Jim sat in the corner of the saloon, sipping lightly at a whiskey. A bookwormish man in a business suit entered the saloon. He was smallish and conservative looking, with a tightly trimmed mustache on his upper lip. The man walked to the bar, and ordered a beer. The barkeep set the mug in front of him; he reached into his pocket, extracting a five dollar bill. The man put the bill on the bar and the bartender stared at him.

The businessman looked at the barkeep over the edge of his mug, Don't you have any change?

The bartender picked up the bill and stared at it, then again at the man, I can change it....have to go in the back.

A moment later, the barkeep reappeared, and placed the change in front of the businessman. West observed the proceedings with feigned disinterest. He found Marvin's disguise to be convincing, if not slightly amusing. He wondered how long they would have to wait before the other shoe dropped. Jim leaned back in his chair, and Solomon settled into his spot at the bar, drinking his beer; it could be quite some time before anyone made a move.

*******

He couldn't remember feeling so dirty. Between his own sweat, and the stench of the latrines around him, he could barely stand being around himself. He stood up straight and winced as his back pulled in protest. He set the shovel down and looked at the old beat-up watch in his pocket. It was almost morning, and he had been working for almost 24 hours straight. He shook his head: he was getting too old for this business.

The Aussie let out a long sigh of air, and sat down on a nearby rock, rubbing the back of his neck with his dirt-covered hand. The booming voice above him on the catwalk almost made him jump.

Who told you to take a break, Lawless?

He looked up into the grinning face of Kesler, I been on my feet for almost 24 hours straight, mate, I just needed to take a break.

You can take a break when your work's finished. We don't pay ya to sit on your laurels. You pulled this duty as a punishment for your fightin'....now get up.

The Aussie just glared defiantly at him. Kesler pulled a whip from a nail on the wall, and snapped it at the man, tearing his shirt, and cutting into his skin. Lawless grabbed his arm in pain, and was surprised at the amount of blood seeping from the slash in his shoulder.

I said, get up, Lawless.

Before he could move, the whip flew at him again, this time catching him across the brow, opening a deep gash. Lawless cried out in pain, and pulled the bandana from his pocket, covering his brow. Distracted by the discomfort, the Aussie was still sitting. Kesler was winding up for another strike, but was stopped in mid move by the annoyed voice heading his way.

Kesler! Stop! What do you think you're doing?

N-nothing, doctor, I'm just--

--Put that thing down before you hurt somebody with it.

Kesler looked at his feet, and then silently hung the whip back on the nail.

The doctor chastised him further, Really, Kesler, how do you expect to get the best work from men, when you beat them with a whip? An ounce of honey is worth an entire gallon of vinegar, my dear mother used to say... besides, I have something important I need you to do.

Lawless looked up toward the catwalk, and almost dropped his bandana. Standing next to Kesler, sporting a grin as wide as the Missouri, was none other than Dr. Miguelito Loveless. The Aussie closed his eyes and groaned, leaning his head into his hand: things had just become a lot more complicated.