"So what is your news? Has she a new puppy dog?" he sneered at the trembling peon.

"No, Señor. A new man." Pedro leapt back as Montoya rose quickly from his chair, nearly upsetting it.

"What! A new man?" Montoya demanded, looming over Pedro. "Señorita Alvarado has a new man! Do they plan to marry?"

"Not that kind of new man, Colonel. A hired man. He is helping the señorita find water. With a magic stick. He waves the stick at the ground, and there is water below." Pedro crossed himself quickly and added, "He must be a devil or a witch, Colonel. How else can he make the water appear?"

Anger and frustration suffused Montoya's face as he whirled upon the peon. "You ignorant swine! It isn't magic or deviltry. It's just plain science. Though to you they are probably the same," he added in an undertone. "So where did this man come from? Did she send for him?"

"He was just at the hacienda one day last week. He spoke to the señorita for a few minutes on the verandah, then they all rode out toward the hills. A little later, they went to the vineyards. That is where the señor made the magic with the stick. He pointed it at the ground. All week we have been digging a big hole there, and yesterday Ignacio moved some rocks and water sprang out of them! The hole filled up with the water, and we have been putting it on the vines." Pedro paused for breath, realizing he had Montoya's undivided attention. He felt a little braver knowing his information was important in some way.

"The señor has had some of the peons digging a long furrow to the fields, and the women are putting tiles into it. I think it is to take the water to the fields without the burros carting it in the vats. Like a stream." Pedro stopped and looked expectantly at Montoya. Obsequiously, he ventured, "And my reward, mi colonel, for this information?"

Montoya stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing abstractedly out the window. Pedro cleared his throat, trying to regain the colonel's attention. The peon shifted his feet self-consciously, wanting to conclude this business and get away from the colonel who terrified him.

"Your reward..." Montoya said, turning suddenly. "Of course. You have earned a nice silver piece, Pedro. There is more where that came from if you bring such good information again. Gracias." Reaching into his pocket, the colonel pulled out a silver coin and flipped it to Pedro. It clinked onto the floor and the peon stooped quickly to pick it up. Bowing, he backed from the room, and opening the door, fled out into the street. Montoya watched as he disappeared quickly into the square and was soon lost among the shoppers and vendors. The colonel laughed shortly, then shouted for his corporal.

"Send Captain Grisham to me immediately!" he snarled.

"Next, Señorita, we'll build a water wheel that can haul the water out of the pond and pour it into the canal. It will be run by burros on a treadmill. I've seen these in several places and they are more efficient than man power with buckets." O'Toole sat back on his horse, a satisfied smile creasing his tanned face as, from the vineyard, he watched the workers filling the canal with a constant stream of water. In only a week the vines were greener, more lush. He reached down from his horse and picked a grape. The grapes were filling out and ripening. It would be a good harvest after all, even if there was no rain.

The young woman beside him reached across her horse and patted his arm. "Señor O'Toole, I mean, Seamus, this is miraculous. I hardly know how to thank you. You have saved us, saved my hacienda. Gracias, mille gracias." Emotion filled her voice and she turned away quickly. O'Toole looked discreetly into the distance until she composed herself.

"And I suppose, once the harvest is in and you have sold your cattle, you will move on?" Tessa watched his face as she framed her question. She wasn't sure how to feel about his leaving. O'Toole had, in little over a week, become such a fixture on the hacienda that she couldn't imagine the place without him. Probing her own feelings, she recognized an affection but not the passion she wanted to find when she fell in love. Her feeling for Seamus was warm and comfortable, as if he were a brother. His own feelings for her, she had not considered.

A slight shock registered in his body, an alarm at the impending end of his stay at the hacienda. He gazed across the vineyards, then to the distant hills, and finally east, where he had said he was going. So soon, he thought, she wants me gone so soon. When the harvest is in, she wants me to leave. His face fell as he considered the long lonely miles ahead, the uncertainty of ever reaching his destination. Did he still want to go? Or remain here? The second choice was obviously out of the question as far as she was concerned.

Assuming a nonchalance he did not feel, O'Toole replied, "Maybe I'll stay on a bit after the harvest to make sure everything is still working right. Then I'll push on to Virginia."

Tessa compressed her lips and nodded, having nothing to say that might change his mind. He wanted his own land, and who could blame him. Was she not willing to risk anything to keep her land, her legacy from her father?

