The entrance to the saloon was a strange affair -- two half-doors which swung either inwards or outwards. Xena paused briefly to study the arrangement, then pushed her way in. The room had no windows and was lit with lamps even now, at midday. The mingled smells of liquor, sweat, and tobacco smoke permeated the air. Stopping just inside the door, the warrior took a few moments to survey her surroundings.

Three men sat at a table in the right-hand corner, playing cards. Another man sat alone, with a half-empty bottle in front of him. Two more lounged against the bar. To her left, Xena saw a woman sitting at a piano, picking out a hesitant melody while a second woman leaned close to listen. They wore dresses elaborately adorned with lace and ribbons. Their cheeks and lips were painted red, and long ringlets of hair brushed across their bare white shoulders. The appearance of these women told her that they were prostitutes, but the way they touched and whispered to each other told her something else about them, as well.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Xena saw that Frank Brown was one of the two men at the bar. She strode across the room towards him, and the women at the piano glanced up, doing a double take when they got a good look at her. Xena nodded pleasantly to them, but did not slow her stride until she reached the bar.

The bartender stared at her in surprise. "Hey! You're a woman! What do you think you're doing in here?"

Frank turned to face her and let out a raucous laugh. "Well, would you look at that!" he exclaimed. "The harlot has finally come home to roost!" Then he took a big slug of amber-colored liquor from his glass and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Do you know this woman?" asked the bartender.

"You bet your boots I do! She's one of them two whores the sheriff brung to town with him yesterday," Frank said.

His words were starting to slur, Xena noted, and he appeared a bit unsteady on his feet. When he raised his glass to drink again, she slapped it out of his hand.

"Hey! What're you doing?" he whined.

She leaned in close. "Don't you want to know about your wife?" she asked.

"Well, sure," he said, grinning. "Has the doc got her all patched up yet?"

"No," she said coldly. "He couldn't patch her up. She died before he could do anything to help her."

"Died?" Frank said. "What do you mean?" He stared at her, a mix of confusion and fear in his eyes.

"Your wife is dead," Xena said, speaking slowly and clearly, "and I'm here to arrest you for causing her death."

"Causing her-- What the hell are you talking about?" Frank demanded. "She fell down the damn stairs!" He turned to the other man at the bar. "You tell her, Sam," he said. "She fell down the stairs!"

The man called Sam nodded. "Yes'm, that's right," he intoned. "Frank here says she fell down the stairs, and I reckon he wouldn't lie about such a thing." Then he spat into a brass pot on the floor near his feet.

"Yes, I know what Frank says," Xena responded, "but Doctor Spencer and I believe his wife's injuries were the result of a beating, not a fall. Now, if you'll just come with me, we'll head on over to the sheriff's office."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, you bitch!" Frank growled. "You can't arrest me. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"

"Sheriff Lees made me a deputy this morning before he left town," Xena said. She tried to keep her voice calm, although her patience was rapidly running out. "See the star?" she went on. "I can arrest anyone who breaks the law."

"You can't be a deputy," Frank said, spitting on the floor. "A woman can't be a deputy." He turned to the bartender. "Did you ever hear of a woman deputy?" he asked.

"Nope, I never did."

"I haven't got time for this!" snapped Xena as she reached out to grab Frank's arm. "Come on. Let's get going!"

"Don't touch me, you filthy slut!" he exclaimed, then swung a fist at her.

She caught his hand in mid-swing and whirled around, yanking his arm over her shoulder. Then, bending forward, she flipped him neatly over her head. He landed with a loud thud on his back and lay gaping up at her, the wind knocked out of him.

There was dead silence in the saloon. Xena glanced around and saw that everybody was staring at her. After a moment, one of the card players murmured, "Did you see that?" and another one answered, "Shit yes, but I still don't believe it!" Then, from the two women, came a sudden burst of laughter and applause.

Xena grinned at them as she leaned down and hauled Frank to his feet. Pulling his hands behind his back, she held them there and turned to the bartender. "You got any rope?" she asked.

"Rope!" he exclaimed. "What the hell do you think this place is -- the General Store?"

The warrior shrugged and turned back to her prisoner.

"Would this work?" came a soft voice from beside her.

She glanced up to see one of the two women holding out a length of wide, red ribbon which she had apparently just pulled out of her hair.

"That would be perfect, thanks," Xena said, and began winding it around Frank's wrists. "I'll bring it back to you when I'm finished," she added.

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I got lots of ribbons. That one would look kind of pretty on you," she said, reaching out shyly to touch the warrior's black hair.

Xena looked at her for a moment. "What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm Sally, and this here is Caroline," she said, gesturing to the other woman, who stood nearby. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Xena," she said, and held out her hand to each of the women.

"That thing you did to him," Caroline said, nodding toward Xena's prisoner, "that was wonderful! How'd you learn to do that?"

"I learned by practicing it on my little brother," Xena said, laughing. "If I have time later, I'll come back and show you how to do it."

At that moment Frank, apparently having recovered both his breath and his dignity, began to struggle. "Hey," he growled. "Untie me! I ain't going to no jail!"

"Sure you are," Xena said cheerfully as she began pushing him toward the door, "and you're going right now."

Sally ran around and stood in front of Frank, staring up at his face. "You wife-beating son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "I hope they hang you till you're good and dead!"

"I didn't hurt her!" Frank snarled, then glared around at the other people in the room. "I never laid a finger on her! She fell down the fucking stairs!"

"Come on," Xena said, prodding and shoving him toward the door. "You can tell your story later to the judge."

He walked sullenly beside her toward the jail, muttering a constant stream of obscenities, and stumbling fairly often. Only Xena's firm grip on his arm kept him from falling flat in the middle of the dusty street.

"Ellis!" she shouted as soon as they were inside the office. "Come out here and help me! I need to lock somebody up!"

Almost immediately, the inner door opened and Ellis appeared, followed closely by Lizzie and Gabrielle.

"Frank?" he said, eyeing the prisoner in astonishment. Then he looked at Xena. "What in blue blazes is going on here?" he demanded.

"I wanna see the sheriff," said Frank, slurring his words badly. "Where's the damn sheriff?"

"He's out of town," said Ellis. "He won't be back until late this afternoon."

"Well then, you gotta help me, Deputy Johnson. This woman's crazy! You can't let her lock me up!"

Ellis looked at Xena. "Why did you arrest him?" he asked.

"Because he killed his wife," Xena said grimly.

"Abigail Brown is dead?" asked Lizzie in surprise.

Xena nodded.

Ellis looked at the warrior with new comprehension, then went to the wall and took down a set of keys.

Opening the cell door, Xena steered Frank inside and untied his hands. "Sit down," she said, pushing him down on the cot. "You're drunk and you need to sleep it off. When you've sobered up, we can talk."

"I never did it," he moaned, burying his face in his hands. "I never hit her. She fell, I tell you. She fell down the stairs." Then he looked up. "You can't keep me here," he said. "I got kids at home. Who's gonna take care of them now, with their ma gone?"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you beat her up," snapped Xena.

"I never--"

"I know, I know," she interrupted. "You never laid a hand on her." Then her tone softened. "Your children will be taken care of," she said. "I'm going out there and I'll find somebody to go along and help me."

Frank stared at her without speaking, his eyes bleary with alcohol. Keeping a careful eye on him, Xena backed out of the cell. Ellis clanged the door shut, locked it, and pocketed the keys. With a small sigh of relief, Xena turned to face the others.

Gabrielle met her gaze and said, "Xena, tell us what happened."

"Okay," Xena said, "but let's go in the other room."

Without a word, the four of them filed through the door and took seats around the table. Xena was still holding the red ribbon, and she sat smoothing it absently with her fingers. A thousand thoughts were crowding into her mind, and her head was beginning to ache. After a short time, she looked up and saw that the others were waiting for her to speak.

"I was with Nicholas when Frank brought his wife in," she began. "He said they found her at the bottom of the stairs, so she must have fallen, but no one saw it happen. She was unconscious -- badly bruised -- had a head injury and some internal bleeding. Nicholas was going to operate, but she died before he even got started."

"Does Nicholas think Frank beat her?" asked Ellis.

"Yes, and I think so, too. Nicholas said I'd never be able to prove it, but I told him I had to try. So I went over to the saloon, arrested Frank, and brought him here."

"The saloon!" exclaimed Lizzie. "He was at the saloon drinking while his wife was dying?"

"Yes."

"Well, doesn't that beat all!" said the older woman.

"Actually, it doesn't much surprise me, knowing Frank," said Ellis. "But Xena, how in the world are you going to prove that he's guilty?"

"I'm going to go talk to his children," she said. "And maybe to his neighbors, too. Surely someone knows something."

"You can't expect children to testify against their own father," Ellis said.

Xena sighed. "That's pretty much what Nicholas said, too," she admitted. "But I just can't let this bastard get away with murder. Not if I can help it. Maybe I can get him to confess."

Ellis laughed. "Now there's a long shot, if I ever saw one!" he said.

The warrior frowned, but said nothing, staring down at the ribbon, which she began to wind tightly around her left hand.

It was Lizzie who broke the silence. "Well I, for one, think it's about time we brought that man to justice," she said stoutly. "We've known for years that he was beating Abigail. It's too late to help her now, but we should be thinking about those poor children. We don't want the same thing to happen to them."

Xena gave her a grateful look. "Nicholas said you might know of someone who could look after the children," she said.

"The Millers," Lizzie said promptly. "They love kids, but they haven't been able to have any of their own. I'm sure they'd be glad to help."

"I'm going to drive Frank's wagon out there and take the body," Xena said. "They could ride with me."

"All right. I'll go talk to them right now," Lizzie said, getting up from her chair. "But I think you all should eat some lunch before you go. It ought to be ready by now."

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Xena said, then watched the older woman hurry out the door.

"I guess I'll stay here and guard the prisoner," Ellis said with a grin.

"Think you can handle it?" Xena asked, grinning back.

"Yes, I think so," he said. "Maybe I'll go see if he wants something to eat. Lizzie brought over enough soup to feed an army."

As soon as he had left the room, Gabrielle reached over and gently squeezed Xena's hand. "You're doing the right thing, you know," she said.

Xena looked at her. "Do you really think so? What if I can't prove that he did it?"

"You have to try," Gabrielle said firmly. "Now, tell me what I can do to help."

"I'd like you to go with me to talk to those kids. You're so good at that kind of thing. Maybe they'll open up to you."

"Okay. I'll be glad to help you talk to them."

"Thanks," Xena said with a soft smile.

Ellis came back through the door. "Well, he's passed out cold. I don't think we'll hear from him for a few hours, anyway."

"That should make your job easier," Xena said.

"You're right. I may even have to go back to bed and rest some more."

"Good idea," she said, and stood up.

Ellis walked over to her. "You're the one with the hard job to do," he said in a more serious voice. "I'm not sure how you're going to manage it, but I wish you luck. I'd sure like to see that man locked away where he can't hurt anybody else."

"Thanks," Xena said, then turned to her friend. "Come on, Gabrielle, let's go get some lunch."

CHAPTER 11

The wagon rumbled along the road in the hot afternoon sun. Gabrielle and Xena sat in back, the blanket-wrapped body lying between them. The Millers occupied the seat up front, with Rev. Miller doing the driving. Argo, tied to the tailgate, plodded along behind.

"This is so strange," Gabrielle said in Greek. "We're in the same wagon, on the same road we were on yesterday, and yet everything seems so different."

