There was someone on the roof.  That was their business, not his.  Unless they were planning to shoot him in the back, he wasn't going to worry about them.  That pretty much spelled out his philosophy.  If they stayed out of his doings, he'd stay out of theirs.  Currently his business was with the general store.  He was in need of supplies.<br/><br/>His pick had broken that morning, the actual pick, not the handle.  He'd need a new one.  He needed some bacon and some beans and if he was lucky maybe he could score a little coffee.  Rope, candles, lamp oil, he needed all of it.  Bread too.  All told, if he was accurate with his price estimates, he'd walk out sixty dollars poorer.<br/><br/>He ended up spending seventy five, adding a double barrels shotgun and a box of shells to his list of purchases.  He wasn't concerned about getting robbed but he'd had some trouble with coyotes.  The store clerk had joked about him making silver bullets but the joke had fallen flat when John hadn't laughed.  There was no point in him telling the man that he wasn't a gunsmith; he didn't have the first clue about how to produce silver bullets.<br/><br/>Stepping outside once again, John looked left and then right.  His stomach growled.  It was a long way back to his mine on an empty stomach.  He still had a lot of cash on him.  Perhaps he might even spring for a bath as well as a meal, even though it would be an extravagance.  It would also likely lead to other extravagances, like a bottle of whiskey, a woman and a game of cards.<br/><br/>All those would likely lead to a fight and when John was involved in a fight, people generally died.  Maybe he'd skip the bath but he was definitely getting something to eat before he headed home.