tastes of aniseed.
'Well done. I wish I'd seen it. I've been wanting to knock that fool down since the first day I set eyes on him.'
She calls over the barman and whispers something in his ear.
Just then a man emerges from one of the rooms and starts heading down the stairs adjusting his pants. Logan recognizes him immediately. It is McLaren.
'Now this man has a story.'
'Is he a miner too?' he tries to feign ignorance.
'I guess he might be now. He used to have a little cabin up the valley. He pretended to do some farming but I reckon he's a cattle rustler. Anyway, he must have stolen the wrong man's cattle because someone stuck some dynamite down his chimney and blew up that little cabin.'
'Lucky for him they didn't hang him for stealing cattle.'
'Oh nobody can prove nothing about that. And even if they could his friend Mr. Humby would look after him. Seems to me like he's being looked after okay right now if he can afford to spend the night here every night. Working his way through the girls one by one.'
McLaren has wandered over to watch the card game and is greeted noisily by the others.
'So how many girls are there?' Logan sees his opportunity to get some information.
'Only eight at the moment. You want someone else?' she seems hopeful that he'll say yes to that question.
'I'm just interested. You know, for another day. Obviously I'd ask for you first.' She smiles at the simple compliment. 'I'm sure I saw a Mexican girl.'
'There are a couple. I think McLaren's just spent the night with one of them.'
'McLaren?' feigning ignorance again.
'The cattle rustler.'
'Oh right. But it wouldn't have been her I saw in the street just now if she was with him.'
'Just now? Well that wouldn't have been Luisa either, she got knocked around a bit by a drunken miner last week and is hiding away until her face comes back into shape.'
He winces at the thought.
'Don't feel too sorry for her. He's paying for it. She'll make a tidy sum out of that. You can say what you like about the law enforcement in this town, but when somebody steps out of line you can be certain they'll pay for it.'
So he is no clearer about who the mysterious girl was who brought him breakfast. It doesn't sound as though she's one of the working girls at the saloon anyway.
A new commotion attracts their attention across to the card game. One of the players has slumped asleep and fallen from his chair onto the floor. Brandy laughs her sneering nasty laugh.
'I told you they couldn't hold their liquor,' she says.
The spectators are finding it mightily amusing and are laughing so hard they can barely stand, but the other three players, Frank Lake and Jake Capstan included, just stay sat concentrating on the game. Or perhaps they're asleep too. It seems the player who passed out was so exhausted that even hitting the floor didn't wake him. Still laughing hard, the spectators each grab a limb and carry him bodily out of the saloon.
'You go boys!' Brandy yells after them. 'You go wake him up.' And she laughs again.
They hear a splash and whooping holler from outside as the sleeping card player is dumped into the water trough in the street.
'Don't you go trailing all that water in here,' the barman says sternly on his way back in from somewhere. Logan hadn't noticed him go out. He has the look of a man who has seen this too many times before.
McLaren seems to pause a little as he sees Logan as if unsure where he has seen him before, but then continues on to the card table, brushing the splashed water from his clothes. Logan is reasonably sure McLaren could never have seen him. He was careful when watching the cabin to stay well out of sight. He remembers that he now has a new hat too. It seems impossible that he should have been recognized. Maybe he is being mistaken for someone else. Then from the corner of his eye he notices that Brandy is trying to surreptitiously signal something.
'Is something wrong?'
'Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?'
'You were waving.'
'No, that's just...' she flounders trying to think of an explanation. Then she resorts to her more normal approach and grabs his thigh and leans in for a kiss.
Logan pulls back.
'I think I should leave. This hasn't been quite as much fun as I'd hoped.' He stands to go. Brandy still has a firm grip on his thigh.
'No, don't go yet.'
He reaches down to unlatch her hand from his leg. She notices something at the door and suddenly relaxes her grip.
'I'm sorry.' She says quietly. The tone of her voice has changed. It is as though it is the first thing she has said that she actually means.
At the door stand two men. They both wear holstered pistols and one has a Winchester tucked under his arm that is pointing carelessly in Logan's direction. They are both wearing little shiny badges proclaiming that they are deputies. The card game falls silent but then gradually a murmur starts as they realize that the deputies don't seem interested in them. The two men stride straight across to Brandy and Logan. She shrinks away from him.
'Would you come with us please.'
Logan looks at Brandy as she creeps slowly backwards. She mouths 'I'm sorry' again.
'I think there must be some mistake.' He starts considering where his exits might be and how he might unstick himself from the end of this rifle barrel.
'No mistake mister. The sheriff just wants a word is all.'
'Just a friendly word.' His partner adds.
'Sure.' says Logan. Perhaps the street will provide more opportunities for escape. Or maybe there is nothing to worry about. That's it, there's nothing to worry about. You always send two men with guns to fetch someone that you thought you might like to make friends with. This is all wrong. This town is all wrong. The mysterious Mexican girl delivering his breakfast and a note, the suspiciously late time for the handover of the money, all of this together is ringing alarm bells so loud in Logan's head that he can hardly think. The only answer must be to get clear out of town. What about Emily? What about the money he's owed? Right now, he just wants to leave it all behind. He must just shake these two goons and then make a run for it. There's nothing for him here in Walkers Creek.
The rifle barrel nudges him and he obediently begins walking towards the door. Frank Lake stands up from the card game and watches Logan leave with a big smile.
Out in the sunshine he blinks a few times getting accustomed to the brightness. The street is uncharacteristically quiet. He was hoping for some traffic, a wagon or two and some horses to create an opportunity for something. But there is nothing. The barber waves a greeting from the porch outside his shop. Logan waves back hoping to make it look less like he's being arrested. The deputies stay stony faced and follow him to the sheriff's office.
The deputies leave him at the door. One of them gives him a firm shove in the back so that he stumbles in.
'Ah, Mr. Tanner.' The sheriff is sat at his desk cleaning a large pearl-handled revolver. 'I've been looking forward to this.'
'Thank you.' He is taking in his surroundings. Trying to work out where the exits are and where the weapons are. There isn't going to be much chance to get out except through the door he came in and there'll be two deputies waiting on the other side of that. There are bars on the windows.
'Don't worry, you're not under arrest. Take a seat. Take off your hat.'
There is a wooden chair that has seen better days. Dents and scratches and worrying stains suggest the chair as seen a good deal of violence. It looks as though it will hardly hold his weight but he pulls it up and sits