Xena nodded. "I know what you mean," she said. The sunlight seemed particularly fierce, making her eyes water and her head ache. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a piece of willow bark and stuck it in hermouth."Does your head hurt?" asked Gabrielle."A little.""I thought maybe t hat wouldn't happen here."

"Yes, well, apparently it does."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said softly.

Xena didn't answer. She closed her eyes for a couple of minutes. When she opened them again, she saw the bard gently running her fingers over the blanket where it covered the dead woman's face.

"What are you doing?" the warrior asked, still speaking Greek.

Gabrielle looked up. "Did she say anything before she died?" she asked.

"No. She was unconscious the whole time."

"I wonder what kind of person she was."

"I don't know. Apparently, not many people knew her."

Gabrielle turned her attention back to the blanketed form. "I want to see her face," she said.

"It's bruised," Xena warned. "It really doesn't look very nice."

"I don't care. I want to see it anyway."

Xena hesitated for a moment, then unpinned the blanket and folded it back to reveal the still, white countenance.

Gabrielle regarded it in silence for a time, then asked, "Do you think she found peace?"

"I don't know. I hope so," Xena responded.

Mrs. Miller turned around on the wagon seat. "What are you two girls jabbering about in that language of yours?" she asked. Then her eyes fell on Abigail's face. "Oh, that poor woman," she said, shaking her head.

"Did you know her?" asked Gabrielle.

"No, I just met her for the first time last week. Rev. Miller and I called on the Browns to ask why they hadn't been coming to church."

"And what did they say?" asked Xena.

"Well, Mrs. Brown told us she had been feeling kind of puny, and that it seemed like she just couldn't summon up the energy to get the children ready for church on Sundays."

"I wonder if that's the real reason," said Gabrielle. "Did she look sick to you?"

"No, not sick exactly," said Mrs. Miller. "Just tired. She was kind of soft-spoken and seemed a little nervous, like she wasn't used to folks calling on her, but she was real polite to us."

"Which is more than can be said for Mr. Brown," interjected the pastor. "I don't know when I've met a ruder man."

"Oh, dear yes!" said Mrs. Miller. "The things that man said to us, and the language he used! It makes my ears burn just thinking about it!"

"He certainly doesn't seem to have much use for the word of God," Rev. Miller said. "My guess is that he's the real reason his family never attends services."

"Was he mean to his wife while you were there?" Xena asked.

"Well, he seemed to be angry that she had invited us into the house," said Mrs. Miller, "but he didn't really yell at her -- just at us."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he yelled at her after we left," Rev. Miller put in, "or did worse to her."

"Had he been drinking?" asked Gabrielle.

"I couldn't say for sure, but I imagine so," the pastor said.

"Did you meet the children?" asked Xena.

"No," said Mrs. Miller. "They were all outside, I guess."

"When we get there," the warrior said, "I'd appreciate it if you let Gabrielle and me ask all the questions about what happened to Mrs. Brown. In fact, I don't even want to say that Frank is in jail until we've had a chance to ask some questions. Let's just say that he's staying in town for a while."

"Well, that's true enough," Rev. Miller said with a grin. Then he turned the team off the road onto a rough track that cut across the landscape at an angle.

Xena pulled the blanket carefully back over the dead woman's face and pinned it in place again.

"What will you do with the body," Gabrielle asked Mrs. Miller, "burn it?"

"Oh no, my dear! We bury our dead. If we were to burn our bodies, we couldn't be resurrected when Jesus comes again."

Gabrielle gave Xena a puzzled look, but the warrior merely shrugged.

"It would be nice to have a coffin," Rev. Miller said. "Just something simple. Maybe that boy of theirs can build one. If not, I reckon I can nail something together myself. I'm pretty handy with a hammer and saw, when I put my mind to it."

After that, no one made any effort to keep up a conversation. Xena occupied herself with studying the road and the landmarks, knowing that she and Gabrielle would have to find their way back to town later without the Millers' aid.

Ten minutes later, the wagon pulled up in front of a two-story, wood farmhouse. Chickens roamed the dooryard, pecking at the hard-packed dirt. Beyond the house stood a barn, from which the faint odor of manure wafted in their direction.

Rev. Miller climbed down from the wagon seat, then reached up to give his wife a hand. Xena hopped over the side and walked around to the rear of the wagon, where she lowered the tailgate and lifted Gabrielle to the ground. The door of the house swung open with a muffled creak, and a boy and two girls filed slowly out onto the porch. Xena estimated the boy to be twelve or thirteen years of age, and the older of the girls to be eleven. The younger girl, who was maybe eight, clung tightly to her sister's hand.

Frowning, the boy surveyed the visitors. "Who are you," he asked, "and what are you doing with our wagon?"

"My name is Xena," the warrior said, stepping forward quickly. "And this is Rev. Miller," she continued, "Mrs. Miller, and Gabrielle."

"We're here to help you," Rev. Miller added, somewhat lamely.

"We don't need any help," the boy said sullenly, then asked, "Where's our pa?"

"He's been detained in town for a while," Xena said.

"And Ma?"

Xena looked at the pastor and gave a slight nod. Taking her cue, he removed his hat, and turned to the three on the porch. "The angels have taken your ma home to live with Jesus," he said quietly.

The boy's face paled slightly and his eyes went to the blanketed figure in the back of the wagon. "You mean she's dead," he said flatly.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Son," said Rev. Miller. Then he looked at the girls. "We're very sorry to have to bring you all such sad news. But your mother has a new home in heaven now, where there is no pain or suffering."

"Her home is here, with us," said the older girl in a voice edged with bitterness.

"Yes, of course," Rev. Miller said quickly. "This was her earthly home, but we all have a heavenly home, too, and someday . . ." His voice trailed off.

The three children were staring at him with faces so expressionless that they might have been carved in stone.

Mrs. Miller moved toward the porch. "We've brought your mother's body with us in the wagon," she said. "We'll need to get her cleaned up and find a nice dress for her to wear. Do you think you girls can help me do that?" she asked.

The older girl nodded.

"Good. What's your name, Dear?"

"Hannah," said the girl. "This here's Nellie, and that's James."

"Well, we're very glad to meet you all," said Rev. Miller. "I just wish the circumstances could have been happier." He turned toward the wagon. "I'll carry the body on inside," he said in a low voice to Xena.

"All right," she said, then helped him slide the blanketed form out over the tailgate.

Mrs. Miller, meanwhile, shepherded the two girls into the house. James remained on the porch, staring after them, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched.

"How do you want to do this?" Gabrielle asked in Greek as Xena fastened the tailgate and untied Argo.

Xena didn't answer immediately, but led the mare over to one of the porch roof supports and secured the reins around it. Then she turned and watched James climb onto the wagon seat and drive off toward the barn. "I'll talk to the boy," she said, looking at Gabrielle, "and you go talk to the older girl. Maybe, if we're lucky, one of them will tell us something and we won't have to question the little one."

"All right," said Gabrielle. "I'll let you know what I find out."

* * *

Xena followed the wagon to the spot where James had parked it beside the barn. Stopping a few paces away, she stood watching him unhook the harness traces. "Do you need some help?" she asked after a moment. "I'm pretty good with horses."

The boy started, apparently not having heard her approach. Straightening up, he stared at her, his eyes cold and hard. "I don't reckon I need your help," he said, "nor anybody else's either."

"All right," she responded, "but I'd like to talk to you for minute, if you don't mind."

"Why are you dressed like that?" he asked bluntly.

"I dress this way because it's comfortable," Xena said. "I need to be able to ride and run and fight."

"Pa says it's unnatural for a woman to wear a man's clothes."

"Yes, that sounds like something your pa would say," Xena agreed.

James glared at her and then bent to finish unhooking the team. Walking around to their heads, he took hold of one of the bridles and led the animals into the barn. Stopping them in the wide, central passage, he began unbuckling the leather straps.

Xena sauntered along behind the boy and then took up a position leaning against the railing of one of the stalls. "I'm sorry about your mother," she said quietly.

James glanced up for a second, but said nothing.

"Your father said she fell down the stairs. Did you see that happen?"

"No," he said shortly. Then he looked at her again. "Why are you wearing that star?" he asked. "And that gun?"

"Because I'm a deputy."

"You're not the deputy. Mr. Johnson is."

"Yes, but he got wounded yesterday. Maybe your pa told you about that."

James nodded.

"So when Sheriff Lees had to go out of town today, he made me a deputy so I could help out until Deputy Johnson is better."

"A woman can't be a deputy."

"A woman can be anything she wants to be, if she's tough enough."

James laughed. "That's a bunch of shit," he scoffed. "My pa says--"

"I've heard enough about your pa," Xena cut in. "I'm here to find out what you know -- specifically about how your ma died. Now, I'm going to ask you again. Did you see her fall down the stairs?"

"No. I was mowing the hayfield. I didn't see anything." He lifted the harness off of one of the horses, carried it over to the wall, and hung it up. When he came back, he gave Xena a long look and then said, "All I know is what pa told me when he come out to the field. He said ma fell and was hurt bad and he was taking her to town to the Doc."

Xena nodded. "Do you think she really fell?" she asked in a gentler tone of voice.

"That's what pa said," he insisted as he tugged at a harness buckle on the second horse.

"Did your father ever hit your mother?" Xena asked.

The boy was silent.

"Well, did he?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" he demanded. "What goes on here is none of your goddamned business."

It was Xena's turn to be quiet. James glared at her across the back of the horse. "Why did pa stay in town?" he asked. "Was he too drunk to come home?"

The warrior studied the boy for a short time, noting the hard lines set in his thin face, the neatly patched clothes, the bare feet. "Your pa's in jail," she said finally. "Doctor Spencer felt that your mother's injuries resulted from a beating, not a fall. I arrested your pa for causing your ma's death, but if I can't prove that he did it, I'll have to let him go." She hesitated for a moment, then said, "You must have seen him hit her sometime. It would really help if you could tell me what you've seen."

"I never seen nothing," James responded harshly. "I never seen him hit her." Then he carried the second set of harness over to the wall.

Xena followed him. "Did he ever hit you? Or beat you?"

James turned abruptly to face her. "If he did, it was only because I didn't do my chores like I should have," he said. "Now go away and leave me alone. I'm not answering any more questions!" Pushing past her, he went back to the two horses, gathered up their lead lines, and headed along the passageway toward the corral behind the barn.

Hearing a footstep behind her, Xena whirled around. It was Rev. Miller.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Not well."

"You didn't find out anything?"

"No. He won't even admit that his father ever hit his mother."

"Well, that's a shame," the pastor said, shaking his head. Then he looked in the direction James had gone. "I guess I'll see what can be done about building a coffin."

Xena nodded to him, and then started for the house. She found Gabrielle in the downstairs bedroom, helping Mrs. Miller and Hannah lay out the body. Gesturing for the bard to join her, she stepped back out into the hallway.

"Did you have any luck?" asked Gabrielle in Greek.

"No. Did you?"

The younger woman shook her head. "Hannah wouldn't tell me much -- just that she was out in the chicken house gathering eggs and didn't see her mother fall. But she showed me the blood stains-- Come here," she said, taking Xena's arm and leading her to the bottom of the staircase. "There. See those spots?"

Xena crouched down and studied the dark blotches on the well-worn floorboards.

"Is it really blood?" Gabrielle asked.

"Looks like it," Xena said with a sigh. Then she sat down on the bottom step.

"This isn't turning out so well, is it?"

The warrior shook her head as she continued to stare at the stains.

Gabrielle sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "At least you tried," she said. "That's more than most people would have done.

