Thinking back on his experiences with Van Horn — and he'd had plenty enough — there had been an unusual air to the place that he'd not never seen there before. You could always count on Van Horn to come to life just as soon as the sun set, but about all there had been to do was deal cards and privately wager on whom would lose their temper when they lost. Erron won more than he lost and the worst of it had come down to sourpuss grumbling. The miners with the funny accents over in Annesburg were rowdier in the end.

"Pinkertons, eh? I don't cotton to them. They got ten dollar hats on five cent heads — and they lie like rugs." His contempt was apparent in the confrontational tenor of his voice, the derisive curl of his lip. "Least I'm honest 'bout what I do."

Erron crossed his legs at the ankle and sipped from his cup with a contemplative hum at the predicament Arthur presented. It was a damn sight more casual than he felt; relief a tangible presence working knots of tension loose all throughout his body. "Followed after you before," he remarked after some time. "Reckon it'd be a good opportunity to learn the lay of the land."