“Will that be all?” the proprietor asked, anxious to get Pritchard and Ditch out of his trading post.

“You got clothes suitable for the girl?” Pritchard asked.

“I do.”

“Fetch ’em. Shoes and a coat, too.”

While the shopkeeper again went into the back room, Pritchard searched Calverson’s body. He found six dollars and a tobacco tin. He removed the wool coat and gun belt from the big corpse and picked up the Starr revolver. It was rare for Pritchard to find a man who wore a large enough size to fit him. He donned the coat and offered the pistol to Ditch.

“Don’t like pistols much,” Ditch said, shaking his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with my rifle.”

“Suit yourself.”

The shopkeeper brought out woolen underclothes, shoes, a coat, and a plain frock dress.

“Put these on,” Pritchard said to the girl. She nodded and walked into the back room to change.

“How much do we owe you?”

“Eighteen dollars,” the shopkeeper said.

“Give him ten,” Pritchard told Ditch. “Here’s six more,” he said, handing over the money he’d taken from Calverson’s body.

“You’re two dollars short,” the proprietor complained.

“I’ll make you an offer,” Pritchard said. “I’ll let you keep the mule and one of the horses that belonged to Mr. Calverson. Providing, of course, you bury him and keep your mouth shut. That should make you a handsome profit.”

“I don’t want his mule or his lame horse,” the proprietor said, greed overtaking his fear. “And I sure as hell don’t want to bury nobody I didn’t kill. I’ll take the full eighteen dollars, if you please?”

“Let me make you an even better offer,” Pritchard said, drawing his .44 again. “How about I plug you? You can join Mr. Calverson in the sawdust, and we’ll ride out with your merchandise and our sixteen dollars still in our pockets.”

“Sixteen dollars and the two animals sounds more than fair,” the proprietor quickly agreed.

“Figured you’d recognize a bargain,” Pritchard said, “when you saw one.” He returned his gun to his belt.

The girl came out, dressed in her new clothes.

“You look real nice,” Ditch complimented her. She stared silently back at him.

“Does she talk?” Pritchard asked.

“They’ve been here almost a week, sleeping down by the river. Calverson’s been renting her out to trappers, traders, saddle tramps and such, who pass through. I ain’t never heard her speak a word. She hollers when whipped, and cries out, so I know she can.”

“And you just stood by and let him do it?” Pritchard asked.

“Ain’t none of my business,” the proprietor said.

“You got a better bargain from me today than you know,” Pritchard said. “I ought to shoot you on general principle.”

“Take it easy,” Ditch admonished.

The proprietor gulped and tried not to sweat so profusely. He failed.