Miss Peckham’s mistake was sympathizing with a drunk.
Someone pinched William’s arm. He shielded his eyes from the light of day as Miss Peckham stared down at him.
“Mr. Weldon, I sent you to get my things YESTERDAY. I expected you back YESTERDAY.”
William looked up with scorn. “Why should I care what you expect? You’re not my master.”
“I smell your master on your breath,” Miss Peckham said. “Now where are my things?”
William inched up, scratching his sweaty chest through his damp checked shirt. “In the corner—over there.”
Miss Peckham folded her arms. “Don’t fool with me, Mr. Weldon.”
William saw that the corner was empty. “Damn, I think I left it at The Buckskin.”
“You really are a moron like they say.”
William couldn’t deny it. He grabbed his boots, slipped them on and led her into The Buckskin. “We’re looking for a carpetbag I…
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