::  PARIS, WYOMING  ::

Chapter Three

Dana walked cautiously past the alley between the saloon and the bank. Dusk had already past and the dark shadows of night hid many dangers. The moon- and starlight were the only light sources here. "Good evening, Sheriff."

The soft delicate voice brought a smile to Dana’s lips. "Good evening, Soo Ling. I asked you to call me Dana."

"Ah, yes. Of course, forgive me. It is a beautiful night, yes?"

Dana shivered. "It’s getting kind of chilly actually." She walked up to the herbalist, sitting on the steps leading up to her small set of rooms over the bank where she lived and tended to the town’s medical needs, as well as sold a variety of Chinese herbal medicines and teas. Soo Ling had come to Paris nearly five years ago. And, while there was a great deal of speculation about her, the town had come to appreciate her reserve, innate grace and medical expertise. Before she had found her own rooms, Soo Ling had lived at the hotel that Maggie Scully had run ever since her husband had moved his family here right after the war. Even now, several rows of Maggie Scully’s garden were devoted to Soo Ling’s herbs as well as several hardy tea plants. Dana also knew that her sister, Melissa, had taken an interest in Soo Ling’s practices and beliefs and would help out whenever she could break away from the hotel and her mother.

In a land where Chinese immigrants were frowned upon, at best, most of the population of Paris had at least a tolerant, if not downright friendly attitude to their only oriental. Dana adored the woman for her perseverance. They had a lot in common she thought. Melissa teased her "Of course you like her, Dana. She’s the only adult in town shorter than you and the only other woman who wears pants every day." Dana would gently retort. "Oh, I could really impress the bank robbers wearing a satin dress complete with bustle."

Dana grinned, "You waiting for Mr. Byers to loose his nightly allowance."

"Now Sheriff." Soo Ling’s happy grin had already alerted Dana to the editor’s sudden appearance behind her, so his gentle humorous rebuff didn’t startle her. "I prefer to think of it as an investment in the community." John Byers had bought the Paris Gazette two years ago and few people knew just how rich his family back east was or how they sent him generous checks every month. Dana had found out by accident and had never let own that she knew the few dollars he lost most nights was no hardship.

Dana laughed and turned, "Besides, it lets you snoop around and get scoops on my brother’s "unsavory element."

John Byers shook his head as he came to sit next to Soo Ling, taking her hand in his. "Dana, you know I’m no proponent of shutting down the Nugget. If they shut Krycek down, then he’ll just go to Opal and everyone will follow him, taking their money with them. I don’t think Dan Pendrell has thought about that." He laughed bitterly. "And, Spender likes having a place where he knows he can find Jeffrey."

"Well," Dana snorted, "I’ve had my fill of the Spenders for one day. Good night Soo Ling, John." She turned to go but Soo Ling stopped her.

"Please to give this to your mother, Dana. It is the tea that I told her about. Perhaps it will help your brother’s disposition."

Shaking her head, Dana reached out for the small paper bag. "It’s worth a try, but Bill is Bill and I doubt that anything will change him."

Dana proceeded past the bank, double-checking to make sure that the doors were secure. As she was passing the General Store, Kim was just turning over the "Open" sign to show "Closed" and locking up. Waving, but continuing on Dana was pleased that the shopkeeper’s wife didn’t insist on Dana coming in for a spell.

Dana finally reached the hotel and opened the frosted glass doors. Glancing into the small dining room she was relieved to see Missy was just setting the table. "Hi, Sis."

Melissa Scully, just two years younger than Dana, glanced up and sighed. "Dana, for goodness sakes, hurry up and change; we have a special guest tonight."

Dana scanned the lobby and listened carefully for any sounds of a seven-year-old, but she only heard the rattling of China and silverware as Missy finished her task.

Twenty minutes later when she descended the stairs, her hair done up in a bun, wearing a soft green woolen dress, Dana at last heard the oh-so-serious voice of her daughter. She entered the dining room in time to hear, "Missy taught me my ciphers and how to write my name and mommy reads to me every night." Emily Scully, her hair more deep gold than her mother’s red, was explaining all this very patiently to a young, pretty brown-haired woman.

"Oh, Miss Reyes, here’s Dana now." Scully smiled over at her mother, just coming from the kitchen, a large covered bowl of savory beef stew, by the smell of it, clutched in her reddened hands.

Dana rushed up and reached for the bowl. "Here, mom, let me."

Letting her daughter take the burden, Maggie Scully beamed. "Thank you, dear. Ah, Melissa, good you have the bread, now we can all sit and eat. Oh, don’t forget to make a plate for that nice Mr. Skinner. I’m sure he will be hungry when he comes in tonight, later. Dana, honey, this is Miss Reyes, the new schoolteacher your brother found." Maggie was fussing, filling plates and passing glasses of water and it took her a moment to notice the shocked, disdainful look on her oldest daughter’s face. "Dana?" Looking first at the schoolteacher’s bewildered statement then at Melissa who was carefully studying the plate before her. "Dana, what’s the matter?"

Looking at her daughter, Dana bit her lip, then requested, "Emily, I forgot my handkerchief. Would you mind going upstairs and getting it for me?"

Emily sighed and looked longingly at her supper. "All right mommy."

Once her daughter was out earshot, Dana turned on Maggie. "Mother, how could you? You know how I feel about gamblers. My God! He’s already pulled a gun on Jeffrey Spender."

Melissa slapped down her napkin and hissed. "Dana, please."

Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. "Oh dear. Dana, honey, I sorry. He seems like such a gentleman and it’s September and he paid for the whole week and…" Maggie glanced at Reyes in embarrassment, before clutching her napkin in her nap and dropping her head forward.

Dana blushed and sank down into her chair next to her mother. Reaching out, she clasped the older woman’s hand. "Mom. I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard. It’s just…"

Maggie squeezed her hand. "It’s all right, dear. I’ll give him his money back tomorrow and tell him to get a room at the Nugget."

Dana sighed deeply. "It’s okay mom. I was wrong. You are right; we do need the rent. I’m just being overly cautious." She smiled wanly, "He didn’t actually shoot Jeffrey, I guess." Her eyes met Melissa’s and they could see the mirrored "mores the pity" in each other’s look.

Maggie smiled. "Well, if you’re sure, Dana." Glancing up, she straightened a bit. "There’s my precious. Emily, give mommy her handkerchief and come and eat your stew before it gets cold."

Dana finally turned her attention to the stranger at their table. "So, Miss Reyes, where did you teach before?"

