"Megan!" Wesley called out, clutching at his hat as he ran. "Mrs. DeHoyt!"

The woman stopped, turning around and setting her suitcase down, a look of mild alarm melting into one of surprise and pleasure. "Wesley? Wesley Torrance?" She took a few steps toward him as he thudded to a halt in front of her, panting and grinning in amazement.

"Meg—"

"Wes—" They exclaimed together, forming a quick embrace, then parting just as quickly, their mutual embarrassment dictating the moment.

"What are you doing here? Where's Karl? I thought—" The sudden cloud of pain in her eyes nipped his barrage short. "Megan? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Karl died, Wes." She felt her eyes begin to water at his stunned expression.

"Oh Megan, when? How?"

She waved a helpless hand and looked away. "Can we find someplace to sit and talk?"

Instantly, Wesley grabbed her bag and led her by the arm to one of the benches situated along the porch fronts of the buildings. When they were settled, he took off his hat and turned to face her... waiting.

"After we got back, he never really got better. The doctor tried as well as he could but Karl's heart just wasn't strong enough." She smiled sadly into his clear eyes, shrugging and sighing before she continued. "The folks at the Conserve held a real nice ceremony for Karl and the others— Mister Dunstan and Mister Tate, and we buried him in the community cemetery. He's got a real nice plot. A nice, inscribed cross and lots of pretty wild flowers all 'round." Her voice cracked, and she began to sniffle.

Wesley slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her close, letting the flood of tears that followed, take their course.

*****

Marshals Gower and Hartman shook hands with Ethan and climbed up into their saddles. They were going back to the Meier ranch with Hector Field for another look around while he retrieved the bodies of the family. Hector couldn't wait to see the faces of the council members when he presented the bill for his services. No one had reported any new visitors resembling the posted sketch, and the marshals decided to do a sweep of the territory from the Meier ranch to north of the town. Horace managed an authoritative 'So long' to the two men as he arrived to deliver his report on Wesley's actions.

"You only just started Horace, I don't need a minute by minute account. I just want you to watch and make sure he don't get into any trouble." Ethan sighed, leaning on the hitching rail and dangling his head.

"Well I thought you might like to know he met a woman that just come in on the stage. They sat in front of the gunsmiths talkin', an' she was cryin'. After a bit they both went around to Granny's. They seemed pretty friendly."

Bragg stared at the road in front of the rail, thinking. It was curious that Torrance would be knowing anyone arriving on the stage, unless it was a friend or relative that just got the news about his family. He decided he'd wander over to Granny's later and nose about. "Okay Horace, just keep an eye him . . . and maybe the woman too."

Horace gave a serious salute and went off up the street with a, no-nonsense, I represent the law, swagger; the sheriff allowed as how young Daniel might have been a better choice.

Ethan trailed slowly after him heading for the saloon, greeting a pair of bustled ladies coming from the milliners with an armload of purchases. Hector's clock bonged the hour as he pushed through the doors, scanning the scattering of men drinking at the different tables about the room. Old Coot was buried in the back of the player piano, tinkering with the gears and muttering a string of derogatory instructions to himself as he worked. Ethan ambled across to the bar and tossed a coin on the counter. "Beer please, Paul."

Paul was a deadpan, square man, black as night, with thick, long bushy sideburns. He scooped the coin off the counter with a hand the size of a frying pan, and replaced it with a foaming glass of dark beer. Ethan offered him a salute and sipped a mouthful of the creamy lather from the glass.

"Business slowin' up a bit, Paul?"

"Always this time of year, "the voice rumbled up from the saloon floor, "they settin' up the miner's tent town jest north of the bank."

Ethan cursed himself. With all the worry about Cable Royce, he'd completely forgotten about the Tent City that went up every year at this time. He'd have to make it a point to wander up, just as a reminder that the law had a presence. Why the hell hadn't Horace mentioned it? He's always galavantin' about, sticking his nose in everybody's business. "When did they start?"

"Last night. But the candy wagons is already there, an' doin' big business."

"Thanks Paul." Ethan gave a depressed cluck and wandered over to a table by the staircase. The candy wagons, as the miners called them, were wagonloads of whiskey and women that followed the mining seasons around the territory. Much to the dismay of the local citizenry, the tent cities, while only in place for a couple of months, attracted all the worst elements of the saloon world. Card sharks, grifters, snake oil salesmen, cheap women and cheaper liquor.

The main reason for the setup was the temporary assay office. A team of government assayers from Danby opened shop, exchanging bank chits for the precious ore that the long lines of miners were anxious to redeem. The Buffalo Stump bank accepted the chits, and paid out in cash installments, limiting each chit to sixty percent of the value, and holding the rest on account. They all grumbled and complained about the hold out, but many of them were more than pleased to find they still had something left after their wild nights in the Tent City.

"A man who drinks alone says to the world, he wants company."

"Or maybe that he just wants to be alone." Ethan softened his reply with a warm smile, pushing out a chair for Verna, with his boot. She sat down, with a rustle of her Peacock blue gown. "If I believed that, I'd be out of business." She signaled Paul, and the giant moved quickly to the table with a bottle and a glass, returning even faster to the bar.

"Looks like you're gonna lose some for a while anyway." Ethan admired her over the rim of his drink.

"The smarter ones still come here for a clean game, clean girls and . . ." She held up the bottle then tilted a generous amount into the glass. "I heard about the Meiers. Hector was in here buying rounds for the girls, celebrating his unexpected business."

Bragg snorted. "Yeah, well one man's grief, another man's fortune, eh?"

"You think he's headed here Ethan?" Verna's voice trembled slightly.

The sheriff considered his beer for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't really know Verna. If I had to bet, I'd say yes."

*****