"She is the most difficult person I have ever met!" Missy was fuming, pacing about the open space of her tent while Clint sat; arms folded and chin tucked against his chest. "Truly, I'd have just as much luck speaking to a wall, for all the good it's done me."<br/><br/>"Mm" The big man replied.<br/><br/>"I offer her liquor, free of charge. She refuses. I put about my very best in hospitality; offering my hand. She rebukes me. Tell me, Clint," she turned her furious gaze on him, pretty lips worked into a severe frown that did little to convey how angry the girl was. Such was the problem with delicate features and a fair complexion. It all looked perfectly harmless unless it was actively stomping you into the dirt. Which wasn't an option with the ever elusive Miss Freeman.<br/><br/>"Am I so repellent to these ...<i>people?</i>"<br/><br/>He snorted. "Well, look at you." It was one of the rare luxuries that the man kept for having known the young Miss Huntington for longer than even her own memory served. Being able to speak frankly with her - even if through postured accents - was a tactic few employed. "You think you're the first rich white girl she's dealt with?"<br/><br/>Missy continued to frown silently.<br/><br/>"She's probably been ducking the tempers of people like you her whole life. Worse even. So, she made it out here, set up shop and hasn't looked back since." He let this simmer, watching as the wheels if indignance wore themselves down. "She knows everything comes with a price. And you went in there waving around big promises."<br/><br/>She exhaled, rolling her eyes away from him, his truth and the damned, all-knowing tone of his. Fluttering her lashes, she swallowed a bitter pill and cleared her throat.<br/><br/>"Any other news? What of those reporters?"<br/><br/>"No word. Seemed to have hunkered down after that mess at the bank. I'm sure they've got plenty of story though."<br/><br/>Missy clicked her teeth at this. She wasn't sure if that was a positive or not. And without knowing how to properly register information, she did what she always did: dismissed it.<br/><br/>"Innkeeper died. No word on how."<br/><br/>She stared at him from her place where her pacing had left her. Evening was approaching and she felt as though she'd been run through the wringer. Ever ready with the dawn, the blonde knew she'd need to pounce on free flowing liquor and marginally buoyed spirits while she could. To strike while things still glowed and, hopefully, shape something worthwhile from all of this dirt, stone and supposed ore.<br/><br/>"I..." she started, shrugging, "don't care."<br/><br/>"Miller is missing. Hasn't reported in since second call."<br/><br/>"Which one is he?"<br/><br/>"Doesn't matter." It did, a great deal, in all reality. Going into the specifics of why Miller was a bigger loss than the next man, or the next, would've been pointless though. "Problems are piling up at a pretty alarming rate is all. Not counting those poor bastards they sent to lockup."<br/><br/>Now it was her turn to snort in derision. And she did, biting her lip as an idea formed in her head. "I suppose we'd best climb then. Have our supplies of Gold Label sent to Miss Freeman. All of it. Lisbeth Bouchard and her dimwit husband can do without. I never cared for her anyway."<br/><br/>Clint nodded. "I take it that means we're settling in?"<br/><br/>"Oh yes, Clint, my dear." Missy beamed, leaning across a vanity to inspect the smokey shade across heavy lids. She'd need a touch-up before attending her impromptu meet and greet. "Lock stock and barrel."