Crank waits until Simone is relaxing comfortably before exiting the warehouse. He reluctantly leaves Simone in the care of the strange Englishman. Strolling with heavy steps toward the barn, Crank intends to get more information from Paul. Paul’s reaction to Sherlock Holmes’ casual mention of Calamity Jane strikes Crank as suspicious. He is certain the burly frontiersman knows more than he is letting on.
Crank enters the barn and finds Paul silently stroking Babe’s side, the same pained expression on his face as before. Crank stalks over to the brooding lumberjack.
“Paul…” Crank begins. “Who is Calamity Jane? And what does she have to do with all of this?”
Paul Bunyan turns to Crank, and Crank is surprised to see streaks of tears mixed with the dirt on the old frontiersman’s face. Paul turns quickly away when he realizes his crying has been observed.
“She was…” Paul says with a sigh. “She was to be my wife. A very long time ago.”
Paul stops stroking Babe’s side, and leans on a nearby post, his prosthetic leg propped up on a stepping stool.
“The stories get it all wrong. Calamity never loved Wild Bill,” Paul continues. “Well, not until after our time was over. She wanted me to give up drinking. In fact, she insisted upon it. One day, I allowed myself to be goaded into a challenge by the foreman of a project financed by an opposing lumber company. He bet me I couldn’t drink 1,000 gallons of whiskey in one sitting. I’ve done bigger challenges since before I started wearing goulashes. I thought I could whip him. I wanted so bad to whip him. Wipe that arrogant grin off his face and send him back to his camp with his tail tugged firmly between his legs. Needless to say, I lost. They’d spiked the whiskey with a powerful sleeping drug. I was out cold before I hit 500 gallons. Slept for a week. Didn’t fell a single tree during that whole time. I tried to explain that something was amiss, but by then it was too late. All the men who had bet on me lost just about everything. Some, even lost the very shirts off their backs. We all lost our lumber contract. And Jane…never spoke to me again. Except in a three-page letter she wrote…To tell me how disgusted she was with me. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”
Crank is unsure if Paul believes his own hyperbole and simply stares at the old lumberjack. Suddenly, he is sorry he asked.
“So…You don’t know why we are here?” Crank forcefully demands.
Paul shakes his head energetically.
“I told you before, friend…” he says without much emotion. “I haven’t a clue.”
Crank becomes visibly frustrated and storms from the barn. He is almost certain that Paul knows more than he is admitting. As Crank leaves, the goat lifts its head and snorts. Babe nuzzles the stubborn creature with her large snout and it settles down. Both creatures settle into the hay and continue napping. Paul pats Babe’s head and puckers his lips in deep thought.
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“I wish I did have a clue, friend,” Paul Bunyan mutters to himself. “I wish I did.”
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Cranks exits the barn and heads for the warehouse where he has left Simone under Sherlock Holmes' precarious watch. However, a festering anger causes his fists to clench and he strolls off in another direction. Taking long purposeful strides, Crank reaches back and grips his mask in a violently shaking hand.
"How can any of this be happening?" a voice screeches in Crank's head--in the language of his ancestors. Why has the universe chosen to play such a cruel trick on him? Why now?
Sliding on his mask, Crank stops to get his bearings. He glances around and spies a series of large sand dunes in the distance. He makes them his new goal. With heavy steps, Crank trudges toward the dunes. He scans in every direction, searching for signs of life. Nothing.
Crank angrily lashes out. He uses a booted foot to kick up a large cloud of dust and sand. His foot strikes a hard object and Cranks drops to one knee. A wagon wheel, complete with metal axle, is buried deep in the sand. Crank removes his gloves and uses his clawed hands to uncover the entire apparatus. He pushes down on the wheel. It squeaks loudly, but does not turn. Crank simply applies even more force. Eventually, the wheel spins on its severely rusted axle.
An idea whittles its way into Crank's mind and he spins the wheel several more times. With a small chitter, which is a combination of both excitement and frustration, Crank releases the wheel and climbs to his feet.
A long way off, dark clouds are building on the horizon. Another powerful storm is on the way. Replacing his gloves, Crank glances back at the wheel lying in the sand. It's a long shot, what he has planned, but to try is better than to do nothing at all. He will need a lot more supplies, and many willing hands, to pull it off.
Moments later, the storm clouds have grown closer, and Crank trudges back toward town. His heart is as heavy as ever. Strangely enough, the storms in this desert wasteland are devoid of any electrical discharge. Were it not the case, he might be able to fashion a crude energy harvesting device to power and recharge his various weapons and tools. What is feeding these storms, he is unable to determine. Possibly an as yet undiscovered form of naturally occurring energy.
Cranks agitation once again peaks, and he growls from deep within his chest. Everything about this ooman village is antiquated and in disrepair. There is no guarantee that even his most ardent attempts at innovation will meet with success. But he is yautja. To quit is to invite shame and dishonor. So he will press on. If not for his own sake, then for Simone's.
The warehouse comes into view and Crank stops in his tracks. He takes a moment to compose himself before continuing his trek. He wrestles with his most primal instincts and desires.
This barren land, with its few remaining occupants, may be his last chance to prove he is still a true yautja. Maybe then, the rogue hunters will allow him to return to his home. To his clan. No one will miss Paul Bunyan or the man who calls himself Sherlock Holmes. No one would even know he was here. Except, Simone would know. And he could never bring himself to harm a hair on her head. What of Simone?
Before entering the warehouse, Crank removes his mask. He takes a deep breath, centering himself. While struggling to keep his baser instincts in check.