Ms. Golightly appeared not long after her brother did, drawn as ever by some invisible, maternal tether. As she descended the stair from her room at Malcolm’s, her gloved hand gliding along the bannister, William was already sat at a table in the saloon, donned in his bowler and unblemished, white collar. Comically, he found himself surrounded by grizzled veterans of the unbathed West, looking like a show dog among… well, not wolves. Something more like mangy coyotes, perhaps.

Already, she noted, he was deep into a game of gin rummy with his new fellows. It was not yet noon and already there was a pitcher between the four of them. And judging from the stack of bills in the center of the table, William was well on his way of needing to borrow from the funds his sister had brought with them.

The only discernible reaction to the scene from Ms. Golightly was the upward flick of a delicate eyebrow as she turned to make her way toward the bar.

She seated herself at the far end, carefully arranging her skirt as to not get scuffed by the dusty ends of her boots. A small book was laid on the surface in front of her and subsequently opened to a page marked with a red ribbon. The top of the page was marked with the day’s date, and some mundane thoughts already jotted down while Ms. Golightly was still in bed this morning.

[indent][i]Sunny morning. Weather fair. Second inspection of Smith property best performed this afternoon, granted William is sober and able. Southern end is rocky, best traversed on foot rather than by horse.[/i][/indent]

While Ms. Golightly reread her own writing and debated on whether she had anything to add, the dull end of a stylus pressed against her lip, she felt the shadow of the barkeep descend over her. A brass belt buckle appeared in the upper end of her peripheral vision.

“Just a glass of clean water, please,” she bid him without lifting her head. The shadow receded without ceremony.

As the rest of the room gradually bled into her reluctant awareness, Ms. Golightly snuck a ghostly look at the crimson-cloaked character seated at another part of the bar, who was presently twisting a glass between his hand. Odd character. The first time she’d seen him, the starkness of his peculiar dress had drawn a startled gasp from the city-bred woman. So far, however, he seemed mostly the morose and thoughtful sort. 

The look he gave to the man leaving was more than a little unsettling, all the more reason to leave the strange fellow alone. As her cup arrived, she diverted her glances once more.

A roar of laughter erupted from the card table as William threw down his hand. Lost again, Ol’ Billy. Ms. Golightly turned her head to watch as they clapped their hands on his shoulder and shook him jovially. Had to wince when she noticed the smudge of dirt left behind on William’s otherwise clean shirt. 

Pronouncing his defeat to the lads, William stood and brought the empty pitcher to the bar. Ms. Golightly was already writing a few new thoughts into her journal as her brother leaned in beside her.

“Always need to be everyone’s friend, don’t you,” she greeted evently. 

“Don’t be sore just because you haven’t got any.” William’s reply was absorbed with a tight-lipped look. Marion’s retort was swallowed and saved for a less compromising moment. Her brother slid the pitcher across the bar, summoning the stout, apron-clad keep. “Refill for my friends and I, would you kindly?”

“Are you going to be capable of mounting a horse in a few hours, William?” Ms. Golightly did not conceal her irritation.

Her brother lowered his voice and waited until the barkeep was out of earshot to reveal a sliver of his true self.

“Swill here is watered down as it is, I’ll be fine.” William further provoked his sister by nudging her with his elbow. Marion’s stylus slid across the page in a sloppy line, and she glared at him. “Hear about that dead cow, Mary? Spooky thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, why won’t anyone shut up about it?” Ms. Golightly clapped her book shut and tucked her stylus into the spine. “Honestly, the stories you hear about this place, and all anyone can talk about is a [i]dead cow[/i]. We lost a horse to exhaustion on the way [i]here[/i]. Any number of things can kill some sickly heifer.” 

William took this with a shrug, deciding his sister wasn’t the best audience for this sort of thing. The local townsfolk were much more superstitious and prone to spreading wild rumors.

Marion bobbed her head discreetly to her left, toward the stranger in the red cloak and myriad buckles.

“Between you and me, I’d like to know more about where that man learned to dress,” she added with a conspiratorial smirk. It was mirrored by her brother as he retrieved a newly filled pitcher. Instantly, Ms. Golightly’s mirth disappeared into a frown. “I’m not going to henpeck you, William, just be ready to leave by noon.” 

“We agreed on one o’clock and you know it. I’ll be ready then.” And then he was gone, stained shoulder at all. 

With that, Ms. Golightly opened her journal again to read her new additions, the tether feeling once more taut between her and her older brother.

[indent][i]William seems to be treating this trip as some excursion away from the toils of family life in the city. While I’m out listening for tales of wolf-men, only to hear of slain cattle, my brother couldn’t be less attentive to his surroundings. No rumormongers to whisper to his wife, no colleagues to hide his face from. He probably dreads returning. I almost pity him. Perhaps it’s a mistake to rush him through our business here.[/i][/indent]