Angle wanted a deputy's star more than she wanted breakfast, and she had no idea who in this town could give her one. She was fifteen, maybe sixteen. The pistol on her hip made grown men look twice and frown. Every time someone called her too young to carry it, she felt the east crawl back up her spine. A sworn badge would end that. A badge would make her belong somewhere clean. She swept the front room of Household Haven and listed everyone she'd asked. The blacksmith just laughed. The storekeeper at the trading post shrugged and sold her a nail she didn't need. Nobody could name the man who swore in deputies. The town had law, folks said, but they said it the way you talk about weather coming. Angle dropped onto the old teal couch to think. The seams gave off a faint glow, and the cushions seemed to hum under her. She'd been warned the couch whispered. She'd never believed it. Now, sitting still, she heard it — a low murmur, like two people talking behind a door. "The circuit man," the couch seemed to say. "He does the swearing. He comes with the mail wagon." Angle sat up straight. She pressed her hand flat to the cushion. The hum went quiet, but the words stuck. A circuit man. Somebody who traveled, who didn't live here. That was why no one could point to a house. She found the woman who ran the boarding house sorting laundry out back. "The judge who rides the circuit," Angle said. "When does the mail wagon bring him?" The woman didn't look up. "You mean the marshal. Comes the first of every month to hear complaints and swear in whoever the town backs." She snapped a wet sheet. "That's tomorrow, girl. But nobody's backed you. He won't hand a star to a stranger." Angle's stomach dropped and lifted at the same time. She finally had her answer. She also had a new wall in front of it. "Who backs a person?" she asked. "Folks who'll vouch. Signatures. A man of standing to speak for you." The woman finally met her eyes. "You got any of that?" Angle didn't. She had a swept floor, a borrowed bed, and a gun she was scared to keep loving. She thanked the woman and walked back inside. She stood over the couch a long moment. It sat quiet now, just cloth and wood. But she had a name for the thing she needed, and a day. Tomorrow the marshal would ride in. To reach him she needed someone with standing to put his name behind hers. Angle knew exactly one man building something of his own out past the timber — a settler working his own land claim. She pulled her hat low and went to find him.