Monica Reyes took a long drink of water before answering. She met Scully’s gaze calmly; "I grew up in St. Louis, Sheriff. I went to Crondelette Teacher’s College and I taught at the Rosewood Grade School there until this past spring."

"Why did you leave?"

"Dana!" Maggie chided gently.

Monica smiled. "I always wanted to move west, to the frontier and Wyoming is such a wonderful place to be for a woman. You have the right to vote here! Men actually listen to what you have to say."

Dana thought back on her confrontation with Colonel Spender and retorted. "Some do. But it’s a hard life here, Miss Reyes."

"Monica, please."

"It’s a hard life. When was the last time you had a shoot out on the street in front of your school? Or had a herd of longhorns run down the main street? I doubt that in St. Louis, you have drunks molesting decent women on the street in broad day…." Dana stopped suddenly when she noticed Monica’s rich olive complexion had gone the color of cold ash and her previously calm demeanor had taken on a frightened anxious look. Her hands shook as she brought the nearly empty glass to her lips. Realizing that something must have happened to the schoolteacher, Dana lamely finished. "And, it’s cold here in the winter. Really, really cold."

Monica wiped her damp forehead with her napkin, pushed back on her chair and stood. "If you will excuse me, I think I’ll go up to my room now."

The three Scully women exchanged startled, embarrassed glances. Dana rose and muttered. "Well, I’m just the soul of grace and tact today, aren’t I." She hurried into the hall just as Monica was starting up the stairs. "Miss Reyes? Monica."

The other woman stood rigid for a moment before turning to face Dana.

"Look, it seems to be my day to apologize to people. I don’t know what I said, but I obviously upset you. Forgive me." Deciding to not press the issue Dana shrugged. "Paris is really a very nice town, and it’s quite beautiful here with the mountains and the river and all." 

Just then the door opened and John Doggett poked his head inside. "Hi! Am I too late for dinner?"

Dana turned in relief, but it was Maggie Scully who came forward. "John, no. Please come and sit down." Reaching out a hand to Monica, Maggie nodded to the Deputy. "Monica Reyes, this is John Doggett. John, Monica is the new schoolteacher. John, come and tell Monica what a nice town we have." 

::  ::  ::

Dana checked the last of the shops on the street. It was her turn to do the late night check. She would sleep late tomorrow, and perhaps take a morning walk with Emily before it got too chilly.

She allowed her thoughts to return to Monica Reyes. She knew that something must have happened to the young woman in St. Louis. <<<Or, Dana, it could just be your charming personality.>>> She allowed a smile to play across her lips as she remembered the way John Doggett, confirmed bachelor, had sat across from the woman, completely smitten. Though from what Dana remembered, Monica hadn’t paid him much attention, refusing to meet his eye. Instead she had talked of her plans to open school the following week and they had spent the rest of the dinner going over the list of children she could expect.

Dana had said her good nights and took Emily upstairs. After brushing her hair, reading to her and listening to "God Bless Mommy, Granma, Missy, Uncle Bill and please watch Uncle Charlie in the Navy," Dana tucked Emily into bed and went to her own room to change into pants and a flannel shirt. Her mother appreciated the fact that Dana always changed into a dress for dinner. And, Maggie had been the one rock of Dana’s life after Jack and then her father had died, supporting her decisions, even when it meant standing up to Bill and his overbearing wife. So if it pleased her, then Dana would make the effort to change her clothes for dinner. Looking up into the starry sky she sighed and whispered, "I couldn’t have done it without you, mom."

The saloon was the last stop on her rounds and Frohike was just locking up. "Ah, Sheriff Dana, good evening." Always courtly and with just a touch of leer in his voice, Melvin Frohike had a special spot in his heart for the petite red-head sheriff, though he had seen her draw her gun as fast as any man and had killed a gunslinger not two months ago. "A fine night for a walk isn’t it?"

"Evening, Melvin. Everything locked down in back?"

"Yes, ma’am. Though, if you want to go around back, I’ll walk with you."

Dana stifled a yawn. "That’s okay, Melvin. Good…."

"Bartender, hold up a minute."

Dana’s head jerked up at the low rumble from the top of the stairs. He stood there, knotting his tie and then shrugging on his long grey coat, his broad rimmed grey hat already sitting on his head. Skinner started down the stairs just as Diane Fowley, a gaudy oriental print dressing gown thrown hastily around her shoulders, came out of one of the rooms and pleaded. "Walter, honey, come back to bed. You can stay the night. No extra charge."

Skinner never turned around, but kept descending. As he reached the door, he finally noticed Dana standing there, a disgusted look on her face. Somewhat taken aback by the look, he recovered quickly and let a slow sneer quirk his lips. "An escort back to the hotel. I’m beginning to like the fact that they hire girls as sheriffs here."

Dana snorted derisively and turned on her heel. Unfortunately, short of her breaking into a run, it was easy for him to keep up with her much shorter stride. He didn’t say a word for a moment and then uttered an oath. "Of course, Scully. You’re Maggie’s daughter."

Dana rounded on him. "How dare you! It’s Mrs. Scully to you. And how dare you come in so late, it’s near 2 AM."

Skinner stared down at the furious woman in front of him. "For your information, little girl, your mother insisted on me calling her Maggie. However, as a favor to you, I will ignore her request and return to calling her Mrs. Scully. As for the time I come in, it really is none of your business, but once again, your mother told me to come in anytime I felt like it. I will endeavor to not to clomp up the steps." Looking her up and down a lazy grin replaced the sneer. "Perhaps we can take each other’s boots off and both tip-toe up the stairs."

Dana saw red and her hand shot out to slap the smirk off his face but he was too fast for her and he captured her small hand in his huge paw. "Now, Miss Dana, that’s not very hospitable, is it?" His thumb lightly caressed the pulsing vein in her wrist.

"Let go." She ground out.

Skinner grinned. "Oh I don’t think that’s a real good idea unless you promise not to draw on me. After all, I would hate to have to explain to your mother, why I had to shoot the gun out of her daughter’s hand."

"Let go, I’m not going to shoot you. Yet."

Skinner laughed outright. "Very well, Sheriff."  He released her hand and waited for her to say or do something else, but she just coldly appraised him before turning and stalking down the street. He stood for a moment admiring the way the pants accentuated the curves of her ass and he felt his groin twitch. The sex with the whore had satisfied his urges but he had felt nothing for her and even trying to summon up Sharon’s ghost was becoming tiring. He hadn’t felt the urge to actually be with a woman in a very long time, but this little slip of a sheriff intrigued him. He waited till she was close to the hotel before striding after her.

