"Mister, you new in town?"
Harrison slowly lifted his gaze. The man who'd asked the ridiculous question had obviously been sent over by the others. He was unarmed. He was also old, probably around fifty, with leathery, pockmarked skin, and he was about the homeliest individual Harrison had ever come across. Squinty brown eyes the size of marbles were all but lost in his round face, for the only feature anyone was ever going to notice was his gigantic potato-shaped nose. It was, in Harrison 's estimation, a real attention getter.
"Who wants to know?" he asked, making his voice as surly as possible.
Potato-nose smiled. "My name's Dooley," he announced. "Mind if I sit a spell?"
Harrison didn't respond to the question. He simply stared at the man and waited to see what he would do.
Dooley took his silence as a yes, dragged out a chair, and sat down facing Harrison. "You in town looking for someone?"
Harrison shook his head. Dooley turned to their audience. "He ain't looking for anyone," he shouted. "Billie, fetch me a glass. I could use me a drink, if this stranger is willing to share."
He turned back to Harrison. "You a gunfighter?"
"I don't like questions," Harrison replied.
"Nope, I didn't think you were a gunfighter," Dooley said. "If you were, you would have heard Webster left town just yesterday. He was looking for a draw, but no one would oblige him, not even Cole Clayborne, and he's the only reason Webster really came to town. Cole's the fastest gun we got around here. He don't get into gunfights anymore though, especially now that his sister came home from school. She don't abide with gunfights, and she don't want Cole getting himself a bad reputation. Adam keeps him on the square," he added with a knowing nod. "He's the oldest of the brothers and a real peacemaker, if you ask me. He's book smart too, and once you get over what he looks like, well, then, you realize he's the man you should go to if you got a problem. He usually knows what's to be done. You thinking of maybe settling around here or are you just passing through?"
Billie, the proprietor of the saloon, strutted over with two glasses in his hands. He put both of them down on the table and then motioned to a man sitting near the door.
"Henry, get on over here and shut your friend up. He's making a nuisance of himself asking so many questions. Don't want to see him killed before lunch. It's bad for business."
Harrison gave only half answers to the questions that followed. Henry joined them, and once he'd taken his seat, the proprietor pulled out a chair, hiked one booted leg up on the seat, and leaned forward with his arm draped across his knee. The three men were obviously fast friends. They liked to gossip and were soon interrupting each other with stories about everyone in town. The threesome reminded Harrison of old-maid aunts who liked to meddle but didn't mean anyone harm. Harrison filed away every bit of information they gave him, never once asking a question of his own.
The talk eventually turned to the availability of women in the area.
"They're as scarce as diamonds in these here parts, but we got us seven or eight eligible ones. A couple of them are right pretty. There's Catherine Morrison. Her pa owns the general store. She's got nice brown hair and all her teeth."
"She don't hold a candle to Mary Rose Clayborne," Billie interjected.
Loud grunts of agreement came from across the room. Everyone inside the saloon, it seemed, was listening in on the conversation.
"She ain't just pretty," a gray-haired man called out.
"She's a knock-your-breath-out-of-you looker," Henry agreed. "And as sweet-natured as they come."
"Ain't that the truth," Dooley said. "If you're in need of help, she'll be there to see you get it."
More grunts of agreement followed his statement.
"Injuns come from miles around just to get a swatch of her hair. She gets real exasperated, but she always gives them a lock. It's as pretty as spun gold. The Injuns think it brings them good luck. Ain't that right?" Henry asked Billie.
The proprietor nodded. "Once a couple of half-breeds tried to steal her off her ranch. They said they got themselves tranced by her blue eyes. Said they were magical, they did. You remember what happened then, boys?" he asked his friends.
Dooley let out a hoot of laughter. "I recollect it as sure as if it happened yesterday. Adam weren't no peacemaker that day, was he, Ghost?"
A man with stark white hair and a long, scraggly, white beard nodded.
"No, sir, he weren't," he shouted. "As I recall, Adam almost tore one of the half-breeds clear in half. No one's tried to steal her since."
"Miss Mary don't get herself courted much," Billie said. "It's a shame too. She should have two or three babies pulling at her skirts by now."
Harrison didn't have to ask why she wasn't courted. Dooley was happy to explain. "She's got herself four brothers none of us is willing to take on. No sirreee. You can't get to her without going through them. That's why she ain't married up yet. You'd best stay clear away from her."
"Oh, she won't have nothing to do with him," Ghost shouted.
Dooley nodded. "She only takes to the bumbling ones and the weaklings. Seems to think it's her duty to look out for them. It's because she's so sweet-natured."
"I already told him that," Henry said.
"She drives her brothers crazy the way she drags home the pitiful ones. Still, they got to put up with it," Billie said.
"She likes us, and we ain't weaklings." Dooley obviously wanted to set the record straight.
"No, of course we ain't," Henry agreed. "We wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea, mister. Miss Mary likes us because we've been around so long. She's used to us. You can get yourself a gander at her in a couple of hours. We like to line up in front of the store around noon so we can get a good, close look at her. She's always got something real nice to say to each one of us. I'm hoping her brother Douglas rides shotgun with her today."
"Why's that?" Billie asked.
"My mare's acting fussy again. I need the doc to take a look at her."
"If you're in need of a good horse, Douglas has a stable full," Dooley told Harrison. "He tames the wild ones and sells them every now and then. He's got to like you though. He's peculiar about who gets hold of his horses. He ain't a real doctor, but we like to call him such."
"He don't like it none, Dooley. Says he ain't a doctor and we shouldn't be calling him one," Ghost called out.
"I know that," Dooley shouted back. His exasperation was apparent in his tone of voice. "That's why we never call him Doc to his face. He's got a special way with animals though, and he's good with his remedies."
"What kind of business are you in?" Billie asked Harrison. "I'm just being neighborly, mister," he added.
"Legal work," Harrison answered.
"That won't make you enough money to put food in your belly, at least not on a regular basis. You do anything else?"
"I hunt."
"Then you're a trapper," Henry decreed.
Harrison shook his head. "Not exactly," he hedged. He was on a hunt now, but he wasn't about to tell these men he was searching for a stolen child. She would be a fully grown woman by now.
"You're either a trapper or you ain't," Henry said. "You got any equipment to trap with?"
"No."
'Then you ain't a trapper," Henry told him. "What about ranching? You ever try your hand at ranching? You've got the build for it. I don't recall ever seeing anyone as big as you are, or as wide across the shoulders. A couple of the Clayborne brothers come to mind, and Johnny Simpson, of course, but I think you might be a half a head taller than any of them."
"You willing to tell us your name?" Henry asked.
" Harrison," he answered. "My name's Harrison MacDonald."
"You got a last name for a first name, don't you?" Dooley remarked. "Will you take offense if I call you Harrison, or do you want to be called MacDonald?"