Wesley buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants, cinching his belt and straightening the buckle. Arthur stood by the end of the stall watching him with a stern expression. He was beginning to like the young man, his honesty, and his hard work. He scratched his head, wondering how their relationship, in just a week, went from him charging for board, to paying for labour.

"I must be payin' you too much if you can afford dinner at the Hang 'Em High every night."

Wes slicked back his hair and pulled on his hat, smiling at the older man. "It isn't every night Arthur, besides, you wouldn't get the amount of work I do around here from anybody else for that money."

"Become a bit uppity with a few dollars in your pocket, ain't ya."

"Sorry Arthur," Wes said, patting the old man on the back as he strode out, "you've bin' more than fair with me, and I appreciate it a lot."

"Yeah well, don't be fritterin' it away on liquor and them girls up there."

"Just one beer Arthur, I promise. And just one girl . . . a special one." He called back, giving a wave.

*****

The sun retired lazily behind the hills west of town, throwing black shadows across the rutted main street of town. Wesley jumped at the sound of the voice speaking to him from the darkness of the wooden sidewalk.

"Takin' a break from your manhunt Mister Torrance? I notice you're not wearing your gun."

Wesley slowed to a halt, resting one hand on the hitching post in front of the sheriff's office as Bragg stepped out of the shadows and joined him on the road. "Even vigilantes need a break sometimes sheriff."

"That they do, that they do. I've got somethin' to show you." Bragg took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Wesley.

"What's this?"

"Read it."

Wes tilted the paper toward the glow from the light in the Dentist office window. It was a message from Henry Gower, in Danby, telling the sheriff of Buffalo Stump that Wesley Torrance's story checked out. They had been to the farm in Golden Sky and seen the graves and the burned cabin. He handed it back silently, toeing the ground with his boot.

"I got another wire yesterday sayin' they didn't find any trace of Royce and that they had been called back by the governor. Gower said that young Tyrone was tryin' to get permission to come back down here to see if he could help at all. We aren't givin' up on this thing son."

"Well I ain't never givin' up." Wes replied, with grim determination. The two men stared at one another for a moment, and then Wes reached into his shirt pocket and held out his hand to Bragg.

"What's this?"

"Take it." Wes cracked a smile. "It's a tooth I found in my cabin. Must belong to your Royce fella 'cause it isn't from my family."

Bragg flipped the dry piece of bone in his hand thoughtfully. "Why are you givin' it to me?"

Wes reset his hat and stepped in the direction of the saloon. "To help in your investigation. Just have a look in all the mouths in town 'till you find one with a hole in it— that'll probably be your man." The sheriff's sardonic look followed him up the street to the saloon.

Wesley pushed through the swinging doors, surprised to find the usual noisy, bawdy crowd, sitting subdued, drinking or playing cards. Verna was bravely performing a coquetish number to the accompaniment of Old Coot's player piano, vainly trying to stir some life into the somber crowd.

"Evening Wesley." Miriam, the youngest of Verna's girls, slipped a delicate arm through his and leaned seductively against him.

"Evening Miriam. What's the matter with your customers tonight?" He eased her away slightly as they strolled to the bar.

"Oh, ever since that camp girl was murdered all the fun's gone out of everybody. I can't even get one of them to buy me a drink. Will you buy me one Wesley?" She leaned close, breathing warmly on his cheek.

"'Bought the best I can do is split a beer with you Miriam. Mister Powser barely pays me enough to feed and water my horse and myself."

Miriam made a moue and sighed. "Oh pooh, and you were my last hope." She planted a kiss on his cheek before he could react, and swished away to the crunching sound of her swinging gown.

"Can I have a beer please, Paul." Wesley fiddled in his pocket for some change. "Is Megan still in the kitchen?"

Paul set the glass of foaming beer on the counter and moved quietly away as Verna came up to leaned on the bar next to Wesley.

"If it isn't my favourite regular customer. Did I see you flirting with young Miriam?" She raised a casual finger and a glass of whiskey appeared instantly next to her hand.

"You know Miriam, she wanted me to buy her a drink."

Verna's eyes glinted mischievously as she sipped her whiskey. "I'll wager that's not all she wanted you to buy. Miriam thinks you're cute." Wesley blushed, and busied himself with his beer. "But I guess you're here to see Megan, right?"