::  Chapter 4  ::

Dana woke early to a vague sense of unease quickly replaced by indignant anger. Huffing through her morning absolutions, she quickly donned a blue and white cotton gingham dress, its white inset collar scooped low enough to reveal her long graceful neck but still modest enough so that if she met Reverend Bruckman’s wife Marita, she wouldn’t be subjected to a lecture. She summoned up the blond woman’s intense righteous stare, hoping to drive away the last vestige of her odd and disturbing dream. It hadn’t been one of her shameful dreams either; the dreams where Krycek, Doggett or some newly arrived stranger kissed and caressed her the way Jack had when they had been first married. No, this dream felt wrong, but already the fragments were scattering, only the memory of his low rumbling accusation remained, "you wouldn’t be lying to me would you, Sheriff Scully."

Shaking her head resolutely, she jerked open her door and peered down the long empty hallway. Stalking down the hall, she glared at his door. "Little girl!" Her sniff of disdain echoed off the walls. "Tenderfoot is still probably sound asleep. Should have stayed with that whore, Diane!" She descended the stairs, turned into the dining room and stopped dead in her tracks. Seated around the table, Missy, Monica Reyes and her daughter listened with rapt attention as he finished his story. "…and I finally washed up 10 miles down river, half drown, mostly drown truth be told, with so many bruises you couldn’t tell if I was a white man or not."

Emily giggled and then saw Dana glaring in at her new friend. "Mommy, Mister Skinner is telling us about this wonderful place in Arizona. It’s great big mommy. Full of rocks and stuff like white water and, and," she looked up excitedly at Skinner, who was watching Dana through lowered eyelashes.

Monica interrupted gently, whispering to the little girl. "Oh, Miss Monica says it’s called the Grand Canyon. Can we go someday, mommy? Maybe, Mr. Skinner will take us. Will you Mr. Skinner?"

Walter Skinner leaned back in his chair. This morning instead of a fancy suit, he wore a soft cotton shirt, the double-button placket eliminating the need for a tie. Meeting Dana’s scornful gaze, Skinner kept his lips pursed but a smile lit his eyes. "Oh, I don’t know, Miss Emily. I’m sure there’s some one else your Momma would want to take her places."

"Oh, no, mommy doesn’t have nobody but me and granma and…"

Dana sat next to her daughter. "That’s enough, sweetheart. I’m sure Mr. Skinner has better things to do than traipse all over the country with two little girls like us."

Completely oblivious to the sudden undercurrent in the room, Emily Scully shook her head. "Mr. Skinner is going riding this morning. Can we go with him, momma?"

A wicked thought entered her head at the shocked look on Skinner’s face. "Well, sweetheart, if Mr. Skinner…"

Before she could finish, Skinner cleared his throat. "Maybe next time, Miss Emily, I’ve got to check on some things this morning, I won’t be back until very late." Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he stood up, nodded to the women, "Ladies, if you will excuse me," and, then practically ran from the room.

Dana took a sip from her coffee and, over the rim of her cup, watched him leave the hotel and walk past the open curtained windows, a look of profound relief on his face.

::  ::  ::

Skinner rode out of town, just as the morning stagecoach pulled up in front of the general store. The driver jumped down to help two women down before standing back and allowing a tall dark haired man to jump to the ground. Wearing a thigh length suit coat over his tight black slacks, a black hat completing the ensemble, the stranger stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk in front of the general store. Noticing the US Post Office sign in the window he entered the small store and looked around at the collection of farm implements and groceries. Finally, spying the small grilled window in back he ambled up to the man standing behind the counter.

"Mornin’," the man politely nodded his head.

Dan Pendrell looked up from the books he was trying to finish and sighed. "Morning, stranger. Can I help you?"

The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an identification card. "Name’s Mulder. I work for Pinkerton."

Pendrell’s eyes lit up. "It’s about time! Kim, come out here for a minute, please."

Mulder looked behind him when a stern voice shouted back. "Daniel, I’m countin the …" The rest of her words were lost in a muffled curse as a crash sounded from the back room. Reaching the curtained doorway just ahead of the panic-stricken storekeeper, Mulder pushed his way into the small stock room and began to pull bolts of fabric off the floor, tossing them onto a rickety table. Finally, Pendrell was able to bend down and help his wife up.

"Kim, are you all right? What happened?"

Obviously unhurt, the red-faced woman huffed and sputtered. "What happened? Look at it! All that material you ordered for those, those, those harlots! Still here." She glared at her husband, her hands on her hips.

Pendrell soothed his wife, "Now, dear, why don’t you run up and make yourself some of Soo Ling’s special tea." He wisely refrained from reminding his wife the reason they had so much fabric for the girls at the Black Nugget. He blushed at the memory of Kim and Marita Bruckman invading the saloon that afternoon several months ago to preach the good word to the sinners. Diane Fowley had taken umbrage at being called the Handmaiden of Satan and had retaliated by calling Marita a frigid cow and dumping a mug of beer on Kim’s head. It had taken the sheriff, her deputy, Krycek, Frohike and several of Spenders ranch hands to pull the women apart. Unfortunately, when he had gone into the saloon the next day to tell Pheobe Green that the material for their dance hall dresses had just arrived, Pheobe had sniffed, "Fergit it, ya lil’ wanker. Tell yer missus ta make a nice dress fer church. Me ‘n Di’ll jess go ta Opal and give them what appreciates good customers our bisness." Now the girls would ride all the way across the range, ford the Snake River and shop at Tom Jenkins store. He hoped that the cold weather would make them reconsider.

Sighing he looked at Mulder. "Sorry. Thanks for the help."

Mulder grinned. "No problem. Though I am rather surprised at your excitement."

Pendrell stared at him, "Surprised. Do you know how bad the robberies have gotten?"

Mulder shook his head. "What robberies?"

Pendrell leaned heavily against the wall. "What robberies? I thought that’s why you were here."

Mulder shook his head. "No, sorry. I just stopped in to make sure where the post office was. I have to send in my reports every Friday."

Pendrell sighed. "Then why are you here?"

Mulder grinned. "Well it’s probably no secret, but Mr. Spender has hired us to protect his mine from Irish troublemakers."

Pendrell groaned. "Of course. I should have known. We’ve had five robberies in the last two months and Spender is worried about a few starving miners making trouble."

