"Name's Ben Callahan." the barman replies, coming out from the kitchen with yet another pair of large platters, another with more chilli, the other with slices of some kind of roast. He sets them down on the counter, and wipes his hands on a cloth before filling a plate with food for himself.<br/><br/>"Can't say I know of any rumours around here. Heard a drunk old injun once talk about monsters, but he was so drunk you couldn't make out more'n half of what he was saying. That was, oh, must be six months gone now. He was a drifter though, so I don't know if he meant anything by it. This town's pretty much like any other. Only spot of real civilisation in I don't know how many score miles. Most the folks around here are ranchers. Some of the ranch hands can get a bit full of themselves when they get paid, have their monthly bath and come here looking for some fun, but nothing out of ordinary, you know? Course, since the killings, they're not coming into town no more. Guess they're holed up on the ranches. Ain't heard much from any of them folks, 'cept when they come into town for supplies. Don't think any of them have seen anything though."<br/><br/>He scratched his chin, then took a mouthfull of food. "That about what you want to know?"