Chapter Two

Heath, who had managed to get a decent amount of sleep, looked around the room. As far as the eye could tell, there was nothing unusual or out of place. Telling himself that it only proved how one's mind could play tricks on them if they were too tired, he walked out of the room. By the time Heath walked down the stairs, some of the other guests were already checking out.

"Food's on the table," Andrew, who was standing behind the boarding's house desk, gestured towards the kitchen. "You might as well eat before we go to work."

If it wasn't for the fact that Andrew looked rather nervous, Heath would have headed straight for the breakfast table. As it was, he walked up to the desk and asked the gentleman what was wrong. "Don't tell me nothing, either." Heath kept his eyes on his friend, sending an additional message… 'I'm not blind and I'm not stupid; so, don't play me for a fool'.

Andrew, who had known the Barkleys long enough to know that hiding anything from them was useless, got the message loud and clear. He lowered his voice, as he still had a few customers who were eating or still in their rooms. "How did you sleep? Was everything okay?"

Heath's eyebrows turned downwards as studied the man before him. Andrew hadn't acted like this the night before, what had changed? "I slept fine. Why?"

Thinking back to the talk he'd had with their local sheriff just that morning, Andrew sighed and shook his head. "That gentleman, the one I told you went to the hotel?"

Heath nodded. "What about him?" Even as he asked the question, he just knew what Andrew was going to say. Well, maybe not exactly. Still, after what he'd felt, Heath could pretty well guess.

"He told the sheriff, probably others too, that he left because…" Andrew looked around and lowered his voice even more. "He said the room was haunted. I told the sheriff the man was crazy, and that he'd been drinking a little before he rented the room." The pleading look in the man's eyes told Heath that Andrew wanted him to tell him that he, Andrew, was justified in blaming the former customer's alcohol for what the man was saying.

Heath, who didn't want to scare his friend, also wanted some answers. Since the horse auction was actually lasting three days, he gave Andrew a crooked smile. "Don't suppose you'd rent the room to me for the next few days?"

The relief the boarding house owner felt shown as a grin spread from one of his ears to the other, and his eyes started sparking. "Of course, I will! I'll even give you a discount if you'll just let people know you're using that room." He figured he didn't need to explain to Heath why he was making the request; he didn't.

"Don't worry about the discount." Heath handed Andrew the money for the room. He then headed into the dining room.

~oOo~

The noise in the Modesto Bank was quite loud. The banker, a bald headed, pudgy, fellow who stood five feet eight inches, who had a couple of visitors in his office, pointed towards the open door. "Shut that thing, I can't hear myself talk." The glare in his eyes added 'Even if it was quiet, why would we want our voices to be heard'?

"Yes, boss." The taller of his two visitors, one Howard Conners-a red headed man who stood five feet nine inches was standing near the door, did as the banker asked.

"You idiot! I told you, never call me that while in this bank! What if someone heard you? It's simply Mr. Tagen when you're in here!" The banker, whose full name was Michael Tagen, snapped. The last thing he wanted was to have someone realize the shady deals he was involved in. "Now, did you two do as you were told?"

"We couldn't." Tyler Miller, a dark haired man who stood almost six feet, spoke before Howard could. "He never made camp where you told us he'd be."

"Before you ask," Howard, who was looking at the fire that had begun to glow in his boss' eyes, hurried to add, "When he didn't show up, we hunted around in various spots that would have been perfect for someone to use as a campsite. He wasn't in any of them."

"Why do you want him so badly anyway? It's not like he's carrying anything of real value, and he's not a threat to any of our business'." Tyler slid his hands into his pants' pockets as he spoke.

"That's my business not yours. He's going to be seen in town sooner or later. I want the two of you to keep an eye open, get him and take him to my house, the one outside town." Michael, who also had a small home in town, snapped and then told the men they were free to leave. Once they did, Michael sat back and began quietly thinking about the past, back to a time when he and his late son traveled through Corning.

"Your son was in the wrong, Mr. Tagen." Frank Sawyers stood, his hands on his hips, glaring at the pompous windbag in front of him. "None of us were threatening him, everyone here," the lawman pointed at the various men and women standing on Corning's main street, "saw everything that was said and done. Why Nate decided to draw on my deputy is beyond me or anyone here, only Heath Thomson killed your son in self-defense."

Michael Tagen had wanted to call Frank Sawyer a liar, tell him that he was only covering for Nate's killer, but the man had too many witnesses backing him up on what had happened. He'd had no choice but to pick his son's body up and leave town. Later, he'd gone back with the intention of making Heath Thomson pay only to find that he was no longer in the area. He'd gone in search of 'that man' only life got in the way…until he'd found out by accident where Heath was. Too afraid to chance having any of the Barkleys around when he took his revenge, he'd waited until he learned that Heath was traveling to Modesto, alone. "Stupid fools best do as I told them," he muttered as he thought on Tyler and Howard.