Mulder shrugged. "Sorry, uh…which way to the Sheriff’s office. I better check in with him."

Pendrell pointed to the door. "You’ll find it."

Mulder ambled out the door and looked down the street. Spotting the small sign near the edge of town, he walked toward it, checking out each storefront as he went. He had spotted the hotel on the way into town and had asked the stagecoach driver to drop his bags off for him and to let the proprietor know he would need a room. He counted no less than 10 children running around the street and wondered if there was no school in this town. No, he had spotted the newly painted building with the small bell spire atop it. No schoolteacher perhaps. He arrived at the small storefront with the sign identifying it as the sheriff’s office and swung open the door. A sandy blond man sat with his feet resting on an open drawer.

Doggett eyed the stranger and immediately pegged him as another gambler. <<<Terrific, Scully’s gonna love this.>>> "Can I help you, mister?"

Mulder took out his identification. "Name’s Mulder."

Doggett sat up and studied the card, identifying the stranger as a Pinkerton. "Why you here, Mr. Mulder?"

"Just checking in, Sheriff. I need directions out to Colonel Spender’s place."

Doggett ran his tongue over his teeth. "Well ya ride out of town here about 3 miles and there you are. Course the ranch house is a little farther. About 10 miles. Should take a good hour or so of decent riding. You got a horse?"

Mulder shook his head. "Ah no. I figure I could rent one."

Doggett shrugged. "Well you best see Elijah at the stable. Though do us both a favor. I don’t’ wanna be writtin’ Mr. Pinkerton how one of his bullyboys got his head bashed in cause he was ridin’ Thunderbolt. Just take Nellie or Buttercup."

Mulder grimaced. "Kinda sissy names for horses aren’t they."

Doggett nodded, "Yeah, well Elijah’s got him a real sense of humor. Do what you want mister, but Thunderbolt is a real widow-maker."

Mulder grinned and turned to open the door, "Good thing I’m not married…woah, little lady…"

Scully pushed into the office, her hair flying and dirt smudged along her cheek. Doggett stood up. "Sheriff, you okay?"

Scully glared at Mulder. "Who are you?"

Mulder looked at Scully then at Doggett and then back at Scully. "Sheriff?" Looking again at Doggett, "I thought…"

Doggett shrugged. "Can’t help what you thought, Mr. Mulder. This here is the Sheriff, I’m her deputy." Turning his attention back to his boss he waited. "Well, sheriff?"

Scully glared at Mulder, daring him to stay. Mulder opened the door, tipped his hat and as he was closing it behind him he heard, "Darn it, John, those miners of Spender’s are worse than cowboys after a cattle drive."

Mulder looked down the street and realized that from this vantage point he could see pretty much the entire town before him. It was a typical western town, one long street that ended in a cross street, the church at the juncture with houses spread out along the cross street, the businesses on the ‘main’ street. God how he hated small towns. He longed to be in San Francisco or Washington or New York, where the women didn’t dress in men’s pants and wear sheriffs’ badges. Of course the redhead had been kinda pretty.

He spotted the newspaper office and then the large clock on the bank. <<<Almost noon. I’ll stop and see some back issues and then grab a bite at the saloon and see what I can pick up.>>> Making his way back up the street, he pushed open the door to the newspaper office and was confronted with a neatly groomed bearded man, his sleeves held tight by garters and a green eye shade on his forehead, feeding sheets of paper into the hand crank press. Mulder cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

John Byers turned and smiled. "Be with you in just a minute, sir." He fed the rest of the paper into the machine, let it crank down before picking up a rag from a hook and coming over to the railing separating the small office from the press room. He stuck out his reasonably clean hand. "John Byers."

Mulder examined the hand and then shook it. "Mulder." At the newspaperman’s puzzled expression he grinned. "It’s a long story, Mulder will do."

Byers nodded his head. "Fine with me, what can I do for you?"

Mulder had come in to ask if he could look at old copies of the paper, but he glanced at the large-faced clock on the wall and had a better idea. "You’re the editor?"

Byers nodded. "Yeah."

"Is there a good place to eat lunch around here?"

Byers studied the man. "Well, there’s Mrs. Scully’s over at the hotel. Lots of people here go to lunch. Might be kinda crowded though and I gotta go check on something at 1:00, so if you want, we can grab a bite at the saloon. Nothing as fancy as Mrs. Scully’s cooking but it’ll fill you up."

Mulder held open the gate for the editor. "Sounds good."

They walked toward the saloon and Byers kept glancing at the stranger. "So Mulder, who are you, why are you here, and why do you want to pick my brains."

Laughing outright, Mulder explained. "I work for the Pinkerton Agency. They sent me out here to help this guy Spender with some trouble he’s having out at the mines. You know him?"

Byers sighed. "Pity."

They entered the saloon together and Byers led Mulder over to a quiet table near the front, as far away from the poker table and roulette wheel as he could. There wasn’t much action this time of day, and Krycek sat dealing out endless games of solitaire. After they placed their order, Byers pointed out a few of the people standing around. "There’s Ted Marcus, the banker. Otis Spiney is the our undertaker and the gentleman playing with the boards is Alex Krycek."

Mulder took a drink of his beer and made a face. <<<Warm beer!>>> "Spender ever come in?"

"Nah, just to get junior when he’s been out too long."

"Junior?"

"Yeah, Jeffrey Spender. About twenty-five and a real momma’s boy only momma died four-five years ago, Typhoid, or so Spender said. Only, it’s funny. Not too many people die of Typhoid out this way and nobody else on the ranch died of it. Course, Spender’s a weird one."

Mulder snorted softly. "Aren’t you afraid to be talking to me like this? After all I was hired to come out and help Mr. Spender with his problem at the mine."

Byers studied the green-eyed man before him. "Maybe. Maybe not. Tell him or don’t. One of these days he’ll shut me down, not much I can do about that. I just hope nobody else gets hurt when he does."

Mulder looked at the man with more respect. "Pretty fatalistic attitude."

The editor shrugged. "Hey look at it this way, with my attitude, I’m usually pleasantly surprised. You want to find out about the Colonel’s mine, talk to Frohike. He’s got no love of the Molly Maguires."

"Who’s this Frohike?"

Byers jerked his head toward the bar. "The bartender."

Mulder nodded and then leaned forward in his chair. "So tell me, this Spender, he’s the big news out in these parts?"

