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quickly as he could get out the doors. Melody stared after him for a moment, then called over to the bartender, “Arlo, I’m going to the bank. I’ll be back after a while. That’s just in case Jack comes in.”
    â€œOh, he’s already been here, ma’am. He dropped in while you and Pick were in deep conversation.”
    â€œI wonder why he didn’t say anything.”
    â€œSaid he didn’t want to disturb you. Thoughtful fellow, that Memphis Jack.”
    â€œUh-huh,” she said, her voice filled with sarcasm. She lifted her skirts and hurried out, swinging her bustle hard enough to knock a man down, should one dare come in close proximity.
    * * *
    â€œThat’s correct, Mr. Givins. Are you hard of hearing?
Two thousand dollars
in hard cash. And a receipt for every penny of it saying Pick Wheeler’s deeding me the mine.”
    â€œAre you sure about this, Miss Melody?” Judging by his tone of voice, Givins obviously wasn’t.
    â€œI’m not accustomed to explaining myself, sir. If you’ll kindly have the paper ready by the close of business tomorrow.” Melody shot out of her chair and scurried out of the bank before he could object further. She was decidedly grumpy. First Pick Wheeler wants her to ride a mule for God knows how many tortuous miles into the foothills, then the bank manager questions her judgment in making a business deal.
Men! All I need now is for Jack to disapprove of the dress I’m wearing. Well, I’ll fix him. When he gets back, I won’t be wearing anything at all.
Finally, a glint of satisfaction crossed her face. Teasing Memphis Jack had become one of the great pleasures in her life. When she arrived back at the saloon, she stormed straight up the curving staircase, letting slim fingers glide along the polished bannister. Arlo heard her door slam shut.
    * * *
    â€œThis puts a different slant on things, doesn’t it?” Cotton said. He leaned back and stared up at the patterned tin ceiling. He tented his fingers and seemed to wander off in thought. His narrowed eyes suggested serious contemplation. Several minutes went by before Jack finally figured he’d waited long enough. He was bone tired, growing hungry, and had lost patience with Cotton for not sharing his thoughts as to Burnside’s bundle of surprises.
    â€œCotton, dammit! You’re drivin’ me crazy with your silence. What’s in them papers, anyway?”
    â€œOh, sorry, Jack. Didn’t mean to disquiet you. This bundle has some interestin’ things about Mr. Burnside. It says his only livin’ relative is a young man named Turner Burnside, who, it appears, is also a gunsmith. It seems Burnside lost contact about four years ago when some sort of business troubles cropped up. Up to that time he’d been corresponding with his sister, who is Turner’s mother.”
    â€œSo how the devil are we goin’ to find this fellow?”
    â€œThat’s a good question. One for which I have no answer. Burnside does say the last he heard of him was right after his mother died of cholera, and he’d lost contact when the last entry was made.”
    â€œWe could send out a few telegrams to various sheriffs in Texas. I doubt it would do any good, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
    â€œCould be. Or it could eat up our whole operatin’ budget for the year. We don’t even know if he lived in Texas or . . . We’ll sit tight for a spell and see what happens after we get the newspaper to publish the story of Burnside’s death. Maybe some other papers will pick it up and save us the money.”
    â€œGood idea. Now, if you have no serious objection, I think I’ll get somethin’ to eat. Melody probably thinks I’m tryin’ to starve her to death.”
    â€œUh-huh.
That’s
goin’ to happen. I read somewhere it takes three days of not eatin’ to