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the firewood, and saw a man in a vest step outside, gun in hand, looking both ways. Another man appeared, holding the arm of Vanessa Fontaine. The men led her toward the carriage, as the driver jumped to the ground.
    Duane realized that Vanessa Fontaine was tall for a woman, built on the slim side, just as he. Moonlight silhouetted her profile, revealing a gently curved nose and blond hair beneath the hood of her black cape. Duane had never seen anything like her among the girls who came to the monastery. They'd been farmers’ daughters in plain homespun dresses, but Vanessa Fontaine looked like a celestial creature from another realm.
    She entered the cab, and the driver climbed onto his seat. He snapped his whip, and the matched white horses headed toward the street. Duane found himself moving toward the alley, following the carriage. He saw the outline of her head through the back window, and wondered what kind of person she was.
    He drank water from the trough in front of the hitching rail, and felt stronger. I'll see where she lives, just for the fun of it, and then I'll come back and look for a job. Or maybe I'll go out on the sage and trap a rabbit.
    He felt revived, as he moved along the sidewalk, passing men sleeping on benches, in alleys. One stalwart fellow was out cold in the middle of the sidewalk. Duane stepped over him, as the coach turned left at thenext corner, and Duane followed like a lean hungry wolf of the night.
    Lanterns on the carriage vied with the moon for lighting the way, but all other lamps were out in the increasingly residential street. They came to a neighborhood of larger homes and more spacious yards, with wagons and carriages parked outside. Some houses were neatly painted, with white picket fences, while others were in varied states of construction. This is a growing town, Duane realized. Lots of potential here for a man like me.
    Duane slipped through the shadows, as cool night wind blew in from the sage. The carriage turned right, and Duane followed it to a narrow road with only a few houses. The driver pulled his reins back, steering toward a two-story, boxlike structure sleeping in the night. Duane hopped the fence, landed behind a bush, and a dog barked across the street. The driver climbed down and opened the door.
    The wraith in black shawl emerged from the carriage, and moonlight glinted on her golden hair. She fairly flew to the front door, opened it, and was gone. A lamp was lit inside the residence, sending pale yellow rays through the windows. Duane heard something crash, as the singer rattled a string of outrageous curses in a strange lilting drawl.
    A door slammed, and it seemed as if the whole house shook. Duane was fascinated by her behavior, for he'd grown up without women, and they were strange alien beings to him. The women who'd visited the monastery had been devout Catholics, whereas this woman evidently was Jezebel herself!
    Duane felt nauseated, and weakness came overhim. I've got to get something to eat, he reminded himself. The lamp went out in the house just as he was about to rise. He lowered himself as she burst onto the porch and ran toward the carriage, holding her skirts in the air.
    The driver opened the door for her, and she said: “Hurry, because I'm late.”
    She stepped into the backseat, the driver lashed the horses, and the sleek animals pulled the carriage away from the curb. Galloping hoofbeats could be heard, as the contrivance rumbled toward the center of town.
    Duane's vision blurred, and only the rapid deployment of his hands prevented his face from crashing into the dirt. Black curtains fluttered before his eyes, and the tinkling of bells came to his ears. He tried to rise, but fell on his butt. I'm liable to die on her lawn, if I don't get something to eat soon.
    His system weakened by inadequate nutrition, a vicious beating, and a few swallows of rotgut whiskey, he tried to stand, but his knees were wobbly. I'll never make it to town,