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of it.  His herd wasn't big enough to use all the water there anyway.  They still didn't like it though, not having the water under their control.
    “They put a lot of pressure on him, and he just kind of stopped coming to town.  So did his wife.  Jessica was her name, right?  Things cooled off for a little while, but then the rustling started.  That's been going on for the past year or so.
    “The Big Three were all convinced your brother was behind it.  All three of their ranches were losing cattle, but he wasn't.  Plus, being a newcomer and all, suspicion naturally tended to fall on him, of course.  They were determined to run him out of the valley.  Even went out to his ranch several times with the sheriff, looking for evidence.  Never found any.
    “That's about all I know.  Didn't even know your brother was missing until you got to town, much less his wife. Right sorry to hear about that."
                Byers seemed sincere and honest, so I took him at his word.  He wanted to run an item in the paper about their disappearance, but I figured it was a waste of time.
    At least now I understood Ben’s situation, and why someone might have wanted to get rid of him.  I still had no idea who, though I had three big suspects.
    The rustling continued, and I hoped that would, if nothing else, clear my brother's good name since Ben wasn't around any longer to blame for it.  I heard some rumors that Bill Hartford was saying Ben was hiding out in the hills and rustling from there.  That got me pretty steamed, but there wasn't anything I could do about it, so I just had to stew.
    Next, I began hearing the ranchers believed I was in on the rustling too.  All of a sudden, I felt what Ben must have felt.  It's a terrible thing to be accused of a crime when you're innocent.
    Townsfolk became more and more hostile toward me.  Hope of anyone helping me find Ben quickly faded. 
    Though nothing could unfocus my mind from my main purpose, I wasn't making any headway.  Most nights found me in the saloon, playing cards, drunk, loud, and generally feeling sorry for myself.  Feeling sorry for Ben, for what had happened to him, and for myself for not being able to do anything about it.  Mad and hurt because people were accusing me of crimes I hadn't committed and never would.
    I was growing desperate.  I wanted to kill somebody so bad, I could taste it.
    Not just anybody. The person who’d hurt Ben.  I wouldn’t let myself believe he was dead, but the thought kept slipping through.  Every night, I’d fight the same battle.  Those two halves of me would rise up to wrestle one another, one side urging me to kill, kill, kill...the other whispering patience.  Each night, though, that whisper grew a little fainter.  My wildness was winning...and I was glad for it.
    Then, one night, Tom Logan burst into the saloon and called me a rustler to my face.
    And I was drunk.
     
     

 
     
    I know my time is coming soon.
    Who is this man? This man beside me.
     
    "Thief"
     
                    - Third Day
     
     
    Voices drifted down the dark hall from the front of the jail.  One of them belonged to Sheriff McCraigh.  I didn’t know the other.  Whoever it was conversed briefly with the sheriff in the front room and then they moved into his office.  After a short while, I heard muffled laughing through the wall, not mere chuckles mind you, but deep, hearty guffaws.
    Glad to know someone had something to laugh about.  Odd to think life would go on without me tomorrow.  People would just keep on laughing, crying, loving, living, and dying, and they’d soon forget all about me.
    Shortly thereafter, the stranger left the jail.  Somehow, I understood the sheriff had been mocking the stranger, not laughing with him.
    What did I care anyway?  None of this mattered any more.  I’d give anything to erase yesterday from history, but you can’t do that in life, can you?
    I lost myself in my thoughts for