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left of his peppermint back into his mouth, gave Jewett a bit of a wave, which the storekeeper did not see, and sauntered out onto the sidewalk, his heels ringing hollowon the rough planks. He gave thought to a shave and a haircut but settled instead for dropping into one of the rocking chairs that sat in front of Jewett’s mercantile and idly watching the world—or such of it as could be found in Thom’s Valley—pass by.
    Gradually, slowly, Taylor’s chin sank down toward his chest and his eyes drooped nearly shut. He could feel the heat of the late afternoon sun on his legs. He gave fleeting thought to buying himself a proper dinner for a change. He had enough money put by that he did not have to work for the next few days if he chose, and a meal at the café might be just the thing.
    It was early for dinner, but he was feeling a mite peckish. So why not treat himself to some proper, sit-down cooking? Steak covered thick with flour gravy, say. And mashed spuds with more of the same poured over. Hot baking soda biscuits with butter and preserves and maybe some pie to finish off. Taylor had not had a meal like that since the last time he worked out at one of the larger ranches. That would have been . . . He had to think about it for a moment in order to remember. The Bar 7 H? He thought so. Not that it mattered. But the food. Oh Lord, the cook at the Bar 7 H could really put on a feed.
    Taylor’s mouth was watering before he got off his chair and stepped down into the street.
    The next thing he knew, there was a flurry of motion to the right just outside his line of vision and he felt something smack hard on the side of his jaw.
    â€œYou son of a bitch!” someone bawled, and hit him again.
    â€œNow damn it, you . . . Hahn?” John could scarcely believe his eyes. It was Richard Hahn who had attacked him without warning. And was doing his level best to do it again.
    Hahn’s fists were flying—inexpertly to be sure but every once in a while one would connect and the damn things stung when they landed—and his face was red as a dance hall girl’s skirts. John could not be sure, but it almost looked like the little bastard had been crying.
    Hahn tried to belt him again. John decided he had had just about enough of that. He took hold of one of Hahn’s arms, spun him around, and wrapped his arms around the little man, pinning Hahn’s arms firmly to his sides.
    â€œWill you settle yourself down, you dumb shit?”
    â€œYou bastard.” Hahn yelped. “You lousy son of a bitch. Where are they? What have you done with them?”
    â€œDone with what? Man, I dunno what you’re talking about.”
    â€œLet me go, damn you.” Now Hahn was crying. Taylor could hear it in his voice.
    â€œI’ll let you go when you settle your ass down an’ tell me what this is all about.” By way of demonstration, John clamped down on Hahn even harder. He had broken a man’s ribs in a bear hug once. He considered trying to duplicate that now with Richard Hahn. It would be a pleasure.
    â€œLet me go, you big ape. I . . . I can’t breathe.” Hahn struggled, trying to break loose from Taylor’s hold, but that was a losing proposition.
    â€œIf I let you go, will you tell me what this is about?” There was silence for a moment, so Taylor shook him a little and tried again.
    Passersby were staring but no one interfered. For one thing, everyone in town knew there was bad blood between the two men. For another, there were few in the valley who wanted to tangle with John Taylor.
    â€œTell me what it is you want, damn you, but first youtell me what you’ve done with Jessica and Loozy. Where are they? What have you done with them?”
    Taylor felt a chill of sudden dread shoot through him. “What do you mean, man? They’re not at home? Where are they?”
    â€œI thought . . . oh Jesus!”
    Without reaching a conscious