Distance by Dinasbran

NEBRASKA and BOSTON - 1928

Thursday 2nd February - Welcome to Nebraska

The slight shift in the horse's stance was just enough warning for its rider to easily absorb the half-hearted buck. A firm pull on the reins brought the animal's head back up preventing another attempt even as a hiss of pain escaped through the rider's teeth. The bay, going under the distinctly unsuitable name of 'Lady', had been trying to throw its rider all morning. Now tired and unable to remove the tiresome object from her back the mare had retreated into apparent docility but, every now and then, would resume the attempt.

Don't get rid of me that easy, Red thought, well aware that she'd been given the skittish, troublesome horse as a test. The fact that she had arrived at the railway stop with one arm still in a sling had apparently made no difference to the hands there to meet her. They were obviously deeply resentful about the arrival of a trouble-shooter foisted on them from outside, the fact that the expected 'he' had turned out to be a 'she' had only added to their annoyance. She glanced towards one of the pair of hands acting as her escort and guides, a lean dark haired man with a full beard that had ensnared a number of the falling flakes making it look untimely grey. He was looking at her with a frown of disappointment on his face, obviously not expecting some city investigator to be able to stay aboard the troublesome beast. Let them wonder for a bit longer, she thought smugly, the less they think I know about ranch life the better for my being able to find out what is goin' on here.

Red pulled the brim of the fedora down further in an attempt to keep the lightly falling snow out of her eyes as they continued the trudge towards their destination along the thickly snow covered ground. The newly purchased slicker was keeping the snow off but the cold was making inroads through the layers of clothing. The outsides of her legs, away from the small warmth of the horse's body, were slowly going numb and she envied the heavy-set, red-haired lead rider his old fashioned but effective angora chaps. The combination of the cold and her mount's antics were also making her healing wounds ache, her shoulder in particular was becoming distinctly uncomfortable - especially as the sling had to be discarded for the duration of the ride. Her arm's only support being provided by the gloved thumb tucked into the buttoned front of the oilskin outer layer. The horse's latest attempts to dislodge its passenger had only aggravated the ache, sending a sudden flare of pain down her back and arm and forcing out the automatic hissed reaction.

"Nice mare, I like a mount with a bit of spirit," she remarked easily, casting the nearest rider a mocking grin. "Thanks for finding her for me."

The bearded man stared for a moment before shaking his head and returning to study the trail ahead, though the unwanted visitor just caught the "Dumb-ass city woman," muttered under his breath.

With a smirk, Red lifted her head so that the flurrying snow was now blowing into mildly amused blue-green eyes. Half-closing them against the icy assault, she looked hopefully for any sign of habitation. Her escort had said it was a good half-day ride to the ranch and it had to have been nearly four hours since they had left the isolated train-stop. Peering through the swirling whiteness, she thought she could now make out some unnaturally regular shapes and was that a faint flicker of light? As if in answer, the lead rider gave his mount a sharp kick and began an easy canter toward what was now resolving into a good-sized ranch. All right then, and, relaxing the tight rein the horse had been under since its last bit of misbehavior, Red gave a squeeze with her heels. The response was immediate as the horse swiftly and smoothly moved from walk to canter. She's a nice beast when she ain't trying to throw me. Perhaps I will stick with her, see if I can't get rid of some of those little foibles she's got. The grin reappeared as the thought continued, an' it'll show them that I ain't so easily got rid off.

Bringing the bay to a stop by what appeared to be the stables, Red lifted her right leg over the pommel of the saddle and slid down to land with only the smallest of winces on aching legs. The casual ease of the dismount earned her a surprised glance from the bearded man and she felt a momentary flash of perverse pleasure; however, it had been too long since she'd last ridden for any length of time and under-used muscles were beginning to make themselves known. A feeling of annoyed resignation now settled on her along with the realization that the aches were only going to get worse as she stiffened up.

"Just take her inside," her escort instructed gruffly, gesturing towards the building, "one of the boys will look after her from there."

"No, I'll see to her." Leading Lady past him and into the wooden structure, she found it to be a combination of stables and wagon shed. Pausing for a moment after entering, she breathed in the familiar, long missed smells of horse and hay, leather and wood. Behind the familiar, natural smells there was also the foreign tang of metal and oil that accompanied the flat-bed truck and steam tractor tucked into the open space near the main doors. However, the weather outside meant the new had had to give way to the old, for the moment at least. A noise behind her indicated the arrival of the bearded man with his and the lead man's horses. Glancing in his direction, she saw he was watching her with a slight frown on his face, dark eyes showing a faint glimmer of respect.

"Got a problem, mister?" The words held a hint of challenge but nothing overtly aggressive; she knew the impression given in these first few hours would be important in the days to come.

Realizing that his study had been noticed, he muttered quickly, "No, nothing." Then in grudging acceptance that the strange woman had proved herself so far he offered, "Name's Rick." There was the smallest of pauses before he added, "Richard Steiner." He shrugged at the questioningly raised eyebrow the giving of his full given name had provoked, "Figured you were going to wanna know, being an investigator an' all."

Red gave a brief nod, acknowledging the unexpectedly volunteered information, then indicated Lady, "You always try to get your guests dumped on their butts the moment they arrive?" A shake of the head in exaggerated mock disappointment. "Must admit the hospitality 'round here musta dropped since I left, if that's what now counts as a friendly welcome."

The faintest hint of a smile appeared on the man's face along with the recognition of what he'd just been told, albeit obliquely - she might just have come in from Boston, but she was in reality coming home.

As Steiner turned away to look after his increasingly restless pinto, Red turned back to the bay. Dragging up skills unused in nearly eight years, she began to do the one thing that she and pa had actually agreed on - look after your horse before yourself.

***

"What's wrong with your arm?"

The question was neutrally curious and she'd been half expecting it, having been aware of the dark man noting her slow progress in un-tacking and brushing down her horse. He'd finished his two already and had sat on the back of a wagon bed watching her for the last few minutes, idly chewing a straw. Briefly, Red debated telling the guy to take a hike, but knowing she wasn't going to be able to hide the injury, decided she might as well use it to prove a point. "Got shot," she eventually replied as she threw a blanket over Lady's back - or at least tried to do so as it slid off the freshly brushed back. Clenching her jaw against the flare of annoyance at her inability to do even this simple task and the ever-present fear that she may never be able to lift her arm high enough to do so easily again, she tried once more. This time the blanket went far enough over to stay on Lady's back but didn't land smoothly. Cursing under her breath, she tried one-handedly to smooth the cloth down over the horse's back without causing it to slip onto the floor. There was a rustle from the direction of the wagon and then Rick was on the other side of the bay, holding the blanket in place so that she could finish the adjusting without fear of it slipping off. Giving him a brief nod of thanks, she picked up the feed bucket and headed in the direction she'd seen him take earlier. By the time she returned, the water bucket had been topped off as well.

"Where?"

"Shoulder." Her right hand moved automatically to indicate the entry wound just under her collarbone. "Came out near my neck; arm's been a bit screwy ever since."

"How long ago?"

This guy asks nearly as many questions as Evadne, she thought in growing irritation before grudgingly admitting, "A month or so."

"Only a month? After somethin' like that? You must be mad?" He blurted out, surprise evident in his face.

"So I've been told," Red smiled wryly, "frequently."

With an amused snort, he indicated the doorway with a jerk of his head, "Lady'll be fine now. We'd best get in, the boss'll be wondering where you've got to."

Picking up her duffle bag, she threw it somewhat awkwardly over her right shoulder. Just damn well had to be my left shoulder didn't it! She hated the lack of competency in things she'd previously been able to do without thinking. Although becoming more adept with her right hand in the month since being released from the hospital, she was still frequently and frustratingly clumsy. Good thing I ain't had to use my iron yet, I'd probably blow my own damn foot off.

She indicated that Rick should lead and followed the lean form across the snow-covered yard and up the steps to the white painted building that she assumed to be the main ranch house, a combination of the ranch manager's private dwelling and office. As she walked, she went though the facts she knew about the manager and his family from the files Theo had provided. Frank Wilson was fifty-five years old and had been running this ranch for ten years, having progressed to this job from running a smaller one further south in the state. He'd been working with stock all his life, both horses and cattle, and up until the last year the results of his management had been impeccable. His wife, Rose, also lived on the ranch. Although she had no official duty, Red knew from experience that a lot of the effectiveness of a ranch relied on the manager's wife as much as the manager. The unofficial reports suggested she was as capable as her husband, if not more so. They'd had children but they'd all gone onto their own lives with none living at the ranch anymore. Most had gone on to live the sort of lives you would expect but for the youngest daughter, Margaret. The brief paragraph had caught Red's attention, detailing as it did how Miss Wilson had gone to university - still an extremely unusual action for a young woman, even those from the upper echelons of society. Now in her mid twenties and still single, she was currently working as a reporter for a lady's paper in Omaha.

A stab of pain from her shoulder made her wince. The damaged muscle was now complaining vociferously and she rotated it gingerly, trying to ease the increasing ache before returning her attention to the ranch house. She wasn't particularly looking forward to this first meeting, being pretty damn sure that the ranch manager was likely to be as hostile as the hands had been. After all, Red had been sent to the Lazy 'Y' ranch to find out what they hadn't be able to - why, despite Wilson's impeccable track record, there had been an increasing loss of head over the last six months. Although not many were lost each time, the extremely strange, not to say gruesome, circumstances of the killings, at least as reported, had a distinctly sinister feel and it was this which worried Theo as much as the actual losses.

She followed Rick up under the shelter of the porch where they shook off the worse of the snow before going through the door and into the plain but neat hallway beyond. Here she shed the slicker, not without complaint from a rapidly stiffening shoulder. Although the hall was pleasantly warm, she didn't unbutton the thick thigh-length sheepskin jacket underneath - the buttons were stiff and difficult to undo with her right hand and using her left, especially with the way her shoulder was currently feeling, was likely to hurt enough for her to want to avoid trying. A quick glance revealed a number of hooks on one of the walls with another similar coat and a black Stetson so she added her slicker and the battered brown fedora to the rack. After running a hand through red-gold, hat-flattened hair, she began to give the hall a more thorough examination, noting the prints on the walls and the bowl of dried flowers that gave it a welcoming, homely feel. She was examining a print of a rather bizarre looking square shaped, massive steer when a sound behind her made her turn, surprised to see Rick opening the door, obviously about to leave.

"Hey, where you goin'?"

"Boss just told me to bring you here, I've got other jobs that need doing. "

Giving the man an annoyed glare, she nevertheless nodded her acceptance of his explanation and he disappeared into the snowy afternoon. Passing a mirror, she caught a glimpse of her ruffled and unruly reflection. Replacing the long forelock that had flopped down over one eye, she mentally chided herself for not getting her hair cut before leaving Boston. It was already getting annoyingly long and the likelihood of finding a barber willing to cut it out here was small. With her good hand, she took a few moments to repair the worse of the damage so she at least looked vaguely presentable for her first meeting with Mr. Wilson. A sudden embarrassed grin appeared as she stared at her now much neater reflection, suddenly aware of her uncharacteristic reaction to the untidy hair. Jeez! Since when did I ever bother about such things, 'vadne will nag me into bein' dapper than a dandy at a dance at this rate. A faint disbelieving shake of the head at her mirror self then, still with no sign of any sort of welcome, she moved purposefully towards the nearest door. Her unwilling hosts might want her to stew politely in the hall but politeness had never been a particularly strong trait; indeed, as Evadne had repeatedly and often acerbically pointed out, Red had the manners of a ruffian and, despite the socialite's attempts, no desire to change.

Moving from door to door, she'd soon found all the rooms opening directly into the hall to be empty. A frown of annoyance now began to form - she'd seen the lead rider heading towards the house; they must know she was here and the time she'd been waiting was getting beyond a joke. Idly rubbing her aching shoulder, she turned her attention to the far end of the hall where a corridor ran down the side of the staircase. She was just about to investigate further when an apologetic female voice came from the top of the stairs.

"I am so sorry, I didn't hear the door," then Mrs. Wilson, for who else could it be, was moving down the stairs, "I do apologize for not being here to meet you, Mr. Wolverton, please," she opened one of the doors, "come into the study. My husband should be along soon, he's out at the moment but I've sent Lucky to fetch him."

