"That ain't gonna be a problem," he says lightly, dropping the game at his feet for a moment and yanking a bandanna from his back pocket, "'cause you've got the consumption and we're on a mission to get you cured out here in the fresh desert air."

He offers the kerchief -- the dark blue cloth is wrinkled but clean -- and keeps his eyes on hers.

"I'm a preacher. Reverend Tucker Evans, here in the flesh. And you? Are my lovely wife."

A beat.

"Prudence."