The weather was changing and the wind howled as the door to the store opened and a large man dressed in buckskin came through. Shivering, he placed the long barreled rifle in the corner and stretched out his arms before sitting down. He rubbed his hands, blew on them and rolled his shoulders. The man opposite; small, wiry and older than any other fixture in the building, frowned and stood up. He waddled over to the counter and pummeled it with his fist.
“Martinson,” he shouted, “Martinson, you got yourself a customer.”
Turning, the little man leaned back against the counter and studied the stranger for some time before speaking. “Are you the regulator?”
The stranger tossed his long hair and shrugged. “And what might one of them be?”
“We heard the silver mine over near Norwich Gulch was
