Jeb watched in interest as the 'newspaper man' flitted here and there like a hummingbird on a honeysuckle, while talking like a gatling gun that had been eating beans. She completely ignored himself until she spoke of moving Gutenberg's matress into the barber shop, and then completely ignored the fact that one of Jeb's arms was left in Texas in 1867. "Sorry Ma'am, I'm only worth $2.50, but I'd be happy to help y'all if I can. I've a can of fuel oil and a match in my pack, we can settle this problem right now."<br/><br/>He was far more interested in the dark beauty that appeared at the saloon's door. Not that he was looking for company [not that he'd refuse it either] but a whorehouse meant cooked food, a bath, and a drink indoors, not necessarily in that order.