The small group was finishing up at the store. Cooper had taken his own sweet time picking out his working outfit: a light blue shirt, high-heeled shiny boots, fancy spurs, and dark grey pants and vest. He topped it all off with a bright blue bandanna around his neck and a black tooled cross-draw holster with matching belt for his trousers. On top of his wavy mop he had donned a flat-topped Stetson with a smaller brim and stampede string. "Mm-mm," he murmured as he admired himself in the mirror, turning this way and that. Joe watched nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with one foot crossed over the other at the ankle. He shook his head, bemused.

"Excuse me, Dude Cooper," Wishbone growled. "I'd like to get some me woman-cooking sometime soon, so if you could finish up, I would appreciate it."

"Not to worry, my good man," Cooper said, and cockily strutted over to where the camp cook was standing. "I will be finished momentarily, just as soon as I pick out a nice pistol here." He flashed a charming smile in Katy's direction. "Excuse me, miss, but would you have any suggestions?"

Katy was not immune to the southerner's beguiling demeanor. She touched her cheek self consciously. "I believe you'll find one you'll like in this case here."

The guns were in a different case than the one Joe's had come from. These were finer, more expensive, all laid out on a bed of black velvet. Chad saw one that immediately drew his eye. It had a pearl handle, and when he picked it up, he noticed that the guard and sight had been filed down. Perfectly balanced, this was a gunfighter's weapon. It fit his hand like it was custom made for him. He twirled it around his finger, flipping it forward then back, and rolled the cylinder over his arm, listening carefully to the clicks for any irregularities. Flipping it a few more times, he then slid it into his holster, his hand stroking the butt with fondness. He looked back at the girl, all playfulness gone. "This one will suit me fine, thank you."

The young lady stared at him with an open mouth, and around him stillness had settled over the store. He threw his entire wad of cash on the counter. "This ought to cover everything, plus a few boxes of cartridges." When the girl failed to move, he grabbed the boxes himself, stuffing them into the bundle of his old clothes. He tugged on the brim of his new hat and turned on his heel and strode away, spurs jingling.

Katy blinked a few times before gathering up the money the young man had left in front of her. The register clanged as she opened the drawer. She put the greenbacks inside in their respective slots, putting some in the wrong places and having to correct herself.

She turned back to her remaining customers, trying to muster a smile, but found she was having a hard time doing so. The youngest of them, a boy in a Confederate forager cap looked at her concernedly. "Are you alright, ma'am? You look kinda peak-ed."

Katy ran a hand over her apron, flattening imaginary wrinkles. "Yes, I'm alright."

The boy's question drew the attention of the old man. "Are you sure, miss?" He looked so kind; she couldn't help but ask what was plaguing her. "Um…well, actually, what was that man's name? Chad something?"

The big, handsome one against the wall suddenly stood up straight, his eyes wide and questioning. However, it was the old man who answered. "Sure is, Chad Cooper is what he's callin' himself."

A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth. "I suppose you must think I'm very silly, I mean, most men these days can handle a gun…."

"But not like that," the big man said, his mouth hard and frowning.

Katy shook her head, not wanting to believe it. "I used to live south of here, close to the Gulf. A man came into town one afternoon. A disagreement happened in the saloon where he was playing poker…guns were drawn, and the man was killed. His name was Ace Reynolds."

The boy gasped. "Ace Reynolds! Why, he's supposed to be the fastest draw in Texas! Well, used to be, I guess."

The old man scoffed. "I heard that story. He was caught cheatin'. What's that got to do with Chad?"

"On the same day another man rode into town. According to the story, he was real gallant and smooth, dressed like a gambler and talked like a gentleman. It was this man that noticed Ace was cheating. Called him out on it…and out-drew Ace, killing him in a fair fight."

The big man was unexpectedly in her sight, having come to her counter unnoticed. "His name?" he whispered, as if afraid to ask.

"C.J. Cooper."

All three customers mouthed the name, as if tasting it. "That doesn't necessarily mean it's the same man," Katy started to say.

"But not many that can handle a gun like that and also go by the name of Cooper," the old man finished. "We have no way of knowing if he's the same Cooper, unless we ask him." He turned toward the big man. "Joe, you've been trail partners with him for a while, right? He say anything about where he's from?"

Joe shook his head slowly. "Not much, except he used to live in a town called New—somethin'."

"New Orleans?" Katy guessed.

"Maybe. Sounds familiar. But if Chad doesn't want me to know about his life before we met up, then that's his business. There's a lot of stuff I ain't told him 'bout me, and he doesn't ask. So if he's a gunfighter, I reckon I'll still stay pards with him. Shucks, if I found out he's a no-good dry-gulcher, I'd still be pards with him. He's just that kind of pard."