"I think, Bill," said Tavish, when the wild, ecstatic cheering from the television that drifted out of the window into the night garden where they still sat, smoking and drinking Laphroaig - "quite the analgesic," commented Bill, "not bad for not Bourbon"" which caused Tavish to chuckle but he quickly turned serious: "that you were set up, ambushed, and that they had planned it, after you offered Jack McCall money for food, to compensate him for some of his losses, that gave him an excuse – I doubt it could stand up in a Court of Law, but it did at his first trial, the Miners' Trial, in a lawless town like Deadwood; not so much a Crime of Passion, but a Crime of Shame! they knew you always sat with your back against a wall and facing the door, so the next day they were there before you, waiting, with the only empty chair the one with it's back to the door, and they refused to swap with you, because they knew McCall would be coming in to shoot you in the back of the head – that was the plan and they were all in on it – because you were getting too close to the truth; and the pair of witnesses – MacFarlane and Doubleday – we know those names, they are part of a family and a syndicate that's been involved in this sort of thing for generations, since the 12th Century, when an ancestor of your MacFarlane formed a society of men who groomed, exploited, trafficked and abused young girls – and boys – and got away with it, because The Ring of Gold as they called it, included members of the highest in the land, Kings and Princes, Judges and Lawmakers, Archbishops and Cardinals, as well as the scum who trawled the streets for the lost, abandoned, vulnerable, and imported the same kids from other lands and scooped them up, bought them brought them for the pleasures of The Ring; it's still going on today and I've spent half a lifetime pursuing them; I was shot and almost killed by my own twin brother, who was a member, and like yourself I found myself in a strange place, back in the mists of time, the time and place where the founders of The Ring were living, I killed two of them – the original MacFarlane and Doubleday, here in Melrose, and with some friends – from this time – and others I met on the road, I tracked down and killed other members of their nasty circle before I was brought back here by my friend and partner, as you might say, Sam Smiles, thanks to an inventive child called Little Levy Balquhidder, but Sam has now disappeared in the same way as you disappeared from Deadwood and we don't yet know where – or when – he is; but I'm convinced by your story that you must have gotten too close to them and they felt you were going to bring them and their filthy practices to book; they don't only do it for their own filthy pleasures, they also make a lot of money out of it – it's a Big Business and when anything threatens Big Business it pulls strings, pulls in favours, and shuts down the threat, just as they believed that they needed to shut you down, permanently; Jack McCall was the patsy, the fall guy, the disposable one – was he sinistromanual by any chance?" and Bill tipped back his chair so the he could look straight at Tavish, "what's that when it's at home?" he asked, "a southpaw," grunted Tavish, "a lefty? sure, they called him Lefty McCall at the Mining Camp, why?" and Tavish wagged a finger: "because it all falls into place; MacFarlane is right-handed, but Doubleday if left-handed and MacFarlane always looks out someone left-handed for jobs that require them to be emotionless, cold-hearted and obedient," and Bill studied him curiously, "but I've known a bunch of left-handers who ain’t any o those things," and Tavish chuckled, "so do I, my boy, but every Doubleday is a lefty and the MacFarlanes in every generation seem to be superstitious and want killers who match the Doubleday strain – if for any reason Doubleday isn't able to carry out the deed himself, but they often sniff out someone who is easily manipulated and also left-handed; and their plots are rather vermicular, they twist and turn like worms, eating out the heart of whichever community they find themselves in; and the trading of child-slaves into the prostitution business is their preferred line of work," Tavish suddenly stood and offered Bill his hand; the American pushed himself to his feet and shook his host's proffered hand, thanking him for the interest and concern he showed towards Bill's strange predicament; "I could say 'it's my job," commented the older man. "but it's much more than that, perhaps a Crusade would be too vainglorious, but it is certainly a thing I take very seriously, and have dedicated myself to, a vocation, I suppose, to bring these brutes to book and deprive them of their liberty; but I need to turn in now, how about meeting in the 'arvo' as our Antipodean Cousins like to say, about 2pm? there should be some news for you, if my American Friend has managed to do what I asked him," and Bill patted Tavish on the shoulder: "you are a good and fine gentleman, Captain and I'll look forward to the arvo, good night," and made his way back inside, where the television had been switched off and the ladies had repaired to the kitchen, as Tavish walked around the house and spoke to the man who sat in his car just a few car-lengths from the front gate!