Cable had finished the previous night satisfied with the food and drink, but disappointed in the entertainment. The girls were pretty enough, and the woman that sang was more than interesting, but they all seemed like too tight a knit group. Even the customers shared a closeness that discouraged strangers, as demonstrated by a pair of drunken cowboys, carried to the door and deposited in the street by the huge bartender. Tonight he would explore the Tent City; the rougher trade held more appeal and suited his appetites far better.

He eased his way through the crowd of noisy men to the whiskey tent, joining the line of raucous miners, waiving their newly redeemed cash and shouting for faster service. Inside the well lit tent, at the far end, was a home made table of planks balancing on large whiskey kegs and laden with bottles and glasses. Two busy men, wearing aprons with pockets bulging with bills, snatched the outstretched money while slopping liquor into the glasses, hurrying the men along.

Behind them stood a large man with a bushy, walrus moustache, in a bowler hat, cradling a double-barreled shotgun in his arms. His tiny black eyes roved over the crowd with a menacing intensity. Cable gave him a deliberately cold grin as he tossed some coins on the planks and helped himself to a full bottle. The guard returned a dead look, empty of feeling, and continued his scan of the crowd.

Outside the tent a flock of noisy highly made up women clutched and badgered the eager men for attention, filling the night with squeals and shrill laughter. Cable sauntered over to the gambling tent, opening his bottle and taking a healthy swig. He stood looking through the entrance, watching the antics of the gamblers and sneering at the roars and curses each time the colourful roulette wheel spun to a halt. He also noticed the four guards stationed about the inside, each sporting the same double-barreled shotguns as Mister Bowler Hat.

How about offerin' a lady some of that bottle, cowboy?"

Cable turned to find himself looking at a mass of bright red hair, held high over a heavily decorated face, by a feather encrusted, silver comb. The woman stood hip shot, one hand fluttering a ratty lace fan, the other poised insolently on the waist of her creased gown. "A lady wouldn't drink what's in this bottle." He said, considering her age and reasonably attractive figure.

"And a gentleman wouldn't point that out." She tapped his arm coyly with the end of her fan.

His lip curled in a slight sneer, and he passed her the bottle, watching as she wrapped her thick red lips around the top and took a deep swallow.

"Now that we're acquainted, you want to go somewhere and talk?" She slipped an arm through his and batted her long lashes. Cable remained silent, letting her lead him through the jostling crowd, across the compound to a row of smaller tents. Stopping in front of one, she waited, looking up at him expectantly and when he didn't move, she opened the flap herself and stepped inside.

He bent down and peered inside, long enough to see the four cots, divided by thin sheets hanging from lines strung across the tent. A solitary oil lamp hung in the centre, its glow looking as bored as some of the sounds he could hear from the employees plying their trade behind the sheets. "I don't think so." He backed away and looked around the compound disinterestedly.

"Accommodations not good enough for a, gentleman?" A trace of annoyance showed in the rebuke.

Cable bared his teeth in an icy grin, his eyes glinting in the light from the oil lamps. "A lady deserves somethin' a little more private." He took her arm and guided her around behind the tent and across the grass to the cluster of empty wagons that had carried the supplies for the Tent City. Finding one that suited him, he dropped the tailboard, set his bottle down, and lifted her to a sitting position on the back. "Now," he said, "this is a little more like it."

******

Granny Seuong was a round, smooth-faced little ball of energy with steel grey hair pulled back in a tight bun behind her head. Her eyes resembled two mushroom caps with horizontal slits, flanking a button nose that sat over a busy mouth. Her tanned skin glistened from the fat of the giant steak she was frying on the huge iron stove, one fist jammed in her thick waist and the other, flailing a large fork, poking the slab of meat this way and that. Smoke hung in a thick layer from the ceiling, causing her two guests seated at the large, wooden table, to duck their heads.

She had listened to Megan's story stoically, absorbing every word while studying her closely. Then she had listened to Wesley's additional plea with the same demeanor, bouncing up, when he had finished, to set two plates and some cutlery on the table.

