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was no sense to the name, Finn said, because his grandfather told him that cattlemen didn’t really trust banks and spent their money as fast as they earned it on cards and dancing girls.
    “There aren’t any dancing girls in Bitter Springs,” Finn said. “Leastways not the kind that kick their legs so high in the airyou can see…” He leaned forward, looked around Kellen for his brother, and asked, “What do you call it?”
    “France,” Rabbit said. “They kick their legs so high you can see France.”
    Finn nodded. He looked up at Kellen. “You ever seen France?”
    Kellen sighed feelingly. “Not in a long while.”
    “I almost saw it once,” said Finn.
    “You did not,” said Rabbit. He shot Kellen a wise-beyond-his-years glance. “He did not.”
    “Did,” Finn insisted. “
Nat Church and the Frisco Fancy
. Remember that?”
    Surprised, Kellen interrupted. “You read that novel?”
    Rabbit answered. “He didn’t. Pap read it to us. Finn mostly stared at the dancing girl on the cover.”
    “So did you,” said Finn. He puckered his lips and made kissing sounds. “You said you were going to marry her.”
    “Not her. Someone as pretty as her, though.”
    “Ain’t no one as pretty as her.” Finn nudged Kellen and offered a confidential aside. “If Pap held the book up just right, I could about see up her underskirts all the way to France.”
    Kellen nodded. “She did have a kick like a mule.”
    “That’s what Nat Church said, too. I remember because Pap had a laugh about it. You know that story, mister?”
    “I do.”
    “There’s more of them, but Granny, well, she won’t let Pap read them to us anymore. She says they’re…” Frowning, he leaned forward again to look around Kellen and catch his brother’s eye. “What is it that Granny says they are?”
    “Unfit.”
    “She doesn’t say that. What’s the other word?”
    Rabbit sighed. “Gruesome.”
    Finn sat back, satisfied. “Gruesome. I expect that’s because there’s blood and knife fights and shooting and such.”
    “I expect you’re right,” said Kellen.
    “You shoot many people, mister?”
    Rabbit’s head jerked around and he glared at his brother. “We said we weren’t going to ask him.”
    “You said. I didn’t. I want to know. What about it, mister? How many people have you shot?”
    Kellen could see the hotel on the right up ahead, but at the wagon’s current speed, it might be as long as ten minutes before they reached it. They had just passed the marshal’s office and jailhouse, and neither boy mentioned it as a point of interest, further proof their attention was solely focused on him. The station agent’s grandsons were living up to their advance notice, and Kellen made the decision to surrender. “The name’s Coltrane. Kellen Coltrane.”
    Rabbit took the reins in one fist and held out an open hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Coltrane.”
    Finn asked, “You related to the Coltranes from Denver? Mister and Missus stay here when they’re taking the train to Sacramento. They probably stop other places because Missus has the rheumatism, but they talk about here like it’s the best. Mostly that’s true. So, you kin to them?”
    “I’m not, no.”
    “They’re real nice. Don’t think they ever shot anyone.”
    “How about that.”
    Finn’s bright blue eyes narrowed on Kellen’s profile. “You’re not sayin’, is that it?”
    “I’m not sayin’.”
    “We saw the guns,” Finn said.
    Rabbit groaned at his brother’s confession, but Kellen gave no sign that he’d heard anything at all.
    Finn went on. “Are you figurin’ on endin’ trouble in Bitter Springs or causin’ it? It could be that there’s folks here that would hire you and your guns. Unless you already signed on with the Burdicks. That’d just be a shame. A real shame.”
    Rabbit flung an arm past Kellen’s chest and shoved Finn’s shoulder. “Will you shut up?”
    “What? He doesn’t shoot kids. You don’t, do