"Nah. Spender’s old news, really. Spender is a crotchety, old rancher who thinks that the rest of us owe him something cause he came out here 15-20 years ago and killed a lot of defenseless Indians and stole free range for himself and built a nice ranch 15 miles outside of town." Looking around, Byers leaned into the table too. "No, the big news is how long the territorial governor is going to let the gang that’s been robbing mail trains and stage coaches and killing all the witnesses get away with it."

Mulder let a small smile grace his lips. "So what’s keeping the old bastard from calling out the army?"

Byers shook his head. "Oh the army is still pretty busy up north, chasing the last of the Cheyenne and Sioux."

"US Marshals?"

"Ten Marshals for the whole state. The gang’s smart. Like I said, they kill all the witnesses, and then they keep a real low profile and they all stay out of trouble after a robbery. Hell, as far as I know, you’re one of them?"

Mulder grinned. "Not me."

Byers looked at his watch. "Well, I’m gonna be late to the Mayor’s meeting. Oh, well. Maybe Maggie fed him some of her famous bread pudding and he’ll be late, or at least mellow."

Mulder leaned back in his chair and watched the denizens of the saloon; slowly drinking the beers the bartender kept bringing over to him. Around 3:00, by his small pocket watch, the first of the bar girls began to descend the saloon stairs. For a while they just wandered around the bar, checking out likely prospects. Mulder sat back and studied them as they in turn studied him. One or two started to come over to him, but something in his manner made them reconsider their choice. Around 5:00 he got up, stretched and threw a silver dollar on the table. He noticed that a couple of men sat at the dealer’s table, but he kept moving until he was out the door and heading toward the hotel.

::  ::  ::

He looked around the clean, simply appointed room. "It will do nicely, thank you Mrs. Scully."

Melissa blushed. "Oh I’m not Mrs. Scully, I’m her daughter, Melissa."

Mulder smiled apologetically, "Sorry, Miss. You and your mother run this place all by yourselves?"

Missy smiled. "Oh we have a couple of the girls come in and help each day, but pretty much, yeah, we handle it all ourselves. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that people know my sister is the sheriff. We hardly ever have any trouble here, unless Dana herself starts it."

Realizing that she had perhaps said too much, Missy smiled shyly. "Well I have to get back and help momma with dinner." She closed the door and he looked down at his valise and sighed.

Shedding his coat, he unbuckled the wrist gun, flexed his arms and walked over to the pitcher and bowl. He studied his face in the crackled mirror and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He decided to shave while he planned his course of action for the evening. There should be miners at the bar and they would provide him with the cover he needed while he got down to his real purpose for being here.

Mulder had planned on making a quick appearance at dinner, these small town hotels usually served beef so tough that he was picking strands of it out of his teeth for the rest of the evening, but the aroma wafting from the kitchen lured him closer to the dining room until he found himself sitting across from a remarkably beautiful oriental woman. He smiled resignedly when Byers came in, kissed the woman on the top of her head and sat down next to her. Tearing his gaze from the lovebirds, he found himself staring into the deep blue, very amused eyes of Sheriff Scully. Dropping his eyes to his lap, he fussed with his napkin. <<<You better watch it Mulder, old man, its like she can read your mind.>>>

Maggie Scully sat at the head of the table. She liked it when she had a full table and not just because of the money, she liked good conversation and pleasant company. And, someday, the right man would sit down and capture one of her daughters’ hearts. She smiled fondly at her granddaughter, the light of her life. "Shall we say grace?" Everyone bowed their heads and Maggie said the prayer. When she looked up she smiled happily. "Ah, Mr. Skinner, I was afraid you wouldn’t be joining us tonight." Maggie felt Dana stiffen next to her and spared her a quick concerned glance before continuing. "Please, sit there next to Soo Ling."

Skinner almost declined the offer, but the disconcerted look on the little redhead’s face changed his mind. Tossing his soft fawn colored Stetson on the table in the hallway, he sat down next to the Soo Ling. It was then that he noticed Mulder sitting across from him, biting the inside of his cheek he nodded to the man across from him as Maggie introduced the two men, each thinking the exact same angry <<<WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?!>>>

::  Chapter 5  ::

Skinner stared across at Mulder and inwardly vowed that he would not get involved with the man this time. <<<I’m too close.>>>

Mulder barely spared the bald man a glance but thought <<<Good, I can use him, if I have too.>>>

Scully fought the strange feeling that washed over her as she watched the two men eye each other. <<<They’re like two bull rams circling each other during mating season. Oh, good thought, Dana!>>> The blush that tinted her cheeks grew red and hot when she realized that Mulder was staring at her with a knowing grin.

Sensing the tension, Byers decided to tell everyone about Bill Scully’s latest plans for promoting the town and curbing the unsavory influence. When he was done Mulder lifted one eyebrow and asked Scully, "So, you and Doggett gonna be able to enforce a no-carry law?"

Dana had only been half-listening to the editor’s rendition of her brothers favorite campaign slogan. Instead, she had been furtively glancing at Mulder and, out of the corner of her eye, at Skinner. But with Emily, Byers and Soo Ling between her and Skinner, it was difficult. "What, Mr. Mulder?"

Mulder studied her more closely and repeated his question, this time in a more insolent manner.

Dana sat up straight. "Doggett and I will do just fine, thank you for your concern, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder’s smile grew, <<<Feisty young lady, our sheriff.>>>

Skinner watched Mulder watch Scully and a long buried feeling began to worm its way into his heart. Brutally he crushed his jealously down. "Mrs. Scully, dinner was delicious." He stood and bowed to his host. "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment."

He didn’t even pause as he reached for his hat and heard Dana’s double entendre, "with a pair of ladies, no doubt."

Mulder allowed himself dessert before he too stood to go. "Incredible meal, Mrs. Scully, as good as I’ve eaten."

Maggie blushed happily as she began to clear the table. "Why thank you, Mr. Mulder."

After Byers and Soo Ling said their good nights Dana smiled down at her daughter.

Mulder cleared his throat. "Would you care to get a breath of fresh air, Sheriff?"

Without taking her eyes off Emily, Scully shook her head. "No thank you, Mr. Mulder. Come along Emily, its time for your story."

Emily giggled. "Tell me a story like Mr. Skinner told, momma."

Mulder snickered. "I can just imagine what kind of story HE told. Hey I know a couple of…"

"No thank you Mr. Mulder, this is my time with my daughter. Now if you will excuse us."

Mulder followed them into the hall and watched as they walked up the stairs before grabbing his hat and stepping out into the chilly night; the only sound in the street coming from the saloon several doors down. Taking a deep breath he looked up into the star filled sky. "Let’s start this then."

