2“We’ve got to make sure that woman shuts up.” Gérard Le Blanc stared moodily out of the American Fork House windows to the busy scene outside. The bustling stagecoach stop and Pony Express station ten miles north of Sacramento, the state capital, was an essential stopping point for miners and visitors on their way to the northern mines.
Roland Durand sat across from him as they mulled over the disastrous encounter two nights ago. He fiddled with the handle of his beer mug and scowled.
“So,” Le Blanc resumed. “That means we’ll have to make another visit to the Russell establishment.” He tapped stiff fingers in a tense beat on the edge of the bar room table. “It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.”
Roland screwed up his face in distaste. “I’ve no intention of swinging for her. If you