She had opened her mouth to speak when a shot rang out and she heard screaming from the direction of the water system. A group of armed men were attacking the workers, harassing them on horseback, trampling those who could not get away.

"Banditos! Banditos!" the peons cried out as they implored her for help. O'Toole spurred his horse forward while reaching for his pistol, charging through the vineyard toward the melee at the well. The bandits were smashing up the canal, firing holes into the water vats and buckets and striking down the workers without mercy. O'Toole fired at one of the bandits and he slumped over his horse. Another bandit aimed at O'Toole and hit him in the shoulder. The bandit leader signalled to his men as O'Toole rode toward them and they turned and galloped off into the hills.

O'Toole fell from his horse as Tessa caught up to him. Leaping from her own saddle, she was beside him in a moment. He grimaced, and tried to sit up. "See to the others, Señorita. I'll be alright. Some of them may need your help more than me." Tessa hesitated for a second, then ran toward the workers, some of whom were not moving.

The peons who were not badly hurt were tending to the others as she hurried among them. The worst cases were not life-threatening but still seemed serious. Tessa called to Manuel as he helped one of the women up, a gash spilling blood on her blouse. "I'll take care of Estella. Ride to the pueblo and get Dr. Helm. Take my horse." As Manuel hurried to obey, Tessa turned her attention to her people. She could see only two still on the ground, unmoving. Heart in her throat, she bent to find a pulse and sighed with relief. Neither of the men was dead, only unconscious.

Walking back toward O'Toole, she could almost have wept as she gazed at the destruction of the water system. Everything was broken, trampled. It would take weeks to repair and have running again. Meanwhile, the grapes still needed water every day.

O'Toole staggered to his feet as she approached, his face pale with pain and loss of blood. "Come back to the hacienda, Seamus. Dr. Helm has been sent for. Let me help you onto your horse." With O'Toole in the saddle, Tessa swung up behind him and held him while the horse carried them toward the hacienda.

The first thing O'Toole saw when he opened his eyes was a gaunt face peering down at him. A face that seemed chiselled from stone, with high cheekbones, above which were a pair of brilliant light-brown eyes, and sporting the most patrician of noses.

"So you've rejoined the living," the man said, his British accent belying the Spanish. O'Toole pulled away from him quickly, with a sharp intake of breath. A bloody Brit! Here of all places. O'Toole tried to sit up on the cot, but his shoulder pained so he cried out.

"You've taken a ball in the shoulder, man," Dr. Helm admonished, gently pushing him back down. "It has shattered the bone and very nearly severed an artery. You're damned lucky to be alive." Helm's Spanish was elegant and O'Toole registered the difference immediately. His own Spanish was plebeian; he must sound like a peasant to Tessa, while the doctor would sound like one of her own class. Even here, he thought desolately, even here, class matters. He dropped back with a sigh and closed his eyes again. Would he ever be free of the damned British and their snobbish aristocracy?

A rustle of silk caused him to open his eyes again as the scent of rose petals pervaded his nostrils. Her scent. From somewhere behind the doctor, he heard her voice whisper, "How is he now, Doctor Helm? Will he be all right?"

"Nothing a sling and some nursing won't take care of, Señorita Alvarado. I'll instruct Marta how to clean and dress the wound. It mustn't get infected."

"Señor O'Toole can stay in the hacienda until his wound heals," Tessa assured the doctor.

Helm's eyes flew to his patient and he looked astonished. "O'Toole? An Irishman? What is an Irishman doing here?" the doctor asked in English.

"I moight ask ye the same question, Doctor. But then, like lice, you find the English everywhere. And as we Irish know, they're as hard to get rid of." O'Toole glared as Helm's face suffused with anger.

Tessa, not understanding their speech, still realized that some sudden animosity had sprung up between the men. She stepped forward and pulled Helm gently back as he stood threateningly over his erstwhile patient.

"Let us leave Seamus to rest, Dr. Helm, while you attend to the workers." Guiding him to the door, she cast a glance back to O'Toole. A malevolent expression hardened his features as his eyes followed Helm. She frowned slightly, wondering if it was the difference in their nationalities that was the cause of this hostility. She sighed, and thought, This is the new world. And yet, we bring our old hatreds here with us.