Walking through the swinging doors, the smoke heavy and the noise level high but not loud enough to mask the out-of-tune piano being played poorly, Mulder noticed the poker table was already full. While he had expected to see Skinner, Mulder was somewhat taken aback when he saw Byers glancing nervously at the cards held tightly to his chest. It was early, but the dealer, Krycek, already had a sheen of sweat on his forehead indicating a losing streak at least several days old.

Ambling up to the bar, he found a spot and the bartender that Byers had assured him didn’t like the Irish miners, brought Mulder a whiskey. After taking a cautious sip, Mulder wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Jeeze, you just bottle this today?"

Frohike grinned. "Nah, yesterday. Most don’t notice."

Mulder pushed the glass away. "Well this sober, I do." Placing a gold piece on the bar, he growled, "what have you got that a real whiskey maker bottled?"

Frohike picked up the $5.00 coin, turned it over, weighed it in the palm of his hand and then bit down on it. Putting it in his vest pocket he shouted to whoever was listening, "Be right back."

A few minutes later Mulder brought the smoky amber liquid to his lips and sighed contentedly. "Only good thing to come out of Tennessee."

Frohike looked around. "Hey! Keep those kinda remarks to yourself. We got people here still fightin’ the war."

Mulder looked at Skinner’s reflection in the mirror. "Yeah, some still are. What about you, friend?"

"Doesn’t matter now…friend." Frohike walked back down the bar and refilled drinks as he went. Mulder turned and catalogued each man and woman in the saloon. He was very good at this – pegging and placing a person from just a cursory study. There were four girls working the room. Occasionally one would lead a customer upstairs but they were seldom gone for more than ten, fifteen minutes at the most. Far more interesting was the steady stream of men going in and out of a door near the back. When the bartender returned, took his glass under the counter and returned it, filled with the Jack Daniels, Mulder jerked his head toward the parade.

Frohike grunted, "China Pete runs a crap game in the back room; gives Krycek his cut. I wouldn’t recommended it."

Mulder nodded toward the group of grimy looking men sitting at the table where he and Byers had lunched. Frohike snorted. "Filthy Mics! Goddamn anarchists. Made my life a livin’ hell, I can tell you. Worked the mines in Pittsfield before the war. Figured when I came out here I could work a couple of years easy as a foreman but the Mic bastards ruined everything, got me fired with all their union talk." The little man studied Mulder craftily. "Hear tell you’re here to help that polecat, Spender."

"You don’t like Spender, either?" Mulder glanced again at the poker table. He noticed that John Byers and the man Byers had identified as the undertaker, Otis Spiney were sitting back, watching Skinner, Krycek and a pouty-faced man play. "Who’s the kid?"

Frohike looked over Mulder’s shoulder. "You mean at the poker table?"

"Yeah."

Frohike looked behind him and spat. "That’ll be Spender’s brat. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree with that one and a pretty rotten one to boot." The two men exchanged glances when Jeffrey threw down his cards onto the center of the rather large pile of cash and mostly blue and red poker chips. Pushing back his chair he glared around the room until he spied a blond whore. Grabby her roughly by the arm he pulled her upstairs. Skinner and Krycek barely noticed his leaving.

Abandoning for a moment, Frohike’s likes and dislikes, Mulder turned and, leaning against the bar, watched the two men finish the hand.

Skinner sat casually, any sign of tension well hidden. Krycek however was visibly upset and nervous. Early in the evening, even before Skinner had joined the game, he had been loosing. Even Byers, who seldom won a pot worth winning, had taken him for two sizable amounts.

Skinner hadn’t glanced at his cards since he had traded just one at the beginning of the hand. Krycek had kept upping the ante and Skinner figured there was over $10,000 in the pot; a sizable amount of money, not the highest stakes he had played for but still the $3,500 in it that was his was close to everything he had on him.

Krycek raised another $500 and Skinner eyed the younger man before calmly seeing the bet and raising another $1,000 – his last, but he didn’t think Krycek knew or cared.

The saloon had grown quiet as people began to drift over to the table. Even the awful piano player had taken a break.

Alex Krycek sat staring at the pot. He was unsure how he had arrived at this juncture, but he looked at the $150 in chips in front of him and then at the pot of cash and chips. Running his hand through his hair, he glared at Skinner and then yelled, "Frohike!"

Melvin shot around from behind the bar. "Yeah, boss?"

Placing his hand face down on the table, Alex stood up. "Sit here."

Frohike took his employer’s place and stared at the cards entrusted to him.

When Krycek returned he showed a piece of paper to the undertaker and Byers before handing it to Skinner, who sighed and asked, "are you sure this is what you want?"

Krycek grabbed a pencil stub from the pocket of a startled Byers, and scrawled his name at the bottom. "Call. Damn, you."

Skinner inclined his head and laid down three deuces and two eights. Krycek began to shake as he laid down three Kings, a queen and an ace. Skinner kept one eye on the younger man and slowly began to pull in his winnings, picking up the cash first. After filling his wallet, he reached for the deed.

Few people could say exactly what happened, but everyone heard Krycek’s anguished "You son-of-a-bitch" before two shots were fired. An unlit lantern behind Skinner’s head exploded into a thousand shards and Alex Krycek stood there for just a moment, his gun still in his hand, before he toppled over.

Spiney reached him first and knelt down to check his pulse. Glancing up in surprise he yelled, "somebody better get Soo Ling."

Byers turned just as Doggett raged through the door, his gun drawn. "What the hell happened?"

Several men pointed at Skinner. "The dude just shot Krycek."

Doggett stood over the gambler and looked at Skinner, still holding his weapon. "Looks like he drew first."

Skinner nodded, but another voice could be heard from the back of the growing crowd. "Get out of my way. Billy Joe, so help me, I’ll kick your butt if you don’t move." Dana Scully finally pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

::  ::  ::

Skinner lay on the threadbare blanket covering the thin straw mattress in one of the cells in the sheriff’s back room. After Scully had locked the cell door, he shed his long brown coat and hung it from a small nail, paced for a moment before sitting down and burying his head in his hands. Dragging his fingers down over his face, only the drunk in the next cell was witness to the anguished look that flitted across his features before he sighed and stretched out.

After returning from checking on Krycek, Scully entered the backroom and stared down at the sleeping gambler, the dawn just beginning to lighten the cells. <<<Look at him. Smug bastard. You nearly killed Krycek over a pile of poker chips and you can lie there and sleep.>>>

She jumped at the low rumble, "How long are you going to keep me in here, Sheriff?"

