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been. He’s about two hundred feet away... and I’m planning to circle and get him now.’
    ‘Don’t be a fool... there could be six of ‘em.’
    ‘No. Just the one. The damned fool smokes. I’ve got a nose of it now several times over... he’s about as useful as a tracker as a parrot. I’m going for him.’
    ‘I hope you’re right.’
    Dan was right. The wind gave excellent cover. He could even afford to make some noise, as the howling covered it. He circled well around, knowing that the man watching them was high above, about a hundred feet up a slope. The sun had glinted on his field glasses earlier, too. It was a case of heaving steadily up the leeward side, gripping the shelves of rock, and fingering your way around a basin-shaped curve. Dan found himself about twenty feet behind a small man curled inside a topcoat, snuggled like a child, out of the storm.
    The wind was blasting Dan’s face but he didn’t care. He had to screw up his eyes and shield them from the grit and sand, but carefully he made his way behind the man, then reached out and got his arm around the outlaw’s throat, dragged him back and gave him a blow with the butt of his revolver. He tied him up, throwing the overcoat to the winds. It was lucky the man was so small. Dan was grateful for this, as he had to pull him down the slope, half pushing and half rolling him. It was when the limp body slammed against the trunk of the only tree clinging to the bottom of the rock that Pearce became aware of what was going on and stood up.
    ‘I see you found our friend.’
    ‘He was shivering like a babe in arms... couldn’t take a little chill.’ Dan tied the man to the tree and they waited for him to come round.
    ‘Mullen, I never asked you. Why did you want to become a sheriff?’
    ‘Well, that’s a good question. Fact is, I was asked. The nice folk of Red Ridge must have been impressed with the way I handled myself.’
    ‘But the money?’
    ‘It’s not that good... but at the time I had Mary and Pete to feed. He was just a young colt then, dashing around, bumping into things and being a welcome nuisance!’
    Pearce, in spite of himself, was wanting to know more about the man who had the labels attached to him.
    ‘Another thing that puzzles me, Mullen..... if you don’t mind me saying this, erm... people in town tended to call you a drunk!’
    ‘You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived with that for years!’ There was real, deep anger evident now. Dan Mullen spat the words out, shooting a glance at Pearce that made the storekeeper see, for the first time, what power to hurt there was in that man. It was the sort of power you wanted on the side of the law if you could. Ned Pearce saw very clearly why the town would ask Dan Mullen to take the tin star.
    ‘Mullen....all that runnin’ and shapin’ up... why? I seen you workin’ up a sweat when sane folks was takin’ a siesta!’
    ‘I’ll tell you why. Because I wanted back. I wanted my feet back in where there was a good life to be had. When you taste good, full life... with a family and people who respect you.. you never want to lose it. I wanted respect. I wanted heads to turn.’
    ‘They did... calling you a loser!’
    ‘Sure... well this loser’s aiming to claw back.’
    ‘Mullen, you got the star in your pocket. Put it on.’
    Dan felt instinctively at the metal in his pocket. He had forgotten about it. But he remembered walking down the street, in his best suit, with Mary on his arm, to watch a stiff-shirt play from back east. Some travelling players trying to import a taste of culture. He remembered pinning the star on his waistcoat, and catching a glimpse of Mary’s look, in the mirror, at her man. She was proud. Proud to have him. And he would always have that walk down the street in his head. Most times, the walk down the main street was to visit the bar and sort out a brawl.
    ‘No... I can’t put it on. Not yet.’
    ‘No-one’s looking ‘cept me.’
    There was