they seemed invested in their card game and far enough away that they would not hear him.

"Simpson," he called to the bartender, "would you mind going out front and checking on the watering trough for the horses? It was looking a little low when I came in here."

Simpson was a smart man and could take a hint. The sheriff clearly wanted to speak to the two men privately.

"I'll make sure it's adequately full," he replied, grabbing a pail under the bar counter, "probably will take ten minutes. Make sure no one steals anything."

"Can do. Thanks, Simpson."

Sheriff Reynold watched the barman walk away before returning his attention back to the table.

"Well, boys," he said, "you've heard the news."

Both Sam and Flat blankly stared back.

"About the bank robbery today," clarified Reynold.

"That wasn't us!" Flat defensively remarked, "we only stole McAffey's horses!"

"Shut up, Flat," grumbled Sam. Sure, they had already confessed to the sheriff, but Flat's pathetic self-shielding rubbed him the wrong way.

"Yes, I am aware, Flat. Like you know, there were lots of witnesses. I'm well aware the criminal was a lone man."

"Who, from what Simpson said, is some sort of giant with an ugly face and an arm that can rip bank vault doors," added Sam.

Something about the added details to the description of the bank robber made Sheriff Reynold's dreamy eyes flicker. Sam noted it as a bit odd considering the sheriff's normal demeanor.

Reynold did not remark on Sam's statement. "According to what was reported," he said, moving on, "the individual was headed to the south once he made off with the money. I have reason to believe he may be hiding out at the Cheyenne Crossing Caves ."

Sam blinked. "What reason, sheriff? Cheyenne Crossing Caves are pretty inhospitable. Maybe not for cave buffalo, but humans? Why would anyone want to hide out there?"

Sheriff Reynolds once again remained suspiciously quiet on the matter.

"My offer, boys...I want you to find that man and his companion. I want you to win their trust as fellow criminals. Convince them you're their friends. Then...I want you to bring them back to me here in Fox Den...alive."

"-okay, sheriff, I need answers," Sam glared across the table. "What is this about? How do you know he has a companion? There's a lot here you don't seem to be telling."

Flat took a sip of whiskey while Sam and Reynold spoke.

Reynold seemed to mull over thoughts at Sam's comment. He glanced over at Flat. "You know...I don't drink, but that whiskey looks like it may be well with its cost."

Sam would not let up. "Sheriff, if you want our help, you gotta tell us the full story of what's going on here."

"I don't have to tell you anything. This deal is for your sake. I'm not a horse thief on the run from a US marshal. It's a job that will put you on the right side of the law with me and get you out of De La Cruz's crosshairs."

"But there is something more going on here. You acted odd at the description of that man. You somehow know he's hiding in caves that no sane man would try to hide in. You have some sort of foresight that he has a companion with him. What is going on? It's something personal, is it not?"

"I didn't know you were a detective, Sam," answered the lawman with undisguised sarcasm.

The three men sat in silence for what seemed like an awkward amount of time. Finally, Sheriff Reynold sighed.

"...yes, Sam. You're right. That man...is someone from my past."

Sam took a sip of his own whiskey. "And knowing he's ugly and showing off his muscular arm is all it takes for you to recognize him years later, to where he's hiding, and that he's not alone?"

The sheriff's eyes flickered once more.

"Yes."

"...and?"

"And what?"

"I think we deserve the full story if we're being sent to bring him to you."

"And his companion. She has to come too."

"'She'? You know he's got a girlfriend too? Despite his ugliness?"

Sheriff Reynold did not respond.

"Sheriff," remarked Flat, whose sudden speaking caught both Sam and Reynold off-guard, "is that man...related to the accident years ago? The one involving your arm?"

The sheriff continued to be silent but it was clear Flat was on the right track. Once more the lawman's eyes fell on Flat's glasses of whiskey.

"I don't drink," he repeated, "but that whiskey looks like it may be well with its cost."

A thought crossed Sam's mind.

"Sheriff," he said, pushing his own second glass before Reynold, "you should have some of this. Maybe that will help."

"Help what?" the sheriff asked with a hint of confusion.

"You to decide to finally tell someone- Flat and I, I mean- what exactly happened to you when you lost that arm of yours."

Sheriff Reynold paused a moment. He had never talked about that fateful day; it was too painful. But more than that, it was too fantastical- who could possibly believe what had happened if not actually there?

But Sam was right. If they were going to help, even if it was to save themselves, they deserved to know what they were about to go up against.

The sheriff slowly grabbed the offered glass and put it to his lips.

"I hadn't imagined I'd ever share this with horse thieves, but I guess you're as good of company as any," Reynold remarked as he took a sip.