"Where's the other girl? The youngest one," Xena asked.

"I'm not sure, but I think she went out back. She seemed pretty distressed about seeing her mother's body all bruised like that, so Mrs. Miller told her she didn't have to help us if she didn't want to." Gabrielle was silent for a few moments, then said, "Xena, don't you think it's strange how these children don't even cry?"

Xena nodded. "Yes, I've been thinking that too." She sighed again and looked at Gabrielle. "I guess I should go talk to that girl, but it's probably a waste of time. What was her name again?"

"Nellie."

"Nellie. Okay, I'll go look for Nellie and see if she has anything to tell me. I'll be back soon."

* * *

She got up and walked through the kitchen, then out the back door of the house. Almost immediately, she spotted Nellie, sitting in a swing which hung from the only tree in the yard. She wasn't swinging, though, just scuffing her toes in the bare patch of dirt under the swing. Xena watched for a moment and then walked slowly out and stood in the shade of the tree.

The girl looked up at her and then back down at the ground. Her brown hair hung in braids on either side of her thin face. There was a tear in her dress and a scrape on her knee.

"My brothers and I used to have a swing like that," Xena said. "We played on it a lot when we were little."

"I can swing really good," Nellie said, looking up again. "But I don't feel like swinging today."

"No, I don't imagine you do," responded the warrior, then she asked, "Mind if I sit out here with you for a little while?"

"No, I don't mind."

Xena sat cross-legged on the ground. "I'm sorry about what happened to your mother," she said.

"Did it hurt?" asked Nellie.

"Did what hurt?"

"When she died. Did it hurt her?"

"No. She was unconscious. She didn't feel a thing. She just stopped breathing."

Nellie nodded. "Good. I'm glad," she said, "because it hurt her before."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she was screaming and crying and I could tell it hurt her."

Xena studied the girl with new interest. "Nellie," she said gently, "did you see your mother get hurt?"

"Yes," the girl said hesitantly, "but I wasn't supposed to. If Pa finds out I saw, he'll whup me good."

"If I promise not to let your pa hurt you, could you tell me what happened? It's very important to me to know."

Nellie looked at her for a few moments, then nodded. "Okay," she said. "I'll tell you."

Xena drew in a long, slow breath and let it out again. Then she sat waiting quietly for the girl to begin.

Nellie stared at the house, still absently scuffing her toes in the dirt. Finally, she began to speak, but her voice seemed dull and lacking in emotion. "We was all eating breakfast this morning," she said. "All except Pa. He was drinking last night, so he was still sleeping when we got up. We all tried to be real quiet so we wouldn't wake him, but I guess we did anyhow. He come out there to the kitchen and he had a whiskey bottle in his hand. I was kind of scared, 'cause Pa alwaysgets so mean when he drinks."

"Yes, he does," said Xena. "I've seen him that way myself. So what happened after he came in the kitchen?"

"Well, first of all, he told James he better get on out to the field and start cutting hay, so James, he got up and left. Then Pa sat down at the table and wanted to know why his breakfast wasn't ready, and Ma said she would fix it right away. Then she told Hannah to go out and gather eggs in the chicken house, but I wasn't finished eating yet, so she didn't tell me to go anywhere."

She stopped speaking and Xena watched her face, so strangely expressionless for a child so young. "What happened after that?" the warrior asked gently.

"Pa just kept on sitting there, drinking and talking real loud," Nellie said, "and Ma was all kind of nervous like, and she burned the bacon, and then he started yelling at her. That's when she told me to go outside and play, so I went out in the yard, but I was scared about what might happen to Ma, so I snuck around the house and back in the front door. I hid in the hall and I pretty much saw everything."

"Did your pa hit your ma?"

"Yes'm, he hit her a bunch of times -- pretty hard, too. She had her arms up, trying to keep off the blows, but it didn't do her much good, far as I could tell." Nellie paused to take a deep breath, then went on. "Pretty soon, Pa hit her so hard that she fell down, and then he started in kicking her. She was crying and screaming for him to stop, and she said he was gonna kill her if he didn't stop soon. But he just kept on kicking and cussing at her. And then, all at once, he kicked her right in the face and her head went back and hit the cookstove real hard, and after that she didn't scream no more."

Nellie looked at Xena and then looked away again. "I reckon it was my fault she died. I should've done something to help her, but seems like I was just so scared I couldn't even move."

"It's not your fault, Nellie," Xena said quickly. "Don't ever think that way. There's nothing you could have done to help your ma. You would have just ended up getting hurt, too."

"Maybe you're right," the girl said slowly, "but it sure seems like I could've done something."

Xena opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, Nellie went on with her story.

"Anyhow," she said, "when I didn't hear Ma scream no more, that's when my legs started working again, and I run out to the chicken house where Hannah was. We waited till we seen Pa go out to the barn, and then we went in the house. I was real surprised 'cause Ma wasn't in the kitchen where she was before. So I thought she must've got up and walked off somewhere, and I went looking for her. I found her laying at the bottom of the stairs, but I don't know how she got there, 'cause it don't seem like she could've walked there by herself."

"Do you think maybe your pa carried her in there?" asked Xena.

"Maybe. If he wanted it to look like she fell down the stairs, he might've done that." Nellie sighed. "Hannah and me, we tried to get Ma to wake up, but we couldn't, so Hannah went out to the barn to tell Pa. He said just wait a little while and Ma would wake up, so we drug her in and put her on the bed, but she still didn't wake up. So pretty soon Hannah went out and told Pa again, and he come in the house, but he couldn't wake her up neither. That's when he said maybe he'd best take her to the doctor. He was looking kind of scared about then." She turned her gaze on Xena. "One time when I was real sick, he looked that same way," she said. "Pa can be real nice sometimes, when he ain't been drinking."

"Did he make this swing for you?"

Nellie nodded. "He used to push me in it when I was little."

Xena smiled sadly. "I'm sorry you had to see what your Pa did to your Ma," she said. "No one should ever have to see such a terrible thing. You were very brave to tell me about it. Thank you."

The girl bit her lower lip, then said, "I reckon Pa will kill me when he finds out I told you, but at least that way I'll get to see Ma again."

"Your pa won't kill you. I'm not going to let him," Xena said firmly. "Do you know where your pa is right now? He's in jail. I arrested him this morning because I thought maybe he had hurt your mother, but I couldn't prove it until just now when you told me your story."

Nellie stared at the warrior for a long moment, then she stood up and walked over to where Xena sat. Kneeling in front of her, she reached out to touch the metal star. "Are you the sheriff?" she asked.

"No, but I'm a deputy, and deputies can arrest people, too."

"Girls can't be deputies."

"Sure they can. I'm a girl and I'm a deputy. Maybe it doesn't happen a lot, but it can happen."

Nellie smiled a slow, tentative smile, and Xena smiled back.

"Come sit here by me," she said, patting the ground beside her, and Nellie sat down. "As long as your father is in jail," Xena went on, "he can't hurt you, or your brother or sister either. But we can't keep him in jail unless we can make the judge believe that he really did hurt your mother. So I need to know if you're willing to tell a judge the same story you just told me -- about how your pa hit and kicked your ma. Do you think you could do that?"

Nellie looked up at her and then nodded. "Yes, I reckon I could do it, but I'm scared."

"Of course you are," Xena said. "Anybody would be scared in your place." She hesitated for a moment, and then put her arm around the stiff little shoulders. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid," she continued. "It just means that you go ahead and do something, in spite of the fact that you're afraid."

The girl didn't answer, but Xena could feel her relax a little. After a few moments, she looked up and said, "Are you going to be our new ma?"

"No. It would be nice if I could be, but I'm not going to be around here very long. And anyway, I'm not really the mother type. Maybe the Millers will be your new ma and pa. Do you think you'd like that?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it will take time to get to know them, but they seem like nice people."

Nellie sighed. "I just wish I could have my own ma back," she said.

"I wish you could, too." Xena looked down and saw the small chin quivering. "You know," she said softly, "I think you'd feel better if you let yourself cry."

"Pa says only weak people cry."

"Well, there was a time when I used to think that, too, but I don't anymore."

"You don't? Why not?"

"Because I've learned that strong people cry sometimes, too, and it doesn't mean they aren't strong. It takes a strong person to love deeply, and when we love someone deeply and then lose them, it hurts a lot. Tears can help us get through the hurt and go on being strong."

Nellie looked up, and Xena saw the girl's eyes fill with tears. She pulled her close and felt the small arms wrap around her in a fierce hug.

CHAPTER 12

When the train pulled in at 5:15, Xena was waiting at the station.

"Well, I never expected a welcoming committee," said Herbert with a grin. "Are you having fun being a deputy?"

She looked at him without answering, and his grin faded. "What's wrong, Xena?" he said.

"I arrested Frank Brown."

"Let me guess. Drunk and disorderly conduct?"

"No. His wife died this morning. He said she fell down the stairs--"

"But you think he beat her. Xena, you can't prove something like that."

"I already have," she said grimly. "One of the children saw it happen. Come on. I'll tell you about it on our way to the jail."

He listened pretty much without comment, asking only an occasional question, and by the time they reached their destination, she had told him the whole story. Herbert opened the side door, and they stepped into the back room.

"Ellis Johnson!" he exclaimed. "I thought I told you to stay in bed. I suppose you haven't gotten a bit of rest all day."

"Sure I have," said Ellis, grinning. "A couple of hours this morning and a couple more this afternoon. I let your new deputy here do most of the work. Did she tell you what she's been up to?"

"Yes, she did," the sheriff said with a sigh. Then he looked at Xena. "I know you want to try to get a confession out of Frank, but to be honest, I think the chances of doing that are pretty slim."

"Probably so," agreed Xena, "but if there's any way I can keep that little girl from having to testify against her father, I'll do it."

Herbert shook his head. "You never give up, do you?" he said.

"No, I don't," Xena said, and then smiled, remembering that Hercules had once said the same thing to her. Turning to Ellis, she asked, "Is he awake?" and gestured with her head toward the jail.

"He was about fifteen minutes ago, anyway. I took him a bowl of soup and some coffee."

"Is he sober?" asked Herbert.

"Yes, pretty much. At least more so than he was this morning."

"All right, then. Let's go talk to him," said Herbert. "Ellis, you come, too. The more witnesses, the better. And if he does happen to confess to anything, you'll need to write it up so we can have him sign it."

Ellis nodded, and the three of them went through the door into the front room. The prisoner was sitting on his narrow cot, holding a tin cup in both hands. He looked up when the others came in, and quickly set the cup on the floor.

"Sheriff Lees," he said, standing up and moving to the cell door, "it's about time you got here!" Then he looked at Xena and scowled. "I don't know who this woman thinks she is, locking me up like this, but I don't belong in no jail. You got to let me out of here. I got to go home and take care of my kids."

"Your children are being taken care of," Xena said.

"Who's taking care of them?" he asked, in a suspicious tone of voice.

"Rev. Miller and his wife."

"Pshaw!" Frank said, spitting on the floor. "That pompous asshole! I don't want that bastard and his prissy wife anywhere near my kids!"

"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter," said Herbert. "The Millers are good people and they won't harm the children. That's the important thing at the moment. Now, we need to talk." He nodded to Ellis, who produced the key and unlocked the cell. "Come out here and sit down," the sheriff said, beckoning to the prisoner.

Frank sauntered over to the chair Herbert had set for him in front of the desk, and sat down on it. He stared sullenly at Xena and Herbert, who took seats across from him. Ellis stood leaning against the wall.

