Anacleto left the priest's house, feeling disconcerted. He had gone there for a show of strength. He had wanted this new priest to know who he was up against, coming to Quantana. He had wanted him to see the wreck of a man Father Gomez was and to leave him in no doubt as to who had broken him. In short - he had gone there to intimidate him.

Father Gomez had, not surprisingly, shrunk away at his entrance - a dried out husk of a man who had grown to fear his own shadow, he had learned some time ago not to trifle with Anacleto. But on this day, Anacleto had barely even noticed him.

His gaze had been drawn to the new arrival at once, and he had faltered, giving away a valuable advantage, simply because he had plunged into a pair of bright blue eyes as easily as a clumsy kitten, distracted by a mouse, might end up in a pond.

The new priest, no doubt unaware of his effect, had risen and assessed him with a curious expression which had been neither fear nor hatred. Cautious interest, perhaps. Anacleto knew he had given the two men just enough time to discuss him before he had made his appearance. He had been well aware the new arrival would know who he was the moment he entered the room. And yet, his reception had been polite, confident and, to Anacleto's annoyance, it had held a touch of warning.

Who was this priest to warn him? Did he think that Father Gomez' fearful whimpering had told him all there was to Anacleto? How dare he think he could keep him at a distance?

This thought brought Anacleto up short. Why should distance matter? This was about power. The priest's cool, and yet strangely pleasant, reception may have momentarily thrown him off his stride, but he would continue to be in charge of Quantana. And of this new priest as well. He would show him.

He shivered at the memory of the too curious, too searching blue eyes. There was something about this priest which, although Anacleto would never admit it, frightened him. He felt as if he had looked his own destiny in the face today.

It was ridiculous. What could a priest possibly do to him? Frowning and angry, he noisily swung open the doors to the hotel and came face to face with his friends.

"How is the new priest?" Vito sneered.

Anacleto glared at him without knowing why the question angered him, then told the others, "Get ready. We'll help him see off Father Gomez."

His friends laughed and made their way outside, while Vito stayed behind.

"What are you waiting for?" Anacleto snapped at him.

"An answer."

Anacleto walked past him without a word. He had no answer Vito would want to hear or that he would want to give. He knew there was no point in making Father Gomez' exit more difficult, and he already knew the new priest would not be intimidated by mockery and bullying. So why did he insist on escorting the two men to the edge of town?

Deep down, he knew what it was about. He felt he had to see this new priest again, even though he had only left him minutes earlier. He needed to know whether he would be as unsettling a second time around.

They converged in the town square. Father Gomez, on seeing Anacleto, shrunk in on himself even further and clung to his replacement like a frightened child, while Anacleto's friends happily took up a chorus of taunts and jibes. Anacleto himself remained a silent observer, unwilling to let anyone see that he was not quite his usual confident self.

The new priest led a hunched Father Gomez through the gauntlet and up the hill, and Anacleto thought that Moses, if he had ever existed, must have been a man much like that, boldly parting the waters as if forces of nature could not dare stand in the way of his faith. It was quite amusing to watch how the mocking remarks pearled off him, while each word was another nail in Father Gomez' coffin.

At that moment, those eyes looked up and met Anacleto's, and his smile died away. Not used to feeling guilt, he failed to recognise the emotion the cool look ignited in him, knowing merely that he didn't like it. But then it was over, and the blue eyes, still holding his, grew marginally warmer, and there was almost a trace of a smile about the soft lips. A smile of triumph, as if the priest has sensed the emotion Anacleto himself could not name.

A new wave of annoyance threatened to sweep over him, but then the priest unknowingly defused the situation by coolly informing Vito that he needed his mule for Father Gomez. Vito, of course, refused, and was promptly sent off the beast's back and into the dusty street, where his murderous expression nearly made Anacleto laugh out loud.

"Vito," he said warningly, holding him back from attacking the priest. "Have you no respect? You can walk."

This time, when he met the priest's eyes, there was no smile there, but a trace of surprise. Anacleto acknowledged the small victory with a tilt of his head, and he knew the priest understood. They continued to hold eye contact and, for a long moment, it felt as if everyone and everything around them faded away. In this look, there was no coolness at all, and Anacleto could no more tear his eyes away than he could stop the pounding of his heart.

The priest broke the spell at last, though he seemed reluctant to do so. He took up Father Gomez' bag and led Vito's mule with the old man on its back up the hill. The rest of the group tagged along, with Anacleto following slowly, deep in thought.

He had not, and could not have, anticipated this turn of events. He had expected a new priest to bring with him an arsenal of faith, hope, and good intentions. What he had not expected was a silver bullet forged especially for his heart.