So, the big red head is Lucky. Mentally filing away the information, she followed the older woman into the room. It also appeared that Lucky had not imparted the news that Mr. Wolverton was actually not a mister.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Wolverton…"

There was a faint hesitation as the older woman finally got a good look at her visitor, followed by a puzzled frown. A woman in pants on a ranch or farm was becoming less unusual, but Red knew that her short-cropped hair most definitely was. Wrapped in multiple layers of clothing, there was little that was obviously female about her appearance. Add to this the fact that she was tall for a woman at five-nine, with broad shoulders, slim hips and nothing much to write home in the way of breasts, and it was no great surprise that she was often mistaken for a member of the opposite sex. Nor would her face be helping much either, it was strong boned enough to be taken for that of a young man, handsome rather than pretty though it seemed to attract a certain type of woman, the broken nose and scar through her eyebrow apparently adding to her roguish charm.

Annoyed at being left to kick her heels in the hall, however accidentally, she did nothing to help the confusion. Instead, the investigator took the opportunity provided to study the older woman. She already knew that Rose Wilson was somewhat younger than her husband, being forty-nine years of age. About five foot seven in height, tall for a woman of her generation, she was what Joe would charitably describe as 'well padded' - bearing five children had obviously not been kind to her figure. Despite this she carried herself well and moved with a lightness that belied her age, combined with the fine bone structure of the face and the neat ankles and wrists it caused a roguish libido to note, with some sadness at how badly the years had treated the woman, Must have been quite a looker when she was younger. The mouse brown hair, tightly controlled in an old-fashioned but not unflattering bun, was showing definite streaks of grey. Her face had that lined, weathered look that suggested she was not the sort of woman to remain tied to her house, confirming the between-the-lines hints that this woman was an active part of the life of the ranch outside as well as in. The blue dress was also somewhat old fashioned but well made and well cared for and suited the older woman well. The overall impression the investigator got was that Mrs. Wilson was a woman who was aware of both her strengths and her shortcomings and how to use the former to her advantage and minimize the latter.

"Well?"

The question had a slightly mocking tone, and Red was surprised to see laughter in the blue-grey eyes as she realized that her study had not been as undetected as planned.

"If I were to be so thoroughly scrutinized by a young man I would be flattered, but you're not a young man, are you?"

Not daft, that's for sure, or easily shocked. If there's anything odd goin' on here she's either in on it or will help find it, "No ma'am, I most certainly ain't."

A sigh of exasperation escaped the older woman, "Oh dear, I wish Mr. Criffy had mentioned the fact. When we saw 'Red Wolverton' we naturally assumed you were a man."

"Naturally," she responded, deadpan.

"I suppose we are going to have to find somewhere else for you to sleep now."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, we cleared out a store room in the bunk house for you. We thought you would require somewhere private and thought that would be most appropriate, but you can't sleep there now."

"Why, the men scared I might bite?" A small smile twitched the corner of her mouth.

Stopping dead in her thoughts, Mrs. Wilson looked in surprise at her visitor. "You're not seriously suggesting you sleep there?"

Shrugging, the investigator replied, "If it don't bother them, it won't bother me."

The older woman blinked a few times then shook her head in wonder. "Well, Miss Wol…"

"Red. Just call me Red," then, realizing that having this woman as an ally would likely be an advantage, she added a belated, "Please."

Another blink of surprise then a slight nod in acknowledgement. "Very well then, Red, as I was saying that is very good of you, it certainly saves me the extra work."

There was a slight pause while the older woman continued her mental readjustment, then suddenly realized her visitor was still standing, repeated her earlier offer. "Please, take a seat."

This time Red took the nearest chair with a nod of thanks, glad to be off aching legs. Watching the older woman settle calmly into a chair opposite, she realized that here was an ideal opportunity to fulfill the promise extracted out of her before she'd left. Though unhappy at the idea, she knew that if she didn't at least ask then Evadne would find out one way or the other. At least this woman didn't look like she would go into a fit of vapors at what she was about to asked. "Mrs. Wilson, would it be possible to ask a personal favor?"

"You may ask, of course," the older woman replied warily.

"I was injured just over a month ago - shot in the shoulder and side." The gasp was audible despite the belated attempt to stifle it but the younger woman ignored it, continuing onto her request, "I need help with caring for the wounds, would you be kind enough to assist me with that?"

Recovering rapidly from her surprise, the older woman tilted her head slightly in agreement. "Of course I will."

Red was pleasantly surprised that the woman did not then follow up with the expected questions and concerns. Thankful for that as much as the agreement to help, she bowed her head in gratitude, "That is much appreciated, Mrs. Wilson." Surprising even herself with the gesture, she felt a small wry smile form along with an equally wry thought. Damn me if all that naggin' ain't havin' some effect after all!

"Rose!" The male voice was loud and irritated, "Where are you? This fool says this Wolverton fellow is a woman, I swear he is…" The voice trailed off as a heavily built older man entered the study to come face to face with his wife's annoyed face and his visitor's amused one.

"Frank dear, manners," the older woman chided, as Wilson continued to stare in confusion at the ambiguous red-gold haired figure, "This is Red Wolverton, she..."

"Goddamn it, you are a woman!" he blustered, "Damnation, what is Criffy thinking of sending a woman out here."

"He thinking about sorting out your problem, Mr. Wilson, seeing as you obviously can't. And he has asked me to do it." Red stood up, moving to stand in front of the older man. They were of a height and she held his surprised and angry stare for a tense moment. "I would suggest you have some trust in your employer's judgment, he after all has always trusted yours."

Still flustered by what he, unlike his wife, was obviously finding hard to accept, he continued. "It might be dangerous out here, girl, you might get hurt, ain't right to have a girl get into that sort of fix, it ain't natural. A ranch ain't any place for a chit of a thing like you despite them men's clothes."

Feeling her annoyance rising, Red growled back, "Mr. Wilson, I ain't no chit, and don't you address me like that. My name is Red, or Wolverton if you don't like that, not girl, not chit, not nothing else, is that clear." Even as she was speaking, she was clumsily unbuttoning the front of her jacket. She saw his surprise at being talked back at and then a flash of anger but she ploughed on before he could say anything. "As to being hurt I reckon I've seen more danger than you ever have."

"What the hell you doin', girl?"

"Don't call me, girl!" she snapped, noting his shock at being so addressed before continuing, "Ever been shot, Wilson?"

"No. What the hell's that got to do with it?"

"You worried about me getting hurt," she was now pulling up her shirt, noticing the man's face move through surprise via embarrassment to confusion.

"Ever seen a bullet wound?" she continued. At the man's now completely baffled nod, she pointed to the circular scar above her belly button, "That one?"

A faint nod, then there was a sudden restoration of the combative attitude. "Looks like one, could be some sort of birth mark for all I know."

Growling in frustration at the man's pig-headedness, she lifted the shirt further then pulled down the bandage covering the wound in her side, ignoring the stab of pain it gave at its rough treatment. "And this?" The gasp of surprise from both husband and wife showed that she had proved her point.

"Hell's teeth, gi…Wolverton! You're walking about with a hole like that in you?"

"Yeah, I fuckin' am," she snarled, rising anger at Wilson now fuelled by the pain. The older couple flinched once more, this time at her language. Dropping the shirt, she stared coldly at the now subdued ranch manager. "I am here to do a job for Mr. Criffy. You may not like the fact that I'm here, or that I'm a woman, but that is your problem and I want it to remain just that. I've spent eight years in the investigation business, Mr. Wilson, in that time I have been shot five times, stabbed twice and have killed three men." Now he was looking distinctly pale and Red was enjoying every minute of it as she let a feral grin slowly appear, "An' if you don't wanna make number four I suggest you let me do my job. Is that clear?"

He nodded, and then stammered, "Perfectly clear."

"Good!" A sudden wave of nausea rushed through her as the effects of the last minute's melodramatic display on the still painful wounds cut through the adrenaline rush. "I'll speak to you again, Mr. Wilson, I'm sure you've got something to be doin'?" It was no question and Wilson was smart enough to realize it. He beat a swift retreat, taking the stunned looking Lucky with him. The edge of Red's vision was beginning to blacken as Mrs. Wilson swept passed her to shut the door hard before turning back with a look of anger on her face.

"How dare you talk to my husband like that!"

"He started it," she growled back, making her way back to slump wearily into the chair.

"And in front of Lucky, what will the men think?"

"That I am some hard-ass fuckin' bitch I hope," the growl was sounding more like a whimper now, the investigator realized in dismay.

"Well you've certainly persuaded… are you alright?" The angry voice turned suddenly concerned.

"Don't think I am." Red admitted to herself as much to the older woman, "That was a stupid goddamn thing to do. Evadne will have my guts for garters when she finds out." Wish she was here now, a suddenly self-pitying thought prompted, even with the lecture I'd no doubt be receivin'.

"Evadne?"

"My business partner."

There was a brief pause as Red closed her eyes against the resurgent pain. There was a gentle rustling of cloth then the faint smell of lavender and, without even thinking, she commented, "Nice scent."

"Why, thank you." The surprised reaction came from just to her side then Mrs. Wilson added tentatively, "Do you know you are bleeding?"

Eyes snapping open at the comment, Red peered down to see the faint red spotting on her shirt. "Oh great, must have knocked the scabs off with all them histrionics. An' it's a real pain getting blood out of these shirts." Ah well, time to take up on the favor a bit earlier than I'd expected. "Mrs. Wilson?"

"Of course. I'll just go get some water on the boil. I should have something that will do for a bandage."

"There are some in my duffle - use them."

"We'll go to the kitchen; we should be undisturbed in there."

"Yes, ma'am." The long distained respectful mode of address came out without conscious thought. That's weird! The half-amused thought accompanying the realization that there was something about the location and the older woman's authoritative presence that was taking the investigator back to the time when she'd worked as a hand. Ah well, it ain't doin' any harm and if it makes up for the dressing down I gave her old man then it's no skin off my nose. Following the older woman into the hall, Red grabbed her duffle and followed down the corridor into a large, well-equipped kitchen. Digging out the spare dressings, she was surprised to hear the sound of running water. Glancing up, she saw that the kitchen had a faucet, not something common in such isolated outposts even now. With the kettle now on the large stove to boil, Mrs. Wilson leaned back against the side of the chimneybreast, arms folded over an ample bosom to look at their strange visitor. "Why are you here, Red, really? Mr. Criffy's letter was vague to say the least. Does he suspect us of something?"

Carefully considering her words, the investigator replied, "He wants an unbiased outside view of what is happening here, Mrs. Wilson. He is not looking for a scapegoat. Mr. Criffy is quite aware of how well you have run the place up until this year. I have no list of suspects," she noted the slight sigh of relief before adding warningly, "nor is anyone above suspicion either."

There was a nod of understanding from the older woman then she removed the now boiling kettle off the range. Pouring some water into an enamel bowl, she moved back to the table, dropping a square of clean cotton in it to soak as she turned to her unexpected patient. "Out of that shirt now."

It didn't take long for hands that had cared for five children through to adulthood to swiftly divest the younger woman of the jacket, coat, vest and shirts, the latter being placed in another bowl to which more boiling water and a good handful of salt was added. Once that was done, Mrs. Wilson turned her attention to redressing her visitor's wounds.

Red rolled her eyes in annoyance as she once more felt disbelieving fingers touching the scars. It was obvious that, despite the listing in the study, the older woman was still surprised by what she could now see. Yeah, well, can't really blame her, after all one set should have been, were fatal and I bet she ain't missed that. A wry smile appeared as she wondered how she must appear, must look like a right patchwork mess of old scars an' new stitches.

The surprise didn't last long though and soon practiced hands had cleaned and redressed the wounds. Helping the investigator back into a fresh shirt, she commented disapprovingly, "I'm surprised your partner - Evadne was it? - ever let you come out here in this state. You shouldn't be aggravating those injuries like this." The older woman was momentarily taken aback by the distinctly angry scowl that was suddenly turned in her direction.

"That really ain't none of your business now is it, Mrs. Wilson?" Red growled, annoyed by the implied criticism of her friend, then the scowl softened a little, "An' believe me, if Evadne an' Joe couldn't talk me out of this, you ain't a cat in hell's chance of doin' so."

***

She really shouldn't have been surprised when Mrs. Wilson had offered to show her the layout of the ranch buildings, at least as much as could been done comfortably in the still falling snow. The older woman had exchanged her house shoes for a thick pair of socks and sturdy boots and donned a warm looking blanket coat before adding the slicker and Stetson hanging in the hall.

