"You walked into the wrong house!" she said, voice rose into a shriek.

"I don't want trouble, Jody," he tried to turn, but she jammed the gun against the bounty hunter's head.

"You know my name," she bared her teeth, old scar was deep, and zig zagged across once lovely features. "Well, I know a Blue Belly dog, when I see one!"

"Who told you?"

"NO ONE," Jody hissed, "I know a Federal! I was ready this time. They can always take more, always!"

"I don't want to hurt you," Cassidy turned, felt the barrel again.

"You're in no—"

With a smooth motion, the bounty hunter pulled the revolver from her hand, and drew his wheel gun. Jody's eyes widened, though barely perceptible, but the wildcat fury only grew. Most men, in his experience, would already be crying or begging. The widow looked ready to pounce like a large mountain cat. He closed the door, but stepped back from her.

"I'm Cassidy Bullock," he said in an even tone, for guns in his face always got his blood up.

"I don't care!" she hunch over, fingers bent into claws. "No Northerner will ever take anything from me again. You killed my brothers, uncles, cousins, my husband and my boy! YOU…sullied me!" Jody's teeth gleamed in the candlelight, "YOU walked in here a rooster, but you'll walk out a hen."

The bounty hunter's gaze slid away, "I didn't come here…for that."

"You, the Union, it doesn't matter! All you came down and it didn't matter if you were a Confederate: pillaged, destroyed, or…" tears slipped out, "ravaged!"

"I NEVER DID THAT," he roared. "AND, you think your side is innocent? You sent men to my farm, killed MY WIFE, MY CHILDREN!" Cassidy's grin grew stony, flat, "One Confederate tried to savage my woman, and he walked away one gun short."

"They…they're cruel," she looked about the room, lost, "it would've been more…compassionate, if they cut my throat, instead of my face."

He lowered the gun, for he'd wished for death too, so the sorrow of their absence would not crush him. "I'm here to look into the ghost that haunts yonder battlefield," he nodded towards Widow Creek.

A laugh, half sneer and half ghoulish good cheer, escaped her, "Nonsense, a bunch of lies to spook children away. A whirlpool opens up, now and again, which will take the foolhardy or young."

"More likely someone looking for the Confederate gold," the bounty hunter said, though grew distant.

"More lies," she shook her head.

"What do you mean, Ma'am?" he asked eyes blue as dawn over the desert returned to her.

"Some idiot is selling maps to the treasure," she laughed, "the first with a cipher and the second without."

"So, they're counterfeit, even the new ones?"

"I know they are," she glanced towards the battleground, though it was too far to see. "Idiots with gold from other mining towns come in search of it. After all, there was a lot of blood spilled, North and South, to get their hands on it. Just locals rooking outsiders, it is easy money."

"All just a lie," he grinned, "no gold at all."

"There was gold," she recalled Joseph's paranoia, "and my…late husband made the maps. He suspected Union spies. The maps are decoys. I never told anyone, even Franklin.

"What happened to it?"

"I don't know," she relaxed, eyes drifted to the past. "He told me to go to where he proposed, under the broken star."

"Did you ever go?" he nodded, but wondered if there would be less trouble if everyone knew it was a lie.

"I only ever got up the courage to go once," all fury spent, she seemed to shrink in on herself. "At least, I got his wedding ring." She looked at him, as if she heard his thoughts, "No one would believe that there is no gold." In the past Jody fell, sorrow wrapped in loss, and wanted to let it go, so to be free.

Cassidy emptied her revolver, and set the gun with the bullets on a table. "Someone murdered the Deputy, and it wasn't a ghost," he stepped back to the door. "I'm sorry," he shook his head, for it would never be enough.

Jody held her chin up, and strove for defiant, yet a shimmer was caught in her eyes, "I don't think apologies will bring back the ones we love."

"I've put the War behind me."

"Have you, Cassidy?" she asked, curious and hopeful, for she prayed for it. He was unable to hold her gaze.

Out into the waiting night he retreated. Cassidy felt her gaze upon him. Full moon, pregnant and malignant, hung high in the star dappled sky; it rained its silver glow on the land. Lazy waters of Widow Creek had cooled the air, but now carried a chill that turned every bead of sweat into a splinter of ice. Steak meal, which was so delicious, turned in the guts, and the taste curdled in the throat. Crisp air held a rot, desiccated clothes, rusted metal, and the low musk of long dead corpses gone nearly to dust. Distant, at first, was the shrill ringing. He shook his head, yet it only grew, but abruptly faded away.

The ruins of the Battle of Santa Estrella were untouched. Broken cannons leaned drunkenly, but some still pointed at the opposite hill. Widow Creek widened here, but the waters were shallow. A man could walk across, yet the enemy could cut them down with ease. Long trenches faced the enemy shore, where both sides could take shots at the other. Over the bridge battalions could charge, yet it would be met by the other. Both North and South wanted the bridge, so it had held through the combat. Only death would come of such a fight, Cassidy marveled, and they had dug in for a long one. No skeletons were littered about, but the tattered remains of their clothes were everywhere. The bounty hunter held up a Confederate uniform, likely a Private, and wondered which animal would savage a corpse in such a fashion. Another set was clearly a cowboy's clothes, much newer. Around the battlefield he searched, although he could find no animal leavings or scat.