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us.”
    “Dear God in heaven.” Adolphina barged past them to the batwings and nearly collided with Sally Worth, who was coming out. Adolphina’s scowl deepened. Sniffing, she said, “Well, are you just going to stand there blocking the doorway or let a lady pass?”
    “I am so sorry,” Sally Worth said. “Here. Let me hold these open for you.” She pushed the batwings wide. “Is that enough room or would you like me to knock out the wall?”
    Adolphina hissed and stalked on in.
    “You should be nicer to her,” Win said to the dove.
    “Why? She is never nice to me.” Sally Worth was in her fifties. The wear and tear of her profession was evident in her stringy brown hair streaked with gray and her many wrinkles. Her body was still shapely, though, if a bit thick through the middle, and she still sashayed with the best of them, swinging her hips fit to throw them out with every step she took. Scratching under her armpit, she yawned and commented, “That’s quite the mess you’ve got in there. Why didn’tyou give a holler? The only excitement this lice trap has ever had and I missed it.”
    “It happened sort of fast,” Win said.
    Chester avoided looking at Sally as he remarked, “It was terrible. Not fit for a woman to see.”
    “I am not squeamish,” Sally said. “I’ve seen it before, more times than I can count. When you have worked in saloons all your life, you see it all.”
    The batwings creaked and in came Adolphina. “Who were those four men again, Chester?” She was not upset; she was not disturbed in any way.
    Chester related all he knew about them, which was not much, then all he knew about their killer.
    Sally Worth listened with her arms folded across her bosom, and when he was done, she said, “Jeeter Frost made his name in Texas. He was a ranch hand on the Bar T. A friend of his owned it, by the name of Tyler. A squabble started over water rights. There was a lot of shooting and burning and pretty near twenty men died. Tyler was murdered, ambushed one night by five of his enemies. Frost hunted them down and shot them dead.”
    “How is it you know all that?” Winifred asked her.
    “I was in Texas at the time, in San Antonio. It was all anybody talked about.”
    Adolphina was gnawing her lower lip, a habit of hers when she was deep in thought. “So this Frost fellow is famous?”
    “Not
famous
famous, like Wild Bill Hickok was, or like John Wesley Hardin,” Win said. “Famous in a small way. One penny dreadful and a lot of bar talk.”
    “Still, people have heard of him.” Adolphina’s dark eyes, which were more close set than was common,bored into her husband’s. “You need to call a meeting of the town council, Chester.”
    “I do? Why?”
    “Use your head. The sheriff will come. Others, too. The curious. Maybe friends and acquaintances of the deceased.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Chester said, brightening. “Why, some of them might even buy something in our store.” He turned to the liverymen, who had been quietly listening. “Placido. Arturo. Would one of you Mexicans ride to Anderson’s and tell the Swede I am calling an emergency meeting of the town council in an hour and he must be here?”
    “Sí, senor,”
Placido said. He had his sombrero in his hand as a token of respect for the presence of the senoritas.
    “Do you understand what has happened?” Chester struggled to think of the right word. “Do you
comprende
?”
    “I speak excellent English, senor. Remember?” Placido said.
    It was true, and it rankled Chester that a Mexican spoke it even better than he did. “Those priests taught you good, didn’t they?”
    “They taught us very well, indeed, senor,” Placido said. He was always polite to everyone. Always a pleasant smile and a pleasant manner, and much more talkative than Arturo.
    “Then off you go,” Chester said. He noticed the Giorgios were drifting in the direction of their cottage and hollered, “Minimi, you have to be at the