As they walked, the older woman gave a knowledgeable and succinct summing up of the main points of interest. Having walked the immediate perimeter, they next visited the stables. Red was glad to be out of the wind and snow - though the exercise was easing her aching legs, the cold was doing nothing for her shoulder and side. Despite having reluctantly retrieved her sling from the duffle - her arm now supported diagonally across her chest - the damaged muscles were still complaining vociferously at the day's activities. She was pleasantly surprised when Lady gave a brief nicker of recognition at her entrance. Moving over to where the bay was gently tossing her head, she reached up to rub the area on the bay's forehead that was marked by a distinctive white star. "Why couldn't you have been this friendly earlier, eh?" she muttered as the head moved appreciatively under the firm scratching.

"They gave you Lady to ride?" The annoyance in her guide's voice was obvious, "I shall speak to my husband about that."

Red glanced back as she continued the scratching, "Please don't, ma'am. I don't need another reason to get their backs up even more." She turned back to the horse. "You weren't that bad now were you, little Lady?"

There was a faint harrumph of annoyance from Mrs. Wilson who then added, "Never seen her so affectionate."

"Probably recognizes someone as stubborn and willful as she is." Red replied lightly, then, with a final pat to the horse's neck, returned to where the older woman was waiting. Nodding in the direction of truck and tractor, she commented, "See you ain't behind on the latest machinery."

"No, Mr. Criffy is most forward thinking about such things, even if his vision is not appreciated by all."

"Not everyone's happy to see the horse replaced by horsepower?" She wandered over to take a closer look at the vehicles, which, although covered in a faint layer of dust, looked to be well oiled and in good condition. "Look's like someone knows what they are doin'."

"That'll be young Lefty, he's taken a real shine to them. He'd spend all his time tinkering if given half the chance."

Mrs. Wilson led Red through the length of the stables and out of a smaller door on the far side. The tour took them through a large, Dutch style barn that seemed to be primarily used as a hay barn, though there were also some stock pens, then passed a number of smaller storage buildings and a new looking stock-shed where some unexpected but, with their red bodies and white faces, instantly recognizable cattle were being kept from the biting cold of the February weather.

"You've got Herefords out here, didn't think they'd be up to this sort of climate?"

"Frank has an idea about cross breeding with the shorthorns, trying to get a better meat yield."

Something about the way the older woman spoke made Red think that she didn't hold any truck with the idea. They carried on along the edge of a large corral and now they were heading toward another domestic building. The investigator's instinctive identification was confirmed as her guide spoke.

"That's the bunkhouse. The cookhouse is next along and the outhouses are around the back." She glanced at the taller figure by her side, "You're still sure about bunking there?"

"Yeah." She made a brief mental inventory of what she'd seen. "That it, ma'am?" At the answering nod from her guide, she muttered, "Best get my bag an' then get myself settled in."

***

Striking a match on the rough wooden doorframe, Red applied it to the wick of the hurricane lamp and re-hung it from the hook in the ceiling. With this light added to that coming through the small window, she was now able to see that the room was simply but comfortably furnished. There was a bed in one corner, with a sturdy wooden frame and, when she bounced experimentally on the edge, what appeared to be a decent mattress. The bed was already made up with functional linen sheets and blankets, an unexpectedly homely touch being provided by a patchwork quilt over the top. At the foot of the bed was a chest, empty except for a couple of spare blankets. In addition to the bed and a small bedside table there was a good-sized desk and two chairs, another paraffin lamp sat on the surface of the desk. The usual threesome were also provided, the jug and bowl sat atop the bedside table, the gazunder in its usual place under the bed.

The only other item of interest in the room was a small stove tucked into one corner, a gentle orange flicker visible through the grated hatch in its front. It was obviously a recent addition, the hole in the roof through which the pipe passed was new; however, the stove looked to be old and unused for a time, probably dug out from some forgotten corner to make the makeshift bedroom livable in the intense cold. It had been lit long enough to take the chill off the room, but the smell of burning dust and damp soot was still yet to clear.

Inspection complete, and to the now usual accompaniment of muttered curses, she discarded the slicker and sheepskin jacket. Picking up the duffle bag, she emptied its contents on the bed and sorted through the clothes. Most were only cold but some were damp from where melted snow had inveigled its way through the thick canvas. The merely cold were soon transferred into the chest, the rest were draped over any suitable surface to dry. A pair of flannel pajamas, though not wet, were also draped over a chair and placed near the stove. Cold nightclothes were a pet hate, one that had caused her socialite friend a certain amount of amusement when the fact had been discovered and which she was still gently ribbed over whenever the opportunity arose. Finally, the leather valise, still in its protective oilskin jacket, was idly tossed to lie on the desktop.

Happy with her personal arrangements she turned her mind to making her face known. Scowling at the need, she nevertheless replaced the sling and moved back to the doorway - she wasn't quite as blasé about sleeping in the bunkhouse as she'd made out and had already noted that the door was sturdy and lockable. Withdrawing the key, she turned out the lamp and left the room, locking the door behind her.

She walked up the short corridor made by the two storerooms, one now her room, to the communal area. Mrs. Wilson had told her that this part of the bunkhouse had been the original settler's first house. Built with sod walls, the ubiquitous Nebraska marble, plastered and whitewashed on the inside, with small windows that were now glazed and shuttered, it provided a sturdily effective defense against the weather. A second door, in the left wall of the room, she reasoned must lead into the main bunking area. The room was functionally, even sparsely, furnished with a large table lined with benches and a couple of ancient rockers near the stone built chimney in which burned a welcoming fire.

Four men sat at the table playing cards, and it was a few moments before they noticed the additional presence, then four pairs of eyes turned in her direction. Lucky looked at her with a wary expression, the overheard words obviously having made an impression. The other three were as new to her as she was to them, and she wondered what Lucky had told them. Of these, one was a young man with an open face who, by the way he was holding the fan of cards in this right hand, was most likely the machine loving Lefty. The other two were both older men and looked at the intruder with a mixture of distrust, distaste and, in one case, distinct malevolence.

"Howdy," she greeted the men evenly. There was a grunt of acknowledgment from Lucky and the two older men just returned to the study of their cards, however, Lefty continued to look in her direction, a mixture of awe and disbelief on his face.

"You really killed three men?"

Well that answered the question about how much Lucky had told them.

"Yeah, Lefty," his start at the use of the nickname showed her guess was right, "I have."

The slight young man with a tousled mass of curly brown hair gave her a look of surprise. "You know my name?"

"Ain't difficult to spot a fellow southpaw an' Mrs. Wilson mentioned someone called Lefty - jus' had to put two and two together." Needing the warmth, Red moved to the fireplace then turned back to face the men even as the welcome heat eased her many aches. "So when's chow in this place?"

"Six, unless working." A puzzled look passed over Lefty's face, "You're chowin' with us?"

"Unless anyone has any objections," she looked at the two older men but nether said anything. "So what's the cook like in this place?"

Lucky finally plucked up the courage to speak, "He ain't bad, considerin'."

"Considerin'?"

"Considerin' he's seven sheets to the wind half the time."

Red nodded her understanding before asking him, "Any objections if I use Lady while I'm here?" There was the stillness she'd hoped her comment would provoke, then an amused snort from behind her. Turning, she saw Rick in the doorway to the bunkroom.

"I reckon you suit each other; two hard-ass, cantankerous females should work well together," the wry grin on the lean, bearded face took any sting out of his words.

"Yeah, I reckon so." Red grinned back and the atmosphere in the room relaxed noticeably. Rick moved towards the fire, ostensibly to warm his hands by the fire then, after a glance to the table, whispered. "Watch out for One-shot, he's not happy 'bout having some trouble-shooter here, an' he is really pissed that you're a woman," he looked up so that his dark brown, almost black eyes met hers, "An' I mean really pissed." He gave a wry smile. "I suspect he's also less than happy that your reported body count is higher than his, he only claims to have killed one man but he's been living off that reputation for years, you've just trumped him in spades."

Acknowledging the warning with a faint nod she moved away from the fire to stand near the other men, "Well, ain't it time we introduced ourselves, seeing as we're going to be sharing this space. My name's Wolverton, Red Wolverton, if you don't already know. I'll answer to Red, or Wolverton," She gave the men a quick once over, gauging their reactions but seeing no real change. "Now Rick has been good enough to introduce himself already, what about the rest of you, an' I don't just mean your nicks." This was a test of authority and she could see on their faces that they knew it as well as she did. Most hands only ever went by their nicknames. In times not long past not even the boss would know or even ask for a hand's given name. In those too-often lawless days, the reluctance was out of self-preservation - many not wanting their names known in case they came to the ears of the law. Now it was more a matter of pride but was often still stubbornly insisted upon, indeed she doubted the men in the room knew each other's full names despite living hand in glove.

Unsurprisingly it was the open-faced Lefty that responded first, "Sam Scarratt," he offered his hand and Red shook it, "Better known as Lefty, for obvious reasons."

Nodding her acknowledgement, she released the grip and stared at Lucky who muttered under his breath, "Michael Sullivan."

That left the two older men - the first, a small man with brindled hair and beard bristled at the challenge before grunting, "Peter Smith." The last, a middle-aged man of average build with graying sandy hair, glared back in annoyance. "What's yours then Wolverton? I'd bet my bottom dollar Red ain't your given name.

He was right of course, but there was no way in hell she was going to tell them the name she'd all but forgotten herself. "It's the only one I'll admit to and the only one you're getting," she stated coldly, "And if it makes you feel better you can call me Wolf, that's my nickname."

The sandy haired man returned her flat stare, anger flaring in pale blue eyes, then slapped the cards down hard on the table. Rising abruptly, he shouldered past her and into the bunkroom beyond.

"That's One-shot." Lefty completed the roll call.

Three out of four ain't bad, but that one's definitely goin' to be trouble.

So, d' you play?" Rick indicated the cards.

For a moment she considered refusing, not sure it was such a good idea. Then she decided that she needed the cooperation of these men, and if it meant playing and loosing a few hands, it would be worth the cost. Worse comes to the worse, a sly lopsided grin lifted a corner of her mouth, I can always claim it as expenses.

***

By the time the first two hands had been played, she'd learned that there were another two men sharing the bunkhouse, other than the cook. They were currently away, driving head to another ranch and weren't expected back for a couple of weeks, and were identified as the head-hand, unimaginatively known as Dutch, and a fairly recent hiring who went under the nick of Patch.

Red had played a few more hands, losing about half, before a clanging from outside indicated that chow was ready. She trooped out with the other hands to collect the food then returned to the bunkhouse to eat; deciding at this point to leave the men to their privacy, she ate hers in her room. Tucking into the surprising tasty stew, she had to admit that Lucky's summary of the cook's skill's actually underrated his ability. Tearing a chunk of bread, she soaked up the remains of the gravy and then lay back, replete and happy, for a second wishing her pa had never found her on that ranch and dragged her back to a life she didn't want. Then common sense kicked in to point out that she wouldn't have been able to disguise herself as a boy forever and that, despite everything, there were good things she would never had experienced if she hadn't ended up in Boston, not the least of those being Janet, Joe and, most recently, Evadne. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret - not for leaving Boston but for leaving Evadne. It has been barely a week since she'd last seen her and, much to her surprise, was already missing the older woman, had been from the first day if she was honest. Yeah, well at least no one's trying to civilize me, she gave a wry grin before collecting up the used tableware and heading for the door.

While returning the empty plate, she was able to beg a coffee pot and mug off the cook so she could have a brew ready to hand on the small stove. Now she was sitting at the desk sipping the strong black liquid and once more going through the details of the various incidents that had led to her presence at the Lazy 'Y' ranch. This done, she started to make some notes on what she'd learned so far of the setup and the people. She'd actually been mildly relieved by the fact that less than half the other residents were actively hostile to her. She'd expected a more unified front from the hands in particular, but Rick appeared to have gotten over his initial antagonism, Lefty seemed to be affected by some sort of bizarre hero worship and Lucky was being carefully neutral, leaving only the other two as most definitely hostile. Cookie seemed to be completely ambivalent to her presence, quite happy in his own private kingdom and she'd still yet to meet the two remaining hands. Now turning her thoughts to her first meeting with the manager, Red grinned wryly, Not quite what I'd hoped, but he needs to get over his problem with me bein' a woman. She'd needed to establish her authority and that had seemed the best way at the time even if now she wasn't sure it had been the most suitable approach. Thinking with your fists again weren't you, little wolf. At least Mrs. Wilson seemed to be a possible ally and probably knew as much about the workings of the place as her husband. She obviously cares for him though, need to play it careful an' not get her back up thinking I'm going behind his.

