As Whip made the connection between «fine shot» and Silent John, he understood why Shannon felt brave enough to come into town alone. Silent John’s reputation as a bounty hunter was of the kind to make a man whisper Silent John’s name — and leave his wife alone, no matter how beguiling her walk.

«Silent John’s not sociable,» Shannon said. «Most men never see him and go on to talk of it.»

Her voice was thin, almost brittle. Not once had she turned to face the Culpeppers. It was as though she already knew who they were.

And what.

«Flour and salt,» she repeated to Murphy. «I would appreciate your getting them now that I’ve paid. It’s a long ride back to the cabin.»

«Sure enough is, especially on that old mule your husband fancies,» Murphy said indifferently. «Soon as I take care of that big stranger and the Culpeppers, I’ll see to your order.»

«I’m in no hurry,» Whip said. «See to the lady. She was here first.»

Murphy grunted, unimpressed by the stranger’s logic. The storekeeper looked at Shannon’s right hand, the one she had rubbed along her pant leg to remove the feel of his fingers. He smiled, revealing teeth stained by chewing tobacco.

«You want to throw in a little something to sweeten the pot,» Murphy said to Shannon, «and maybe I’ll get around to your supplies before dusk.»

«My husband would be very disappointed in you.»

«So would I,» Whip said.

Murphy didn’t miss the warning. He bent beneath the counter, pulled out a shotgun, and slapped it on the scarred wooden countertop. The muzzle was pointed away from everyone, but Murphy’s hand wasn’t far from the trigger guard.

Whip smiled grimly. Murphy wasn’t the first man to mistake Whip for a wandering teamster and think a shotgun was faster than a bullwhip. That kind of misunderstanding was fine with Whip. Surprise would help to even the odds a bit.

But Whip still hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. Four to one was about three too many as far as any careful man was concerned.