His home, the home of his childhood, small and remote, standing in a cleft of the undulating hills, just as it always had, just as it always would, he...supposed. White washed walls and red tiled roof welcomed him back.Nothing different, nothing changed.The gate was still swinging in a lazy arc, faintly creaking, the noise being carried on the breeze that always came up the valley. The same breeze as always, that brought the tang of salt from the briny channel, a mile on the other side of the. Betsy was what Haskell was calling the Gatling gun.Thanks to Turnbull and Biggs, we were going to share in sixteen thousand, five hundred and eighty five dollars. I had decided that Jesse would get that money for stock on his new ranch. After all, I had more than enough money elsewhere. Or should I say 'else when'. The Richardsons' trunk was delivered to the jail by the station master's assistant. Striped convict outfits and shackles were in the trunk. These shackles looked like what I'd seen. More

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