"Okay, Frank, why don't you tell me what happened," the sheriff said.

"Well, Abigail fell down the stairs and hurt herself pretty bad," Frank said. "I brung her to Doc Spencer, but seems like he couldn't do nothing for her and she passed on. Then this bitch here--" he continued, glaring at Xena.

"Watch your language!" warned Herbert.

Frank fell silent and stared down at his hands.

"You were arrested on suspicion of beating your wife and thereby causing her death," the sheriff said. "How do you respond to that charge?"

"I never laid a hand on her."

"Have you ever hit her?"

"No."

Herbert looked at Xena. "Do you want to ask him some questions?" he said.

She nodded, then leaned forward, studying the prisoner while she tried to decide how to begin. "I went out and talked to your children this afternoon," she said. "I was trying to find out if anyone saw what happened to your wife."

Frank looked up at her. "They didn't see nothing," he said. "They were all outside when it happened."

"And you were in the barn, is that right?"

"Yes. I was getting ready to go help my boy mow the hayfield."

"So James was already out in the field?" Xena asked.

Frank nodded.

"Okay, and where were the girls?"

"Well, Hannah was in the chicken house and Nellie was . . ." his voice trailed off as he made an apparent effort to think back. "I don't know exactly, but she wasn't in the kitchen."

"She wasn't in the kitchen?" Xena said. "If you were in the barn, how did you know Nellie wasn't in the kitchen?"

"Because-- Well, because she already went outside before I went to the barn."

"So all three children went outside and you were the last person left in the kitchen with your wife."

Frank nodded. "Yes, I guess that's the way it was. And then I went out to the barn.""You 'guess' that's the way it was," repeated Xena. "Are you having t rouble remembering what happened this morning?"

"No. Why would I have trouble remembering?"

"Maybe because you were drinking. Nellie told me you came to the breakfast table with a bottle in your hand. Is that true?"

"Well, what if it was? Ain't no law against a man taking a nip or two in his own house, now is there, Sheriff?" He looked at Herbert.

"No. No law against that," the lawman admitted.

Xena pressed on with her interrogation. "Nellie also told me that when Mrs. Brown burned your breakfast, you started yelling at her and hitting her."

Frank looked a bit confused. "Well, I reckon I may have said a few words to her," he responded. "Sometimes she gets a mite careless and I have to remind her how I want things done. But I never hit her. And Nellie, she wasn't even there. She don't know what went on. Kids make up the darnedest stories sometimes." He glanced at Herbert for confirmation, but the sheriff's face remained impassive.

"I'm going to tell you the rest of Nellie's story," said Xena, "because I don't think she was making it up. No child would make up such a terrible thing. She said that after her ma sent her outside, she came back in the front door and hid in the hallway. She claims she saw everything that happened."

Frank stared at her. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Nellie told me she saw you hit her ma and knock her down," Xena continued. "Then you kicked her repeatedly, even though she begged you to stop. Finally, you kicked her in the head and knocked her unconscious. That's all Nellie saw because after that, she ran out of the house. She said when she and Hannah came back in, they found their mother lying at the bottom of the stairs. I've seen the blood stains there, and I've also seen the ones on the kitchen floor. I believe you moved your wife's body so that it would look like she fell down the stairs."

She stopped speaking and waited for him to answer. When he looked at her, she could see the rage in his eyes, but she now also saw fear. He turned his gaze on Ellis and then Herbert. At last he said, "This is ridiculous! Who would take the word of an eight-year-old girl over that of a grown man?"

"I would," said Herbert calmly.

"And so would I," added Ellis. "Especially if that grown man was known to get mean and violent whenever he started drinking."

"If you plead guilty, the judge will go easier on you," Herbert said. "You'll still have to serve time, but probably not as long. If a jury finds you guilty, they just might decide to hang you."

"I'm not guilty!" Frank exclaimed, casting a panicked look around. "I didn't kill her! She fell down the stairs! I wouldn't kill my own wife! Why would I kill my own wife? It was an accident, I tell you! They can't send me to jail for that!"

Xena reached across the desk and gripped the prisoner's wrist. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. "Listen to me, Frank," she said in an urgent tone. "I believe you cared about your wife, and I don't think you meant to hurt her. But let's face it, when you start drinking, you lose control and sometimes you hurt people, whether you mean to or not."

He stared at her without answering.

Encouraged, she went on. "And do you know what else I believe? I believe you love your kids, and you don't want to hurt them. Am I right?"

He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Now, Nellie saw a terrible thing today, and she's going to have to live with that memory for the rest of her life. She told me that if you found out she saw, you would kill her, too. But she was brave enough to tell me about it anyway. And she agreed to tell the story to a judge, even though she's scared of what you might do to her." Xena stopped speaking for a moment to let her words take effect. Releasing Frank's arm, she sat back in her chair. "Don't make her tell that story again," she said quietly. "If you care about her -- and I think you do -- be man enough to admit to what you've done and take your punishment. That's the best thing you could do for those kids right now."

Frank was silent for several long moments. Then, finally, in a voice choked with emotion, he said, "I never meant to kill her. She was a good wife and I loved her. I don't know what come over me. I reckon it was the liquor, like you said."

No one spoke for a short time, and then Herbert said, "Are you willing to sign a confession, Frank?"

The man nodded dully.

Ellis quickly stepped forward and pulled a piece of paper out of the desk. Herbert got up to give the deputy his seat. Uncorking an ink bottle, Ellis dipped a quill in it and wrote busily for several minutes. When he finished, he carefully blotted the paper and held it up. "Here's what I've written," he said. "I, Frank Brown, do hereby confess that I, while under the influence of alcohol, and without prior intention, did inflict bodily injury on my wife, Abigail Brown, which injuries later resulted in her death. Signed on this 21st day of July in the year of our Lord 1880."

Herbert shook his head and grinned. "I tell you, Ellis, you should have been a lawyer. Nobody writes that legal stuff as good as you do!" Then he turned to the prisoner. "Do you agree with the wording of the confession?" he asked.

"I reckon it says what I done well enough," he said.

Ellis placed the paper in front of Frank and handed him the quill. Dipping it into the ink bottle, he made an "X" below the confession. The deputy took back the quill and added, "Frank Brown, his mark." After that, he wrote, "Witnesses," and drew three lines. Herbert signed on the first one and Ellis on the second. Then he gave the quill to Xena, who made a rapid series of bold marks and handed the paper back.

"What is this?" Ellis asked, staring at what she had written.

"It's my name," Xena said.

Herbert took the paper and studied it for a moment. "Is this how you write it in Greek?" he asked.

"Yes. I don't even know how to spell it in English."

"Hmm. How would you spell 'Xena,' Ellis?"

"I don't know. Z-E-N-A, I guess."

"Okay, maybe you better write that on there, just so people will know."

Ellis took the paper back and made a notation beside Xena's name.

Frank had been sitting glumly with his head propped in his hands. Now he looked at Herbert and said, "What will become of my kids if I go to jail? And my farm?"

"I don't know for sure," the sheriff replied. "Why don't you be thinking about whether there are some relatives or somebody the children could go live with. The farm might have to be sold. We'll talk about it, and I'll do what I can to help."

Frank nodded, then got up and walked slowly back into the jail cell. Herbert locked the door and motioned for Ellis and Xena to follow him into the back room.

"Well, I never would have believed it!" he said with a grin as he clapped a hand on Xena's shoulder.

She grinned back at him, suddenly feeling as if a big weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"You almost had me in tears there for a minute," said Ellis. "I think I would have confessed, too -- whether I'd done anything or not!"

The other two laughed.

"I believe this calls for a little celebration," Herbert said, going to a shelf near the fireplace and taking down a bottle. He carried it and three tin cups to the table. "Whiskey, Xena?" he said, looking at the warrior.

She walked over, took the bottle from his hand, and sniffed at its contents. "Smells like strong stuff," she said. "Is this what got our friend Frank in trouble?"

"Yes, but we're just going to have one celebratory shot and be done with it," Herbert said and poured a small amount into each of the cups.

"Haven't you ever had whiskey?" asked Ellis.

Xena shook her head.

"Well, just think of this as another opportunity to sample the refined culture of the Wild West," he said with a wink. Then he handed her one of the cups.

Herbert raised his own cup in a toast. "To Deputy Xena!" he said.

"To Xena," echoed Ellis, "who saves lives and brings killers to justice!"

"Thanks," she murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Now you just chug it, like this," Herbert said, and then demonstrated. Ellis followed suit.

Xena lifted the cup to her lips, threw back her head, and tossed the liquid down. It burned her throat and made her cough a little. "Wow," she said, blinking. "That really packs a punch." Then, as she felt a warm glow begin to spread through her body, she added, "But it's kind of a nice punch."

The two men laughed.

The clock on the mantel began to chime, and Xena glanced over at it. "Well, I see I'm late for dinner, so I'd better get going." She set her cup on the table. "Gabrielle is telling stories tonight after we eat, if you'd like to come."

"Oh, I'd love to hear that. Wouldn't you, Herb?" said Ellis.

"Are you sure you feel like going?"

"Of course."

"Well then, why don't you go? I'll stay here and keep an eye on Frank," said Herbert.

"Damn! I forgot about him!"

"Tell you what," said Xena. "I'll come over after dinner and guard the prisoner. That way both of you can go."

"That would be great," said Ellis. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not a bit. I've heard all the stories already, so I wasn't really planning to listen, anyway."

"Do you think she'll tell any stories about Hercules?" asked Herbert.

"She will if I say there's been a special request," Xena said with a grin. "See you soon," she added, then went out the door and headed for the boarding house.

* * *

The group around the dinner table seemed small, even though only the Millers were missing. Most of the discussion centered on the day's events, and everyone seemed relieved to learn that Frank Brown had signed a confession.

"If you'll excuse me," Xena said as soon as she finished the last bite of her peach cobbler, "I told Herbert and Ellis that I would stay at the jail while they come over to hear the storytelling."

Lizzie frowned. "Ellis wants to come?" she said, then looked at the doctor. "Nicholas, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Well, he seemed to be doing pretty well this afternoon when I stopped by there," Nicholas said, "so I imagine he'll be fine. But if it makes you feel better, I'll walk over with Xena and check on him."

"Yes, that would make me feel better. Thank you," Lizzie responded.

"All right, then," the doctor said, giving her a fond smile.

Xena stood up and went to stand behind Gabrielle's chair. Bending over to bring her mouth close to the bard's ear, she said softly in Greek, "Herbert would really like to hear a story about Hercules. Do you think you could tell one?"

"About Hercules? Sure, I should be able to come up with something."

"Good. And could you tell one that has Nicklio in it? For Nicholas?"

Gabrielle twisted around to look at the warrior. "Hmm. That's a little trickier," she said, "but I guess I could tell about the time Caesar crucified you. Would that be all right?"

Xena considered for a moment and then nodded. "That will be fine," she said. "I'll see you later," she added, and gave Gabrielle's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Are you ready?" she asked Nicholas in English.

"Yes. Let me just get my bag. I left it in the parlor."

They walked out the door of the boarding house and headed for the jail, their footsteps echoing dully on the wooden walk. Xena felt her headache returning and wished she had thought to bring along some willow bark. Well, it was too late now.

"We didn't get very far in our discussion of herbs, did we?" said Nicholas.

"No. Maybe we'll have time to talk tomorrow," Xena said. They walked on in silence for a few moments, and then she asked, "What do you give people for headaches?"

