Chapter Thirty-SixStriding across the main street first thing the following morning, Richard Toft stifled a yawn. He needed to make an early start, visit the local news press and arrange for some posters to be distributed around town. Rubbing his chin, having been in too much of a rush to shave, he hoped he might get everything finished before lunch.
But then he saw the horses tied up outside the saloon and pulled up sharp. He didn't like the look of the carbines in their scabbards. He liked even less the surly-looking youth chewing on a stalk of grass, leaning against the sun-canopy post, most especially the tied down guns.
“s**t,” he muttered.
The youth considered Toft for a moment, straightened himself and twisted his scrawny neck towards the double bat-wing doors, yelling, “You bett