"You eat first." The command, rooting them in their chairs, came from a surprisingly musical voice. Granny disappeared into an adjacent room, returning with the huge slab of meat and flopping it onto the top of the stove. After a few moments, she took a large, dangerous looking knife and chopped the steak in half, carrying it their plates on the end of the fork. She pushed a large bowl of buns and a tub of butter into the middle of the table, and sat down at the end . . . waiting.

"Eat. Now is my turn to talk." She folded a set of stubby fingers together and leaned her round elbows on the table. "First. No friend of Orin's is friend of mine. No matter Missy— I like you anyway."

Wesley and Megan traded an awkward glance.

"Second. Nice lady like you no stay in rough place like this. Only way you stay here, you work. You want work, I hire you. I hire you, you stay with me at my house behind."

Megan chewed slowly, considering what the work might entail and could she afford to say no. "What would—"

"Third." Granny trampled over her question. "He stay here, he work too."

Wesley swallowed hard and coughed into his hand. "Well, I don't know about me stayin' here. I've got things—"

The pudgy little hand came up, fingers splayed like tiny sausages, palm outward. "No matter to me. You want to sleep at livery with smelly horses your business. You stay here, you work."

The rest of the meal passed in silence, except for Granny, banging and scrubbing pots and dishes and warbling some ancient tune in Chinese. Wesley and Megan thanked her and excused themselves, saying they wanted to discuss it outside.

"No matter to me." Granny announced, waving a soapy dishrag in their direction. "I still like you Missy. Meal free."

Outside, they both sucked in huge quantities of fresh air into their grease filled lungs, turning to one another and giggling silently.

"I'll say one thing," Wesley admitted, "she shore cooks a mean steak."

"I actually find her kind of sweet." Megan strolled away to lean against the verandah post.

"Yeah, well I think sweat might be more accurate. How does she work in there all day?"

Megan laughed softly. "I know what you mean. If I accept her offer I'm going to have to find some different clothes." She ran an exploring finger over the material of her dress.

"Are you going to?"

"Karl and I had very little Wes. The money we saved, and what I got for our land, isn't going to last me very long. This might just be the ticket until I decide what I'm going to do."

"Have you thought about that? I mean, would you go back east?" He moved closer to her, twisting his hat in his hands.

"I doubt it. There's nothing there for me now." She sniffed and turned her back to the post. "Nothing much here either, for that matter."

They stood silently, lost in their own thoughts, the sporadic noise from the Tent City, the only interruption. Down the street, Paul appeared on the porch, guiding a noisy customer onto the road by the seat of his pants. Wesley stared at Megan's profile, his breath catching at the sight of her creamy skin in the moonlight. He struggled with a confusion of emotions; the guilt he felt over Gwen. The fact that Megan was a recent widow. His somehow, faltering determination to find the killer. All this, and more, combined to fill him with an agonizing doubt and indecision.

"What about you Wes?"

"Huh?"

"What are you going to do?" The simple question froze his brain and all he could do was stare at her moonlit face.

"Wes?"

With a mighty effort, he pulled his eyes away and sat back on the railing. "You know what I have to do Megan." Having wrenched himself from the moment, his thoughts re-sorted themselves, galvanizing into the vow he had made over his family's grave. "It's somthin' I gotta see to the end."

She came and stood in front of him, her arms folded tightly together. I don't pretend to understand the way men handle these things Wes, but I do know that you could put yourself in a lot of trouble with the law, and in the end, who wins? As far as I'm concerned, that man killed Karl as much as he killed your family, and there's nothing I'd like better than to see him gunned down like a dog.

But we came out here to start a new life, Karl and me, and if fate sees fit to make that a hard endeavor, then I'm just going to have to be hard right back. I won't let Karl's death be in vain. A new life is what we wanted, and a new life I'm going to have— for Karl's memory, and for my future."

Wesley couldn't look up. Her words had washed over him with the soft determination of a summer rain. "I'm assumin' your gonna take Granny's offer so . . . I'll prob'ly be around town for a while too. Maybe I could call on you maybe, we uh- we could talk like . . . "

She caressed his cheek with a feather touch. "I'd like that Wes, yes, I'd like that a lot."