Having put her initial thoughts down in her notebook, only too glad that using a pencil was something she could still do left-handed, Red turned to housekeeping. The damp clothes were now dry enough and were placed in the chest. Next she banked the fire in the stove, hoping she hadn't completely lost the skill needed to make the fire last through to the morning. After a final check that the door was locked, she quickly stripped and, pouring some water into the bowl, had a quick, cold wash. Slipping into now pleasantly warm pajamas, she lit the candle by the bed, turned off the lamp on the desk and slipped into bed. For a while, she lay on her back watching the flickering candlelight on the ceiling as she decided on her plans for the next day. Rolling on to her side, she licked her fingers and pinched out the candle, then snuggled down into the warm cocoon of blankets. After a few moments spent adjusting her sore body into a comfortable position and finding the long forgotten silence of the prairie night unexpectedly soothing to still taut nerves, the investigator soon fell into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

Friday 3rd February - Exploration and confrontation

A hammering on the door broke into her deep sleep. "Go 'way," she mumbled semi-coherently, still half asleep and not wanting to complete the process.

The hammering did stop, though in irritation rather than having heard the muttered command, then a voice called. "If you want breakfast, Wolverton, you'd best get your butt out here now."

At the mention of food and her stomach's noisy reminder as to how hungry she was, Red grudgingly opened sleep laden eyes. Stifling a jaw-cracking yawn, she rolled over to check her watch only to be surprised to see that it was nearly nine in the morning. "Jeez, I've not slept that late for months." The hands would have been up for a couple of hours already, doing the morning chores before the first meal of the day, her laying in bed this long will not have enamored her to them. "That you, Rick?"

"Yeah, was beginning to wonder if you were still alive in there."

"Just a second." Thank Christ he woke me up in time to make breakfast; I'd never have lived that down. Even as Red was talking, she was pulling on her clothes over the pajamas, grimacing as stiff and aching muscles complained at the sudden activity. Finally, she slipped her feet into the calf length boots, rammed on the fedora and grabbed her coat; she glanced briefly at the much-hated sling then with a shake of the head decided that, for the moment at least, she didn't need it. Unlocking the door, she opened it to see an amused Rick smirking at her disheveled appearance.

"Well at least you get dressed quickly."

Red grinned, she was beginning to like this man, and still half asleep she began to joke, "It's a useful skill - fathers can be so protective of their daughters' reputa…." She froze in horror at the inadvertent slip. Christ, you idiot, you were supposed to be keeping that to yourself, not give them any more reasons to hate you than you must.

There was a moment of shocked silence as she watched confusion turn to surprised understanding. "C'mon, the chow'll be getting cold," she muttered, pushing the still stunned man towards the door. Thankfully, he took the hint and moved down the short corridor as Red struggled into the sheepskin jacket, mentally cursing herself to hell and back for the mistake.

Now walking by her side as they moved towards the cookhouse, Rick glanced across and muttered in amusement, "Get lots of practice at getting dressed quickly then do you?"

Returning the look, Red was glad to see no hatred or disgust in his eyes, just puzzlement. "Not as much as I used to."

The lean man stopped, and frowned in bafflement. "You… how…I mean, birds and bees, yeah but," Red could have sworn there was the hint of a blush under the beard and she suddenly wondered how old Rick actually was under all the fuzz, "birds and birds?"

Red slapped him on the shoulder, "Don't worry your brain 'bout it, Rick, it might start leakin' out your ears." They started moving towards the cookhouse again, "but I'd appreciate it if you kept it our little secret, 'kay."

"'Kay," he grinned conspiratorially, "Your secret is safe with me."

***

After collecting breakfast, she returned to her room to eat, stoking the stove that she was thankful to find had just lasted the night and putting on a fresh pot of coffee to boil. After finishing the food and downing a couple of cups of black coffee, she finally felt awake. As she went out to fill the jug part of the familiar threesome, she wondered at the depth of her sleep. I know I was tired, but hell, I ain't slept that well in years. Must be bein' out here, out of that damn city, that's the charm. Returning to the room, she washed and redressed properly and, after a brief internal argument, donned the sling before wandering outside into the snow-covered yard once more.

The snow had stopped for the moment though the sky still looked heavy and ready to drop another load. Moving to the edge of the buildings, she leaned on the corral fence and looked out over the snow-covered plains. Taking in the bleak beauty, she gave a wistful sigh. If only Evadne could be there to see it then perhaps the socialite would understand why Red had felt so buried in Boston. Relegating the melancholy thought to the back of her mind, she studied the surrounding land in more detail. To the northeast, she could see the faint dark specs of cattle against the whiteness. Over to windward there was a small break of trees, most likely planted by the first settlers as a protection against the biting winds and now grown into maturity. A number of horse tracks could be seen leading out of the main gate from where they split out in a number of directions - Mr. Wilson was obviously taking the opportunity provided by the break in the weather to check on as much of the stock as possible. This was confirmed by the fact that she could see neither hide nor hair of any of the hands around the buildings. She was still leaning there, soaking up the vast emptiness when she became aware of the sound of feet crunching through the snow behind her and coming closer. A brief glance over her shoulder identified the footsteps as belonging to Mrs. Wilson. She returned to her study of the whiteness aware of the footsteps getting closer until the woman had to be just behind her. "I missed this you know, back in Boston," she said aloud, surprised at the emotion in her voice.

Mrs. Wilson moved to join the younger woman in leaning on the fence. "It still takes my breath away at times," she acknowledged, "even if at others I hate it." She turned to look at the investigator, "How are those wounds today?"

"Been better, but I'll survive." Red gave a noncommittal shrug then swiftly changed the subject, "All the hands out?"

"Yes, Frank's making the best of the break; he reckons it should last most of the day."

Red peered up at the pinkish white sky again. "I hope so. Wouldn't like to be out when that lot finally comes down." Straightening up, she turned to the face the older woman. "Is Mr. Wilson around?"

"No, he's gone out with the boys. Is it anything I can help you with?"

"I was wondering if you have a map of the ranch, I'd like to get a feel of the area and mark out where the carcasses were found."

"Of course, there is a map in the office. There may even be a spare somewhere if you'd like your own copy."

"That would be most useful, ma'am. If you don't mind I would also like your version of what had happened." Red didn't miss the slight frown that appeared on the older woman's face.

"I'm not sure…"

"You're a capable woman I believe, Mrs. Wilson, with a sharp, observant mind - that much was obvious yesterday. I would be interested in knowing your views."

"You flatter me."

"No, ma'am."

Mrs. Wilson frowned again, looking for any sign of mockery in the strangely familiar blue-green eyes but she found only an honest, unwavering return of her gaze. "Very well, if you think it will be of use." She gave a sudden shiver, "Shall we go to the office? My old bones can't take this cold like your young ones."

***

Mrs. Wilson had indeed been correct in her statement about there being a spare copy of the map and the investigator was now marking and numbering the location of the various instances with the older woman's help. It clearly showed that they had all happened in a roughly circular area centered to the south of the ranch. "Not much help there," she muttered out loud, as she scowled at the map.

There was a moment's pause as both women contemplated the map. After a few moments, Red asked, indicating what appeared to be some sort of feature towards the centre of the spread. "What's that?"

Peering at the indicated spot, the older woman frowned, "Oh that's Harry's Hill. A strange thing really, it looks like it should be man-made but its nothing like anything the Pawnee build. There was an archaeologist here in the late summer digging it up. Don't know if he found anything, but one day he just upped and left - we haven't seen hide nor hair of him since."

Leaving the puzzle of the hill for the moment Red turned to face the older woman. "So what do you think is going on?"

"Wild animals?"

The snort came out before the westerner could stop it. As the older woman glared at her, Red asked in disbelief. "You really don't believe that do you?"

The glare turned in a rueful smile, "No, I suppose not. But I really can't see why anyone would be doing such things."

"Tell me exactly what has been happening," as the older woman started to object she added, "I've the bare facts but I wanna know what you know. I'll be doing it to everyone eventually, not just you."

"Well to start with it was just a few head being lost. We didn't worry too much to begin with, after all animals do go missing - fall in the river, get taken by coyotes and the like, but when it became more frequent we started to wonder. Was it more than blind chance? Perhaps some sort of rustling activity? Then they started to find the carcasses."

"Badly mauled weren't they?" Red prompted.

"More than just mauled - they were completely ripped apart, pieces strewn all over the place. Didn't look like animals as very little appeared to have been either eaten or removed." She gave a sigh, "We though it might be some madman passing through, but if it is, he's living somewhere we haven't found."

Red nodded, though she didn't say so, she thought a madman was the most likely answer, albeit a cunning madman with a distinct grudge against the Lazy 'Y', perhaps even someone working for it. "An' since then?"

"Stock is still being killed." She paused for a moment, running over the events in her mind once more before adding, "In fact, we are finding them more and more frequently, though that may just be because we know where to look if any go missing."

The comments fitted well with what Red had noted and she gave a faint nod of agreement. "Anything special about the actual animals taken?"

The older woman thought for a moment, before giving a slight shake of the head. "I can't remember; Frank should have details of the lost head."

"Any of the surrounding spreads having similar problems?"

Again there was a shake of the head, "We asked the sheriff to look into it but he couldn't find anything either, and he just doesn't have the manpower to do anything about it when it is only a few head each time."

"Well thank you, Mrs. Wilson, if you think of anything else you know where I am." She began rolling up the map, hampered by the fact she was trying to do it one handed.

As she continued in her attempts to roll the map, Red became aware of the older woman staring at her with a puzzled frown. "What?" she scowled, her annoyance with the map only being added to by being so scrutinized.

Flustered at being caught being so impolite, the older woman stammered, "Sorry. It's just you remind me of someone - I thought so yesterday, but I just can't place who it is."

"Can't see who that would be, Mrs. Wilson, I am one of a kind you know," she flashed a sudden grin at the older woman, "at least that is the polite version of what they generally call me."

"That's better."

Red frowned in puzzlement at the comment, "What?"

"The smile, it suits you so much better than that scowl - makes you look …" Then she faltered, looking directly at the younger woman as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Are you alright, ma'am? Here," Red took the older woman's arm and took her to the nearest chair only to be shaken off before she got her there.

"Old Charlie!" the woman muttered to herself, continuing to stare in astonishment.

"Old Charlie?"

"That's who you remind me of - Old Charlie!"

Red gave a confused smile, "I'm not sure how I am to take being compared with some old guy?"

"Old gal," the older woman corrected, "She lived near my parent's house, must have been in her fifties when I was a girl. She'd fought in the War Between the States disguised as a man. Even after the war finished she continued to wear men's clothes all the time, cut her hair short like you. She had a… friend… who lived with her. Despite my parent's efforts to keep me away from their house I became great friends with Charlie's niece - she'd been brought up by them since her mother and father, Charlie's brother and sister-in-law, died." Mrs. Wilson smiled fondly, "Charlie told such great stories and Aggie made such good cookies that I was around with Lizzie as much as I could. There were always veiled rumors that they were more than just friends, not that I ever saw anything other than teasing affection when I visited. It wasn't until Charlie was killed that I knew for sure - the grief I saw in Aggie was nothing like that of a friend or a sister, it was that of a wife for her beloved husband." She gave a sad smile, "When you smiled just then it was like seeing a younger version of Charlie." The smile turned sly, "I suspect you have more in common with Charlie that just your looks and choice of clothing, am I right?"

This was all so far from left field that Red was now gaping in astonishment.

"You best shut that mouth before you catch flies."

A finger gently touched Red's dropped jaw, causing her to snap it shut, and then resorting to humor to cover her stupefaction, she muttered, "Is it tattooed on my forehead or something," moving to peer at the area in question in the mirror over the fireplace.

The older woman smiled, "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

Suddenly serious Red asked, "Is it really that obvious?" Even with her mannish appearance, she'd not expected anyone out here to know that lovers of woman like herself even existed. To have Mrs. Wilson come to that conclusion within less than a day was startling beyond words and distinctly worrying - she'd had enough of the brutality of small town prejudice as a youngster and didn't want to attract such attention here if she could help it. Of course it would also not help in her attempts to find out what was going on with the cattle either. So, much as she had disliked herself for doing so, she'd decided to hide that particular facet of her character - after all, most people were going to have enough problems accepting her as it was. Her earlier slip with Rick had been, and still was, potentially disastrous and now Mrs. Wilson had also worked it out. She was just thankful that neither of them seemed to have any obvious problems with it.

