Once Crabbe had killed Mercier, had achieved his aim, he felt numb; completely numb.

Then Ke Ni Tay hit Crabbe solidly on the chin, dropping him, and as the bespectacled man rolled over, the Colt fell from the mans hand. At that point Crabbe realised that he wasn't numb at all - damn that hurt! He half expected the Indian to continue to attack him, but the man moved on to more dangerous attackers and by the time Lorenzo started to recover his wits properly, it was 'all over bar the shouting'.

He adjusted his spectacles and sat up to see the soldiers with their guns on both himself and the Apache. "Don't point those things at me boys, I'm a white man!" he reminded them, hoping a healthy dose of native racism would direct all the barrels in the Indian's direction. Luckily, Captain Barlow made the gambit unnecessary.

"Alright, you men, lower your weapons. See to your horses, we will be getting out of here! Go! I got this!" Barlow approached both Crabbe on the ground and the Apache holding his bloody knife.

"Not sure what's happened here, Cap'" Crabbe commented, looking around in faux confusion "Fog o' War and all that."

"It seems our Mr. Mercier didn't make it. Just like his cargo," he asserted then held out a hand to help Crabbe to his feet.

"Yeah, I think a stray bullet must've hit the poor feller" Lorenzo said sadly, looking down at the arms dealer and the two bullet holes close together in his face, which was frozen in an horrible grimace.

"It will go down in my report he was shot dead by the Indians. Oh...and you are going to have to return that pistol, it's government property," Benjamin gave the man a knowing look.

"Oh, er, sure." Crabbe hadn't even realised he was still holding the Colt and held it out obligingly to the Company Commander, grip first. "I used a couple of bullets up, I guess, er, I guess the Army can bill me for them if it likes." He turned and took one last look at Mercier's sprawled out corpse. Good.

As for the Apache, he turned to him, "Good fight. Go tell MacIntosh we are heading back as soon as I get my wounded and dead properly cared for."

Crabbe watched him go, rubbing his chin. There were no hard feelings on his part: technically the scout had been doing the right thing, trying to eliminate a rogue element in the midst of their own party. It still damn well hurt though.

Well that was it. The three men who had done that to his wife were dead, and all three of them knew why they were dead. Now it was back to Kalispell: back for the final act of this miserable play that had been his life. His one last task: to take care of Bridget.