"For headaches? Laudanum. It's another opium derivative. Works well for coughs, too. People can get addicted to it, though, the same as morphine." He looked at her curiously. "Why do you ask? Do you have a headache?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," he said, frowning. "I'm afraid I don't have any laudanum with me right now. But Ellis has some," he added, brightening. "I gave it to him yesterday. We'll talk him into letting you have a little. Do you get headaches often?"

"Well, only since I got hurt in a fight about a month ago."

"You got hurt?"

"I was hit in the head with a mace."

"A mace!" he exclaimed. "You mean one of those balls with spikes on it?"

She nodded.

"That must have been painful."

"Yes. More than I like to remember," she said with a rueful grin.

"Who were you fighting?"

"Some lowlife scum who were demanding protection money from my friend Lydia."

"Lydia," he mused. "Is that the Lydia that Lizzie keeps talking about?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now I remember. Lizzie told me about that fight." He shook his head in wonder. "That only happened to you a month ago?" he asked.

Xena nodded. "Lizzie -- I mean Lydia -- is the one who took care of me when I first got hurt."

"Amazing," he said.

They had reached the door to the room behind the jail. Nicholas knocked, but did not wait for an answer. Opening the door, he stood aside to let Xena enter first.

"Nick!" exclaimed Ellis. "What are you doing here? Aren't you going to the storytelling?"

"Yes, but I promised Lizzie I'd come check on you first. She's afraid you might not be up to a strenuous evening of listening to tales of adventure." He laughed and set his medical bag on the table.

"Honestly, Nick," Herbert said with a grin. "I think that woman has you wrapped around her little finger."

"Yes, she does indeed," the doctor responded pleasantly. "I have to keep her happy. Otherwise, she won't let me take my meals at the boarding house, and I'll be reduced to eating my own cooking -- a fate which I do not care to contemplate."

"Well, all right then, you'd better check me over," Ellis said as he took a seat at the table.

Nicholas moved the lamp closer and examined the throat wound. "Are you feeling okay? Not too tired?"

"Hell, I've been in bed half the day," he said. "How could I be tired?"

"Watch your tongue, there's a lady present," Nicholas warned, glancing at Xena.

"I'm no lady," the warrior said laughing, "and I've heard a lot worse language than that, believe me."

Nicholas shrugged and took out his stethoscope. Applying it to his patient's chest, he listened for a short time, and then said, "Are you sure you feel like going, Ellis?"

The deputy nodded.

"Okay. I'll leave it to your discretion. But if you get tired or start feeling bad, I want you to come on home and go to bed."

"Sure thing, Doc!" Ellis said and stood up. "Are we ready to go?"

"I am," Herbert said. He picked up his pipe and tobacco pouch, stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket, and put on his hat.

"Ellis, where's your laudanum?" asked Nicholas. "I told Xena you'd let her have a little of it. She's got a headache."

"Oh, it's right over here," he said. Then he took down a small bottle from a shelf near his bed and handed it to Xena.

"Thanks," she said.

"You two go on," Nicholas said. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"Xena, feel free to look at any of my books," Ellis said, gesturing toward the book shelves. "Or if you want to read something truly exciting, you can try some of Herb's law books out in the front room."

"Okay. I'm sure I'll find plenty to do," Xena said. "Enjoy the stories."

"We will," said Herbert. "See you later." Then they went out the door.

* * *

Xena uncorked the bottle. "How much of this should I take?" she asked.

"I think one good swallow of it will be enough, unless your headache is really bad."

"No, it's not that bad," she said, bringing the medicine to her lips. When she had finished, she put the cork back in and returned the bottle to the shelf.

"Whereabouts on your head did you get hit?" asked Nicholas.

"Over here, on the side," she said, indicating the place.

"Would you mind if I looked at it?"

"I'd be glad for you to," she said, and sat down at the table.

Nicholas ran his fingers over the spot, probing gently. "There's still a little bit of a lump there," he said. "Does it hurt when I press on it?"

"No."

He parted her hair and studied the scar. "The wound itself has healed up nicely," he went on. "Have you had any numbness in your arms or legs?"

"No."

"Any problems with your vision or your memory?"

"A little bit in the beginning, but not now."

"So now it's mainly the headaches?"

"Yes. And I seem to get tired more easily than I did before."

He nodded. "I think you'll get over that, in time," he said. "And the headaches should go away, too, but it may take a while. Do they seem worse when you're anxious or worried about something?"

Xena nodded.

"Well, try to get as much rest as you can. That's about the only thing you can do. I know it's easier said than done, though." He sat down, took off his glasses, and began to polish them with his handkerchief. "You were very lucky," he said. "A blow like that could have killed you, or at least left you paralyzed."

"Yes, I know," Xena said quietly.

He put his glasses back on and shoved the handkerchief into his pocket. Xena thought he would get up and leave after that, but he didn't. He merely sat there, staring at nothing in particular, apparently lost in thought.

"You look kind of tired yourself," she commented.

"What?" he said absently.

"I said you look tired."

"Oh, not tired really," he said, glancing over at her. "It's more-- Well, I always find it hard to lose a patient, like I did Abigail Brown today. I keep telling myself that I can't save everyone, but I still wish I could -- especially when it's a young person." He sighed. "I see death so often in this line of work that it seems like I would be able to accept it by now, but somehow I just can't. Maybe it's because every time it happens, I find myself having to deal with all my own painful memories again."

"Lizzie told me about your son," Xena said. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you. It's been over a year now, but it still feels like there's a big, gaping hole in my life that will never be filled. I guess maybe it will always feel that way."

Xena studied him for a moment and then, without really thinking, said, "Nicholas, have you ever thought about getting married again?"

"Getting married again?" he said, looking at her in surprise.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't even be asking such a question, but-- Well, it just seems like you and Lizzie are so close and . . . " her voice trailed off.

He smiled. "Lizzie is a wonderful person and a very dear friend," he said. "And if I were going to marry anyone, it would be Lizzie."

"But you don't want to marry."

He drew in a deep breath and let it out again. Then, gazing off in the direction of the fireplace, he said, "My first wife died of pneumonia the winter after we got married. It happened very quickly. She simply took sick one day, and by the end of the next day she was dead. We were both quite young -- I was still in medical school at the time. It was my first hard lesson in just how powerless a doctor can be."

He stopped speaking for a moment, and ran one hand through the short, curly hairs of his beard. Xena sat quietly, noting the lines of sadness in the doctor's face while she waited for him to go on.

"Some years later I married again," he said. "We wanted to start a family, but we had almost given up trying when my wife finally conceived. It was a difficult pregnancy, and an even more difficult labor. I did everything I could for her, but I lost her anyway. I managed to save the baby, though -- my son, Benjamin. I devoted all the time and energy I could to raising him, and he brought me more joy than I can ever tell you." He looked at Xena and smiled a sad smile. "When he was ten, we moved out here to Colorado," he continued. "We both fell in love with the mountains and the scent of the pines and the wide, open spaces. Then last summer Ben went swimming in the river with some friends. It was nothing unusual -- he had done it a hundred times before, and he was a good swimmer. No one knows exactly what happened -- the other boys just suddenly noticed that Ben was missing. They dived down and found him, but by then it was too late."

Xena reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Losing a child is so hard. I wish I knew what to say," she told him.

He shook his head. "There's nothing anyone can say. We all know the pain of losing someone we love. Lizzie has known a great deal of sorrow, and I imagine you have, too, young as you are."

Xena nodded.

"Some people get through their grieving bravely," Nicholas went on, "and others never seem to get through it at all. Call me a coward, but I just don't think I can set myself up for that kind of pain again. If I were to marry Lizzie and if something were to happen to her-- Well, I don't see how I could get through it."

Xena gave the doctor's arm a gentle squeeze and then sat back in her chair. She was silent for a short time, considering, then said, "I used to feel much the same way you do. It seemed like everyone I loved either got killed or betrayed me. So I decided it just wasn't worth it to let myself care about anybody."

"But you don't feel that way now?" he asked.

"No. No, I don't, because when Gabrielle came into my life, everything changed. She gave me purpose and direction, and showed me what is beautiful and good in life. She taught me to trust again, and best of all, she taught me to love."

"But Xena, don't you worry that something will happen to Gabrielle? How would you feel if you lost her?"

"I have lost her -- at least briefly. One time I thought she had died. Another time she left me, and I didn't think she would be back. Both times the pain was terrible. But both times I also knew that what we had shared had made it all worthwhile." She paused to take a deep breath. "You said your son gave you a lot of joy," she went on. "Would you give up all that joy just to avoid feeling any pain?"

Nicholas stared at her for a few moments, and then said, "No, I guess I wouldn't."

"There is pain in not loving, as well as in loving," Xena continued. "If Lizzie were to die tomorrow, you would still feel the sadness of losing her, even though she's not your wife. And you might also feel the pain of regret because you never took the opportunity to share life with her."

She stopped speaking, and watched the physician, who sat silently, gazing down at his hands. Had she said too much? She suspected that she had. Who was she, anyway, to give this man advice or meddle in his private affairs? "I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life," she said in a gentle tone of voice. "Only you can decide how much risk and pain you're willing to open yourself up to. This really isn't any of my business, and I apologize if I've said things I shouldn't have."

He looked up then and smiled. "No apology needed," he said. "I appreciate your concern, and you've definitely given me some things to think about. Thank you." Then, breathing a deep sigh, he rose from his chair and picked up his medical bag. "I guess I'd better get back to Lizzie's before I miss all the stories." He laid a hand on the warrior's shoulder. "Can you come by tomorrow to continue our discussion of herbs?"

"I don't know. Herbert and I are going out in the morning to look for Bill Garrison's gang. But I'll stop by if we get back in time."

"All right. Maybe I'll see you then. Is your headache better?"

"Yes, it is. I had forgotten all about it."

"Good. See you tomorrow," he said, patting her shoulder.

"Good night, Nicholas," she responded.

After the doctor left, Xena went into the front room to check on Frank. She found him sprawled across the cot on his back, snoring loudly. Moving on to the bookshelf, she took down one of the heavy law books, laid it on the desk, and opened it. The print was small and dense; the sentences were long and hard to understand. After a couple of minutes, she shrugged, closed the book, and put it back on the shelf.

Returning to the living quarters, she stopped at the gun case and stood looking at the weapons. After a few moments, she carefully lifted one of the rifles out and examined it, cradling its length in one arm while she ran her fingers over the design engraved in the blue metal. The gun smelled of oil and steel and black powder. Raising it into position, she settled the stock against her shoulder and sighted along the barrel. The rifle had a nice feel to it, she decided -- strong and reliable and deadly. If she and Gabrielle got to stay a few more days, she would definitely ask Herbert to teach her to shoot it.

With a small sigh, she set the gun back in the case, then went to the table and sat down. Pulling her pistol out, she laid it on the table and looked at it. She had just spent a whole day as a deputy sheriff, she realized, and hadn't once drawn her gun. She wished she could practice shooting it, but she couldn't leave her post as jailer. Besides, it was getting too dark out now for target practice. Still, she wished there were something she could do with the gun, but it did not need sharpening, like a sword. It didn't even need to be cleaned, since she hadn't yet fired it. Reluctantly, she picked it up and returned it to the holster.

She sat there for a few minutes more, enjoying the warm, peaceful effects of the laudanum, then she got up and walked over to look at Ellis' books. After scanning the titles for a time, she selected a volume on military history. Taking it back to the table, she sat down and began leafing through it. She read little of the text, but studied the maps and illustrations with interest until she found herself growing drowsy. When the struggle to stay awake at last became too much, she put the book away, curled up on Herbert's bed, and soon fell asleep.

