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“Yes, Paw. I have a nice cowhide belt. In the holster there’s a brand new Colt Navy, then I found this gold paperweight with about a hundred bucks in it. I really shoulda taken the boots and hat. They weren’t bad at all, but in my hurry I didn’t get a chance to take ‘em. You want me to go back and fetch ‘em?” The boy finished his sentence without meeting his father’s gaze. He never looked anyone in the eye. He observed the world with meticulous detail, but never let it show. He was the only person in the entire town with the skill enough to be able to exchange more than four words with Hugg without sending him on a rampage. Finn was his given name, but everyone called him Weasel.

“No, let those four scoundrels out there scrounge for scraps. That way they won’t bother us for a while. Y’know son, if you wanna get a pack of dogs out of your hair, toss a bone at’em and wait for’em to tear each other up.” The boy had already come to that conclusion on his own, and knowingly chose not to pick the generous guest completely clean. He was getting pretty good at letting his father believe that he was the one in charge.