“Big Hugh? That’s all? Not even a last name? You are truly the dumbest damned hillbilly idiot I have ever known in my life. Now get down there and get our money back!”

Jake hurried down to the lodge where Hugh said they were staying, running most of the way. He had to step over a Rottweiler dog to get in the door. The night manager was a nasty-looking specimen with long, greasy hair, sitting with his cowboy boots propped up on the desk. He had a big hole in the sole of the left boot.

“You need a room, buddy?”

“My name aint buddy. I’m lookin for a fella name of Big Hugh and the woman who is with him, Maisie.”

“Don’t have nobody here goes by them names.”

“Big fella maybe forty years old, heavyset. Little woman with the biggest dark eyes you ever seen, pretty as a picture. Don’t look more than eighteen, although I expect she’s older’n that.”

“Oh, them. That’s John L. Jones and his wife, Mary. They checked out a hour ago. Settled up their bill in some kinda hurry and left. They was way behind on the rent till they paid me.”

“Sonofabitch! Did they say which way they was headed?”

“No sir, they did not. But they seemed in a big hurry to get someplace, checkin out at this time of night.”

Jake had one last hope. Perhaps the two had gone back to the Branding Iron to celebrate their good fortune. The bar was jumping, but there was no sign of Maisie and Hugh. Tom Hewlett was still behind the bar. Jake had to shout to make himself heard.

“Them two I was with, the big fella and that little lady, have you seen them?”

“No, they been in here most days for two weeks, but last time I saw them they was sittin with you.”

“Two weeks? They told me they was just passin through town on their way back to Nevada.”

Hewlett shrugged. “From what I know they were comin from Nevada. They said they were headed east.”

36.