CHAPTER 13

It was almost midnight by the time Xena got back to the boarding house. She found Gabrielle already in her nightshift, sitting on the side of the bed, reading by lamplight. "Aren't you tired?" Xena asked in Greek.

"No, not really," the bard said, looking up and smiling. "I know I should be, but I actually seem to have quite a bit of energy left."

Xena shook her head in wonder. Taking off her gun belt, she rebuckled it and hung it over one of the chairs. Then she untied her chakram, laid it on the table, and sat down to unlace her boots. "How did the stories go?" she asked.

"Much better than last night," Gabrielle said. "I told the one about how Hercules fell in love with the golden hind and gave up his powers so he could marry her."

"That's a sad one."

"Yeah. Lizzie started crying toward the end of it, and Nicholas had to give her his handkerchief. I think Herbert got a little misty-eyed, too, but he tried to hide it, of course."

Xena smiled as she took off her vest and shirt, and draped them over hooks on the wall. Then she unbuttoned her trousers, pushed them down, and stepped out of them. "What else did you tell?" she asked.

"The one about you and Caesar."

"Did Nicholas like it?"

"Yes. He was really interested in that one, but the rest of the evening I don't think he paid much attention. He seemed kind of distracted or something."

"I think he has a lot on his mind right now," Xena said. She dipped a cloth in the wash basin, wrung it out, and began sponging herself off.

"Then at the end, I told the Cecrops story," Gabrielle said. "That's one that people generally like, and at least it ends on a cheery note."

"Yes, well, I imagine your audience needed a little cheer after those first two stories."

"Hey, I only told them because you asked me to!"

"I know, and I appreciate it," Xena said, smiling as she picked up the towel. The soft cotton cloth felt good on her skin and, thinking about other things that might also feel good, she glanced over at Gabrielle. But the younger woman's attention was focused again on her book. With a small sigh, Xena hung up the towel and put on her nightshift. Then she padded across the room on bare feet and sat on the straw mattress next to her lover.

"Xena, these poems are wonderful," Gabrielle said, glancing up briefly. "Want to hear some of them?"

"All right."

"Okay, well, here's one by that same man who wrote the Romeo and Juliet story." She cleared her throat, then read, "'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate . . .'"

The poem went on, but Xena did not hear the rest of the words. Gazing at Gabrielle, she smiled, picturing the young woman as she had seen her a thousand times, with the sunlight shining like a halo on the red-gold hair. "That was a nice one," she said when she realized that the bard had stopped reading.

"You weren't even listening," Gabrielle said in a disappointed tone of voice.

"Sure I was!" Xena said. Then, seeing the skeptical look on the younger woman's face, she relented. "Well, okay, I guess I only heard the first couple of lines, but they made me think about how beautiful you look with the summer sun shining on your hair." And reaching out, she picked up a lock of the long, golden hair and brought it to her lips.

Gabrielle smiled. "Well, I guess I can't get mad at you for that," she said. "But let me read you another poem. This one is by a bard named Robert Herrick."

"Is that a man or a woman?"

"I'm not sure," Gabrielle said. "With these strange English names, it's hard to tell. Anyway, the title of the poem is 'To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.'"

"It's a man," Xena said with a cynical grin.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," agreed Gabrielle, laughing. "Here's how it goes: 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.'"

Xena drew in a sharp breath as a sudden cold chill ran through her. "Don't!" she said quickly, putting her hand over the page. "Don't read that one. It's too sad."

"Too sad?" Gabrielle said in surprise. "Xena, this is a poem about seduction! What's sad about that?"

"I don't know. Nothing, I guess. It just-- Well, it gave me the creeps somehow, talking about flowers dying and stuff."

Gabrielle gave her a quizzical look. "Let me get this straight," she said. "The mighty Warrior Princess, killer of thousands, is suddenly worried about the death of a flower?"

"Yeah, it's pretty stupid, isn't it?" Xena said with a weak grin. Then she gently pulled the book out of her lover's hands, closed it, and laid it on the nightstand. "I think it's time we went to bed, Sweetheart. My feet are getting cold and yours must be like ice by now. Go ahead and get under the covers," she instructed, then reached over to turn out the lamp.

"I love you, Xena," Gabrielle whispered as they snuggled up together.

"I love you, too," responded the warrior. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around the warm body and kissed the top of Gabrielle's head. "And I miss you," she added.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems like we haven't spent much time together since we got here."

"No, we haven't. I guess I've been missing you, too."

Xena kissed the golden head again.

"Sleep well, Love," Gabrielle said.

"Mmm, you too," Xena murmured. She closed her eyes, and in a very short time, slipped away into the land of dreams.

* * *

Sometime later, Xena woke halfway and lay with her eyes closed, enjoying the warm comfort of the bed. The clock downstairs chimed twice, and the thought that sunrise was still several hours away made the warrior smile. She reached out for Gabrielle, but her hand found only empty space. Opening her eyes, she saw that the room was much lighter than it should have been in the middle of the night. She sat up, hugging the covers to her chest. From the table near the door, the lamp glowed brightly, and Gabrielle, wrapped in a sheepskin they had brought from Greece, sat hunched over a book.

Xena watched for a few moments and then swung her feet over the side of the bed. Pulling the top cover loose, she draped it around her shoulders and walked over to the table. "Couldn't sleep, huh?" she said as she sat down.

"No," Gabrielle admitted. "Is the light bothering you? If it is, I can go read out in the hall."

"What bothers me is that you aren't able to sleep," Xena said quietly. "Are you still feeling frightened?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

The warrior drew in a long, slow breath and let it out again while she studied the younger woman. "I just don't understand," she said finally. "You seem to be making friends here and finding lots of things to do. What are you so afraid of?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "I know it doesn't make any sense," she said, "but I just keep having this feeling that if we don't find the Cronus Stone and get home soon, something terrible is going to happen -- something that will keep us from ever going home again."

Xena stared at her, feeling the same chill of dread that she had felt earlier. Reaching across the small table, she put her hand over Gabrielle's. "Herbert and I are going out to look for the Garrison gang first thing in the morning," she said.

"That's what you told me yesterday, and then you didn't go."

"Yes, well, this time is different. If something comes up and Herbert can't go, then I'll go by myself. I'll do everything I can to get that stone back tomorrow. That's a promise."

"Thanks," Gabrielle said softly. She turned her face away, but not before Xena saw the tears in her eyes.

"Did you ask Lizzie if she thought we would get the stone back?" said Xena.

Gabrielle nodded, then pulled her hand free from Xena's and used both hands to wipe her eyes.

"What did she say?"

"Well, at first she just said she wasn't very good at making specific predictions. And she told me that same strange thing she told you about healing that doesn't feel like healing. But then, finally, she said she saw an image of us sitting by a lake someplace -- she thought it must be back in Greece -- and we looked really happy to be together again."

"Together again?" Xena said. "What did she mean by that? Are we going to be separated somehow?"

"I don't know. I was going to ask her about it, but then we got interrupted, so I didn't get to."

Xena frowned as she sat trying to puzzle out the meaning of Lizzie's words. Several moments passed before she looked at Gabrielle. The younger woman was staring at the open book in front of her, but her thoughts appeared to be elsewhere.

"What book is that?" Xena asked.

"This? Oh, I bought this at the General Store today," Gabrielle replied, brightening. "Lizzie said she thought I would like it. It's called Sense and Sensibility, and it's by a woman bard named--" She stopped to consult the book's cover. "Jane Austen. She's from Britannia, just like Mr. Shakespeare."

"From Britannia?" said Xena. "Does she talk about Boadicea?"

"Uh, no. I mean, she hasn't yet, and I don't really think she will," Gabrielle said. "The people in this book aren't warriors, Xena. They're just ordinary people leading peaceful, ordinary lives. And besides, none of them are real."

"None of them are real? What do you mean?"

"Well, Lizzie told me that this kind of story is called 'fiction,' and all the characters are invented by the writer."

"So you mean the bard just makes up stories that aren't true about people who don't exist?" asked Xena in amazement. "That's lying!"

"Yeah, well, I guess you could call it that," Gabrielle said, uncertainly.

"And isn't the purpose of a bard to tell tales about heroes and gods? That's how people learn the stories and remember them. Why would anyone want to remember a story about someone who doesn't exist? It doesn't make sense to me."

Gabrielle was silent for a few moments, apparently considering Xena's words. Then she said, "You're right, of course. People need to know the stories about gods and heroes, but I can also see a certain advantage in writing stories about people who don't exist."

"What's that?"

"Well, when you tell a story about real people, you have to be careful because if they don't like what you say about them, they could make a lot of trouble for you."

"Yes," agreed Xena. "Aphrodite is a good example of that."

"Exactly. But if you invent all the characters in your story, you can say anything you like about them, and you can make them behave any way you want them to."

"Right. But it's still lying."

"Maybe so, but I don't think it's a bad kind of lying. You could actually teach a lot of good lessons with the right story. And if the reader knows that the story isn't true, but still reads it and learns from it, then where's the harm in that?"

"Hmm. Well, I suppose maybe you have a point," Xena said. "So are you learning any lessons?" she asked, nodding toward the book on the table.

"Not yet because I just started reading," Gabrielle said, "but it's an interesting story and I do think it can teach me something about the nature of human beings."

"The nature of human beings," Xena said as she stood up and moved over to stand beside her lover's chair, "is to need rest."

"I know," Gabrielle said, "but I just don't think I can sleep." She put her arms around Xena and buried her face against the warrior's stomach.

Xena sighed softly as she stroked her lover's hair. "What if I give you a back rub? Do you think that might help you relax?"

Gabrielle looked up and smiled at her. "Yeah. I think it's worth a try, anyway," she said.

"All right. Go lie down on the bed," Xena said. "I'll see if I can find some olive oil in our saddlebags."

By the time she had found the oil and turned out the lamp, Gabrielle had taken off her nightshift and was lying on her stomach in bed.

"Did you buy anything else at the store?" Xena asked as she spread the bedcover she had been wearing over the bard, followed by the sheepskin Gabrielle had left lying on the floor.

"Oh, yes!" the younger woman exclaimed, propping herself up on her elbows. "I forgot to tell you, didn't I? Well," she went on, "I bought all the rubber balls he had in stock."

"And how many was that?" Xena asked warily.

"Only six," Gabrielle said, laughing. "Don't worry. We'll have room for them. I want to give one to Joxer. Don't you think he'd really like it?"

Xena smiled. "Yes, I do," she said.

"And then I've got one for Lila, and one for Iolaus, and maybe one for Autolycus. But he might just think it was stupid. Oh, and one for Salmoneus, and one for Lydia, and-- How many is that?"

"I don't know. I lost count," Xena said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What else did you buy?"

"Not that much, really. A couple more combs, and that book, of course, and I saw some things I might get next time I go back. Oh, and I found out what that lamp thing is called."

"What lamp thing?"

"That lamp we saw that has a handle so you can carry it around."

"Oh. What's it called?"

"A lantern. Lizzie said it would probably work okay with oil instead of kerosene, so I thought about getting us one because it seemed like it would be really handy to have, but I wanted to ask you first."

"Well, you're right. It would be handy to have, but it would also be one more thing to carry around with us, and it has that glass part, so we'd have to worry about its getting broken."

"Oh," Gabrielle said as she lay back down. "I guess it's not very practical, is it?"

"Not really," Xena said. She climbed over and sat straddling Gabrielle's legs. Then she pulled back the covers to reveal her lover's bare back. Opening the vial of oil, she poured some into her palm, then rubbed her hands together to warm it.

