Hoke Easterly grimaced as he shifted his position on the rocky ground. Waiting and wondering just what his attackers might do, was becoming mighty uncomfortable – and annoying. About forty feet away, Horse, his aptly named Appaloosa, nibbled leisurely at some scrub, oblivious of its owner's discomfort.

Hoke sighed peevishly and fingered the hole in the crown of his hat, relieved, but surprised how the bullet responsible had missed his head inside.

Seemingly forgotten meanwhile, and paying little attention, were the three Mexican bandits that had surprised him with the expectation of stealing something valuable. At that moment they were shouting among themselves in Spanish, over the fact that his satchel held only some old clothes, a bottle of liniment for his horse, a small package of jerky, and an old book with the cover torn off.

He watched them, hoping that the one waving his gun around could be calmed down before any serious damage was done. The oldest looking member of the trio kept pushing the gun waver back, and eventually, the man spun away uttering, what Hoke assumed from his sparse Spanish, were profanities. Then he turned and spat in Hoke's direction before getting his horse and mounting up.

The older Mexican turned and pointed at him, forehead cramped in a serious frown, his sombrero bobbing in emphasis. "You are very locky Greengo theese time, Greengo." He tossed his head back, hands on hips, and jumped into his saddle with dramatic élan, pointing to his eyes and then at Hoke.

Hoke nodded, and pushed himself up from the ground, putting on his hat and rubbing his backside, as the bandits rode off. On top of recent events, this encounter really sucked, he bellyached to himself, while stuffing everything back in his satchel. He tied it to the saddle, thanked his horse for caring enough to stick around, swung aboard, and continued in the direction he was originally going.

Topping a rise, he halted, looking down at the road below. Off to the left, he could see the stage depot – his destination. A squeeze of his legs and a tongue click, and Horse started down the shallow incline. As he approached he saw the lazy curl of smoke coming from the tin chimney that stood at a rakish angle on the roof, and out front of the coral was a stone well, with a bucket hanging from a pulley under its sagging, weathered roof.

He stopped in front of the hitching rail and sat still, taking in the surroundings; the half dozen horses lazing in the coral at the side, the fading sign indicating that this was indeed, Twin Wells Stage Depot, the feed, and water troughs, currently empty, and beyond, miles of rolling hills. A clump of tired looking trees leaned into one another behind the depot, a scanty backdrop provided by a disinterested nature.

He climbed down, threw the reins over the rail and pushed through the door into the dim interior.

On the left were a few round tables with chairs, all well-used and abused. Lanterns stood on each one, a couple lit to give the interior some light. To the right was a pair of rooms with doors open, and the light of more lanterns hanging on wall hooks, revealed unmade beds.

Straight ahead was a counter, with a stubby, bald man watching him, at least he seemed to be watching him. It was too dim to really tell.

"Can I get a drink?"

"You got money?"

Hoke dug into his pocket and dropped some change on the counter. The man grabbed a glass and bottle from the shelf behind him, set the glass down, and slid the change off the counter before pouring the drink.
"How much is the drink, that was all my change?" He complained.

"Then that's the only one you get." The man put the bottle back on the shelf.

"You're right sociable, aren't you."

"You want sociable, get some more change."

"I can see why you ain't very busy. Stage passengers must just love your good nature; the jolly stage manager."

"What do you want here anyway, Cowboy?"

"The stage from Waterfield stops here, right?"

"Why?"

"Well does it?" Hoke sipped his drink.

"You want a ticket?"

"Nope. I'm expecting a package."

The man leaned back against the wall and folded his arms, considering Hoke. He didn't think he looked dangerous, kind of goofy actually, and he wasn't wearin' an iron. Maybe his manner wasn't warranted. Then he noticed the hole in his hat and frowned.

"How'd you manage that?" he asked, pointing.

"Huh? Oh, this?" Hoke took his hat off and stuck his finger in the hole. "Three Mexican fellas held me up about an hour from here. Don't know what they expected, but I had nuthin'. One of them got a little upset and took a shot at me."

"Three Mexicans?"

"Yep, why?"

"The Santiago brothers. They hold up everybody around these parts. If they aren't in the jail in Nugget, they're out and around stickin' people up. Mostly harmless – and seems they ain't much with a gun either," he said, topping up Hoke's glass.

Hoke nodded a thank you and took a swallow.

"What's your handle, Cowboy? I'm Ned Chellew." He stuck out a hand.

"Hoke Easterly, pleasure, Ned."

"Kinda name is Hoke?"

"My pa's choice. Ma wanted Rodney after her daddy. She said it was a tradition in her family. My pa said he didn't care a damn about tradition, it was a lot of hokum. Some of the family picked that up, and I was saddled with the brand. Got shortened to Hoke, like names do."

"Well, pleased to know you, Hoke, and uh, sorry about the change."

"I'm used to it, wouldn't have liked Rodney much."

"I meant the drink change."

"Oh- nah, you topped me up, that's fair. Say, while we're talkin' names, why's this place called Twin Wells – you only got one?"

"Wouldn't sound like much if I named it One Well, would it?"

The sound of a dog barking drew their attention and Ned came out from behind the bar, grabbing his rifle.
"Trouble?"

"Never know. It's the stage arrivin'. Old Boot always barks when he hears it comin'."

"Well there's another name needs thinkin' about." Hoke finished his drink and followed the man outside. He shaded his eyes and watched down the trail as dust rose in a plume of dirty beige behind the stage.

"Old Boot must have quite an ear, that's still half a mile or so away."

"He's gettin' on, used to have more time before it got here."

Ned began filling the trough from the well bucket, and pouring out feed for the team.

"Might need some help hitchin' the new team, this is where they change before headin' further south." Ned glanced at Hoke, who pulled at his jaw, thinking.

"Well, we might come to an arrangement." His grin confused Ned, but he nodded anyway.

The stage slowed and pulled into the space in front of the station, some of the trailing dust settling on everything and everyone. The driver set the brake and jumped down from the seat, hands on knees and spitting into the dirt once or twice.

"Tough ride, Harmon?" Ned asked, moving to open the stage door.

"The driver coughed and spit again. "I'm gettin' too old for this business I tell yuh. If it ain't that danged Chief Runs in Weeds and his motley gang of Injuns always wantin' horses, it's those blasted Mexicans, actin' like they know what they're doin'."

"But you led 'em all a merry chase, right?"

"Only 'cause none of them is smart enough to get ahead, they always try chasin' me."

Hoke hurried over to the stage door as Ned pulled it open. He dropped the step and stood back as three passengers exited. The woman stood to one side straightening her gown and brushing dust from her face and hair. Two men did a bit of the same, only with less enthusiasm. Boot sauntered over to the coach and marked one of the wheels, scratching up more dust, then casually checked out the passengers.

"You got a bar here" One asked, slowly shifting the dog away with his leg.

"Inside, and I'll be right in to help you." Ned turned to find Hoke, hat in hand, speaking to the woman.

"You gonna help with the team there, Cowboy?"

"Soon as I see this young lady settled inside out of the sun." Hoke led her by the arm, gesturing back at the stage as they walked.

"Fast worker there, ain't yuh, Cowboy?" Ned and the driver were unhitching the team and slipping off the harness when Hoke came back.

"Reckon I hope to be. That's the package I told you I was waitin' for." He helped lead the lathered horses to the corral for a good wipe down, grinning at Ned's expression.