The saloon was a shoddy-looking two story box of building, made from unfinished boards that had not fared well in the desert sun. Above the awning was a sign, painted directly on the wood that read, “Morning Star Saloon. Jethro Earp, Proprietor.” Jethro was happy to tell all the patrons that he was related to the famous law man and saloon-keeper with whom he shared a last name, but in point of fact, Earp was not his real last name. Nor was Jethro his real first name. But other than that, he was a reasonably honest man for a saloon-keeper. In his travels, Archie had become familiar with uniquely American institution of saloons. But the Morning Star was something unexpected. While no expense had been wasted on the outside of the building, the inside was lavishly decorated. And open two stories to the rafters. Around the top of the room were what appeared to be opera boxes, most with curtains drawn and some with painted ladies hanging over the rail. A heavy red-faced girl with strawberry blonde hair, called out to Archie and waved, and the others joined in. Archie didn’t know how to take this, so he looked down at the floor. It was unfinished planks heavily stained with tobacco juice around the spittoons and here and there with what could be liquor or just as easily blood. The saloon was crowded, and a large man in a fancy suit was addressing patrons who were not otherwise occupied playing faro or poker or in one case, sleeping on the floor. “And you may well ask how I survived the the onslaught of those unspeakable savages and subsequent crash, to find myself alive here among you, my fellow men of the West, no worse for wear. And friends, I have an explanation.” “You was jes’ lucky!” called out a tired miner, who was leaning against the bar to avoid falling down. “Lucky I am, indeed, my good man. Indeed, some say blessed! But not in matters relating to highwaymen of any race, breed or nationality. No sir, I was fortunate to have made the acquaintance of a true genius of our age, the modern Hippocrates, to whom the secrets of the ages are known. Dr. Amadeus Bartoleermeer the 2nd who has rediscovered the sacred well-spring of Pancea for our troubled modern age…” and here he produced a small bottle of patent medicine from his jacket pocket, “A marvelous elixir, which restored me from my broken state to the hale and hearty creature you see before you.” “Did it give you all them extra words,” cried a voice from the back. A sweet whisper in Archie’s ear said, “Don’t believe a word of it. I was on that stage and I am perfectly fine.” Archie turned and saw a lovely woman dressed in nothing more than a corset and petticoat. She smiled hungrily and said, “I escaped with nothing more than a bruise on my leg. Would you like to see it?” Archie was flustered by this and, at a loss, blurted out, “Archimedes Croryton, at your service.” “There’s a thought,” she said, “why don’t you come upstairs with me, Mr. Croryton.” “I… uh… You are very forward aren’t you. Miss?” “Alice, just Alice,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “But if you want, you can call me yours.” Archie looked around desperately, not sure what to do. From across the room, Archie saw MacAllister plowing through the crowd towards him. Grinning from ear-to-ear, he clapped Archie on the shoulder and said, “They’ve only Irish whiskey in this godforsaken place, but I’ll buy you one anyway.” He tipped his hat at Alice, “Ma’am.” As they bellied up to the bar, Jethro dragged Dr. Krupp out by his ear. Not to be silenced by this rough treatment, the good Doctor bellowed, “Look for my wagon! Discounts for quantities! Perfect for hangovers…” Jethro hurled him through the door of the saloon and he was heard no more. Archie watched Alice lead another man up the stairs and said, “Are they all so… mercenary here?” MacAllister laughed heartily and said, “She’s