"The printing press was pretty interesting," Gabrielle said. "I wish we had them in Greece."

"We will someday," Xena said as she began to massage the younger woman's back with long, slow strokes.

"Xena, do you know what's really strange?"

"What?"

"Everybody here knows Homer's stories about the Trojan War and about Hercules and the Greek gods, but no one's ever heard of you. Why do you think that is? I'm writing all the stories down on my scrolls, but it's as if they got lost or something. No one's ever read them."

"Hmm. Well, we'll have to think about where we can leave the scrolls so that they'll be safe and someone will find them someday," Xena said. Then she leaned forward to reach her lover's shoulders and neck.

"Tomorrow morning Mr. Shipley is going to take me to see the bank," Gabrielle said.

"Sweetheart, you've got to stop talking and try to relax," Xena said. "Otherwise, I'm wasting my time here."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry."

"Just close your eyes and try not to think about anything for a while."

"Okay. That feels good, by the way," Gabrielle murmured.

Xena didn't answer, but smiled as she noticed the tightness in her lover's muscles beginning to ease up. She poured out a little more oil and continued the massage, working gently and skillfully to release the knots of tension. After a time, she felt the younger woman's body sink into limpness under her fingers, and heard her breathing deepen. "I love you, Gabrielle," whispered Xena, but there was no response. With a small sigh of relief, the warrior got up, took off her nightshift, and then slipped carefully under the covers. Lying on her stomach, she wrapped an arm around her lover, and very soon fell asleep.

CHAPTER 14

After breakfast, Xena walked with Gabrielle and Charles Shipley as far as the bank.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in, Xena?" the banker asked. "This is a good time to see everything, before we open up for business."

"Maybe some other time," Xena said. "I'm kind of eager to get started looking for those outlaws."

"Well, I can surely understand that," Mr. Shipley said. "And I hope you find them, too."

"Yes, good luck," said Gabrielle, giving the warrior a warm smile.

"Thanks. I'll see you later," Xena replied. She let her hand linger for a moment on her lover's arm, then nodded to Mr. Shipley and hurried on her way. Going first to the livery stable, she saddled Argo and led the mare across the street to the hitching post in front of the jail. After that, she went around to the side entrance and knocked.

"Hey, look what the cat drug in!" Ellis said with a grin as he opened the door.

Xena smirked at him and strode into the room. "Are you ready, Herbert?" she asked.

"Almost," the sheriff called to her over his shoulder. He was standing at a table near the fireplace. "I thought I'd make us each a sandwich, in case we're not back in time for lunch."

"A sand witch?" Xena said. "What in Zeus' name is that?"

"It's a piece of meat between two slices of bread," Ellis explained.

"Oh, of course. Just like the name implies," she said with a sardonic grin.

"Well, it's not 'sand witch,' it's 'sandwich' -- all one word. And it's called that because--"

"Shh!" said Xena suddenly, holding up her hand.

>From outside came the sound of running footsteps and a man's voice, shouting, "Sheriff Lees! Sheriff Lees! Come quick!"

In one swift movement, Xena went to the door and threw it open. The man stopped in the doorway, wide-eyed and panting. "The Garrison gang!" he gasped. "They're robbing the bank!"

"The bank!" Xena exclaimed. "That's where Gabrielle is!"

Pushing roughly past the man, she sprinted up the street, drawing her revolver as she ran. Behind her, she heard the sound of Ellis' and Herbert's pounding footsteps. Thirty paces from the bank, she began to slow her pace, considering how best to confront the robbers. But before she could formulate a plan, Bill Garrison suddenly appeared in the doorway. He held Gabrielle in front of him, her arms pinned behind her back and a pistol pointed at her temple. "Hold it right there," he shouted, "or this little gal gets her brains blown out!"

The warrior came to an abrupt halt, and Herbert and Ellis did the same.

"Now, drop your guns," ordered the outlaw.

Xena hesitated, but hearing two revolvers hit the hard-packed dirt behind her, she reluctantly let her own fall, as well.

"That round thing, too," Garrison added, eyeing her chakram.

Xena gave him a defiant look, then untied her weapon and tossed it down.

Apparently satisfied, the bank robber edged out of the doorway and then sideways a short distance, keeping Gabrielle in front of him and the bank wall at his back. Stopping, he carefully surveyed the three law officers and the few scattered spectators.

Xena watched his movements closely, looking for some opening which would allow her to disarm him and free his hostage. Gabrielle looked ashen, her eyes full of fear. Trying to reassure her, Xena smiled slightly, but there was no answering smile from the younger woman.

"Okay, Isaiah," called Garrison, glancing back at the doorway.

A moment later, the other outlaw appeared. He was broad-shouldered and bulkier in build than the gang's leader. In one hand he held a gun and in the other a lumpy bag made of heavy gray fabric.

"Nobody try anything, or the girl gets it," Bill warned.

Then he nodded to Isaiah, who hurried along the boardwalk to the place where the outlaws' horses were tied. Unfastening the reins of the spotted horse, he quickly mounted and secured the heavy bag to his saddle horn. Then he kicked the animal hard in the flanks, took off down the road past the jail, and soon disappeared from sight.

Xena shifted her weight as she watched him go, fuming at her helplessness. She turned her attention back to the bank and saw that the third outlaw, the one with the scar across his left cheek, had come out of the building. He stood boldly now on the wooden walkway, a pistol in each hand, staring at the onlookers.

"Cover me, George," Bill said. Then he shoved Gabrielle toward the horses.

"You're not going to take the girl, are you?" Herbert called out in surprise.

"Why not? I think we could have a little fun with her later on," Bill said, leaning forward to leer at Gabrielle's frightened face.

"No!" cried Xena. "Let her go! There's no reason to take her!"

"She's right," said Herbert. "You got your money. That's what you came for, isn't it? Just let her go and ride on out of here. We won't try to stop you."

Bill appeared to consider this for a moment, then grinned and said, "Well, the fact is, I've taken a fancy to this little gal, so she goes with us."

"No!" screamed Gabrielle, struggling in his grasp, "I'm not going! Xena, help me!"

The warrior started forward, but stopped short when a warning shot from George kicked up the dirt in front of her feet. "Take me instead," she called to Bill. "I'll go with you. No gun, no tricks. Just take me and let her stay here."

The outlaw leader laughed as he bent to wrap an arm around Gabrielle and toss her onto his horse. "Thanks for the offer," he said with a grin, "but somehow I don't think you'd be as . . . cooperative . . . as this one will be." Then he mounted behind the bard, gathered up the reins, and pointed his gun at her head again. He sat for a moment on the prancing bay, surveying the crowd.

The look of sheer terror in Gabrielle's eyes left Xena with a cold, sick feeling in her stomach. "I love you," she mouthed, and got a small nod in response. Then, giving a loud whoop, Bill Garrison reined his horse around in a tight circle and galloped out of town.

"Okay, folks," George called out. "Just stay right where you are and nobody will get hurt." He kept both guns at the ready as he backed slowly to the hitching post. Then, shoving one pistol into its holster, he used his free hand to untie his horse.

"What have you done with the banker?" asked Ellis.

"Oh, he's just taking a little snooze," the outlaw replied, grinning. He started down the road, striding backwards while he kept his revolver and a wary eye trained on the townspeople. The chestnut stallion walked along beside him. This was the horse which had carried away the Cronus Stone, Xena remembered, but today there were no saddlebags. What had become of the stone?

Ellis edged closer to her. "Was there anyone else in the bank besides Gabrielle and Shipley?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not that I know of," she said without taking her eyes off the retreating outlaw. Then a thought struck her. "Damn!" she muttered.

"What's wrong?" asked Herbert.

"Well, Mr. Shipley wanted me to stay and see the bank, but I was in a hurry to go after the outlaws. If I had just stayed--" She stopped and shook her head in frustration.

"Don't blame yourself," Herbert said. "You had no way of knowing. None of us did."

George had by this time backed out of range of the others' guns, and thrusting a foot in the stirrup, he swung himself into the saddle. "Don't bother trying to follow us," he shouted. Then, giving a yell and firing a shot into the air, he took off in pursuit of his companions.

Xena snatched her weapons up out of the dust and wiped them off on her trousers.

"I'll go check on Shipley," Ellis called as he headed for the door of the bank.

Herbert started to follow him, but Xena grabbed his arm. "I'm going after them," she said, nodding in the direction the outlaws had gone.

"Well, yes, I am, too," the sheriff said. "I just want to make sure Charles is okay, and then I need a few minutes to saddle my horse."

"No, I can't wait. Every minute we lose will make it that much harder to find them. I'll go ahead and you can catch up."

"All right," Herbert said uncertainly, "but Xena, don't try to take them on alone. Just follow them and watch where they go. When I get there, we'll figure out how to deal with them together."

"See you soon," Xena said, then turned and ran back to Argo. Untying the reins, she vaulted into the saddle and galloped out of town at full speed.

* * *

She hadn't gone far before she slowed the mare to a trot and began to watch for any signs that the outlaws had left the road. The need to rescue her lover before the three men could harm her pounded in the warrior's brain more loudly than Argo's hoofbeats, making her head begin to throb. The image of Gabrielle bruised and hysterical after the incident with Garron flashed painfully into her mind, and Xena knew she could not allow the same thing to happen again.

Drawing a deep breath, she forced down the panic that she felt rising within her and resolutely focused her attention on the task at hand. A few minutes later, she pulled Argo to a halt and leaned out of the saddle to study the rocky ground beside the road. There were hoofprints in the dust, heading away toward a stand of trees at the base of the foothills. As far as she could tell, the prints had been made by a single horse. Had it been Garrison's horse? If the outlaws were smart, they would take three separate routes back to their hideout, making it more difficult for pursuers to track them. The bay horse was carrying two people and thus could be expected to leave the deepest tracks, but in this stony terrain, making such a distinction might be impossible. The best she could hope for was that whichever outlaw she was following would lead her to the other two.

Noting the direction the hoofprints were pointing, Xena drew a mental line to a spot in the trees several hundred paces away. Then, turning her mount's head in that direction, she started off at a brisk canter. She was almost halfway across the open space when suddenly she felt Argo lurch and then stumble to a halt, limping on her right front foot.

Uttering a few choice curses in Greek, Xena jumped down and walked around to the mare's injured side. "Hey, girl," she said in a gentler tone, "you sure picked a bad time to go lame on me. Let's see what the problem is." She ran her hand down the horse's leg, carefully feeling the muscles and tendons. Then, lifting the hoof, she examined the bottom of it. Wedged into the space beside the tender frog was a sharp-looking rock. Relieved to see that the problem wasn't too serious, Xena reached for her breast dagger, only to realize that her change of costume had made it impossible to carry the weapon. Nor did she have her boot dagger, since the close fit of her trouser legs made it too difficult to get at the blade.

"Oh, for the love of Zeus!" she said, looking around for a small, sharp stick. But they were still too far from the trees. All she saw was dry grass and a few scraggly shrubs growing in the arid, stony earth. Leading Argo slowly forward, she continued to scan the ground and eventually spotted a long sliver of granite. Picking it up, she slipped it into the space in Argo's hoof and carefully pried loose the offending rock.

"There, that's better," she said, setting the mare's foot down and patting her neck. The horse took a tentative step and then snorted as if to say thank you. Xena quickly mounted and gathered up the reins. She clucked to Argo and they resumed their journey at a walk so that the warrior could be sure there was no further limping. Valuable time had been lost, much to her dismay, but she felt confident that she was on the trail of the outlaws. Surely it wouldn't take too long to find them.