"To be honest I didn't know for sure, it was just a feeling; your comment about my scent; the way you looked at me yesterday - it really didn't feel like just that of an investigator and a possible suspect. I remember Charlie looking at other women like that, only when Aggie wasn't around of course," she gave a fond smile at the memory. "And your resemblance to Charlie just now was so astounding it all just seemed to click together." She paused, looking uncertain. "I… well I have another reason for noticing such things. My youngest daughter, Maggie… she hasn't said anything… but a mother notices things." Suddenly embarrassed by the uncharacteristic sharing of such a confidence with this strange woman, she turned hurriedly away and moved towards an escritoire in the corner of the study, "I have some photographs of Charlie in uniform somewhere; Aggie gave them to me as keepsakes." After a brief rummage, she brought over a slightly tattered photograph and passed it to the investigator.

Red took the picture, recognizing the reason for the abrupt change of subject, then glanced down to stare in astonishment at the figure looking back at her from the faded image. It showed what appeared to be a proud young man clad in the uniform of a Union Infantryman, two light colored chevrons on each sleeve showing his rank. As far as it was possible to tell in the sepia, both hair and eyes were a similar color to hers but most astounding was the face, it was like looking in a mirror. "Jeez, that is just plain creepy." She flicked over the photograph to freeze in shocked disbelief as she read the faint words scrawled on the back.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Wilson was suddenly worried; the color seemed to have drained from the younger woman's face. "What is it?" Silently the card was handed back, rear side facing and she looked down to read, 'Corporal Charles Wolverton, 1st Nebraska 1864'. She looked back to the still pale face, "I'd forgotten that was her surname, I'd only ever thought of her as Old Charlie."

Taking the picture back, Red stared down at the familiar face. "Pa always said it was bad-blood coming through, that I was a throwback sent to haunt him, now I think I know what he meant."

"You think Charlie was a relative?" Rose asked, perplexed by the unexpected turn of events.

"It'd be one hell of a coincidence if she weren't." The westerner gave the puzzled older woman a wry half-smile before returning to her study of the faded image.

"Well I never!" Rose quietly exclaimed. "You and Old Charlie are kin? Well I never!"

***

After spending a fruitless morning trying to spot a pattern in what had been happening - a pattern she was sure was there but was currently and frustratingly eluding her - she decided it was time to get out and combine some exercise and a reconnaissance of the immediate area.

Soon she had Lady tacked up and, after a few enthusiastic but ultimately futile attempts to lose her rider, Red now had her under a tight rein and heading out of the main gate, left arm free of its disliked support for the time-being. The snow was deep, allowing nothing more that a walk as she headed north, checking her bearings on a pocket compass as she went. She was new to the ground and knew that if the snow suddenly returned she would have little chance of finding her way back unless she kept a note of her bearings. Riding slowly through the snow, glancing occasionally at the compass, she took note of the landmarks in the terrain, at least those that were visible though the snow. After about half an hour she stopped, looking back over her shoulder to check that the ranch was still in view. There was a slight rise in the ground that hid most of the buildings but a number of thin plumes of smoke could be seen rising directly up into the still air. After a brief rummage in the saddlebags, she came out with a pair of binoculars and began a scan of the horizon, not looking for anything in particular. The herd she had seen earlier was still in the same general area and, over to the west, she saw a pair of riders, the distinctive pinto coloring of one of the mounts suggesting one of the riders as Rick. Turning to the south she could make out a regular shaped mound that she surmised to be the 'Harry's Hill' marked on the map. Other than that, there was nothing of obvious interest to be seen in the never-ending whiteness. Focusing back on the two riders, she saw that they seemed to be making their way back to the ranch at an easy pace, certainly no cause for concern there. After another glance up at the still heavy sky, Red turned Lady to the East and began her planned circling of the ranch.

As she rode slowly along, eyes constantly scanning the landscape around her for anything unusual, her mind drifted to the photograph she had been shown. It seemed too much to believe that they weren't related and she had known little of her mother's side of the family. About all she had known was that her maternal grandparents had died when her mother was young but she had no idea that there had been any others, or who had brought her mother up when she'd been left an orphan.

Taking another bearing back on the still columns of smoke Red realized she'd come to the edge of the area where the carcasses were found. Another look up at the sky showed that the cloud mass still appeared to be high. Deciding to risk a bit more exploration than originally planned, she turned her horse south and moved further away from the distant buildings and towards Harry's Hill.

Some time later Red gently brought Lady to a halt. Having reached the foot of the mound, she was surprised to see how big it actually was. When Mrs. Wilson said it was probably man-made, she'd expected it to be relatively small, and from a distance and in the snow, it had been hard to judge its size. Now up close she could see that it had to be over fifty feet high. Riding around the wide base, she could see how the shape had been worn away and battered by the ravages of time making it appear more naturally rounded. Looking past the weathering, she thought that it might originally have been reminiscent of the Egyptian pyramids in shape. However, unlike those structures, this one had a truncated top and appeared to be made of earth rather than stone. Having completed her circle she sat back in the saddle and stared in fascination at the structure, wondering who could have built it and why. She could only agree with Mrs. Wilson that it seemed to be distinctly unlikely that the Pawnee or any other plain's nation would have built something like this. Their whole approach to life embraced the natural world rather than going against it, and this great earthen mound certainly counted as the latter as far as Red was concerned.

Taking out her notebook, she jotted down a rough sketch of the mound then used her compass to check its alignment, strangely unsurprised to find it lined up with the compass points almost perfectly. This done, and increasingly aware of the slowly lowering sun, she started back towards the ranch house, hoping she had not left her return too late.

***

For a while, she feared she'd indeed left it too late. Cursing herself roundly for her stupidity, she pressed Lady as fast as she dare over the unfamiliar and snow covered terrain. Even so, she only just got back to the ranch before dusk turned into real darkness. Passing through the gates, she was greeted by a worried and irate Frank Wilson who appeared from the ranch house with such speed that there was no doubt he had been awaiting her return.

"Where in tarnation have you been, Wolverton? We were just about to sent out a search party for you?"

Biting back the initial reaction to tell him it was none of your business, she growled, "I was fine, just took me a little longer gettin' back than I expected."

That got her another annoyed look, "Wolverton, you ain't new to ranch work, Mr. Criffy told us that much, but you are new to the area. You should know better than letting yerself get stuck out on unfamiliar ground in the dark, especially in this god-awful weather." A sarcastic tone colored his final words, "I reckon Mr. Criffy wouldn't be too pleased to find his pet trouble-shooter's gotten herself killed like some idiot greenhorn.

Anger at the dressing down she was receiving was cut short at the realization of the truth of his words. She slid off Lady's back and, with the mare in tow, came over to stand in front of the still angry ranch boss. She saw a faint flicker of concern as she moved towards him then confusion as she gave an apologetic look, "You're quite right, Mr. Wilson, it was stupid of me to stay out so long. It won't happen again."

He was looking suspiciously at her now, obviously looking for some double meaning in her words. Then he gave a brief nod as he accepted the words on face value. "Good! See that you don't." Apparently suitably mollified by her acceptance of his rebuke, he turned and made his way back to the ranch house.

Having seen Lady bedded down for the night, Red headed back to the bunkhouse to grab a cup of coffee and to think over what she had found. Harry's Hill, strange as it was, didn't really seem to help her any further - indeed, it could still turn out to be just an odd coincidence.

She'd just dumped her jacket on the bed and was replacing the sling discarded for the ride when she became aware that someone had appeared in the doorway, a glance showing it to be a glowering One-shot.

"What you doin' here, Wolverton?"

She continued to straighten the sling, deliberately ignoring the unwanted presence. At least he seemed to have taken note of what she'd said earlier about what to call her. Happy that her arm was once more comfortably ensconced she returned her attention to the glowering presence. Nonchalantly leaning back again the wall, she calmly replied. "That's between me, Mr. Criffy and Wilson, and therefore none of your damn business."

"Here to spy on us are you?" He moved a couple of steps into the room.

"Why? You got somethin' to hide?"

There was a tense exchange of glares before the older man growled. "A ranch ain't no place for a woman. Don't matter that you dress like a man, you ain't one an' it ain't your place to be here doin' a man's job."

"You 'fraid I'll do it better than a man, are you?"

"Go home. Find yerself a man rather than pretending to be one. You'd pretty-up well enough if you tried." He ignored the disbelieving snort of laughter at this comment and continued, Red suddenly realized, in his attempts to reason with her. "C'mon, girl, what you tryin' to prove?" Gently now, he added what he obviously believed was to be his winning argument. "Go home, there ain't no shame in bein' as God made you."

"As god made me?" she shook her head in disbelief, "Assuming there is one, which I don't fuckin' believe to start with, this is how your god made me!" Angry now, though she kept her relaxed position against the wall, she continued, "An' despite what you, or anyone else want or say I ain't going to change. If pa and his fuckin' doctor friends couldn't change me you ain't got a goddamned chance in hell of doin' so!

"Well if you ain't going to take friendly advice," He moved a step closer, obviously trying to intimidate the smaller woman but to no avail. "Perhaps we'll need to persuade you."

So he wants a fight does he? Well if that's what it's goin' to take. Red straightened from her slouch so that her weight was now evenly balanced on both feet, slipping her arm from the sling so that loosely curled hands were held ready to bring up if needed.

One-shot paused at the change in the intruder's stance, recognizing in surprise its unspoken message - the woman was neither scared nor intimidated and was ready to answer his unspoken challenge. A momentary flicker of indecision crossed his face then, temporary good-sense overridden by long-held prejudices, he sneered, "You goin' to fight me are you, girl? You ain't even got two good arms, for fuck's sake!"

Can't disagree with the son-of-a-bitch on that, Red's own good-sense was having its own internal battle with her building anger; I really ain't up to this, her rational mind was shouting as it tried to beat down the rising aggressive instinct. With a dodgy arm and still healing holes in side and shoulder there was little chance she wouldn't come out worse if the confrontation did come to blows - but flight wasn't an option now, she could only fight, one way or another. Trying to keep the snarl out of her voice, she answered, "If that's what it's goin' to take to be allowed to do my job."

Confusion warred across the man's face - this was obviously not how he had expected this confrontation to go. "What do you think you are playin' at? Go home, go back to your city and find a husband to look after, leave us alone." Regaining his purpose, he tried once more, voice turning low and menacing, "Unless you want your other arm busted as well."

"You can try, if you really wanna." Common sense fleeing the field, she let the snarl and its companion feral grin out as she raised loosely clenched fists. "You wanna?" She saw the look of disbelief in the older man's eyes then they narrowed as he too brought his fists up.

"You wanna be treated like a man? Then I hope you can take your beatin's like one."

Focused on the man's eyes for the first hint of his intention, Red knew she had to let him make the opening move. Even then, she had little doubt who'd be blamed with provoking the fight, especially as Wilson already had personal experience of her combative attitude. You really need to stop doin' this, little wolf - thinking with your fists when you're still full of holes really is stupid and you ain't stupid - least you never used to be.

"Red? Are you in there?"

At the sound of Mrs. Wilson's voice, One-shot stepped backed then moved swiftly to the doorway. With a parting, "This ain't over, Wolverton," he disappeared into the bunkhouse proper. Seconds later Mrs. Wilson appeared in the doorway from the opposite direction, her glance up the corridor showing that she had not missed the rapidly retreating figure.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Red started once more to replace her arm in the sling as nonchalantly as she could manage with hands that started to shake as the adrenaline receded.

"May I come in?"

Startled, she glanced up at the boss's wife still hovering in the doorway. She hadn't even considered that permission was required. "Yeah, 'course, Mrs. Wilson."

As Red moved to pour herself a now much-needed coffee, the older woman hovered uncomfortably. "Want some?"

A shake of the head answered the offer. "What was that all about?"

"Nothin' important."

The disbelieving laugh brought blue-green eyes up to meet hard blue-grey. "Don't try that, Wolverton. I saw the look on his face as he left. And don't think I missed the shake in your hands either."

"Just an exchange of views 'bout my bein' here." Red muttered as she turned to pour some of the steaming black liquid into an enameled mug.

