The fox had followed them back; its shrill laugh low. He eyed it, "I would eat you, but you're too stringy." It chuffed back, as if he was no prize himself.

Bounty hunter and child rode under a moonless night. The town was unknown to him, and had passed it without a second look. Splashed across the heavens, stars did shimmer with twinkles of light. Beautiful, even in his rough voice, was the song. With great joy Gregory laughed. Soon Cassidy had the babe in an uproar of giggles, though it made him miss Bart and Ruthie, his children. Against the night with all its terror words rung in a slow melody, hooves of the horse kept time. Lonely wolves called to the moon like lovers that dreamed of their beloved. Distant was the dark's malice, threat of menace.

Velvet night embraced the scrub desert, but left little islands of brilliance, where men or women tread. At the town's edge they halted. "Nayee," he read aloud, and thought it better served with no name. Beside them, the fox stopped, sniffed, and turned its head away. "It looks like we have a friend, Gregory," he tickled the baby, but the little creature chuffed at them. "Be careful, you don't want someone to wear your fur, lovely as it is," he said with a hard grin, though his words grew low. Upon doors were painted red crosses, accusation and condemnation. Like pagan wards, they were brushed with tremulous hands.

Just past the sign was another, which stated it was quarantined, though the labored script was badly misspelled. Town ordnance proclaimed any who left the settlement, Iron Horse, or Loyal Lady would be shot. Cassidy cursed, but covered their faces with bandanas. Gunmen posted throughout had the high ground, and had seen his arrival. "Sorry, Gregory," the bounty hunter sighed, "I'll get us out of this." The fox's shrill laugh rose beside them.

They kept clear of the marked houses, and the reddish canine took to the shadows. A tiny post office and dry goods store "Don's Grocery" had an open sign in its window. Taking a moment to lash the horse to a post, he looked about. Wood creaked under his boot. Ghosts of candy slipped through the locked door. Owner had left in a hurry. Sweetness upon the air gained the attention of Gregory, who wiggled and grumbled. The bounty hunter promised to find him some supper. Before he could turn away, Cassidy noticed that words were badly scratched, barely legible, but he made out a warning the establishment would never serve a Witch. This brash proclamation was scrapped haphazardly off by a craven hand. A red cross was splashed across the door, which ran like blood to the porch.

A man strode out of the saloon with a flourish, bat-wing doors banged. To this the bounty hunter turned. Hair turned silver young; his easy grin caught a young girl who giggled. Her eyes lingered on him, familiar yet chastened. Hunger of youth pulled pouty lips up. The fancy man winked at her. Pistol on the rancher's hip was fine, expensive, but Cassidy doubted it had ever been fired. Out of the bar, a man ordered him to return, yet he only struck a match to relight the cigar. Eyes, narrowed by the sun, gleamed with satisfaction. Nonchalant ease fell over the rancher, but avid were his eyes.

"Ruben, you're behind this!" a man barked, as he pushed through the doors. Gut preceded the pugnacious gait of the much shorter man.

"Vernon, I'm just trying to help," he leaned on the post; eyes chose to focus on fine fingers.

The old rancher was the younger man's antithesis. Short hair, buzzed close to his leathery skull, was white as hoary frost. Red crept up a short neck to a nest of wrinkles on the back of a boulder head. "Bull spit, I know you and that WITCH did this!" he saddled up to the taller man, barrel gut bumped him. "I never did anything to her!"

"Just because I treated Kai with humanity," he puffed smoke down at him, "it doesn't make her guilty of anything. She has been mistreated by you, this town, and even her own people. Devout is her heart, as is all women of quality." Ruben brushed his vest, where the other bumped him, "Fortune has favored you, but it is a wheel, so it must turn."

"The Loyal Lady is untouched!" Vernon growled; eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me a disease has miraculously left your ranch intact," he jabbed a finger at him. "Loyal Lady," the older man's face cramped, "as if a man like you has ever been devoted to anyone!"

Cassidy's hard grin grew flinty. The bounty hunter's heart was a stone garden, where little was planted yet was well-kept. His resolve was as unfaltering as his love. Mercurial was Ruben's, and he would prove just as unsteady, in Cassidy's experience. Such as the rash rancher were quick to break. Eyes, blue as the sky over the desert, went to the dark. Solid as the mountain was his Caroline.

He watched the men part, before approaching the older rancher. "Is there a local tribe?" the bounty hunter asked.

Vernon Cooley turned, truculent stance softened, when his regard fell on the baby. Eyes squinted, before they returned to Ruben with a fresh curse. "Yes," he eyed him, "but if you try to approach, they'll cut you down. They've learned to keep such as us away, when we're ill. I don't blame them." He tugged his belt, "So, don't go agitating them."

"I've got to get him to his people," Cassidy wanted a cigarette, but Caroline never allowed him to smoke near a baby. "His family was attacked, slaughtered."

"Until this quarantine is done, you won't get any help."

"The witch you mentioned," Cassidy's hard grin returned, "do you really think she is behind this illness?" People's predilection for blaming the fantastical for the mundane never ceased to bewilder him.