"Well I- I was hoping she might fix me some eggs for supper."

"Eggs! A grown man like you eating eggs for supper!" Verna waved Paul over and whispered to him, sending him off to the kitchen. "You go on out to the back, Megan's going to fix you a steak— a man's supper."

"No don't Miss Verna, I can't—"

"Afford it, Wesley? Well I can. Go on back and have a decent meal for a change."

"Miss Verna, you've bin' gracious enough alrea—"

"Verna grabbed him by the arm, pulling him after her. "Wesley, don't argue all the time. Let's just say I think you're cute too, and this is my way of showing it." She dragged him reluctantly around the staircase and into the kitchen behind. "Special customer for dinner Megan," she said, pushing him toward the table, "and I don't think he likes to eat alone. I'll get Paul to bring your beer in." She gave Megan a broad wink and swished out of the room.

Wesley wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on the table, patting his stomach with satisfaction. "That was sure a fine meal Megan." She canted her head, accepting the compliment. One of the girls hurried into the kitchen, standing awkwardly while she adjusted the top of her gown, tucking a rather full mound of breast back inside its scant container. Wesley blushed and covered his mouth as Megan issued a polite cough.

"Oh gawd! I didn't know you was in here Wesley." The girl gave her bosom a final, cradling push and stared apologetically at Megan.

"It's all right Della-Rose, Mister Torrance has just finished an even bigger supper." Her face instantly flamed at using such bold humour in front of him.

Della-Rose pointed a long, scarlet nail at Wesley, giggling, as she gathered her skirt and hurried back out to the saloon.

"I'm so sorry Wes, I don't know what—"

He held up a hand and gazed at her with a twinkling smile. "It's a genuine treat to see you getting back to everyday life." She looked down at her hands, still blushing. "I don't mean that in a bad way Megan. I- I just- I- well I bin thinkin' a lot lately, about my family and all, and while I could never forget them or what happened, it just- it seems to have settled into a private place inside." He stood up and came around to her side of the table. "I find that I can laugh at some things again, without feelin' quite so guilty. You understand what I mean?"

She took his hand and gazed up at him, a sparkle of tears filling her eyes. "I know exactly what you mean Wes." They held hands, quietly staring at one another, the notes of some romantic melody from the player piano, pervading the kitchen.

Verna's face took on the aspect of cynical amusement when Megan asked permission to entertain Wesley in her room. The innocent formality of the request left her almost speechless. Bragg, who was sitting with her, couldn't help grinning at her surprise, and at the embarrassed Wesley.

"My dear, it's your room. You can entertain whomever you like."

"Well . . . I didn't want you to think— I mean I—"

"Megan, Megan," Verna began laughing aloud, "take him on up, it's your room dear. Do whatever you like." Her vivid eyes widened with pleasure.

"It's not for- I mean, we won't be—"

"Good Lord Ethan, maybe you should lock them both up for the night in your jail. I can't imagine what they must be contemplating."

"I think our young couple just want some privacy Verna, quit teasing."

"Oh fiddle! Off you go." She waved them away pleasantly, still grinning hugely as they quickly went up the stairs.

"That was mortifying!"

"I wouldn't worry about it. Verna was just havin' her fun with us." Wesley placed his hat on the table and looked about the room. "This is very nice. It's sure a heap and a jump over Granny's— or Powser's stall. I'm real happy for you Megan." He watched as she went to the window and drew the shade, then moving to the table and turning down the lamp. The amber glow highlighted her fine cheekbones and glinted on her moist lips.

"Wesley . . ." His name came out of her mouth in a breathless whisper.

"Megan?"

"Hold me Wesley— please hold me."

Wesley's stomach crashed to his boots as she came into his arms, her soft, scented hair dusting his cheek. Her breasts crushed against his chest and he could feel the rapid patter of her heart, sending goose bumps down his spine. He eased her back, searching the shadows on her face. "Megan I- Megan." Her name was pushed softly back into his mouth as her lips found his, tenderly at first, then with a release of passionate hunger.

"Megan." His voice sounded like a trowel dragged across stone, as they stumbled, locked in their embrace, to the plush mattress of her bed.

*****