Forcing herself not to grip the cell bars, she managed a firm, "until the territorial judge…"

His snort stopped her, but the ease and grace with which he stood and appeared on the other side of the bars in one fluid motion nearly took her breath away. She had never been gladder that the iron bars separated her from a prisoner. He towered over her and his presence was nearly overwhelming. "It was self-defense, Sheriff. Anyone that was there will testify to that."

Scully shook her head and met his stern, almost surly glare. "Actually, Spiney and Byers are rather unclear on exactly what happened. Of course, Spiney is still hanging around outside Soo Ling’s waiting to see if he has a customer or not."

"He drew first. Damn it, why would I draw on him? I won the hand!"

Their eyes locked and Dana knew in her heart he was right. Even though several of the drunken regulars had said Skinner had his gun in his hand first, she suspected that he was just the faster of the two. But, unless someone came forward, then it would have to go to trial She supposed that her brother would want to make an example of the case. That reason alone was the strongest reason she had for releasing the tall, handsome, broad-shouldered…stopping that line of thought, she turned away to find herself staring into the amused green eyes of the Pinkerton man.

Striding forward, she bit off, "what are you doing here, Mr. Mulder?"

Somewhat taken about by her harsh tone, his look grew more serious. "Well actually, Sheriff, when I came down for breakfast, Maggie told me you still had Skinner in jail."

"So?" she ground out.

Mulder’s eyes widened, "Well, I hate to butt in, but it was self-defense."

"Oh? You saw it clearly, did you Mr. Mulder?"

"Actually, yes. I saw Krycek get up and get the deed to the saloon and play the last hand. I assume most of the people were drooling over Skinner’s winnings, but I was keeping an eye on Krycek and he went a little crazy and he definitely drew first." Mulder paused and studied the redhead before softly continuing, "I will testify to that if I have to, Sheriff."

Conflicting emotions played across Scully’s face but she gritted her teeth, reached for the key hanging on the hook by the door and, keeping the opening cell door between them, snarled, "Get out. Get out of town, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner grabbed his coat and hat and stalked out of the cell, not even bothering to return her glare.

::  Chapter 6 ::

The sun was straight up in the sky when Skinner left the hotel dressed in heavy denim and an open collar shirt under his long duster. Mounting his huge stallion, he started out of town. He had washed and shaved and politely, but firmly, declined Maggie Scully’s offer of food. He was anxious to get back out to his lookout point. Plus, he was so keyed up, he needed to get as far away from town and HER as he could.

A little over a mile outside of town, he sensed that he was being followed. Pulling his gun from his hip, he slowed the horse to a walk and waited. When he heard the shout, "Skinner! It’s me," he cursed but holstered his weapon. Mulder reached his side and gave him a huge grin. "That’s two you owe me."

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" Skinner growled.

Mulder laughed. "Real hospitable part of the world. Everybody keeps asking me that."

They rode for a ways gazing out toward the west, a beautiful vista of flat prairie, green still evident near the far off Snake River. Skinner finally gave in and asked, "what the hell does the Secret Service want in this part of Wyoming, Mulder?"

"Well, the President heard the stage coach and mail train robberies were really putting a dint in business out here, not to mention the bad publicity from all that loss of life, so he called in my boss who decided that this was more important than the security problem at the San Francisco mint. So, here I am."

Skinner shook his head. "Why the ruse, then?"

"You mean the whole Pinkerton/Spender/Molly Maguire thing?" Skinner just glared. "Hey! I work with what they give me. The boss mentioned the problem to old man Pinkerton and the next thing I know, I’ve got all the paperwork and the cover."

"You – or someone – suspects Spender of being part of the robbery gang?"

It was Mulder’s turn to study his companion. "Why, what have you heard?"

Skinner jerked his head around. "Forget it, Mulder. The last time I helped you I missed my chance. I haven’t heard anything!"

They rode in uneasy silence until they crested a rise and looked out on a vast landscape covered with cattle; a few horsemen spotting the range. Skinner yanked his horse south to a small gully washed out by the long past spring rains. Mulder followed him for a way. "So you think you might have found him?"

"Yeah."

Mulder reached out his hand and placed it lightly on the other’s arm. Skinner glared at the familiarity, but Mulder kept his hand where it was. "How can you be sure? You said two years ago that you never really saw him but from faraway."

Skinner moved his horse and Mulder’s hand fell away. "There weren’t a lot of black men running with the raiders, especially in Texas," Skinner spat. "Hell, Mulder, I know what you’re thinking. It’s been 15 years. But, damn it, there was no cause for him or any of them to do what they did. They rode into town and robbed the bank – damn Yankee sympathizers – and then they just started shooting people. Mary Feeley saw the son-of-a-bitch shoot Sharon in the back. My men and I were just returning from Tennessee and I guess they knew it and thought they would give us a welcome home surprise. We caught up with them two weeks later outside of Weatherton and killed most of them but a few got away. I swore I would catch the bastard that killed Sharon and I came close a couple of times, but never as close as I was on the Delta Queen. After…"

Mulder tried to lighten the mood, "After I pulled your sorry self from the Mississippi?"

Skinner just stared at him. "After I found Arnold for you and got shot and dumped off the riverboat to drown."

Mulder sighed, "You always were such a stickler for details, Skinner."

Skinner came to a small stand of trees and dismounted. Climbing to the top of a small rise, he stretched out and pulled a small spyglass from his coat pocket. When Mulder followed him and sat just below him, obviously prepared to wait, Skinner spared him one glance before putting the glass to his eye. "After you left me in that hospital the sisters weren’t sure if I was going to live or not. I knew you were there most of the time."

"I didn’t realize you were aware of what was going on, you were pretty out of it."

Skinner groaned. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Sorry."

Skinner continued, "I think you were gone to make sure the marshals got Arnold on the train, or not, but anyway you were gone for a while."

Both men grew silent as each remembered their last collaboration. Skinner had been playing in a high stakes poker cruise down the Mississippi on the Queen. After one satisfyingly successful night, Mulder had introduced himself, bought Skinner a drink and then proceeded to point out that a goodly number of the bills in Skinner’s winnings were counterfeit. Skinner had grudgingly agreed to help because as Mulder explained, "I’m good at a lot of things, but I could lose my horse to a six year old playing jacks." Everything had gone well and they had identified the ringleader but failed to notice that his girl friend was also on board. It was she who had shot Skinner after Mulder arrested Jack Arnold and locked him in one of the ships small storage rooms. Fortunately for Skinner, Mulder came back on deck just as the woman pulled the trigger. Mulder had killed her and jumped into the river and saved Skinner’s life.

