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Updated: May 20, 2025
At the desk, wide-eyed with excitement, Miss Donovan took a service-worn pen proffered by landlord Pete Timmons, whose grey whiskers were as unkempt as his hotel, and registered her name. "A telegram came to-day for you, ma'am," Peter said in a cracked voice, and tossed it over. Miss Donovan tore it open. It was from Farriss. It read: If any clues, advise immediately. Willis digging hard.
From buckle to tongue it glittered with cartridges and a service-worn holster bulged with a short-barreled Colt's .45. He handed the belt to Lorry. "It's a good gun," he said, "and I hope you'll never need to use it." Lorry stammered his thanks, untied Dex, and gave the reins into Waring's hand. "The trade goes," he said. "But we change saddles." "Correct," said Waring.
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