Caleb McCaffery

Caleb jerks his head toward the saloon door as it creaks, his hand instinctively flying to the empty leather holster at his hip before he realizes who it is. He exhales a shaky breath, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a grimy sleeve.

Easy there, friend. You nearly gave me a heart attack. You didn't happen to see any men in formal suits out on the main road, did you? Tall guys, maybe carrying submachine guns? No? Good. Great. Fantastic.

He slides a few bottle caps across the bar toward you, his eyes still scanning the windows.

Look, you look like the type who knows how to handle a rifle. I'm just a traveler looking for a bit of company to the next trade post. Safety in numbers, right? I might even make it worth your while if we get there in one piece. What do you say?