O'Toole grunted with pain as he dismounted his horse. Slightly dizzy, he leaned against it for support as Tessa rushed to him, an angry expression on her face.

"Seamus, you should not be up yet. Dr. Helm said at least three days in bed." She looked anxiously at the paleness of his face, his evident weakness as he staggered away from the horse. "You can do no good here. Go back to the hacienda. I am looking after the repairs to the well and the canal. See, Seamus, it is not as bad as it first looked. We shall have the vats sealed today, and the water will be moving again tomorrow. No real harm done, just a few days setback, that's all."

"I'm pretty sure your injured workers don't think there was no harm done. Some of them are still laid up, aren't they?"

Tessa recoiled from the rebuke, biting back an angry retort as O'Toole groaned and reached out to her for support. She caught him before he fell and allowed his arm across her shoulder to hold him up as she helped him toward his horse. "You must go back to bed and rest. You need to regain your strength," she said.

"Tessa," he began, his wound and her nearness making him a little light-headed. "Tessa, I..."

The young woman drew in a deep breath, her experience with men warning her what was coming. She had no wish to hurt him. She cut in quickly with, "Seamus, I never had a brother. But since you have been here, I feel that I have one now." She smiled tentatively, watching the hope die in his eyes, replaced by pain. "Mi casa, su casa," she added, "for as long as you wish," touching his cheek gently.

O'Toole raised her hand to his lips, and replied, "I said I was your man. That still goes. And I'll continue to hope that in time...." He left off and gave a weak grin that did not reach his eyes.

Tessa looked away quickly as she noticed the sun flash on something. It came from the direction of the rolling hills north of her vineyard. Shading her eyes, she could make out a group of men on horseback. Soldiers! What now?

Grisham pulled the telescope from his eye, closing it with an angry snap. He had witnessed what looked, from this distance, to be a tender scene between two lovers -- Tessa and some man. Rage and jealousy roiled in his gut as he saw the man kiss her hand. She's mine, he thought, and no stranger is going to just ride in here and steal her from me. Gesturing his men forward he nudged his horse into a canter toward the well and the two figures now aware of his approach. He clenched his jaw as he observed Tessa take the man's arm and draw closer to him.

He reined in and dismounted, leading his horse to Tessa and the stranger. Touching his hat in a brief salute, he ignored the man and addressed himself to her. "Buenas dias, Señorita Alvarado." Observing the well and the busy workers, he commented, "Interesting operation you have here. I heard there was some trouble a few days ago. Some bandits attacked your people and tried to destroy your water system. You didn't report it. Why not?"

O'Toole felt Tessa tremble and grip his arm tighter. She's afraid of this man. Why? he wondered, trying to keep his face bland while taking the measure of this soldier who had the power to instill fear in her.

"There was no reason to report it," Tessa said nonchalantly. "We have taken care of it. No need to bother you or Colonel Montoya. Is that what brings you out here, Captain Grisham?"

"Actually, I was chasing a band of outlaws and they came this way. Have you ever heard of El Gato?"

Tessa met his eyes with a haughty stare and said, "Of course. Who has not? He leads a gang of murderers and thieves. And you think he is here, on my land?"

"We lost them in the hills. Yesterday they held up a coach, killed the driver and stole a large sum of money from one of the dons. Given their record, the don is lucky to be alive." Grisham's eyes moved from Tessa to O'Toole, studying him intently, his mind obviously not on outlaws any longer. "As the señorita hasn't thought to introduce us, let me introduce myself. I'm Captain Marcus Grisham." He put his hand out to O'Toole, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Seamus O'Toole... and yes, I know this is a strange place to find an Irishman." O'Toole gave Grisham a firm grip, wincing slightly from the shoulder wound as he drew back. "But no stranger than finding an American in a Spanish uniform," he added acerbically, in English.

"How long do you plan on staying around here, O'Toole?" Grisham asked, switching to English as well.

"I have no definite plans at the moment, not that it is any of your business, Captain Grisham," O'Toole returned evenly, in a mellow Irish brogue.

"Everything that happens around here is my business. I am the law."

"A heavy responsibility. I understand this El Gato has been plying his dastardly trade all up and down the coast for over a year, and remains at large. And what of this Queen of Swords? Have you caught her yet? Yes, it must be a terrible burden to uphold the law and try to catch criminals who can't be caught." His gaze never wavered from Grisham's as he watched the colour rise in the captain's face.

