Persia Parker sat in her usual place at the head of the council table and listened demurely while Sam Lester outlined a plan for the town to issue scrip. She didn't know if the plan had originated with him or with Mr. Jay. She didn't thoroughly understand it, but Sam had assured her that there would be considerable advantage in it, if it was done right.
When Sam had finished speaking, she turned the meeting over to him and left the room. This had been agreed on beforehand—there seemed to be certain hidden profits in the plan that were best discussed in her absence.
She walked along the long hall and entered her parlor, halting in surprise as a man rose slowly from the sofa.
He was stocky, brute-faced, and wore a pointed blond mustache and several days growth of pale stubble. He was dirty and looked exhausted. There was a large dark stain on his jeans—a bloodstain. She felt a little stab of panic.
"There's a meeting in there," he said, gesturing with his hat toward the other part of the building. "The door was open and I couldn't get past to Lester's rooms, so I come in here."
She recognized him now as one of the pair who had hidden in Sam's rooms a few days ago. She had taken food up to them.
"I got a bullet scratch on my leg," he said. "It wouldn't amount to nothing if it had been took care of, but I been on the run three days. It's got to be dressed. I got to have some food."
He sank down heavily. A blood-stained bandage showed through a tear in the faded cloth of his jeans. He would get the sofa dirty, she thought, and she frowned her annoyance.
"I'll go back to the meeting and close the door so you can get up to Sam's quarters," she said.
"My horse has got to be took care of. He's out back."