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"Well, you were all alone, sir," Aaron said, "and you both needed help."

Lancaster turned as the sheriff joined them. "Sheriff, do you know Aaron?"

"No, I don't," Sheriff Lockwood said. "You must be new in town, son."

"Yes sir," Aaron said. "Just rode in today."

"Well, I owe you my life," Lockwood said. "I owe both of you my life. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

Lockwood looked at Lancaster.

"I've got to get these bodies off the street," he said. "How about we meet in the saloon in half an hour and I'll buy you that beer?"

"Fine." Lancaster put his hand on Aaron's shoulder. "Maybe I'll just buy our young hero here something in the general store." He looked at the boy. "Maybe some candy?"

The boy's eyes lit up, but he said, "I'll have to ask."

"Ask who? Your father?"

"I don't have a father."

"Then who did you come to town with?"

"Mr. Bristow."

"Who's Mr. Bristow."

"He's our..." the boy groped for a word, "um, guide, I guess, or...wagon master?"

"Are you part of a wagon train?" Lockwood asked. He looked at Lancaster. "There hasn't been a wagon train through here in over twenty years."

Lancaster knew that the heyday of the wagon trains ran from 1830 to 1860, and most of that along the Oregon Trail. He also knew that jumping-off points for the trail were Missouri and Iowa--right here in Council Bluffs being one of them.

But he doubted that this boy was part of a full-fledged wagon train. With the advent of the railroad most folks chose to avoid the hardship of traveling in wagons--if they could afford it.

"Where is Mr. Bristow, son?" the sheriff asked.

Before the boy could answer a man came up behind Sheriff Lockwood.

"Sheriff?"

"Yeah, Rollins?" Lockwood asked. From the look of distaste on his face Lancaster assumed that Rollins was not one of the sheriff's favorite people.

"We got a man down in the street who wasn't part of the gang, sir." Rollins said.

"Where is he?"

"Back here, behind the buckboard."

Lockwood turned to Lancaster again, indicated his bloody side.

"We're gonna have to have the doc take a look at you."

"Let's take a look at this man first," Lancaster said. He turned to Aaron. "You better stick with us, son, until we locate your Mr. Bristow."

"Yes, sir."

They all walked over to where a man lay in the street, clutching his stomach. Blood seeped out from between the fingers.

"That's him!" Aaron shouted, pointing at the wounded man.

"That's who, Aaron?" Lancaster asked.

"That's him," the boy said, again. "That's Mr. Bristow."

"He must have been hit by a stray bullet," Lockwood said. "Rollins, let's get this man to the doctor's office."

"Yes, sir."

They lifted Bristow as gingerly as they could and then started walking toward the doctor's office, with Lancaster and Aaron following.

(This selection ends on page 23.)