Frank.

Whether it had been whispered, or imagined, or even a murmur of the wind playing through the knotholes in the boardwalk - it amounted to the same for him. The past was trailing him, and it was a past he would sooner forget.

But the past, it seemed, had other ideas. His last brush with it was two weeks gone, and far out of sight along those glittering tracks - but he knew it was catching up.

Time, normally Pasts keeper, had become its redeemer. He was weary, and needed to gather his strength. To stop could cost him dearly.

And so he ran, stumbling along the empty street. Twice he fell. When he faltered for a third time his ankle twisted badly, pitching him sideways into the dust. He knew he could run no more.

There he lay, exhausted, the red dust of the present settling on his face, the breath of the Past ruffling his tangled hair.

Then it was that a shadow fell across him, and the voice spoke again.

'Frank.'

It was a woman's voice.

'Come quickly now. Help me get him out of the sun. He's half-dead, by gorry.'

The sun and the dust was in his eyes, blinding him. Strong hands clamped onto his wrists, and others hooked under his knees. He allowed himself to be lifted that way; anything to get out of that sun.

'Well, he ain't one of Esau's boys, and he don't come from Knoll neither. So why we awasting our time here, woman?'

He guessed that the speaker was Frank, and he guessed from the smell of his breath, Frank's mouth hadn't seen a toothbrush in many a year. And yet still he surrended himself to be half-carried, half-dragged to wherever it was they were taking him.

It was how he was taught, and it provided an opportunity to rest. Like the engines that had once thundered along the tracks, he too had run out of steam.

The woman spoke again, panting beneath the weight of his legs alone.

'Hendry's men are less than an hours' ride away. We leave him here, he dies. And if he doesn't die, they will take him and search for others.'

'Aye, woman,' Frank sighed. 'Now ain't that the truth. Well, all I can say is he better not be one of them ratbag Hendry whore-mongers, or I'll slit him from gullet to gusset and hang him from the General Store eaves to greet the rest of his thieving brood.'

'Now you be still, Frank. Put away that knife. You'll do no such thing. I have a feeling about this one. I don't know who he is or where he's come from - but he's not one of them. I know it.'

'You better not be pi**ing in my bathwater, Eveline. I remember the trouble that last one caused. You can explain it to the others at any rate.'

'Let's just get him inside, Frank, before we have more than a little explaining on our hands.'

Then came the sound of a door opening. He was carried through into darkness.

The door closed.

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