Now, on a dry plain two years and 3000 miles away, Mulder asked gently, "what happened while I was gone with the marshals?"

"He came to see me." Skinner’s voice was low and deadly.

"What!"

"It was like I thought. It was Kersh."

Mulder thought for a moment. "The Creole gambler?"

Skinner growled, "Creole, my ass. I spotted that tattoo on his forearm. He was one of Robinson’s Raiders – Robinson’s Robbers is more like it. You know Mulder I’ve forgiven the North. Hell I know that there were men like Quantrill that weren’t any better than Robinson, but Kersh is one crazy bastard. I asked a few casual questions and I was sure he was the man."

Mulder bit his tongue. <<<Yeah, Walt. You’ve never asked a casual question in your life.>>>

"I must have said something that tipped him off because he came to the hospital."

Mulder looked up at him skeptically, "Why would he do that? What did he say?"

Skinner shook his head. "I know what you’re thinking. I was having delusions from the morphine. At first I thought so too, but he left me this." Skinner reached into his pocket and pulled out a small enameled insignia. The picture of a Union flag its staff buried in the back of a dying Texas longhorn. "It was pinned on my shirt when I woke up again. And, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there laughing at me."

"You gonna kill him?"

Skinner nodded grimly. "I’m gonna send him straight to hell."

Mulder sighed. "Okay, but you’re sure he’s here?"

Skinner stiffened and then handed the glass to Mulder. "You tell me."

Mulder put the glass to his eye and studied the man standing just outside the ranch house, talking to several cowboys. Laying back he studied the thick moving clouds overhead for a moment, "Well, it looks like Kersh." Gazing over at Skinner he demanded, "So. Are you going to do it now? From here?"

Skinner stood up and stalked back to his horse. "I want the bastard to see me when I kill him."

Mulder followed him and mounted Buttercup. "Well, while you’re waiting for him, maybe you can help me with my…"

Skinner snarled, "forget it Mulder. It ends here!" With that he galloped back down the gully. Mulder cursed and started after him.

When they reached the end of the gully, Skinner pulled up and instead of continuing back the way they came he cut hard to the north. Mulder kept up as they galloped across the variegated brown prairie, streaks of crimson and gold just beginning to cluster in the western sky.

Skinner finally slowed his horse and let it set its own pace to cool down. Mulder watched his companion carefully. "Damn, Skinner, I thought you wanted to kill the polecat, not yourself."

"Shut up, Mulder." Skinner checked their surroundings and pointed to a narrow trail. "That’ll take us back to town."

Mulder wisely refrained from commenting and urged his horse to follow Skinner’s lead. They rode for nearly an hour, the sun dropping below the far western mountains, the sky a brilliant scarlet.

Skinner watched the sunset and prayed the clouds would not obscure the moonlight. He didn’t relish camping out with Mulder.

The wind had begun to pick up and Skinner could smell snow in the air – snow and smoke. As they turned a bend, they saw the source of the wood odor. A teepee was outlined in the last of the twilight and the small campfire in front of it. The smell of roast rabbit slammed into Skinner with an almost physical force. He hadn’t eaten since last night at Mrs. Scully’s and the cooking rabbit was making his mouth water. An old Indian in deerskin stood as if waiting for them. Skinner stopped a few feet from the fire, Mulder a few paces behind him.

The old man held up his hand. "Welcome."

Skinner returned the greeting and waited.

The Indian waved them down. "Come, I’ve been waiting a long time. Eat, there is enough."

Skinner eyed the man suspiciously. "What do you mean, you’ve been waiting a long time?"

The old man turned and squatted by the fire. Skinner almost rode on but the delicious smell played on his hunger. Mulder had already dismounted and went to join the old man. Muttering, Skinner got down and approached the fire just as the old man threw another log on, causing it to blaze up spreading the warmth to envelope the hungry man, sealing the deal. He sat across from the two men. "Name’s Skinner, this is Mulder."

The Indian nodded. "The fox and the wolf hunt together again."

Bewildered, Mulder looked at Skinner who shrugged. "You have a name, grandfather?"

The man handed each of them a stick holding half of a fat rabbit. Skinner delicately pulled a long strand of meat and thoughtfully chewed.

"My name is Albert Hosteen."

Mulder swallowed a bite. "What are you doing out here all by yourself, Albert."

Hosteen looked back and forth between the two men. "Waiting for you."

Skinner took another bite. "You said that. Why?"

"To warn you."

Mulder finished his rabbit and looked around, shrugged and wiped his hands on his coat. "Warn us about what, Albert?"

"It will take the three of you to win against the evil, again."

Skinner scoffed. "I don’t need help to kill the evil."

Hosteen stood and looked down at the still squatting Skinner. "The man you seek is a haunted man, but the evil is behind him. You cannot win without the hawk."

<<<The old man is crazy.>>> Skinner sighed and stood up. But, before he could say anything, Mulder asked softly, "who is the hawk."

"She is the one you both protect, but needs no protection in this life."

The two white men exchanged glances, Mulder looking more excited and eager suddenly, but Skinner growled, "Thank you, it’s good to know since I’m not very good at protecting the women in my life."

Mulder gasped at Skinner vicious harsh tone, but Albert Hosteen’s gaze never wavered in the flickering campfire. Softly he commanded. "But you have protected her, even died for her in the past and you will protect and live for her in the future. Your lives, the wolf, the fox and the hawk are intertwined for all days."

A chill filled Skinner’s soul as a flush of anger rose to his face. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I have to get back to town." He strode to his horse and mounted quickly. He felt a momentary pang of guilt that he had nothing for the horse, but he silently promised it an extra measure of oats when they returned to the stable. He had ridden this way yesterday and knew there was a small stream not too far away. He ignored the fire and the two men as he passed them but wasn’t surprised when he reached the stream and let the horse drink its fill to find Mulder was right behind him. He braced himself for an enthusiastic explanation of the old man’s theories but the Mulder was strangely silent.

They could see the lights of the town ahead before Skinner summoned the nerve to say anything. "I wonder where the old coot came from? He wasn’t there when I rode by yesterday."

Mulder added, "and, I’ll bet he’s not there tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, we both know how good a betting man you are."

Part 7 - 9

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