"Of course." replied the barman, glancing from Cross to the others. "Um .. are these your posse?" he enquired, gesturing towards the others at the bar. A squeak from further down reminded him of his promise of applies, and soon one was sitting on a small place, sliced into chunks.<br/><br/>"Names." he said. "Sure. It all started about two weeks ago. We found the Johanssons strung up on an old tree about a mile outside of town. Some of the men had a look at their homestead, and it was all smashed up. Three nights after that, it was old man McCoy. Then night before last, it was Paul Daniels."