Inside the saloon three men sit at a table that is hardly big enough for the elbows of one man. On the table is a bottle of whiskey and three shot glasses.

One of the men is used to carrying a badge, but he isn’t wearing one now. It’s the wrong thing to possess in this place. In the waistband of his slacks, however, is an old Navy pistol. When he stands the whole world can see it, but right this moment he is sitting, sipping his whiskey. The gun alone is enough to deter trouble in this place, unless of course someone knows his secret. If that turns out to be the case, then he will die the way Wild Bill Hickok died: a bullet to the brain from behind. He knows this. But right now his back is to a wall and he is among men who consider him to be a friend.

The whiskey bottle is nearly drained.

One of the regulars in the saloon wanders by, says: “Blackie, can I take youse guys’ picture wid my new camera?”

“Sure, Slick,” one of the men says. “Go right ahead.”

Smiles fade from three faces.

“Say ‘rotgut’.”

“Rotgut,” the three men say in unison. There is a flash of light.

“Thanks, fellahs.”

Slick waves and moves on.

The man in the middle-the one minus the badge-watches a couple of whores pass by through the window across the way from him, follows them and the sound of their laughter as they pass the front of the saloon.

When he turns back again, one of the two men beside him has a gun drawn and pointed at him. The other man across from him pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and lays it on the table.

“You ever drink with a dead man before, Blackie?” the man with the gun asks to his friend sitting across from him.

“Nope. Have you, Matt?” The man with the note says. He begins to unfold the note.

“This is my first time, too,” Matt says.

“What you got to say about this, Jack?” Blackie asks.

Jack recognizes the note. Not the latest one, but an earlier note. Maybe the latest one got through.

Jack wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “How did you fellows know?” He asks.

“Your friend in Dallas,” Matt says. “He was our friend long before you ever came down the pike.”

“Goddamn you, Roger,” Jack says to the absent traitor. “May you rot in hell.”

“Oh,” Blackie says. “This is hell. Right here. And I have the feeling that our buddy Roger would get along here just fine.”

“You guys gonna kill me? Best get to it.”

“Not yet,” Matt says. “We’re going to ransom you first.”

And outside the window on the hard-packed and heavily rutted Main Street a dust-devil moves desultorily along, kicking up trash and sending it a hundred feet into a smoky, carbon-black sky.

“I think, Sheriff,” I said, “that at the last minute Dallas Sheriff Roger Bailey had a change of heart. Maybe he tried to get Johannsen out. Maybe all he did was send word to the governor. There’s a record of that, at least. Whatever he did, though, it was too little.”

“And too late. That’s what that means, then: ‘for someone that I thought was a friend.’”

I didn’t need to reply. We were in agreement.

“There’s more,” Agent Cranford said. He held out another piece of paper to me. I took it.

It was a telegram.

“Read it,” he said.

“GOVERNOR MOODY STOP THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT DOES NOT PAY RANSOM STOP GOOD LUCK GETTING THAT BOY OUT OF THERE STOP SIGNED HH.”

Cranford must have noticed the quizzical look on my face, even in the dim light.

“H.H. stands for Herbert Hoover. At least I’m pretty sure it does.”

The room began to feel even more close than it had when I first entered. I shuddered. Goose bumps stood up on my arm.

“What is it?” Sheriff Thornton asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Like hell. Tell me.”

“It’s just that… You ever been to one of those exhibits where they keep the three thousand year old mummies?”

“Naw. Can’t say as I have.”

“If you did, you’d know the feeling,” I said.

“Okay. Now I don’t want to know,” he laughed. It was a nervous laugh. “But you better go ahead and tell me.”

“It’s being trapped. Not for seventy years, or even a thousand. But for eternity.”

We were quiet for a bit. The men behind us shifted around. I heard quick whispers in the gloom.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get out of this place. But Sheriff Thornton, I’ve got a suggestion for you. You don’t have to do it, but I think we’ll all sleep better.”

“What’s that?”

“After all the dust settles on this thing and all the reporters go home, I’d have your backhoe operator dig out this whole thing and expose it to the open sky.”

Sheriff Thornton laughed. It sounded better than before.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ll do just that.”

I handed him the satchel of money.

“Sheriff, you should count this, then bag it and tag it. If the proper owner doesn’t claim this in thirty days, then it belongs to Miss Julie Simmons.”

The sheriff took the physician’s bag.

“How much is in here?” he asked me.

“Two million dollars, or thereabouts.”

“And Miss Simmons? Is she your-?”

“Client. Yes.”

“Just what is it you do for a living, Mr. Travis?” Sheriff Thornton asked. I’d been waiting for the question for some time.

“I’m an investment counselor,” I said. “For instance, say you have too much cash, or not enough and you want to-”

EPILOGUE

I had one more phone call to make. The last call.

“Good morning, Bierstone and Travis.”

“Penny. Bill.”

“Oh. Good morning, Mr. Travis.”

“Penny, is Mr. Bierstone in?”

“Yes, sir. He is. I’m sure he will want to know how close you are in resolving his niece’s case.”

Silence.

“Mr. Travis?”

More silence.

“Mr. Travis?”

“Penny,” I said. “Remind me to take you to lunch sometime. Soon.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

“‘Cause you and I really need to talk.”

“I look forward to it, sir. Shall I put Mr. Bierstone on now?”

“Yes, thank you. Goodbye, Penny.”

“Goodbye, sir. And have a nice day.”

After a moment my partner’s very formal voice was there.

“Ah, William.”

“Hello, Nat.”

“Have you been taking good care of my niece? You know, she was my sister’s daughter, God rest her soul.”

“She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Why’d you want me to handle her case?”

“William. You’re a very bright lad, but sometimes you ask the most empty-headed questions.”

“I’m working on it, partner. I’m working on it. It’s just that sometimes I add two and two and get twenty-two. Or twenty-two thousand.”

“Speaking of round figures, William, what happened to the two million dollars? Have you retrieved it yet?”

“The money will be in claims for thirty days. After that, it’s Julie’s.”

“Good. Good job, William. When will the two of you be returning?”

I paused. Images of the Swiss Alps from the frosted window of a little chateau popped into my head. A chateau I had never seen but knew had to exist.

“I’m bringing Julie and Jessica home with me in a few days, as soon as the Texas Rangers and the feds are done with her. After that, we’re thinking about taking a little vacation together.”

“That is a wonderful idea. I suspect the two of you have grown rather close, then.”

“You might say that.”

“There is someone here who wants to talk with you,” Nat said.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“See for yourself.”

There was a moment as the phone passed from one hand to another. I scratched hard trying to figure out who it was.

“Mr. Bill,” a little voice said.

“Keesha!”

“Thank you, Mr. Bill. Thank you for my new family.”

“That’s all right, darlin’,” I said.

“Mr. Bill. I think you and Miss Julie ought to get married.”

“What makes you say that?”

“‘Cause she loves you, and you love her.”