too familiar.
A couple of poker games were going on, and men were trying their luck at faro and roulette, too. The only thing that was missing was a parade of saloon girls up and down the stairs to the second floor with men who wanted to buy their favors.
The tall cowboy was watching Sam keenly. He said, “The gals don’t do that sorta business durin’ the day, only at night. Lady Augusta says it ain’t proper to be beddin’ down for pay when the sun’s out.”
Sam gave Stovepipe a sharp glance.
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Well, you seemed to be takin’ it all in,” Stovepipe drawled. “I sorta figured you’d get to that point in your thinkin’ and wonder about it.”
“Stovepipe’s a demon for figurin’ things out,” Wilbur put in.
Sam looked around again.
“I’ve heard about this so-called Lady Augusta. Is she here?”
Wilbur bristled.
“So-called?” he repeated. “Are you doubtin’ the word of the finest lady ever to set foot in Arizona?”
“Not really,” Sam said. “But you have to admit, it is a little odd to think that a member of British nobility would wind up running a saloon in a backwater town in Arizona Territory.”
“There ain’t a thing in the world odd about it,” Wilbur insisted. “She just got tired of all that foofaraw over yonder in England, and who could blame her? Sittin’ around in musty ol’ castles on spindly-legged chairs and sippin’ tea with your dadburn pinky finger stickin’ out! Who in the Sam Hill would want to spend your days doin’ that?”
“Not me,” Stovepipe said with a wide grin.
“Not me, neither,” Wilbur said. “So don’t go sayin’ nothin’ bad about Lady Augusta, Sam. I won’t take kindly to it.”
Stovepipe leaned closer to Sam and said in a loud whisper, “He’s a mite smitten.”
Sam felt a little like he had wandered into a lunatic asylum. The thing to do in a situation like that, he told himself, was to play along. He said, “Sorry, Wilbur. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s all right,” Wilbur said, still sounding a little huffy. “Just so’s you know.”
Stovepipe gestured toward the bar on the right-hand side of the room.
“Come on, Sam,” he said. “I’ll buy you a phosphate. We’ll steer clear of the hard stuff.”
“All right,” Sam said. He was accomplishing his purpose just by being here. If any of those bushwhackers were in the room, they were getting a good look at him.
And of course, there was still a chance the two men with him were part of the very bunch he was looking for.
When they got to the bar, Stovepipe ordered cherry phosphates for the three of them, even though Wilbur made a face at that. The tall, lanky cowboy leaned his left elbow on the hardwood and asked, “What brings you to this wide place in the trail, Sam?”
“Flat Rock seems like more than just a wide place in the trail. It seems like a real town.”
“Right now it is. I’ve seen ’em come and go, though. One of these days it’s liable to dry up and blow away like so many others have. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“A man’s business is usually his own,” Sam said.
“That’s Stovepipe for you,” Wilbur said. “Always pokin’ his big nose in where it ain’t wanted.”
“That ain’t it at all,” Stovepipe insisted. “I’m just naturally curious.” He looked at Sam again and raised his somewhat bushy eyebrows.
“I’m looking for some fellows,” Sam said. Maybe it was time to put a few of his cards on the table and see what he could shake out. “About a dozen men on horseback. They rode this way a few days ago.”
He didn’t say anything about finding the wagon tracks.
Stovepipe sipped his phosphate and got some of the bubbles from the fizzy drink on his mustache. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and said, “These hombres you’re lookin’ for are friends of yours?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then they’re enemies?”
“Didn’t say that, either.”
“Aw, leave the fella alone, Stovepipe,” Wilbur said.
“I’m just tryin’ to help,” the tall cowboy said. “Maybe I know those fellas Sam’s lookin’ for. What’re their names?”
Sam just smiled and didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know the names of his quarry or even what they looked like. If Stovepipe and Wilbur were members of the gang, he wanted them to worry about him enough to be prodded into taking action.
Stovepipe looked like he wanted to press the issue, but just then a commotion erupted outside in the street. Hoofbeats thundered and men yelled. Everybody in the saloon swung around to look out the big plate-glass windows.
“What in blazes is all that?” Sam asked.