She entered the trees and soon came to a clear, swift-flowing river whose banks and bed were lined with smooth, round stones. The water appeared fairly shallow, probably no more than knee-deep in most places. There were a few pines along the verges of the watercourse, but most of the trees were of a different variety. Tall and somewhat slender, they had gray-white bark and shiny, dark green leaves which twisted and fluttered in the breeze.

Reining Argo to a halt at the edge of the water, Xena let the horse drink while she sat surveying her surroundings. She was sure the outlaws had crossed the river, but where? In all likelihood, they had ridden in the water for a distance in order to hide their trail. She studied the opposite bank both upstream and down, looking for bent grass, broken branches, or anything else that would betray a rider's recent passage. But when no clear signs presented themselves, she simply shrugged, turned Argo's head upstream, and urged the mare into the water.

She went along slowly, keeping a close eye on the other shore, but the rocky ground revealed nothing. Time passed and the warrior's frustration grew while Argo waded resolutely on, picking her way among the stones. At a certain point, the mare stumbled badly and, regaining her footing, came to a stop. Xena reached down to pat the horse's neck as she turned her attention from the shore to the frothy water rushing down towards them over boulders which blocked the way ahead. The sound of roaring filled her ears and drowned out her deep sigh as she turned Argo's head and started back downstream.

Now, in an effort to save time, Xena rode on the near bank, still studying the far one for any tracks or signs she might have missed. When she came to the spot where she had begun her search, she steered her mount once more into the stream and slowed her pace. She had not gone very far when she heard what sounded like another horse splashing through the water further downstream. She stopped to listen for a moment, then quickly urged Argo out of the water and in among the trees. She did not have to wait long before the other rider came into view -- a tall man who wore a white hat and rode an even whiter horse.

"Herbert!" she called, starting forward.

He looked up and waved. "I wondered when I would catch up with you," he said. "Have you had any luck?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think I saw where they left the road and crossed the field to the river, but then I lost the trail."

"That's exactly what happened to me," the sheriff said. "How far did you go?" he asked, gesturing in the direction she had come from.

"As far as I could. To where the rapids start."

He nodded. "Well, I've been downstream to where the river moves out into open land again. It stands to reason that the gang is holed up in these hills someplace -- maybe in one of the canyons -- but Ellis and I have never found the place. I thought maybe this time, with such a fresh trail . . ." He sighed and shook his head.

"I was pretty close behind them, but then Argo picked up a stone in her hoof," Xena said.

"Tough luck. You might have caught up with them otherwise."

"I know, but we've got to keep looking," she said fiercely. "I have to find Gabrielle before those bastards can hurt her."

"I understand," Herbert said quietly. "Well, why don't we ride back upstream a ways and start looking in some of these draws and canyons. Maybe we can pick up the trail again."

* * *

A couple of hours passed, during which the sheriff and deputy explored many of the nooks and crannies along the base of the foothills, but still they seemed no closer to finding the Garrison gang's hideout.

"Let's try this canyon," Xena suggested, peering along a wide corridor which wound out of sight between stone walls.

"We can if you want to," Herbert agreed, "but it just goes about half a mile and then comes to a dead end. Ellisand I have been up this one before."

Xena hesitated. Surely the outlaws would not choose to hide in a box canyon with no other outlet. Still, she had a feeling about this place. "Let's try it anyway," she said, turning Argo's head in that direction.

Herbert shrugged and followed her lead.

They rode along the rocky margin of a small stream which wound its way through the canyon. Their route twisted and turned, narrowing gradually until the walls were only some fifty paces apart. It would be a good place for an ambush, Xena thought -- although, of course, not many people would have reason to travel up a dead-end canyon. Still, she felt her senses go on high alert and she kept a sharp eye on the shrubs and boulders which dotted the sloping sides of the canyon.

Then, as they rounded a bend, Xena saw that their path ended abruptly in a stone wall about a hundred paces further on. A few small trees huddled in one corner, but there appeared to be no way out of the canyon. Reining Argo to a halt, she surveyed the scene carefully. Something on the ground caught her eye and, dismounting, she walked over to pick it up. It was a horseshoe, well-worn and with a thin film of rust on one side.

"What did you find?" asked Herbert, urging his horse closer.

Xena handed him the horseshoe.

"Well, the horse that lost this was definitely in need of new shoes," he commented, turning the object over in his hands.

"Doesn't look like it's been here more than a few days," Xena said. "There's not much rust on it."

"You're right, but unfortunately I don't think it tells us much more than that." He looked again at the shoe and then tossed it to the ground. "Why don't we take a break, eat some lunch," he said, dismounting. "I brought the sandwiches."

"All right," Xena said reluctantly. She glanced around again at the canyon walls, but saw no cause for alarm. Kneeling beside the small stream, she splashed cold water on her face and drank deeply from cupped hands. Then she stood up, wiping her face on her shirt sleeve. Herbert handed her a parcel wrapped in grease-spotted brown paper and, sitting down on a boulder, she opened it. Inside were two pieces of white bread with a thick slice of beef between them.

"I hope you like ground mustard. That's what I put on them," Herbert said.

"That's fine," Xena said absently and took a bite of her sandwich. She chewed mechanically, not really tasting or wanting the food. The image of Gabrielle's terrified face came into her mind, and she closed her eyes, trying to blot it out. When she opened them again, she saw that Herbert was watching her. She looked at her sandwich, took another bite, and turned her gaze toward the end of the canyon.

"If it's any consolation to you," the sheriff said in a quiet voice, "the Garrison gang aren't usually known to kill people."

Xena looked at him but did not answer.

"They could have killed Charles Shipley today after they made him open the vault," Herbert went on, "but all they did was knock him out and tie him up."

Xena swallowed the food she'd been chewing. It felt dry and seemed to stick in her throat going down. "It's not killing I'm worried about," she said bleakly. "It's-- Well, you know what they want to do to Gabrielle."

"Yes, I know. But what I'm saying is that the chances of her getting through this alive are pretty good."

The warrior shook her head. "You don't understand," she said. "About a month ago Gabrielle was . . . attacked . . . by a man and she still hasn't gotten over it. She's afraid. She can't sleep at night. She can't--" Xena felt her voice beginning to tremble and she stopped speaking. She had probably said too much already, but she wanted Herbert to understand the urgency of the situation. She looked at him and saw sympathy in his eyes. "I can't let her be hurt again," she went on in a low voice. "I know what it did to her last time, and now there are three of those bastards." She swallowed hard and looked away. "You're right. She may very well survive this physically, but what good is it to be alive if your spirit is dead?"

"We'll find her," Herbert said, reaching out to put a hand on Xena's shoulder. "Everything will be all right. I promise."

She looked at him and tried to smile, wishing she could believe him. Then she glanced down at her sandwich and folded the paper over it. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't eat this. I'm just not hungry."

"Throw it away then," Herbert said. "Unless you think you'll want it later. I'm sure the crows will be glad to have it."

Xena tossed the sandwich in its paper under a nearby bush. Then she looked down the canyon again. "Are you sure that's a dead end?" she asked.

"Well, we never went all the way to the very end, but we went pretty close, and there doesn't appear to be any way out."

"Where does this stream come from?"

"Probably from a spring up there in the rocks." He bit off a mouthful of sandwich and chewed for a few moments. Then he said, "I really think we'd be wasting our time to go any farther."

"I guess you're right," Xena said dully. Then, pulling her knees up to her chest, she laid her arms across them, put her head down, and closed her eyes. The aching in her head had been getting steadily worse, but by force of will she had managed to ignore it until now. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax, but without much success. She opened her eyes and stared at the low-growing trees on the other side of the stream. It took a few moments for her to realize that they were willows. Sitting up quickly, she turned to Herbert. "Have you got a knife?" she asked.

"Yes, sure," he said. "I've got my pocketknife. Do you want to use it?"

She nodded.

He pulled it out and handed it to her.

She recognized it as the knife he had used that first day to cut a reed for Ellis' throat. Curious, she turned it over in her hands. "How do you get the blade to come out?" she asked.

"Oh, see that little groove in the blade? Just use your thumbnail--"

But before he could finish, she had figured it out.

"There are actually two blades," Herbert said. "You've opened the big one, and there's a smaller one at the other end."

Xena unfolded the second blade and studied the knife, thinking about the possibilities of having a double-bladed dagger. "Well, it isn't much of a battle weapon," she said finally, "but you could slit a few throats with it."

He stared at her in surprise. "Do you slit many throats?" he asked.

"No, not anymore," she said with a wry grin. "But I can think of three right now that I'd like to slit."

"Xena, when we catch up with that gang, we're going to bring them to justice, not kill them. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand," she said grimly. Then she stood up and crossed the stream in one long step. Crouching beside one of the willows, she sliced off several strips of bark, stuck one of them in her mouth and started chewing.

"Willow bark," Herbert said as she hopped back over the stream. "The Indians use that for pain."

"So do we," Xena said, and then, because he seemed to expect an explanation, she added, "I have a headache." She wiped the knife off on her trousers, closed the blade, and handed it back to him. "Thanks," she said. "That's a very handy invention. I wish I'd had one when Argo got that rock in her hoof. I was a fool not to bring a dagger with me." Then she whistled for the mare, who was browsing on shrubs a short distance away.

"I guess we should get going," Herbert said. He stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and stood up.

Xena tucked the willow bark into her pants pocket and put her foot in the stirrup. She was about to mount when she suddenly had the sensation that they were being watched. And in that same moment, her eye caught a movement near a boulder partway up the side of the canyon. She froze, scanning the entire area carefully, but she saw nothing to confirm her suspicions. Swinging herself into the saddle, she sat, still surveying the scene while Argo shifted and turned somewhat nervously beneath her.

Herbert mounted his own horse and moved close to Xena. "What is it?" he said. "Do you see something?"

"I thought I saw someone moving near that boulder up there," she said in a low voice and pointed to the spot.

He looked for a time, then said, "I don't see anything."

"Neither do I -- now," Xena admitted.

"Maybe you saw a bird."

"No, it was bigger than a bird."

They watched the spot for a time in silence, then Herbert said, "All right, if there's somebody up there, maybe we can draw their fire." He pulled out his revolver and cocked the hammer.

Xena drew her own gun and watched as the sheriff aimed at a spot near the boulder and fired. The shot sounded loud in the confined space, and the whine of the bullet as it ricocheted off the rock lingered in the air for several moments. But after that, there was only silence. Herbert fired a second shot with the same result, then shrugged. "I think you're seeing things, Xena," he said.

"Maybe so," she admitted.

"Let's go," he said, and gestured for her to precede him out of the canyon. She looked back several times, but saw no further movement near the boulder.

They spent the rest of the afternoon searching up and down the riverbank and in between the foothills, but without any success. The sun continued on its path across the sky and then sank below the mountain tops, sending heavy, black shadows creeping across the land.

"I think it's time we headed back to town," Herbert said finally.

"No! We can't just give up!"

"Xena, look around. The sun has gone down and pretty soon it will be too dark to even see where we're going, let alone to track anyone."

She sighed and bit her lip, knowing he was right, and feeling a despair so sharp that she could almost taste it.

"We'll come back first thing in the morning, as soon as it starts getting light," Herbert said.

"Okay," she murmured.

He turned his horse and headed through the trees toward the open land beyond, and with a heavy heart, she followed him.

Continued...Part 5

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