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know Coy Lahood ain’t got no principles. Anyways, you’re wrong about the gold. There’s color in the creek and plenty of it. You’ve had some of it yourself, in payment for goods received.”
    Blankenship let out a derisive snort. “Dust! Color! Every sourdough in California finds color.”
    “Not just color then. Nuggets, too. Spider panned one out this morning that was big as your fingernail. You don’t find nuggets like that in played-out streams.”
    That made Blankenship sit up and take notice. “Spider Conway?”
    Hull nodded. “The same.”
    Again the gunfighter glanced downward. “Found a nugget big as a fingernail, did he? Well then when you get back you tell that son-of-a-bitch I’ve got him down for eighty-five dollars and thirty-three cents. That’s just what he owes me. I can’t even imagine what he owes you and the others by now, for picking up supplies for him and those two idiot boys of his.”
    Hull selected a small bottle from a rack filled with narrow-mouthed containers and added it to the growing pile. “ Forty- three cents. He wanted some arsenic to bleach his dust.”
    “That tears it!” The storeowner rose from his seat and jabbed a warning finger in Hull’s direction. “I’m a Christian man and I do my best to be understanding, but every man’s got his limit and by thunder, I’ve reached mine! You tell Spider and the rest of ’em that this is the end of the line. The teat’s gone dry. No more credit, y’hear? No more until you pay up on what you all owe me. Hull, are you listening to me?”
    By way of reply Hull grinned at him while casually adding a roll of oilcloth, two small panes of glass, and several two-by-fours to the pile that was accumulating in the middle of the floor. Lifting as much as he could carry safely in one trip, he started for the door.
    “You’re a decent man, Mr. B. That’s why we’ve always brought you our trade. You know that I, that we all appreciate—”
    Blankenship cut him off. “Don’t try coddling me with words, son. Words ain’t fit for much and payin’ bills certainly ain’t one of ’em.” But the merchant’s rage had already abated, just as Hull knew it would. Slowly he sat back down on his stool.
    “I ain’t doin’ this for you,” he muttered. “Hell, I’m the only merchant in town that Lahood doesn’t own. Oh, most of ’em have got their own names out on their shingles, but we all know which piper they pay so’s they can stay in business. It does my soul good to see a few other horns in his hide.”
    “Besides which maybe bein’ so busy with us keeps him from figurin’ out how to buy you out?” Hull ventured.
    “That’ll be the day!” Blankenship wagged that finger at his customer a second time. “But I’m serious this go-round, Hull. I can’t afford to keep carrying you folks forever.”
    “We know that, Mr. B.” Hull paused in the doorway long enough to look back at his aggrieved benefactor. “One day we’ll hit it big up there, you’ll see, and when that happens I’ll pay you off in full myself. With interest.” He nudged the double doors wider to make room for his load.
    “Barret.” Hull turned a last time. “You get your goods in the wagon and skedaddle. Just keep moving, no matter what they say.” He nodded significantly toward the window and the unkempt trio lounging outside the Lahood building.
    Hull nodded briskly, then made his way through the portal. Blankenship followed his progress anxiously. Damn fool, he murmured to himself. Good man but a damn fool.
    Ma Blankenship craned her neck, trying to watch the street outside while simultaneously tending to her kitchen. Her thoughts as she watched Hull Barret load the wagon were similar to her husband’s, though she viewed the miner in a more charitable light.
    As for the single stranger she was serving, there was no telling what he thought of the minor drama that had just transpired. He sat quietly and sipped at his coffee.
    Hull dumped the