As the Sheriff and Pete walked back through town, they could all but smell the fear. Gone was the carelessness of rough men when they weren’t working. Wide eyes peeped out from behind dirty curtains. The piano player in the Occidental Saloon was going at it hammer and tongs, sounding more strained than celebratory. The noisiest place in town was Saloon #3 and that wasn’t a good sign. If Dance didn’t know better he’d say this town felt like it had a showdown comin’. Maybe? Who the hell knew? That was the problem. The damnable uncertainty of it all. Pete peeled off at the jail and Dance tipped his hat to the deputy and kept walking. But before he got to the livery, he stopped in front of the Miller General Store. He knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t think of a way around it. And he stood there trying to think of a reason not to go in for a good long while. Ah hell, he thought, might not be back this way again. From the doorway, he saw Laura Miller standing in the back, looking out the window. The sound of Penelope signing drifted down the staircase. She sounded as if nothing bad would or could ever happen to her. Mack came down the stairs before John got three steps inside and said, “Morning Sheriff, what can I help you with?” Dance looked back to Laura at the window. She had not turned around to acknowledge his presence in the store. He thought he saw her shoulders shaking. Was she crying? Mack said, "I can get you whatever you need." This annoyed Dance. He didn't like being pushed or goaded or directed. He gave the boy a flat look and said, "I need some cartridge, .44.” The boy took two cardboard boxes from a shelf well-stocked with ammunition and placed them on the counter. The green labels read “Winchester Repeating Arms Co. New Haven, Conn., U.S.A.” Dance was looking at Laura again, and this time Mack said, “Anything else I can get you?" They were polite enough words but the boy didn't say them that way. A thought leapt unbidden into Dance’s mind. For all the rough things I done in my time, I never robbed a store. "Laura," said Dance, a little louder than he meant to. "Sheriff?" asked Mack, giving whatever he was trying one last attempt. "Put it on the tab," said Dance, and then he strode to the back of the store. Laura turned to look at him and her eyes were filled with tears. In her hands she was twisting and twisting her pretty bonnet, looking like she might worry it clean in half. They stood looking at each other, Dance now ashamed of the feelings that he had brought to this place. Above them Penelope's voice rang out clear and perfect as she sang, “May the red rose live always, To smile upon the earth and sky” At a loss, Dance said, “She sounds fine." "Yes," said Laura, “She is… It's a miracle." She waved a hand, unable to explain what none of them understood. "Sheriff, I got your bullets here." "Go upstairs and look after your sister," said Laura. “She's fine,” protested Mack. “She was fine this morning when I placed her in your charge," Laura said. The boy turned and walked away in shame. Laura added, “No more backtalk, you hear, young man!” "Yes ma'am,” he said and then climbed the stairs. “John," she whispered, "John, what am I to do?" John Dance stepped closer, thinking to comfort Laura. As he opened his arms to take her in a hug, she slapped him across the face. "Not that." Laura said quietly, "I'll not do that. Not again." Dance tried to shrug it off and forced a smile, “I didn't mean nothing by it. You just seemed low, is all." "John Dance," she said with the first smile he’d seen from her in as long as he could remember; a sad smile, but a smile all the same. “You always mean something." She looked down at the wrinkled and absurd bonnet in your hands and made a disapproving noise. "Now what is it you want here that you can have and are willing to pay for?" "Laura, I'm riding out for a scout.” "But what about the t