"You may find the climate is this part of the country doesn't suit an Irishman too well," Grisham snarled.

"I have yet to find a place in the world that does. But so far, I like this place fine." O'Toole grinned, taking Tessa's hand and patting it fondly.

Tessa had followed the exchange, glancing from one man to the other, and finally in an exasperated tone, said, "Is it not rude to speak in another language in front of one who does not understand what you are saying?" She pulled her arm from O'Toole and stalked away, leaving the two men gaping after her.

Grisham caught up, and said, "Señorita Alvarado, I apologize. I meant no offense."

With a look of lofty arrogance, she replied, "Your men may refresh themselves at the well, and water their horses, Captain Grisham. Now, if you will excuse me, you can see I am very busy." Turning on her heel, she marched toward the workers without a backward glance.

"He is as stubborn as a mule, Marta!" Tessa paced about her bedroom while her companion followed her with her eyes. "And a fool besides. He won't take any advice from me." She wrung her hands in agitation, a frown wrinkling her brow. "I warned him about Grisham. He has made an enemy of him, but Seamus just laughs when I tell him how dangerous it is to go against the captain. He says he has met tougher men than Grisham. That may be, but Grisham is devious, like Montoya. They are birds of a feather, a pair of vultures! And now, Seamus insists on guarding the well until after the grapes are harvested. He won't even have any of the peons to stay with him. They don't know how to handle a gun, he says. They'll just get themselves killed if anyone attacks. He plans to camp beside the well every night. His shoulder is just barely healing." Slamming her fist onto her dresser, Tessa spat, "He is loco! Loco!"

"There is nothing you can do, Tessa. It is his life."

"Nothing I can do, Marta, but maybe something the Queen can do." Tessa whirled from the room and ran toward the wine cellar. With Marta close behind she hurried down into the earthy darkness and rushed to a rack of bottles. Carefully, she moved one of the bottles and a door swung open.

Inside, she lit a candle and began to search the room. "What are you looking for, Tessa?" Marta asked, her voice hushed.

"My father's duelling pistoles. They must be here somewhere. It seems he hid everything he valued in here." Methodically, Tessa examined every chest and container until she suddenly said, "I have found them." She pulled out a long leather case, covered in dust, and gingerly opened it. A brace of shiny pistols lay on a white satin bed, the stocks carved with the Alvarado crest and the barrels intricately etched in intertwining designs. She lifted one of the guns to show Marta.

Marta took the gun and a vision flashed before her, a burst of smoke and someone falling. Hastily, she handed the weapon back to Tessa. "Hard to believe that something so beautiful could be so deadly," she said, her voice quavering a little.

"What did you see, Marta?"

"Nothing. Guns frighten me. Swords are bad enough, but at least you can see your attacker. Guns are evil things, things of darkness." Marta took a deep breath and asked, "What do you want the pistoles for? What craziness are you planning now?"

"What craziness, Marta? You mean crazier than wearing a mask and trying to defeat powerful forces with just a sword. Forces that outmatch me in numbers and weapons? Crazier than that?" Tessa held the gun with something like reverence, admiring the craftsmanship, sighting along the barrel as if aiming at something. "Maybe I'm just getting madder all the time."

Abruptly, she replaced the guns in their case. The candle flickered and Tessa lit another to give more light. "If my father built this secret room to hide things, perhaps there is another exit than through the cellar. Help me find it."

She is in a very strange mood, Marta thought. I have never seen her like this. What is she thinking of? Marta shook her head resignedly and began to examine every crack in the floor or wall that might conceal a door. Eventually she pulled a cabinet back and was greeted with a rush of cool dank air. Gazing into the black abyss, she shuddered with dread. "This is it," she called to Tessa. "It must be."

Tessa helped her to push the cabinet back far enough to see into the tunnel. Holding her candle aloft, Tessa stepped through the entrance, as Marta grabbed her sleeve. "Surely, you do not mean to go in there! Who knows if it is safe? What if it collapses on you? Tessa, why are you doing this?"

"I know you have a fear of enclosed places, Marta. Stay here and wait for me. If I am not back in less than an hour, send someone in to find me." She hugged her friend, and turned back into the tunnel, the candle flickering wildly on its timbered ceiling. To Marta, it looked like a vision of hell.

