“Shouldn’t be too long,” Linus answered. “Once we hit the Big Horn Mountains, less than a week.” They rode past a few shabby cabins and into the center, where a rusty tin saloon sat lopsided in the main square. Beside it was a stable, where they hosted their horses for the night. Rory took extra care in wishing Sweetpea a good night’s rest and covered her with double blankets. Sweetpea, in turn, swiped the blankets from her back with her teeth and threw them onto Rory’s head. After the cycle repeated itself a few times over, the Railwalkers headed inside for a drink and a hot meal.
Within the saloon sat the usual fixtures. A bar, a row of bottles, a few wobbly tables, and a tinny piano in the far corner. A few other folks populated the floor, but not many. A mustached bartender spoke casu