Mrs. Wilson rolled her eyes, "An exchange of views?" Shaking her head in disbelief, she added, "Well at least I got here in time to stop it becoming an exchange of blows."

After a surprised glance, Red gave a wry smile, "Yeah, just." Mug in hand, she sank down to sit on the bed. "How d' you know?"

"Rick saw him. Put two and two together and didn't like the result so came to get me."

Smart guy - pretty much anybody else would have just made things worse, one way or the other. Unless… "You won't tell your husband will you?"

"I take it you don't want me to?"

There was a concerned look in the older woman's eyes that Red couldn't, didn't, want to meet - it reminded her too much of the looks she got from Joe and Evadne and was stirring an unexpected feeling of guilt as well as the usual annoyance - and she dropped her eyes as she gave the answering nod.

With a resigned sigh, Mrs. Wilson finished, "Very well, if that is what you want."

For a moment, as the investigator continued to study the now fascinating mug of coffee, it seemed like the older woman was going to say something else, but obviously thought better of it, whatever it was.

"Well I had best get back to the house; I left some pans on the stove."

Still too uptight from the confrontation, and embarrassed by the concern she'd seen and her own response, Red managed only a grunt and a nod of acknowledgment as the older woman left the room. Belatedly remembering her earlier decision to try and keep Mrs. Wilson on her side, she looked up to add her thanks only to see that she'd already gone. Good move, little wolf, she thought in irritation, keep behavin' like that an' you ain't goin' to have anyone to save your sorry hide next time. She knew there would be a next time, sooner or later - the look on One-shot's face had promised that much.

***

She groaned in frustration as Leona continued the teasing, torturously slow path down her body. Already intensely aroused by the languorous undressing she'd just experienced, the trailing of the wet tongue across her body was driving her mad with need. Grasping her lover's head, she pushed it down towards where she most needed that tongue to go. Unable to form coherent words she grunted her need as she felt the warm wet muscle caress the scar on her stomach before moving ever lower. Dimly, through the lust, she became hazily aware that the fine hair under her hands seemed to be thickening. Then the smooth tongue that had just swirled around her belly button suddenly rasped harshly across her skin as unexpectedly strong hands clutched her hips. Blue-green eyes snapped open at the sudden pain and she looked down in shock at the figure crouched over her. The body was still her lover's but the head had become that of a lion and she could see that her hands now had sharp claws that were retracting in and out slightly as they scored the flesh of her sides. Kicking frantically, she escaped out from under the monstrous figure and bolted for the door…

… she ran through the forest, bouncing off trees, scrambling through the undergrowth. The knees of her pants had been ripped by the many falls and a sleeve of her shirt was stained with blood were a broken branch had gouged her arm. Behind her came the sound of her pursuer neither gaining nor falling back yet always there. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure it would burst and her breath came in great labored gasps. She fell again, sprawling onto the leaf mold and broken branches…

… pushing herself up from the stone paving she got painfully to her feet once more, the burning in legs and chest making the pain from scraped palms and knees barely noticeable. Stumbling blindly forward, she ran head first into something rock-solid and immovable and crumpled to the floor. Stunned and seeing stars, she was picked up by the collar of her shirt. The linen cut into her throat, choking her until a button ripped off, easing the pressure. She lashed out, trying to break the grip only to be thrown roughly to one side, hitting another wall and falling with a groan to a heap on the cold stone floor. Hearing strangely acute despite the flashing lights in front of her eyes, she caught the sound of soft footsteps padding closer. The excruciating pain in her head was making her feel sick and her eyes didn't seem to be focusing properly but still she stubbornly tried to rise and face her attacker. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, back propped up against the wall, she squinted blurrily up at the approaching figure as she groped for a revolver that was no longer there.

The large but indistinct figure grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her to her feet before slamming her bone-jarringly hard into the wall behind her. Exhausted by the chase and weakened by her injuries she still fought to escape, swinging a roundhouse punch towards the side of her attacker's head only to have her wrist caught in an unbreakable hold. Desperately, she tried to knee him in the groin but an unnaturally quick hand snaked down from her shirtfront to grab the rising thigh. Feeling the stab of claws in her leg, she tried to free her arm from the vice-like grip only to have it suddenly and viciously twisted; the audible crack of breaking bone followed by sudden intense pain. Moaning as much in fear as in pain, she was released to collapse into a heap on the floor. Cradling her broken arm, she stared at the feet in front of her, strange, fur covered, clawed feet.

Blinking in disbelief, she peered up to see her attacker bend down and grab the front of her shirt again. Dragged to her feet, she was slammed against the wall once more before being dragged across the cavernous room. Swung bodily around, she stumbled backwards, held upright in the implacable grip. The back of her knees hit something hard and they promptly buckled. Released from the creature's hold, she fell backwards, the impact with the object she'd been backed into driving the remaining breath out of her. Gasping like a landed fish, vision darkening, she struggled to get air back into her lungs even as she waited for the killing blow to fall.

After a long pain-filled moment with no coup-de-grace and once more able to breathe, she gave a quick hazy look around the now empty room. 'Bastard musta thought he'd whipped me,' she thought, fiercely, 'but the wolf don't give up that fuckin' easy.' She tried to push herself upright with her good arm, scrabbling for purchase on what felt like more stone. A blow to the side of her head knocked her sideward, pain flaring brutally through her skull as she collapsed onto her side, the coarse stone scraping the skin of her cheek. Then a paw-like hand grasped her shoulder, rolling her roughly onto her back and holding her down. Another pressed down on her stomach, the creature's claws pricking into her skin through her shirt. Held immobile, unable to fight back any longer, she watched helplessly as her captor's head lowered towards her face and resolved into horrible familiarity.

"Ahriman," she breathed out, her voice a barely audible whisper.

The lion-headed god smiled, baring the vast yellowing canines. "You will be mine, Wolf, you cannot escape." The god's breath was rancid, reeking of rotten flesh and the bile rose in her throat. The tawny head bowed until it nuzzled the side of her neck then her left shoulder in an almost sensuous manner. She felt the pressure of teeth through the material of vest and shirt. Gentle, almost tender to start with, the force of the bite steadily increased until the incisors pierced her skin and still the jaws continued to close, cutting through flesh, crushing bone until finally she screamed out in agony and utter despair…

… and woke up. Bolting upright into a sitting position, Red gasped in shock and remembered pain. She lifted a tentative hand to her aching shoulder, half-expecting to touch bloodstained cloth and relieved to find only the dampness of sweat. Letting out a shuddering breath, she pulled her legs up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around them as tightly as healing wounds allowed, she rested her head on her knees and waited for her heart to slow and her breathing to quiet.

Saturday 4th February - Boston discussions and Nebraskan nastiness

"Do you think the little one will come back?" Maria asked, glancing at her employer where she sat at the table in the middle of the large and well-equipped kitchen that was the diminutive Latina's small but fiercely defended domain.

"Honestly?" Evadne sighed at the answering nod, "I think it is very unlikely, Maria. If she's voluntarily left now, when Katherine's machinations could not drive her out, then how bad must she have been feeling?"

Maria, still hard at work kneading dough, shook her head sadly, "I will miss the little rogue."

"Well you might not have escaped her completely." Evadne gave the older woman a reassuring smile, "she made me promise to visit her so it's only fair she comes to visit me in return."

"Well," Marie grinned back, "if anyone can persuade her, it'll be you, chica - your tongue is nearly as silver as hers when you want it to be."

Evadne gave the older woman a half-hearted glare, and then smiled. "If you say so, Maria." The smile became a wry grin. "I just feel sorry for whoever's life she is making a misery now." She rose from the table, taking her coffee with her and headed back to the study,

Voluntarily left? That was the understatement of the year, Evadne thought sadly, as she crossed the hall, remembering the farewell at the railway station.

Evadne had accompanied her friend and partner onto the station platform to see her off properly. She could feel the younger woman's almost feverish anticipation but had been completely surprised when she'd been enfurled in a hug and, even though the westerner's arm had only seconds earlier been in a sling, found herself being lifted off her feet.

"Please put me down, Red," she said, half-embarrassed, half-amused by the unexpected display, "You'll aggravate your shoulder." The socialite had never seen Red initiate a hug before - in fact, the roguish young woman was usually incredibly unhappy even receiving them. Eventually released from the bearish embrace, she commented in amusement. "Well, someone is certainly in a good mood this morning."

Red smiled as she deftly slipped her left arm back into its sling - not one of her usual half-teasing half-cynical smiles but that open, uninhibited smile that Evadne hadn't seen on her friend's face for months.

"Glad you're so happy at leaving us," the older woman teased.

Red's face fell as she felt a sudden twinge of concern, "I…" she looked earnestly into her long-suffering partner's face, "You do understand I have to do this, Evadne, don't you? It ain't anything you did - you do know that don't you?"

She gave the now worried looking westerner an affectionate squeeze on the arm. "I know, Red. I just hope you find what you are looking for out there in the back-of-beyond."

"Thanks," a wicked glint came into Red's eyes and, before the socialite could react, the younger woman closed the space between them and gave her straight friend a kiss on the mouth before jumping back out of the reach of the expected reaction.

Flummoxed for a moment at the outrageous action, Evadne stared at the grinning ruffian in front of her. Then she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Incorrigible just doesn't cover it anymore! Now get in that train before it leaves without you."

"Yes, ma'am!" Red ripped off a credible imitation of a military salute and bounded, at least as well as her injuries allowed, up into the railway car. After slamming the door shut, she pulled down the window and leaned out, "An' don't forget you promised to visit."

"Don't worry; I still need to get even for that little stunt, Red Wolverton."

"See you soon, Evadne." Then the train was pulling away and, after a final wave, the red-gold head vanished back into the fast disappearing train.

'See you soon too, little wolf,' the socialite thought, her mind already wondering how best to get her revenge.

Evadne smiled to herself at the memory, her hand lifting to touch her lips where the surprisingly gentle kiss had touched; she still couldn't believe Red had actually dared to do such a thing, and in such a public space. Fortunately, it appeared that if anyone had noticed, they'd taken her for the young man she was so often mistaken for. Certainly, there had been no outraged expressions or comments when she had quickly glanced around. In fact, one elderly woman had actually given her an indulgent amused look, which had embarrassed her strangely more than the kiss.

Still smiling at the sheer impudence of the westerner's actions, the socialite-cum-private investigator returned to her study of the open cases the senior partner had been dealing with before the shoot out in the cellar under Pater Hall. Most of them had been straight forward enough to deal with, especially with Theo's help, and in general, the clients did not seem to have noticed that they had taken longer to conclude than they should have. Thank the Lord for the ignorance of the general public. Theo had turned out to be a great help in getting the Agency back on its feet after the enforced break in operation. In fact, he appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed the work to the point at which Evadne, at her mother's prompting, had had to give him a stern talking too about neglecting the political career he had been working so hard to build. Suitably chastised, much to her amused surprise, he had conceded to getting a little carried away and had taken up his campaign for the Mayoral ticket once more. Even so, he still kept up to date with the current cases whenever he could, much to the chagrin of the socialite's mother, the new Mrs. Criffy.

Now there were only two cases left, one appeared to be a classic example of one of the stalwarts of their profession - tracking a wayward spouse. The other was a missing person case that the police had had no luck with and that, from the lack of notes, Red hadn't started to look into either.

Picking up the notes of the first, she began to decipher the spider like scrawl. As she read, she realized that this must have been the case that had resulted in the vicious weal on Red's forearm and the badly damaged hands. She hadn't been able to get anything much out of her partner at the time, other than the typically understated comment that it had got 'a little messy'; the distrust that had been engendered between them by the Deceiver's machinations had prevented that; now she read the last notes.

'Mrs. T thinks he'll go to SF tonight. Need proof he's using the women there.' Notes still in hand, she moved automatically to the nearest window. Staring unseeingly out over the garden, she pondered on what had followed. You never did say exactly how you got into such a state. What on earth happened that night? Tucking the papers back into the file she placed it on her desk - she needed to close this one way or the other, and if she happened to find out what happened to Red then that would be all the better. Should I be invading her privacy like this? She moved to sit at the desk and stared at the manila file for minutes before making her decision, No, I… we, need to know if there is any fallout for her or the agency from whatever it was she did and whoever she did it to!

