shacks.
No one paid the lone rider the slightest bit of attention as he rode slowly up to the livery and swung wearily down from the saddle. He wanted a hot bath, a shave and a haircut, and some clean clothing; his shirt and jeans were stiff with the dust and dirt from days of traveling.
'Take care of my horses,' Frank told the young man, handing him some money.
'Yes, sir. Rub them down, curry, and feed?'
'Yes.' Frank looked across the street. The livery was the last still operating business at this end of town. The reasonably nice houses across the street looked empty. 'Any of those houses over there for rent?'
'All of them. See Mr. Willis at the general store, and he'll fix you up.' The young man pointed. 'That one is the best. Its got a brand-new privy just a few steps out back, and the man who just left installed a new hand pump right in the kitchen. It's nice.'
Frank thanked the young man. 'My gear be safe here, boy?'
'For a dollar, yeah. I can lock it up.'
Frank smiled and gave him a couple of coins. 'See that it is.'
'You bet, sir. I'll do it. What's your name?'
Frank hesitated and then said, 'Logan.'
'Yes, sir, Mr. Logan.'
Frank walked up to the general store and made arrangements to rent the house for a time, after making sure the place had a bed and a cookstove. While at the store, Frank bought some new clothes: underwear, socks, britches, shirts, and a suit coat that fit him reasonably well. He took his new purchases and walked over to the barber shop. There, he had a hot bath and a shave and a haircut while his old clothes were being washed and his new clothes pressed to get the wrinkles and creases out. He also had his hat blocked as best the man could do it.
Feeling like a new man, having washed away days of dirt and probably a few fleas, Frank walked the town's business district. The marshal's office was closed and locked, and showed signs of having been that way for a long time.
'Haven't had a marshal for several months now,' said a man passing by. 'Can't keep one.'
'Why?' Frank asked.
'They get shot,' the miner said, and walked on.
'That's one way to get rid of the law,' Frank muttered, and walked on.
Frank stepped into the small apothecary shop and asked if there was anything new in the way of headache powders.
'You got a headache, mister?'
'No,' Frank said with a smile. 'But I might get one.'
'We don't have anything new here. But I hear there is something being developed over in Germany. Supposed to be some sort of wonder.'
'Oh. What's it called?'
'Don't know. Big secret. Being developed by the Bayer Drug Company. It'll be available in a few years, so I'm told. I got some laudanum, if you want it.'
'Maybe later,' Frank said. 'Thanks.'
Frank walked on down the street, stepping carefully along the warped old boardwalk that still showed signs of the times when the town had been destroyed by fire. He came to a cafe called the Silver Spoon and went inside for a bite.
Frank had the Blue Plate Special: beef and beans and a piece of pie. He lingered at the table for a few minutes, enjoying a pretty good cup of coffee and a cigarette, watching the people in the small town as they went about their business.
'You working a claim here?' the cook asked, coming out to lean on the counter. There was only a handful of people in the cafe, for it was not yet time for the supper crowd.
'No,' Frank replied. 'Just passing through.'
'You sure look familiar to me. I know you from somewheres?'
'Could be.'
Frank was sitting at a corner table, his back to a wall, as was his custom. He had a good view of much of the street and everyone in the cafe.
A woman came up and whispered in the cook's ear. The cook's mouth dropped open, and his eyes bugged out for a few seconds. He stared at Frank for a couple of heartbeats. 'Good God! It really is him!' the cook blurted, then beat it back to the kitchen.
The woman -- Frank assumed she was the waitress -- looked over at him and smiled. 'Remember me, Frank?'
'Can't say as I do. You want to hotten up this coffee, please?'
'Sure.' The woman brought the pot over and filled his cup, then sat down uninvited across the table from Frank.
'I was married to Jim Peters,' the woman said softly.
