he Hang 'Em High Saloon was Buffalo Stump's centre of community activity; the first stop for all cattlemen, miners, settlers, local merchants and citizens when they first arrived, or at the end of the day, and the last stop before they left town. The name was attributed, tongue in cheek by many of the regulars, to the impossible décolletage of the four women who happily served their needs. The true origin was from the days when the saloon doubled as the courthouse, relentlessly ruled by Judge Wiley Dowd whose motto was, "Free 'em or hang 'em." Unfortunately for Judge Dowd, his dictum became his downfall when he was found to be taking bribes from certain town officials and, along with his guilty partners, ended his days swinging from a beam in the local stable. Eventually the town grew large enough to build a separate courthouse and find a more ethical and just magistrate.

Verna Fairweather leaned on the balcony railing, surveying the raucous scene in the smoke filled room below. Her gambling tables were crowded with eager players, wildly betting the fruits of their long harsh labour; the bar was shoulder to shoulder with men tossing back drinks, egged on by tantalizing glimpses of Verna's friendly girls. Coots, the ancient piano player, almost invisible in the clouds of smoke, pumped doggedly at the pedals, filling the huge room with tinny renditions of popular old songs. She smiled beautifully, boosting her breasts higher in the green satin gown, and waltzed along the balcony to the grand staircase, trailing scarlet tipped fingers over the railing.

"There she is! C'mon Verna, give us a song!" A sea of dopey, glazed eyes tracked the slow, seductive decent, cheering with each exaggerated swish of her ample hips.

She paused a few steps from the bottom and leaned against the banister, one coquettish hand resting on her waist. "I can't very well sing when my girls are left to languish at the bar with dry throats." She chastised the room with her sultry voice, grinning widely as half the men stampeded to the bar to buy drinks for the pouting women.

"Works every time, eh Verna?"

"Good evening Ethan. You're not here to spoil their fun are you?" She leaned down, coating his face with a sweet, warm breath.

"Long as they stay peaceful and happy, they're yours to do with as you will." Ethan took her cool fingers, leading her down the last few steps then across the room to the piano. "Try not to drive them too crazy, won't you."

"Is that how you react, sheriff?" Fluttering lashes.

"It could be." He touched the brim of his hat and headed back to the bar.

"Sings like an angel, don't she sheriff."

"Hello Mister Tucker, yep, she sure does." Both men sipped their drinks silently listening to Verna's sad song. The whole room stopped, captivated by her voice, each man's thoughts absorbing the poignant words.

When he left aboard that puffin' train,

my eyes were filled with tears.

He'd gone to fight a war for me,

that lasted several years.

Each day I watch the trains come in,

the men all torn and battered.

And 'tho he never came with them,

my hope was all that mattered.

Oh will the day not come for me,

when I hold him in my arms.

Or is my life now meant to be

empty— empty . . .of . . .his . . .charms.

Soft, sporadic clapping followed the final words, increasing in intensity and finally followed by whoops of appreciation and delight. Verna took a modest bow and sashayed through the crowd to the bar, patting backs and kissing bald heads on the way.

"Very lovely Verna."

"Thank you Ethan, maybe I'll move some more liquor now while they drown their sorrows." She leaned her elbows back on the bar and stood facing the room, her green silk covered bosom thrust arrogantly at the crowded room.

"You're a devious woman Verna." Bragg chuckled, and leaned forward beside her, sipping his beer.

"Not devious Ethan, just business smart. You men are so easy." She turned and draped a languid arm across his shoulders. "Why don't you and I go somewhere and discuss that?"

Bragg stirred involuntarily, looking into her dark eyes and watching tiny webs creep through the makeup, bracketing them when she smiled. He leaned over, and missing the poised lips intentionally, gave her a soft peck on the cheek. "I'd consider that a subject worth pursuing Verna, but not tonight." He straightened up, tossed back the rest of his drink, touched his hat, and headed for the door.

"I'm here every night sheriff." She called after his back.

Outside, the line of coal lamps that hung along the fronts of the buildings swayed gently in the slight evening breeze. The pale glow rocked back and forth between the wooden storefronts and the muddy street. Ethan bit the end from his fresh cigar and snapped a match against the railing. His eyes swept the street on both sides as he blew a plume of white smoke into the night air. Ethan Bragg was feeling very uncomfortable. His instincts were screaming for him to beware— something evil was moving toward Buffalo Stump.