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Benton blames that damn carnival for giving him the image.  Without it, his dreams could just go on being mean and angry without taking any specific form.

But now, every night, there is a shooting booth.  Targets rattle along, each the head of someone he knows.  He shoots and they pitch backwards.

Ka-DING!  Ka-DING!  Ka-DING!

All through the night.

————————————-

Sunday rides into the last town before the border.  She spends the last of Waring’s money on a fresh mount.  Now she only needs to find someone to trust.   It’s late so every suitable candidate is at the saloon.

She spots him right away.

A murderous bunch of cowhands are converging on a drunken and unlucky farmer.  He’s backing up the stairs, ranting through his fear.  He’s outnumbered and about to get clobbered.

There’s a whistle.  The big guy at the bar tosses him a stool.  The farmer catches it and goes to town.  He gets clobbered anyway, but, as these things go, he had a better shot with the stool.

Benton provides another stool for Sunday.  He smiles like an old friend.  Sunday quickly realizes that Benton is smarter than his size would suggest.  She watches his eyes as he listens, taking her words in, considering them.

This is the man she’s looking for.  Someone to trust.

Inside his head, he only hears one thing.   Ka-DING!

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