Jack narrowed his eyes at the man, who smiled. His white teeth- surprisingly white, Jack noted- flashed in what little light remained of the day. "Mind if I stable my horse, Jacky boy? Then we can find a place to talk." Jack frowned, and the stranger seemed to take that as a yes. He led his black gelding into the stables. Jack watched the door close, and waited patiently.
Half an hour passed, agonizingly slow.
Then the stranger emerged from the stable, dusting off his hands. "Let's find someplace quiet, eh Jacky boy?" He stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and strode off down the street, heading towards the same bar Jack had offered to work in. It looked like he might not be washing dishes after all.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" "Calling you what?" "Jacky boy." "Oh, it's just a little nickname I heard someplace or other. If I remember where, I'll tell you."
The two men entered the bar with the stranger in the lead and Jack following warily. They took a seat at a table in the corner, but neither ordered anything to drink. Jack didn't want to feel woozy during this conversation, and the stranger didn't seem like the type for cheap beer.
"So," Jack prompted. "Family business."
"Right," replied the stranger. "Well, let's get all of the lies out of the way. Hello. My name is Porter." "Is that your real name?" The stranger gave him an annoyed look. "What do you think?" "No?" "Right on the first try. I'm impressed." Jack glared at the stranger, but the man seemed completely calm about it all.
"So, Porter, what's the deal? What do you want?" "It's not what I want, Jacky boy. Far from it. See, I've got this boss, and he's got something of yours. Something you want real bad. And he's willing to deal with you if you meet him on the west bank of the King's River, near Trimmer Springs, at noon this coming Sunday. That gives you three days to think about it."
Jack growled deep in the back of his throat, but the stranger wasn't done talking. "You can bring all the men and weapons you want. See, my boss is expecting a good old-fashioned shootout. Whoever's alive at the end, well, they win. You see how it works?"
"Win?" snarled Jack, quietly. He didn't want to draw undue attention to himself. "Yeah," replied the stranger. "But, see, the boss doesn't want ransom for your sister. He knows you're dirt poor." Jack's frown deepened into a furious, twisted snarl, and the stranger chuckled. "He doesn't want her virginity, either, if that's what you're worried about. He just wants to watch you dance while he throws coals under your feet." Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, but he didn't dare hit the man in the middle of a crowded bar. The stranger smiled at him and stood up, waving at the barkeep. "A couple of beers for my friend here." He paid for them at the bar while a skinny girl brought the rounds to Jack. By the time the rancher looked up again, the stranger was gone. If it hadn't been for his threats, Jack might not have believed he was ever there at all.