The Gypsy stood uncertainly at the entrance as the light receded. Then, with a whispered exclamation, she plunged into the dark depths with her own candle, her heart beating wildly as she felt the walls closing in upon her. "Tessa," she called, her voice sounding flat in the still air of the tunnel. "Tessa, wait for me."

The tunnel was high enough for them to walk upright, though its width would only accommodate single-file. As the women advanced farther, the light from the cellar entrance faded and Marta gripped Tessa's arm suddenly with panic. "It's all right. We're coming to something ahead, Marta. Look, a door."

As Tessa pulled at the door, it creaked inward, revealing a dim light peeping around something large that covered the entrance. The scent of straw and dung assailed her nostrils, and she chuckled quietly. "The stables. This opens into the stables. It makes sense. If he needed to get away quickly without being seen, Papa could go through the tunnel, get his horse and escape. Help me push this out of the way."

Heaving with all their might, the two women managed to move a bale of straw far enough aside to slide through and into one of the stalls. Horses stamped and whickered nervously as they became aware of humans suddenly in their midst.

"This is perfect, Marta. Just what I needed." Tessa's eyes gleamed roguishly as she replaced enough of the straw to conceal the entrance but still leave room to enter and exit. "Come, we must go back the way we came to arouse no suspicion."

"No, I am not going back into that hell-hole and neither are you, Tessa. What do you think you are doing? You get yourself into deeper and deeper trouble all the time. First swords, now guns. You will get yourself killed. And for what? If your father were here, he wouldn't allow this."

Tessa's eyes blazed with anger. "If my father were here, I wouldn't have to do this!" she snapped. "It is for him, and for my people." Pushing aside the straw, she disappeared into the tunnel, leaving Marta gazing desolately at the entrance. She covered it over, and carefully checking that she was not seen, crossed the courtyard to the hacienda.

A thin sliver of moonlight glinted on the sword as the dark figure led her horse from the stables before mounting. She rode in the direction of the hills that loomed up like dark clouds on the horizon.

As Tessa climbed carefully over the rocky hill, she could see the campfire burning beside the well and a lone figure propped against a saddle. She settled as comfortably as possible to begin her vigil, laying the duelling pistols carefully in reach. Overhead, the stars gleamed so brightly she felt as if they were pressing down on her. The weak moonlight made strange shadows of the stones, and fanciful images danced before her eyes. She shook herself awake, shivering, reprimanding herself for not bringing a poncho or blanket.

The chill of early dawn found her chattering with cold and weary from lack of sleep. Tessa moved quietly to where her horse was tethered, and mounting, rode back to the hacienda before anyone arose.

As she pushed the tunnel door open into the hidden room, Marta was waiting for her, a look of concern and censure in her eyes. "So this is what you were planning to do, Tessa. Stay up all night watching over Señor O'Toole. For how long?"

"Marta, please, not now. I'm tired. And half-frozen." Tessa shivered, her lips blue with cold.

Her friend quickly took her own shawl off and wrapped it around the younger woman. "You are making me old before my time!" Marta sighed.

Despite Marta's disapproval and worry, Tessa went out into the night again, disguised and hidden until dawn. For six nights she kept her vigil, trying to protect O'Toole while he slept by the well. On the sixth morning, the sound of thunder invaded her dreams as she sat propped between some rocks, asleep. As she opened her eyes, she realized it was not thunder but horses' hooves, and then gunfire.

Grabbing the duelling pistols, she ran down the hill toward the well, hindered by the rocky terrain. Three men encircled O'Toole and shot at him. Tessa stopped, took careful aim and fired at one of the men. He fell from his horse. She fired the other pistol and hit the man who was trying to lift his wounded comrade to his horse. With no bullets left, she unsheathed her sword and raced at the attackers. They saw her coming, like an avenging angel, a masked woman wielding a sword and ready to use it. The two wounded men regained their saddles and the three rode off into the dawn.

O'Toole was slumped over his saddle, a wound in his chest pouring a steady stream of red down his shirt. Tessa took his head in her arms, and he sighed, then groaned. His eyes opened, a look of confusion there as he probed this masked face above him.

"Who are you?" he gasped.

"A friend. Someone who tried to protect you, and failed," she whispered. He felt cold and Tessa wrapped his blanket around him.

