Grainger had been riding all day. Now he arrived at a saloon, somewhere in a tiny little town. The desert wind swept through the streets. There were exactly two of them, which crossed the center.

And then there was the saloon, the livery stable, the boothill, the church and the whore house.

A little further on is the train station, without which the place would probably never have existed.

Grainger stopped at the rental stable and got out of the saddle. He knocked the dust off his clothes.

Then he wiped his hand over his forehead after he had pushed his hat into his neck.

It had been so damn hot for weeks.