Lone Mine was a place where your journey stopped they said. Where wealth lay within the ground for all men. But the stories neglected to mention the heat and the dust.

There was dust everywhere, a constant aggravation, even on the body. Blood still sluggishly oozed from the gun shot wound, yet the man was most definitely dead. The Sheriff puffed on his cigar before rubbing it out on his tin star. His lined face was aged more than his forty years from the sun and drink. He pocketed the cigar for later. His knees creaked as he knelt by the body. His dirty handkerchief was used to pilfer the body. What little of value found itself pocketed by the law.

Once he was done the Sheriff stood back up and motioned to his deputy to come closer. The tall beanpole spat a wad of chewing tobacco before closing the distance.

"Ya." The deputy said.

The Sheriff nodded to the body. "Call the body snatcher. Bloke's dead."

The Deputy's head bobbed. Roger was always happy to please. "Ya S'riff." He scuttled off, leaving the Sheriff to look over the nervous townsmen. The screams of the Baker's wife had drawn quite a crowd. Hawkins had to force his way through the crowd to even see the body. Now everyone waited to see what the Sheriff would do. He took in a deep breath. The air smelled of horse, smoke and fear.

Nervous looks were cast towards the mine. Hawkins knew they were afraid of the man, the Mine owner. Money flowed from the mine to the town. Without the mine the town would shrivel up and die like a weed baked too long in the sun. The haze made their faces move almost comically.

"Bugger off." The Sheriff ground out at the crowd. Everyone scattered to a safer distance. A few drifted back to the saloon, disappointed there would be no show that afternoon. He lifted his hat and mopped the sweat off his bald head. He squinted at the sun then placed the hat back down on his crown.

Eyes followed the Sheriff as he strode back to his office. Whispers followed in his wake. The dead man, they hissed, knew something. He had come West on a story. And he had found one. Then it killed him. When the Sheriff vanished from view all the eyes turned back to the Mine. Stories here were dangerous. They were better left unwritten.

Alice looked up sharply from where she was humming “Working on a Building” while patching a dress to the slam of the door. “Father,” she frowned.

The man was pale as he stomped into the cheerily lit room to sit heavily into a rocking chair. He withdrew a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his pate. “Alice, Oh Alice,” he moaned.

This action was so very much different from how he generally entered that Alice sat up in alarm and set her sewing to the side. With quick movements, she was at his side, her small hand on his shoulder. “Father?” she asked, this time, worry in her tone. “What is it?”

The man was quaking and he set his hand upon hers, clutched it to him and closed his eyes. His cheek was damp with sweat and that might have been usual if only he wasn't pale.

“Are you well?” she smoothed what hair he had back and kissed his brow. “Shall I fetch Dr. Hanson?” He was so very pale looking. His cheek was generally ruddy and smiling, but of late he had been under a cloud of worry. He had worked longer hours and come home a time or two smelling of spirits. She wasn't fully certain why he might be struggling, but she had done her best to not concern herself over it. Rather, she had kept the house clean, bright, and food upon the table that he liked to eat; peach pie and what greens they managed to coax from her small garden watered from their deep well.

“Oh, Alice,” his voice trembled, low and so very unlike himself that the alarm rose in her breast to fear. She went to her knee, clutching his arm. “Oh Alice,” he looked down to her and his eyes were wet. “Daniel is dead. Shot in the street.”

“Daniel?” she gasped. He was a new acquaintance of her father's having come in on the rail but a month prior. Still, to have been killed? Shot? As in a gun?

It was a hard town, she knew this, but in some way, her father had managed to keep much of the darkest shadows in town from touching his daughter. It may not, he thought as he looked down at her earnest face, have been the best choice. She would have been better had he sent her with her brother to the East when he left for school.

He stood, left her there, and went to the roll back desk where he pulled out a letter. He came to her side and pressed it into her hands. “You will go to your Aunt's,” he insisted.

“But, but why? Father?” she cried. “You are frightening me.”

“If only,” he muttered as he returned to his seat, staring at the floor, “if only I hadn't listened to him.”

Bill kicked his mare into a gallop. She responded easily, taking off after the stray heifer. The cow bleated as he guided Rebel in front of his wayward charge and herded her back to the group. With their task done for the moment they stood there and he pulled out a cigarette. He puffed idly watching the herd move.

A shrill whistle caught Bill's attention.

"Oy! Montana!" One of the other ranchers was waving his hat in the air and shouting.

Bill put out his fag on his leathers and tucked the rest away for later. He kicked Rebel back into motion, just a trot this time. As he got closer he realized it was Samuel, son of the owner of Harrison Ranch. Also known as his direct superior.

Bill wiped sweat off his head. "Sir?" He questioned as soon as they were in speaking range.

"You know that writer?" Samuel paused and snapped his fingers. "You know, the man who was harassing Pa?"

"Ya." Bill knew the man. They had to run him off with rifles. He was tenacious. Wanted something from Harrison. Wanted it bad. "He back?" He started reaching for his pistol.

"Na." Sam said with a shake of his head. "He's dead."

Bill blinked at his boss. "Then..." He said slowly. Why were they talking about it.

"Word is Deputy Lees is coming here. Wants to chat with you."

Bill huffed. Of course. Because he ran the man off they must think he went back to town to finish the job. He shaded his eyes as he looked down the road. "Do they know when he died?"

"Ya. This morn." Samuel spat on the ground.

Bill turned his attention back to Sam. "But I've been here all morning! And even if I weren't, I couldn't have gotten there and back to be here now!"

Sam gave a rueful smile. They all knew the Railroad wanted a part of Harrison's land to build on. Harrison wasn't budging. And Alonzo, the mine owner, was saddled up with the Railroad. Everfolk was against Harrison these days, trying to take what weren't theirs.

Bill cursed. Sam echoed it.