The badge looked good on him, the patrons all agreed laughingly as they welcomed the town's new Deputy Sheriff back to the saloon. Caleb glanced at the table at the rear end of the room, decked with cards, cash and a newly opened bottle of rye whiskey. Around it sat his three closest companions, as always. "When the cat's away . . . " he thought to himself and snarled as he saw a young man, barely out of his teens, seated on what used to be his chair. Times had changed and bigger things had to be attended to than not giving away your hand with your face and coming up with the cleverest remark to fit the outcome of the game. Once he had made his presence felt, he had strict orders to come straight back to the office. Sheriff Tierney had some business out of town to attend to, and a dangerous prisoner needed vigilant eyes watching his every move.

"Your turn to babysit your friend, Ryder!" the Sheriff smirked as he put his newspaper down and stood up with a bit of a strained moan, well befitting his big Irish frame.

"He's as much my friend as you are, Isambard" Caleb snapped back.

"It's Sheriff Tierney to you. And how was the saloon?" the Sheriff grunted as he put his overcoat and hat on.

"Calm as a church on a Monday. Not much else to expect a balmy morning before noon is there?"

"Not now, once I've gotten you out of there! I'll be back before next week and look in on you . . . "—the Sheriff slowly turned his body around, facing the cell—" . . . and you . . .  first thing. Alright?"

Caleb, now in his employer's previously relaxed position behind the desk, feet up and nose down in that morning's paper, nodded deeply. Once the door closed behind the Sheriff's sizeable back, Caleb heard his name called out from the cell on the right; but he didn't flinch and continued browsing the pages, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. The voice was gravelly and sounded both dead tired and bone dry, continuing to call out the Deputy by his first name. Eventually, it got a response:

"It's Deputy Sheriff Ryder to you."

A low and subtle chuckle was followed by a piercing creak as the weight of a body was removed from the cell's bedboard.

"You know, Deputy Sheriff Ryder, I could kill for a glass of water."

"In a moment, Clarence."

"No hurry, old friend. I'll be out of there by noon anyway. And it's Mister Briggs to you, if I may."

By now he had grabbed Caleb's attention, resting his torso towards the grimy iron bars, letting his hands provokingly dangle freely outside the confines of the cell.

"You sound awfully sure of that" Caleb, now on his feet, said sternly. "What are your boys up to, Clarence, huh? Tell me."

Clarence hinted at the bottle of water on the desk.

"A drink first, for old times' sake."

"And then you'll tell me? For old times' sake?"

"I'm a man who believes in keeping friendships alive."

"And I'm a man who believes in ending them if ever they become a liability. Nostalgia isn't really my thing. Especially not if it involves the killer of my predecessor."

Caleb had picked up the bottle and was about to pour from it when he went out cold. The explosion left him passed out, temporarily deaf and slightly bleeding. More permanent damage was done to the Sheriff's office. Even more pressing still, the most desired effect of the explosion was achieved: Clarence Briggs was free, nearly without a scratch, backed by his loyal, lawless bunch.

Caleb was helped back to his senses by a whole crowd of Good Faith City's inhabitants, all of whom were both worried about him and outraged that he, the outlaw turned lawman, had let such a thing happen right under his nose. Trust was hard enough to build in this place; now it seemed Caleb had lost any last amount there might have been towards his character. The thought did cross his mind briefly, but it was obviously among the least of his concerns. Dead or alive—preferably the first, if Caleb had his way—he would bring the man everyone called "his old friend" back to Good Faith City. If not before Sheriff Tierney returned home, then at some point, whatever it would take. It was personal. The gang had been seen by several towners heading on horseback into Rattler Desert, but everyone understood they couldn't stay there for long. Even Spadefoot River at the other end of the desert had nearly dried up in the sweltering August heat, so if Clarence Briggs had any of the will to survive still in him, which had just been so blatantly demonstrated, he and his real friends had to come back the same way they had galloped away from.

Not that he could get much sleep that night, but in the wee small hours Caleb had relaxed enough to doze off. That's why he hadn't heard the footsteps entering his room, but he couldn't help but feel the coldness of a revolver barrel resting on his left temple. His eyes opened very slowly, so as not to give away the fact that he was mortified from such a rude awakening. Three or four gold teeth glistened in the moonlight spying in through the dusty curtains.

"You're lucky, Deputy Sheriff. I would've thought it was a safe bet that you'd be spending tonight in a coffin, asleep at peace."

Caleb lightly cleared his throat, exhaled loudly as if bothered by being awoken and said casually:

"You're not so lucky on the other hand, Clarence. If you put a bullet in me now then that'll only solve this bad spot. Afterward, you'll have killed two men of the law, and that my old friend is just about as bad as it gets. I reckon you'll be dead by the end of this year anyhow, no matter what you do to me."

Clarence chuckled as if amused by the whole situation.

"If my intention was seeing you dead I would've put that bullet in you while you were still asleep. That much I feel I can offer an old friend. No, I have something different in mind."

Caleb turned around and faced the man he more than anyone else wanted to see—however in much the reverse position.

"You, Caleb Ryder", said Clarence smirkingly, "you're coming with me and the boys tonight. We've got a need for your special skills in a little errand we've got tomorrow. At the bank just down the street from here".

The next morning came way too soon but also way too late for Caleb; too soon because he was dead tired from not getting any real sleep but way too late considering the company that he had to endure. Other than taunts and shoves from the near dozen of his former allies, Caleb had gotten away pretty lightly considering his switching of sides. But then again, he wasn't the first to do so or the first to switch back again either. It's every man for himself in the Frontier, and everyone knows that.

"No time to kill now, boys. It's time to kill!"

