"What do you think he's doing?"

"Who?"

"Vin." Buck pointed with his chin across the street. Chris looked to see what he was talking about. He saw Vin walking into the bathhouse with what were probably fresh clothes over his arm.

"If I was a betting man, I'd say he's gonna have a bath." Chris said. He and Buck were enjoying a hot afternoon in the shade on the boardwalk.

"It's only Thursday."

"I guess it'll be less crowded then."

After a while, Vin came out of the bathhouse with what were probably his dirty clothes over his arm, and he walked back to the boarding house a few doors down. After another minute he came out, stopped, looked down at himself and went back in. When he came back out this time, he was wearing a different shirt under his fringed jacket.

He went into Mrs. Potter's store and returned with a small package wrapped in brown paper. He took that into the boarding house but was out again in a minute, carrying the package. He brought it back to Mrs. Potter's and after several minutes he reappeared carrying a larger package wrapped in brown paper.

"He does seem anxious about something." Buck said. They watched and just as Vin got to the front door of the boardinghouse, he stopped, considered his package, and turned around to head back to the general store.

"I take that back," Buck amended. "He's not anxious. He's downright befuddled."

Another few minutes brought Vin back out of the store, carrying either the same package or one exactly the same size and shape. He took that one into the boardinghouse and when he reappeared, he was empty handed. He crossed the street, walking toward Chris and Buck, but his eyes swept down the long street as though looking for something.

"So Vin, what's got you shined up like a new penny in the middle of the week?" Buck asked. Vin either didn't hear or just ignored the question.

"What time have you got on that gold watch a'yours?" he asked. Buck pulled the time piece out and checked.

"It's about quarter to five." He replaced the watch in his pocket. "Don't tell me you're meeting some lovely young lady today."

"She's late." Vin said, but his remark was directed to Chris.

"Not hardly, and not by much." Chris told him.

"Maybe a telegraph came in. I should check."

"Joe woulda found one of us if there was."

"Maybe a bridge washed out."

"It hasn't rained in two weeks."

Buck watched the conversation like he was watching a game of horseshoes.

"What are we talking about here?" he asked, but Vin still didn't answer him.

"I'm gonna go check the telegraph." He said, and headed down the street. Buck took his chance to ask Chris,

"Tell me he's meeting a pretty woman here today."

"All right." Chris nodded and in a voice that was either serious or sarcastic, he told Buck, "He's meeting a pretty woman here today."

As Buck took a few seconds to decide whether Chris was telling the truth, the sound of fighting and gunfire from the livery set the men on their feet and hurrying to the scene.

Ezra heard the commotion but didn't look up from his cards. Gunfire was as common as dust in this town; if he was needed, he'd be summoned. In the meantime, the game he had going here at the hotel was far too lucrative to abandon. As he set down the winning hand against two cowboys, one drummer, and a well dressed man with a glass eye and shabby boots, he heard a woman's voice:

"This establishment is a disgrace. Take my valise back to the carriage immediately; until the proprietor proves to me that the accommodations here are pristine, I will set neither my person nor my personal property down."

"Mother?" Ezra had to ask, even though the woman's voice carried a slight Spanish accent.

The woman fixed him with a significant glare. She was perhaps in her fifties, dressed in what Ezra could tell was the finest fabric and latest style, with the daintiest of feathered hats pushed fashionably forward over her dark hair which was pulled back into a mass of ringlets barely constrained by a fragile looking lacy snood. One hand rested at arm's length on the carved knob of her ebony and silk parasol.

"I beg your pardon?" She didn't ask the question as much as challenge his remark. Behind her, a tall man with brown hair that hung down to his finely-tailored shoulders was carrying a small leather - fine leather – trunk back outside.

Ezra pocketed his winnings and stood up. He didn't know who this woman was or what she was doing in town but she was definitely well-heeled and worth getting to know.

"Forgive me Madam, for a moment you reminded me of my dear mother." He walked around the table to stand near her. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Ezra. P. Standish."

She stared at him a moment, as though waiting for him to go on.

"You are not the proprietor?"

"No, sadly. It was a most tragic occurrence as you might imagine. You see -."

"Are you acquainted with the proprietor?"

"Well, yes. I believe I might be able to -."

"You will procure a clean chair for me and then inform the proprietor that his presence is required immediately."

"Why yes. Of course." Ezra agreed. He chased the drummer out of his chair since it was the closest, and made a show of dusting it with his linen handkerchief before placing it out of the way of the door and indicating that the lady should seat herself. Ramrod straight, she lowered herself into the chair, the silk taffeta of her bustled skirts rustling noisily in the otherwise quiet room.

"I shall wait here."

"Of course, Madam. I will return as promptly as may be possible."

As Ezra turned began to turn away, Chris, Buck and Vin came through the swinging door. Larabee was relatively clean, Buck had a layer of dust on his clothes, but Vin's coat, shirt and trousers were positively thick with the stuff. Whatever ruckus had occurred, it seemed Mr. Tanner had quite borne the brunt of it.

"Next time Lloyd Bannerman wants t'steal his horse outta the livery without paying his bill," Vin was complaining, "One a'the others of you can wrestle with him all you want. I ain't been so dusty since I don't know when."

He punctuated his remark by slapping the front of his jacket and raising a cloud of dust that nearly engulfed the elegant lady sitting nearby.

She stood and turned to stare at Vin. Vin stared back. Ezra expected the woman to fling a curt rebuke at the fringed dustweed. Vin pulled his hat off and held it in a death grip in trembling hands. Ezra expected him to offer an immediate apology. Instead, in hushed tones usually reserved for holy places or religious visions, he spoke one word:

"Mama?"

tbc