***

The snow had been falling thickly all day, the heavy clouds finally beginning to empty their contents around midnight and not stopping since. Red had spent the day asking the other residents at the ranch the same questions she had asked Mrs. Wilson the day before. They had all given pretty much the same story to a greater of lesser degree of detail. The only notable new fact had come from Mr. Wilson who'd been able to tell her that the majority of the stock that had disappeared, and all those whose carcasses had been found, had been steers or bulls. She'd also asked about the strange mound but again she'd drawn very little in the way of help. Pete Smith had scathingly asked what the hell she was doing wasting his time asking about some lump in the landscape when she was supposed to be working out who was killing the beeves. The only positive outcome from the day had been that One-shot seemed to be ignoring her for the moment.

Feeling the need to look at something other than the four walls of her bedroom-cum-office, especially with the intense memory of the nightmare still ricocheting around inside her head, Red pulled on her thick jacket and rammed the fedora on her head before heading out to the stables to say howdy to Lady. Plodding through the snow, she had the sudden sensation of being watched. The back of her neck itched so badly she automatically went to scratch it, only to wince as her left arm objected to being lifted so high. "Damned thing," she muttered, raising her right hand to rub the area in question even as she scanned the area for the cause. She wasn't surprised when she saw no one; still she had a pretty good idea who it was. Where are you then, One-shot? Another glance round the snow covered yard then she opened the stable door to be greeted by a whinny of welcome that brought a smile to her face. "Howdy, little Lady." Grabbing some brushes, she moved to the mare. "C'mon, girl, lets smarten you up eh?" Having removed the blanket from the horse's back, she began methodically to brush the bay's smooth, reddish-brown coat. Not only was this good for Lady and helped build a relationship with the horse, it also seemed to be helping her arm, giving her something to do that made her lift her arm while giving it some support. After a while, when the underused and tight muscles began to burn at the exertion, she tucked the aching arm into her jacket as a makeshift sling and swapped to using her other hand. Having finished the brushing and combed out tail and mane, she dug out her pocket-knife and pulled out the hoof pick. She just coaxed an unwilling Lady to lift her left foreleg when the itch returned with a vengeance. A faint scuffling noise from above caught her attention and, turning her head, she caught a flicker of movement from above just as the mare shied violently, knocking Red off her feet in the process. As she fell, she heard the crunch of breaking wood and a whinny of alarm from Lady who was now prancing nervously around the stall. Scrambling hastily to her feet, Red spoke soothingly to the spooked horse, laying a gentling hand on her back to make the horse aware of her position. Once the mare had settled, she moved forward to examine the smashed barrel that lay a good foot from where her head had been. Moving out of the stall, she looked up at the loft above. There were little that could see from below so, quickly finding a ladder, she climbed up to the loft. She wasn't surprised to see that her attacker had made good his escape - he'd had plenty of time while she'd had to quieten the spooked mare. Nor was she in any doubt that it hadn't been an accident. Up in the loft she found a number of similar barrels stored well away from the edge and a mark on the edge where the barrel must have been stood before being pushed down. Peering over the edge down into the stall, she gave a wry smile. Well, at least it don't look like he's trying to kill me. If he'd really wanted to hit me, it would have been like shootin' fish in a barrel. Straightening up, she shouted into the barn, just in case her opponent was still in earshot. "One-shot, you cowardly bastard, you'll find I don't scare off that easy!"

TWO DAYS LATER

Monday 6th February - Discoveries

"Will it never stop snowing," Evadne muttered to herself as she tramped though the stained snow covering the sidewalk. She glanced down at the address in her notebook then up at the door in front of her. Finally having found the right building she knocked firmly on the front door with the end of her parasol and waited patiently for someone to open it. She didn't have to wait long until a smartly dressed maid opened the door to enquire what she wanted.

"I would like to speak to Mrs. Trensom if possible."

The maid frowned slightly, "My mistress is not taking visitors I am afraid."

Taking out a business card, she offered it to the maid, "Could you give this to her and say that I would like to speak to her about what happened between her husband and my business partner at the Silver Fox." She hoped her shot in the dark would work.

It wasn't long before the maid returned to usher her into a small living room where a middle-aged woman was already seated in a large high-backed chair. "Please take a seat Mrs. Lannis." Although the words were polite, the tone was strained.

Nodding her thanks, she took the offered seat and waited.

"Why are you here?" The older woman eventually asked.

Deciding to lay her cards on the table Evadne answered, "To find out what happened to my partner that night, and what you wish to do about the case."

The older woman looked surprised, "You don't know?"

"No." Evadne admitted. "All I know is that it didn't go as planned."

There was a harsh laugh from Mrs. Trensom, "Well I'm glad to know she didn't plan on nearly beating my husband to death!"

Evadne was shocked, despite what she knew of the way her friend's violent nature had been supernaturally enhanced this was still hard to comprehend. Dear Lord, what else did she do under the influence of that rage that she hasn't told me?

Her feelings were apparently being reflected in her face as Mrs. Trensom added, "I take it she didn't tell you about that?"

Shaking her head, Evadne replied, "No, no, she didn't."

With a deep sigh, Mrs. Trensom sat back in the chair. "Well from what I learned, she'd followed my husband to that place but he caught her outside the room where he was 'entertaining' a lady of the night. Apparently he'd somehow found out that I was employing Miss Wolverton and he recognized her." She paused for a moment before adding, "He claims she attacked him first, but I doubt she was left with much else in the way of options," her voice turned angry now, "however, there was no excuse for what she did to him - his face was a mess, and she broke his nose, jaw and cheekbone."

Dear Lord, no wonder her hands were such a mess, Evadne thought, feeling faintly sick at what the rage had driven her friend to do and now understanding why it had worried the westerner so much.

"I am sorry about that, Mrs. Trensom. All I can say in way of explanation is that Red was not herself at the …"

A regal hand cut through the explanation, "I'm not interested in an explanation. You now know what happened. As to the case - my husband has agreed to the divorce so I need to retain your services no longer. If you would furnish my lawyer with the bill it will be settled in full."

Evadne could see a dismissal when she saw one but she just needed to know one more thing. "Your husband, did he recover?"

"Depends what you mean. His face is still a mess but I believe he was released from the hospital a week ago. Now if you will excuse me, Mrs. Lannis?" This last was a definite brush off.

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Trensom." With a faint nod in farewell, she moved to leave the room only to be stopped by a hesitant voice.

"Mrs. Lannis, warn your colleague that my ex-husband is a vindictive man, he will try to get his own back on her one way or another."

Nodding her thanks for the warning, albeit reluctantly given, Evadne left the room and was shown efficiently out of the front door, back into the falling snow.

***

"Any progress in your investigation?"

Red shook her head in answer then winced as the wound near her neck was gently cleaned. "How's it look?"

"Healing nicely, you'll be glad to know." Mrs. Wilson placed fresh dressings over the shoulder wounds and began to replace the bandages that kept them in place. "So you didn't find anything on your ride?"

"Just the hill."

Tying off the bandages, the older woman commented, "All done." Then, as the investigator slipped back into her clothing, she asked, "What did you make of it?"

"Impressive," Red's voice was slightly muffled by the shirt she was struggling to pull over her head. Damn, damn, damn, is it always goin' to be like this!

Dropping the old dressings into boiling water, she continued. "The Indians said it was bad ground, that evil spirits are trapped there."

Having eventually won her battle with her shirts, she gave a mental sigh of thanks at the older woman's reply. "What else did they say?" Red continued. Although the last few months' occurrences meant she was more open to the possibility of a supernatural cause to the cattle deaths, she still thought there was most likely to be a more human explanation - although to what aim Red couldn't fathom.

The older woman paused, brow wrinkling in thought. "Can't remember much more that that. The hill is taboo ground because of the evil spirits." There was another pause then a shake of the head, "No, sorry."

"Well thanks for that much, it's more than I've found so far." Red, now fully dressed, muttered, "If this damn snow would stop I'd go take a better look." With a parting thanks to Mrs. Wilson for the help, Red headed for the backdoor.

"There is one person who may be able to tell you more."

Turning in the doorway, Red raised a questioning eyebrow. "Who?"

"Jim Silverwind. He's half Pawnee, lives in River Fork - what he doesn't know about the area probably isn't worth knowing."

"River Fork? That's the nearest town, right?" At Mrs. Wilson's nod, she asked, "How far?"

"About an hour's ride. One of the hands usually goes in once a week to pick up mail and such - weather depending."

"When's the next trip?"

"Whenever we get another clear day. It should have been yesterday but Frank wanted them all checking on the stock as there hadn't been a suitable break for so long."

Nodding her understanding Red once more turned to leave the kitchen only to be stopped by Mrs. Wilson's voice once more.

"If you'd like I could ask Frank to let you know when he sends someone out - I'm assuming that you would like to go along?"

A small smile flickered across the investigator's face as she thanked the older woman again. "That'd be much appreciated, ma'am." She was surprised when her thanks received an amused laugh and she raised the quizzical eyebrow at the older woman once more, "What?"

"Don't you think 'Rose' would be more appropriate by now?" She smiled, "All those 'ma'ams' are getting a bit old when I've seen more of you than most would consider decent."

A rakish grin appeared on the younger woman's face, "Can always show you more if you like," she paused before adding a deliberate, drawled, "ma'am."

The older woman's eyes narrowed and she glared at the still grinning ruffian standing in the half-open doorway. Gradually it relaxed into a grin of her own as she realized she was only being teased. "Not sure Frank would be too happy about that. You've already damaged his sensitive masculine pride enough as it is - seducing his wife would just be adding insult to injury."

"Well, it's lucky for you both that I don't poach." The rakish grin changed into one that the older woman could only describe as lascivious, "Ain't it, Rose?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incorrigible?" Mrs. Wilson could barely keep the laughter out of her voice at the outrageous flirting.

"You wouldn't believe how many," the younger woman drawled back, a mischievous grin now on her face, "I'm told it's one of my more charmin' traits."

"Go on, scat, you rogue, I'm not having such traits lurking in this kitchen," and the older woman play-shooed the younger out of the door.

Finally able to make her chuckling escape, she made her way through the still falling snow to the bunkhouse. As the chuckling subsided, she mulled over the new information. Well if I see what this Silverwind guy can tell me, perhaps it'll give me some sort of idea as to what's going on here - or what someone wants us to think is going on.

***

Well I can see why they get on so well, this office is as bad as Red's. Evadne studied the reporter's office with interest - it was the first time she'd visited Joe at the Herald, in, as it were, his natural surroundings.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," the giant of a man apologized as he removed a pile of paper from the spare chair so his unexpected guest could take a seat.

"Don't worry, Joe, sharing an office with Red has cured me of my desire to tidy everything in sight - keeping up with her mess would be a full time job." Evadne took the seat as Joe hovered nearby, plainly unsure what the visit heralded.

"Is Red okay?" He asked the obvious question to explain the unexpected visit.

"Safe in Nebraska as far as I am aware." She gave a wry smile, "Though how long that will last is a matter of conjecture."

Joe gave a grin of his own in reply, if anyone could find trouble in the middle of nowhere it would be his little wolfish friend. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I was wondering if you could see if you have any information on a Mr. Lucas Transom, line of business, reputation, that sort of thing."

"A case?

"Not really," she gave a small sigh. "Did Red tell you about the problems she was having controlling her rage?" At his answering nod she continued, "We had a case, wayward husband, the usual thing. However it went wrong somehow and apparently she nearly beat the man to death with her bare hands."

"Dear Mary, Mother of God," Joe exhaled, dark eyes showing his shock at the news, "She said it was bad but I didn't know it was that bad!"

"I know." Evadne gave him a wan smile, "I still find it hard to believe and I saw that rage up close and personal." A small shake of her head to dislodge the unpleasant memory then she continued. "Anyway the case has been closed by the wife but she warned me that her ex-husband was likely to be after Red for what she did to him. So, on a 'know thine enemy' basis, I thought I'd best find out what I can about the man, and how seriously we need to take the threat."

Nodding his head at the wisdom of the idea he asked, "You want to wait? It may take a little while."

With nothing else much to do that afternoon, Evadne nodded her agreement, "I'll wait."

It was about an hour before Joe reappeared and his face suggested what he found was not good news. Placing the file on the desk he commented, "Well, even with her usual knack for annoying all the wrong people she has managed to pick a real doozey this time."

Frowning at the ominous comment, Evadne started to flick through the file while Joe gave a terse and concerned summary. "Well your guy isn't quite mob but he's as near as dammit. He owns the land on which a lot of the city's more disreputable establishments are built and has accumulated quite a lot of the dock front by fair means or foul. His main source of official income is a reasonably legitimate import/export business but that doesn't cover the style of life he leads. Gossip says he is also in on the booze racket as well and has come to some sort of mutual understanding with the mob over territory."