Clarence's combined wake-up call and call to arms aroused the weary-eyed motley crew just as the sun began to paint the horizon in a bright orange tint. Only a few of them had been able to get any shuteye that night, anxious as they were both by the task ahead and the presence of a prodigal brother. Caleb, who had tried to keep himself as far from the others as they would allow him, was now pushed to the very front, up next to Clarence. Alongside him, he was going to head the gang into town, letting the citizens of Good Faith City know he was back to his old saddle again.

The recently awoken towners could see the dust the horses were kicking up long before they comprehended who was riding them, and it took even longer for them to understand who the two leading them were. Most weren't really all that surprised—some were, but they kept their disappointment to themselves. With no lawman in town, there wasn't much for them to do save for locking their doors and praying at least they would be out of harm's way once the bullets started flying across the air.

"Remember last time we rode in like this," Clarence asked Caleb through a cheeky smile, "we sure gave those townsfolk a pretty damn good scare!"

"I'd rather forget . . . " replied Caleb while clenching his teeth.

"It's about time we refreshen your memory then!"

Clarence put his spurs in his horse's side and galloped ahead, the rest of the gang following suit, dragging Caleb's horse with them in the stampede. Clarence jumped off right outside Good Faith City Bank and gazed through the front window, keeping his men in eager anticipation with their hands on their holsters. As he could see someone moving in the backroom behind the counter, he yelled:

"Looks like we're right on time, boys! Bank's open!"

They entered through both the door and the windows on each side of it, leaving a trail of broken glass, splintered wood and a few smoking bullet shell casings, fired off in the heat of excitement. But their rampage suddenly and unexpectedly came to a halt. Standing in front of them was not the little old bank teller they had been expecting, but rather a big and burly man with a thick black beard and bushy black hair. Especially Clarence, who stood face to face with the man behind the counter, stopped dead in his tracks. One of the men at the back wondered loudly what the hell was going on. The man behind the counter replied laconically:

"Looks like hell just froze over. And it's time for you devils to leave."

Even if Caleb could hardly believe his eyes, deep down he wasn't very surprised. Sheriff Tierney was someone you could always trust to do the unexpected. As his revolver arose from underneath the counter, aiming its long black barrel at Clarence, Caleb—who was already among those closest to the door—elbowed and punched his way out onto the street and drew his gun, while the band of bandits was still left dumbfounded. The outlaws were in effect surrounded, but in turn heavily outnumbered the lawmen by ten locked and loaded six-shooters or so. The only thing stopping any of the guns from going off was the cramped conditions that prevented any of the robbers from raising his arm somewhat straight. Only Caleb and the Sheriff had enough room to aim properly, but as men of the law, they had no reason to shoot unless things escalated. The scene would have been comic had it not been for the fact that violence, in one way or another, was the only way the situation was going to be solved.

Sheriff Tierney, to end the rather awkward stalemate, sighed deeply, put his revolver back in the holster and knocked Clarence out cold, clearly intending to do the same to all of his underlings. After successfully knocking out two more without meeting much resistance, Caleb joined in from his end. Blood, spit and at least a dozen teeth were left on the floor after the last of the dozen or so men had finally been dragged out and tied up; the Sheriff and his Deputy having gotten help from the towners, emboldened by the courage they had witnessed.

Two things in particular Caleb noticed once it was all over. First, the Sheriff wasn't half as badly bruised up as he was, and second, he surprisingly didn't look like he wanted to give Caleb the same treatment he had just given Clarence and his boys. Caleb didn't have time to stand up from the dusty ground he rested on before he was joined by the Sheriff, who parked right next to him.

"You never told me getting blown up was a potential occupational hazard" Caleb croaked.

"The chance of getting shot down is bigger, so I didn't think much of mentioning it. But taking part in bank robberies, that's not all that common for a Deputy."

"It was a choice of being of little use in robbing a bank or no use to anyone being dead. What would you have chosen?"

"Well . . . ", the Sheriff muttered as his hand disappeared into his beard, "I probably wouldn't have nearly gotten myself blown up in the first place, so I'm not sure I would've faced the same later options as you. Good thing though I was caught up by old man Sánchez who told me about the rumors of a bank heist that had been floating around town. Surprised you didn't pick them up at the saloon . . . "

Caleb didn't have time to respond, as Sheriff Tierney briskly stood up and offered his hand to Caleb. The Sheriff couldn't keep a mischievous smile from coming over his face, turning himself downwards to release a pattering round of poorly suppressed laughter.

"Please tell me", remarked Caleb dryly, "I'm dying to hear what about all of this that is so very funny?"

The Sheriff straightened his posture and his gaze, holding back a new onslaught of laughter as best he could:

"Three things, Deputy Sheriff Ryder, three things about this otherwise deeply tragic turn of events is so very funny. First off, how are the good and honest people of this town ever again going to be able to trust you? Secondly, had I not been the kind-hearted and good-natured person I am, right now you would've been tied up back to back with your friend Mister Briggs. And the third thing, last but not least, because the, shall we say, unfortunate event of the Sheriff's office getting dynamited to bite-sized bits happened under your watch, you won't see a nickel of your first twenty or so salaries."

Although Caleb couldn't for the life of him find any of the three things Sheriff Tierney listed as even remotely amusing, he could admit—be it only to himself—that there was a certain irony in having an old acquaintance come along and disrupt the peace and quiet of the new life he had started building for himself here in Good Faith City. Old friendship nor the promise of quick cash was going to lure him back out into the desert again. Hopefully, the past would leave him be from now on and let him worry solely about the future—guaranteed to give him enough troubles to deal with.