He breathed deeply, and then smiled. "You can fool my eyes, but you can't deceive my nose. Your scent, rose petals. Tessa, what is this? You, the Queen of Swords? So dangerous. Why?"

"For the same reason as you, Seamus. My land, my home. And to get justice for my father."

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Tessa's hand shook as she touched his cheek. "Don't leave me, Seamus. I need you."

A weak smile spread over his features. "Almost worth dying to hear that. Take off that mask so I can see your beautiful face." Tessa pushed the lace above her brow, and O'Toole gazed at her for a long moment, then said, "Do something for me." He coughed and panted with pain. "Bury me in Eire."

"You won't die, Seamus. I'll send someone for the doctor. Hold on. I'll get help." She began to move carefully away, but his hand gripped hers so hard she winced.

"No! Don't let me die alone. Just promise you'll do what I ask. Bury me in Eire."

"Where is that?" Her voice quavered as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"The canyon reminds me of Eire, the emerald isle. So green, so fair." He paused, then rasped, "One more thing. Give my divining rod to Marta. I pass my gift to her."

His clear blue eyes sought hers and he whispered, "I've wanted to say this to you for a while. Never seemed to be the right time. I love you, Tessa. If only we'd had more time..." He shivered, and she held him closer. "So cold. Dawn is always so cold." He exhaled softly and his body relaxed, blue eyes staring at the cold dawn sky.

She gathered him closer and wept, "No, Dios mio, no." For long moments she held him, trying to get control, knowing she must do something soon or others would be about, drawn by the gunshots.

A sound near the well alerted her to the presence of someone nearby. She lowered her mask and grabbed O'Toole's pistol, leaping up to face whoever it was. Two of the peons cringed together as they saw this apparition in black pointing a pistol at them. "Don't kill us, Señorita, please. We have families."

"Get that horse and put Señor O'Toole's body on it. Pronto!" she rasped, waving the gun. The peons rushed to do as she asked. They saddled the horse and lifted the body across it. Tessa climbed on behind, and as she was about to ride off, warned the two men, "Say nothing of this to anyone. Comprende?"

"Si, Señorita. We will not speak of this to anyone."

She left them watching her, wondering how long before everyone knew what had happened here. At least, she thought, I should have time to reach the canyon before anyone can get to Grisham or Montoya.

A broad smile spread across swarthy features as he closed his telescope and ran for his horse. Drawn by the gunfire, the watcher had come upon the scene just as the black-clad figure had knelt beside the wounded man. Staying hidden in the hills, he knew better than to get involved, so he just watched as the death scene played itself out in his telescope. The woman was the Queen of Swords! He chuckled to himself as he set off to follow her. What a coup!

The sun was just touching the tops of the rock walls when Tessa entered the canyon. The cattle lowed nervously and trotted to the far end of the meadow, frightened by the sudden appearance of a human, or perhaps the scent of death. She rode toward what looked like a low stone wall. Seamus must have built it, as it was not there before. Beside the stone wall was a sod hut, unfinished but sturdily built. She pulled the horse up in front of it and sat a while, absorbing the peace of the place as it seeped into her being. No wonder he loved this valley, she thought. It is beautiful here. A sacred place. The wind echoing around the rocks sounded like someone sighing. She shivered and got off the horse.

A shovel stood propped by the stone wall, which, she saw as she got closer, enclosed the beginnings of a garden. The sight of those hopeful little green tendrils poking up through the dark furrows, undid her. He had planned to stay. Planted a garden and built a house. Through her tears, she looked back at the inert body laying across the saddle, and said aloud, "This is your land now, Seamus. This is your Eire... for eternity."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her self-control as she concentrated on the grim job ahead of her. She picked up the shovel and stepped over the stone wall. The sun glanced down between the rocks, a shaft finding her as she marked out the grave and began to dig.

Hours passed as the sun climbed higher and its merciless rays beat upon her back. A black costume is all right for night, but by day it draws the heat unbearably, she thought, stopping her digging to remove her black silk blouse. Marta will reprimand me for getting a sunburn, but I can hardly stay on my feet, I am so hot and weary. I must finish this, she told herself staunchly, picking up the shovel once more.

Concluded in Episode Two

---

Send feedback to author Maril Swan

---

This website is designed and managed by Boomtown Webworks
Please contact the webmaster with any technical problems.