At daybreak I went down the street to Maggie's.  The horizon was lifting yellow into the sky, but in the west a few laggard stars remained stubbornly in place.  My boots echoed on the boardwalk.

One light showed from the station where the dispatcher was already at work.  The only other lights were in the hotel behind me and at Maggie's, which was ahead.

The single street opened to the prairie at either end, and the buildings along the street were false-fronted or two-storied frame structures.  It was bleak and bare, the weather-beaten buildings taking shape from the darkness as the light grew.

Why here?  Of all places?

German was drawing a cup of coffee as I came through the door.  "Set," he said.  "I'll have mine with you."

"Know a vaquero named Pablo?"  I took my coffee to the table.

"I know him.  Good man.  One of the best hands with a rope I ever did see.  He'll ride 'em, too.  I mean he'll ride the rough string, ride 'em straight up an' to a finish."

"Talked with him some.  Holdin' some horses back at the edge of the hills."

"Rides for the Y-up.  The boys call it the yup brand.  Small outfit, havin' a bad time of it now due to drouth.  They've got stock scattered all over the country wherever they can find water an' grass."

"I like him."

"So do I, but don't take him light.  He rode with one o' them Mex outfits recruited to hunt an' fight Apaches down below the border.  He joined up when be was fifteen and did nothing else for the next seven years.  He's been shot, knifed, scratched an' bit an' chewed on, but he's still ridin' 'em straight up."

German returned to the kitchen and I was just finishing my first cup and reaching for the pot when the door opened.  It was that railroad man I'd seen on my first day in town.  He crossed to me and put a letter on the table.

"Friend of ours said to give this to you.  Didn't trust it to the mails."

"Thanks."

"My name's Ribble.  If there's anything I can do, let me know."

He went off to another table and sat down.  I let the letter lay for a minute and studied it.

Portis.  It was his hand.  If Portis didn't even trust the mail-

Taking up the letter, I opened it.  A baggage check fell out.  At the same time my eyes caught the first line of the letter.

Get this check into your pocket.  Let nobody know you have it.

The Magoffins were murdered.  No evidence, no suspects.  All very sudden, all very quiet.  They had something to sell and they came to sell it.  To whom we do not know, nor for what price.  Obviously they expected no trouble.  Somehow they were given a bottle of wine.  It was poisoned.  Their effects had been carefully gone through after their death.  It was sheer accident that I found Pier.  I was checking out their arrival to see if they were met when I heard of the unclaimed baggage.  Deliberately unclaimed, I believe.  Pier allowed the Pinkertons to examine one bag.  He did not tell them of the other.  He was looking ahead, sure he was on to something that would make him some money, and he was greedy.

I have not examined the bag, but forwarded it to Penny Logan.  She operates a small hotel at the first station west of you.

Go there.  Get a room for the night.  She will do the rest.  For God's sake, be careful!  Whoever these people are, they mean business.