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When she reckons that she’s just a hard days ride away from Los Rios, Sunday ditches the preacher.  His name is David and he has been a good traveling companion.  He’s not too handy with a gun or anything else, but he does make for an imposing figure on his dark horse, tall and slender, dressed head to toe in preacher black.

When she picked him, Sunday figured that riding with anybody was better than riding alone.  Over the last hundred some miles, she’d been proved right a number of times.

But he’s too damn good for what she has in mind.  So she slips off into the night and points her mount deeper into Mexico, towards the town her father founded and named.

She rides with the reins in her mouth.  Hissing his name.  “Arango.”

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