Sitting down behind his desk, he waited until Evadne stopped her perusal and she looked up to meet equally worried brown eyes. "There are also rumors that he has arranged for a number of his rivals to disappear - permanently! I'd say that if you've been warned that he is after Red then you need to take that warning very seriously indeed."

TWO DAYS LATER

Wednesday 8th February - Mr. Transom shows his hand

It had been a long and tedious day, not helped by the fact that the snow was still falling. By far the lowest point of Evadne's day had been the unpleasant task of telling doting parents that, although she'd been able to find their runaway son, he had no desire to either return home or contact them in any way. At this point, they had started the usual attempts to get his location out of her, despite the fact that from the start she'd said that this was not something they would be given without their son's permission. Still they tried and it went through the usual round of entreaties, bribes, threats and then tearful pleading but she'd stood firm against them all. The agency had developed an excellent reputation for finding missing people for this very reason - their adherence to this principle meant that the missing were often more willing to be found in the knowledge that their whereabouts would be kept secret if that was what they wanted. It had taken some time before Evadne had understood this condition herself - she'd initially found it odd that somebody would sanely choose to live in what were often slum conditions when they could have a warm and loving home. Red had given short shrift to this argument, pointing out that external appearances could be deceptive and if someone had chosen to run away, there was probably a "fuckin' good reason for it". The hard look in Red's face and the passion with which she'd disagreed had made Evadne belatedly realize that, on this issue, the younger woman was speaking from bitter experience. Dutifully, if reluctantly, she had toed the agency line. As time had passed and she'd dealt with more of such people she'd come to understand and reluctantly agree with Red's conditions, realizing how seemingly good homes could become nightmarish places for a multitude of reasons.

With no other official casework, she'd spent the rest of the day trying to follow up on some of the leads Joe had furnished on Lucas Transom and what sort of threat, if any, he was to Red and the Agency. What she had found out was not comforting; it seemed that the reporter's summary of the situation wasn't far wrong. I suppose it was only a matter of time before she upset someone with no qualms in getting back at her by any means, fair or foul. With a sudden flash of gallows' humor she added, with that attitude of hers it's a miracle she's survived this long. At least Red was well out of Transom's grasp now. This was the one plus side to the westerner's absence, countering slightly how badly Evadne was already missing her, irritating ruffian that Red undoubtedly was.

Getting off the streetcar near the office she debated what to do next - she could take another car to within walking distance of her house or ring James and get him to pick her up. Red's scathing comments about a chauffeur-driven automobile being probably the worst possible mode of transport for an investigator had persuaded the socialite to use it as little as possible. Now she used the streetcars as often as she could and, if she was honest, she actually enjoyed being amongst ordinary people, listening to the chatter about the minutia of ordinary lives that seemed so foreign to the woman brought up amongst the wealth and advantages of Boston's elite. She smiled at the memory of the annoyed glances she'd got from Red when they had first shared such rides - a streetcar held no charm to the pragmatic younger woman and for the first few shared journeys she'd glowered in irritation and muttered a few snide comments about 'rich types an' their little jaunts' under her breath. However, even Red had given up on Evadne's unwavering enthusiasm for this particular form of transport and the irritation had gradually changed into bemused, if slightly contemptuous, toleration.

Taking a long look at the snow-covered sidewalk, she decided that walking really wasn't a very attractive option and if she went back to the office to use the telephone she could catch up on her notes on the missing person case while they were still fresh in her mind rather than leave them until the morning. Decision made, she bent her head against the snow and headed as fast as the treacherous footing allowed towards the building containing the Wolverton Investigation Agency's official office. Turning into the entrance hall, she was nearly knocked off her feet by a hurrying figure. Annoyed at the fact that the man did not even stop to apologize, she glared angrily at his disappearing back for a moment as he left the building then resumed her climb up the stairs to the third floor office.

Reaching the door, she took the key out of her handbag and turned it in the lock. This isn't right, Evadne frowned as she realized the door was unlocked, I'm sure I locked it when I left. Stopping the movement, she removed the small pistol from her handbag and listened hard, wondering if there was someone inside the office. Unable to hear anything, but with Mrs. Transom and Joe's warnings echoing in her head, she stood as far away from the door as she could and used the point of her parasol to open the door. Puzzled she noticed an unusual tension in the door as it moved inward and then the world exploded in blinding light, searing heat, pain and finally darkness.

TWO DAYS LATER

Friday 10th February - River Fork

Finally, after five increasing frustrating days, and much to Red's relief, the weather cleared and the day had dawned fine, the sky clear and blue. She'd been driven nearly stir crazy by the enforced inactivity. Lady had been brushed so often the Rick had teasingly commented that the poor beast was getting bald spots. She'd poured over the scanty information she did have but didn't have enough to come to any sort of answer, indeed all it really did was lead her bored imagination into some bizarre flights of fancy. She'd also lost far too much money to her fellow bunkhouse residents at cards. It wasn't so much the money that annoyed her - it was the fact that she was deliberately loosing to, as she'd mentally dubbed them during a particularly direly played hand, the biggest bunch of piss-poor poker saps I've ever had the misfortune to meet! Even the small challenge to be found in cheating to loose had lost its pleasure and was now just plain boring. The only silver lining to her large and oppressive personal cloud was that the inactivity was helping her injuries to heal and she was now able to lift her arm to shoulder height easily although full mobility still appeared frustratingly distant.

At last able to follow up on some of her more sensible ideas, she was torn between setting out to examine the mound in greater detail or waiting in the hope of a trip into town. Fortunately, it wasn't long before she received word that one of the hands would be setting off to River Fork and she was to get herself and Lady over to the ranch house now.

Her joy at the chance of finding some more information and getting away from the ranch for a while was severely tempered when she saw that the hand she was to accompany was One-shot. That's just great, she growled mentally, why couldn't it have been anyone else. The fierce scowl the older man gave her as she pulled up alongside showed that he was as unhappy about the whole thing as she was. Just hope he don't get any stupid idea's on the way. Surreptitiously, Red checked for the revolver currently seated to the front left side - her holster, designed for a left-handed rear draw, had been brought round to the front to allow a right-handed belly draw while her shoulder was healing.

Mr. Wilson was standing on the steps, a repeating rifle in his hand. "Can you use one of these?"

Nodding, she just managed to catch the carbine suddenly thrown in her direction.

"Always best to have a long arm with you," the older man explained, needlessly as it happened - the investigator was well aware of a rifle's advantage in the open spaces of the plains.

At least this is something I'm used to firing right handed. She slid it into the rifle scabbard attached to the saddle's right side and gave the older man a brief nod of thanks, then turning to her scowling guide, she indicated the gateway with a false smile. "After you."

Eventually, about half way into the ride she noticed One-shot giving her a calculating look. Uh-oh, looks like he's worked out that this would be a great time for me to suffer a suitable 'accident'. "Don't even think it, One-shot, I've left a letter with Mrs. Wilson to be opened should I have some sort of nasty 'accident' on this trip." She hadn't actually, but was wishing she had, "It details what you said to me and that little barrel trick you pulled, and that should anything 'happen' to me they should start by asking you a few searching questions." She gave a hard smile that didn't reach her eyes, "Call it an insurance policy of sorts." He scowled back briefly then turned his face to the trail, the clenching of the jaw the only sign of any emotion he might be feeling.

The next half-an-hour passed in glowering but uneventful silence as the riders became more concerned with the bank of pinkish, heavily laden clouds that had unexpectedly filled the sky than with their private feud. Thankfully, they were riding up the main street of the small town of River Fork as the first flakes started to fall. Glancing around her as she rode, Red had the feeling that the town had barely changed in the last fifty years. It was obviously one of those one-horse towns that survived only to support the surrounding farms and ranches, its population being those that worked in those support roles with the town having no other reason for existence. Now, even that reason was being slowly chipped away as the railways continued to spread and the march of the internal combustion engine began to speed up transport by road.

They'd just drawn level with what must once have been the saloon when One-eye stopped abruptly to glower at his unwelcome companion. "You're on your own now. I'll meet you here at one to start back," he glanced up at the falling snow, "assuming this lot stops. Otherwise we get to stay the night." Then he kicked his big gelding on, continuing up the street.

Moving over to the hitching post in front of the ex-saloon that now advertised rooms, meals and fresh coffee, she pushed open the door and entered the smoky warmth of the room beyond. A quick glance around showed that this was obviously the small heart of the town. Despite the sign outside, she also had no doubt that alcohol was still being drunk. Walking over to the not-quite-a-bar, she greeted the not-quite-a-bar-man with a neutral, "Howdy."

The not-quite-a-bar-man, an overweight young man of about her own height with slicked back dark hair and furtive brown eyes gave her a confused and suspicious once over before giving a tentative nod of acknowledgement.

"What do you have to drink?"

"Can't you read? Coffee or soda - that's what we have."

Rolling her eyes, Red gave in. "A coffee then, black." Having paid, she took her drink and moved over to a small table in the corner where she turned a chair to the wall and sat down. Slowly, she studied the occupants of the room while warming her insides with what turned out to be a surprisingly good coffee. They in their turn were studying the stranger in town, and a stranger stranger they would have to go far to find.

Having finished her coffee she was just deciding whom, of the distinctly hostile looking customers, she should ask about Jim Silverwind when she became aware of someone approaching her table. Looking up she saw a young brunette who the investigator judged to be around twenty or twenty-one with an apron tied around her waist, moving towards her table.

Seeing Red look up, the waitress gave a bright smile and asked, "Coffee to your liking?"

"Not bad," she replied with a small smile of her own.

"Another?"

"Why not."

The waitress returned shortly later with a fresh mug of the excellent coffee and this time, not completely to Red's surprise, she asked. "New in town?"

"Working over at the lazy 'Y'."

A flash of surprise on the youthful face, "Really? Never seen a female puncher before."

For a moment Red nearly corrected the assumption then decided against it - why not let them think she was just a hand for the moment. Changing the subject she complimented, "You make good coffee here."

The young woman smiled. "Thanks, it's my own secret blend."

Red smiled back and took another couple of mouthfuls waiting for the waitress to leave, having done her 'be nice to the customer' bit, but to Red's surprise, she did not. Having finally finished the coffee she turned to face her watcher and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Yes?"

She blushed slightly, then began to stammer, "I'm sorry, it's just…" but was interrupted by the young man at the bar, "Lou, ma wants you." Turning over her shoulder, she responded, "Okay, Paul, keep your hair on." She glanced conspiratorially in Red's direction, "My brother," she explained with a roll of her eyes that brought a small understanding chuckle from her audience, and then she disappeared through the door into what the investigator presumed to be a kitchen of some sort.

Damn, should have asked her about Jim Silverwind. Red mentally kicked herself, looking around the room once more. Ah well lets see what else this little burg has to offer. Aware of multiple pairs of eyes following her exit, she moved across the room and out of the door. The first thing she noticed was that the snow was falling even heavier and she unhitched Lady, "First step, find a stable for you eh?" She laughed as the horse seemed to toss her head in agreement, "Spoiled you are," she muttered aloud as she brushed the faint covering of snow off the saddle and remounted.

It hadn't taken long to find the stables and arrange for the mare to be safely tucked up in a stall. She left the saddle on, just loosening off the cinches to make it more comfortable. After a moment's hesitation she left the saddlebags and carbine in place - her gut told her they'd be safe enough for the moment.

It didn't take long to find the other principle buildings in the town. There was a doctor's office and a barber shop, a general store, small bank, sheriff's office and mail office. In addition, there was a small schoolhouse next to the neatly kept church. It all seemed eminently normal. She had however had no luck finding Jim Silverwind, although the boy at the stables had suggested that she try the saloon later as he usually turned up there. Digging out her watch, she saw it was now coming up to midday and there was no sign that the snow was going to stop falling anytime soon. Looks like we are stuck here for the night, though that might not be such a bad thing if it means I get to meet Silverwind. As she reached the doctor's, she stopped. A moment's hesitation, than she opened the door and entered - she might as well get some more supplies for treating her wounds while she had the chance.

***

Evadne blinked into consciousness with a blinding headache that warred with a general sense of overall pain. Eventually getting her eyes to focus she found she was staring at a plain white ceiling that was definitely not her own, Where am I, she thought in con