When Trip Kincaid saved Milton Calloway's life, Milton was so grateful he gave Trip his saloon at Calloway's Crossing.

But when Trip arrived to claim his property, the saloon wasn't what he'd expected and it had in fact collapsed into a bubbling pool of mud.

Undeterred, Trip rebuilt the saloon. But within hours of opening, Ryan Trimble's protection gang muscled in on him and his only compensation was the distraction his bartender, the beguiling Grace Theroux, provided.

To defeat Ryan, Trip needed help and it duly arrived in the form of a mysterious gunslinger. But the price of his help turned out to be higher than Trip expected and before long, Trip faced the fight of his life to not only keep his saloon, but to save his and Grace's lives.

Trip drew his horse to a halt before the rough sprawl of shacks, the wooden sign staked into the ground confirming he had arrived at Calloway's Crossing.

To his right was an expanse of pine. Behind him was a gentle hill, a creek heading down it to run past him to his left then around the shacks and lazily merge with a slow-moving river. The river's wide expanse captured the blue sky and returned a dazzling and cool reflection that would lift the spirits of the weariest of travellers. And the water was shallow enough and clear enough for Trip to see the stony bottom, suggesting this was the most convenient point for travellers to cross.

Trip couldn't see the saloon he now owned, but there was a trading post, a barn, a stable and an adjoining smithy splayed out on either side of the trail.

From within the smithy, Trip heard the crisp clang of metal on metal and he had the distinct but untroubling impression that somebody was watching him. And sure enough, after one final heavy clang, a brawny and soot-streaked young man emerged, wiping his hands on his apron.

The man sported a wide and hopeful grin, his teeth and eyes gleaming within his dirtied face, and hailed him, so Trip dismounted and stood beside the sign.

'Calloway's Crossing is a mighty fine looking place,' he said, patting the sign.

The man introduced himself as Isaac Wheeler, then set his hands on his hips.

'It is at that. What can we do for you? We can provide most of what a man could want here without him even having to head through Wagon Creek.'

'A saloon would be fine.'

Isaac snorted. 'Except that. Pa can sell you supping whiskey to take with you, but if you want entertainment, you'll have to head to Wagon Creek.'

Isaac turned away, but Trip raised a hand, halting him.

'I wasn't looking for entertainment, just the saloon. Milton Calloway told me about it.'

'So you've met Milton Calloway,' Isaac mused. 'Suppose I'm pleased to hear that no-good dreamer is still alive.'

'No-good dreamer? When I met him he seemed a decent enough man.'

'Then he must have got religion because decent ain't a word anyone's ever used to describe Milton Calloway.'

Trip winced. 'You trying to tell me that Milton ain't a reliable source of information?'

'I am at that and plenty more besides.' Isaac sighed. 'So what did Milton tell you about his saloon?'

Trip caught the emphasis on the last word, his guts rumbling with an impending sense of foreboding.

'He said he left it two years ago and...' Trip gulped as he saw a slow smile spread across Isaac's face. 'What's wrong with that?'

'Plenty. Milton left two weeks ago. He got into a poker game with his brother Adam and afterwards, Adam ran his no-good brother out of town with bullets a-flying everywhere. Milton wouldn't dare return.'

'He won't need to no more.' Trip took a deep breath then forced himself to smile and patted his bulging pocket. 'I own his saloon and land now. And it's all legal like.'

'You own...' Isaac considered Trip's fixed smile. 'You ain't joking, are you? You really do own Milton Calloway's saloon.'

A huge grin emerged as Trip nodded then Isaac hurried away into the trading post, his arms wheeling as he shouted out for his pa.

Chester Wheeler, a lean and stooped man emerged, his brow furrowed, but as he and Isaac walked towards Trip, Isaac spoke to him and slowly he matched Isaac's grin. He swung to a halt to stand before Trip and licked his lips, his eyes taking on a gleam.

'So,' he said, 'how much did you pay for Milton Calloway's saloon?'

'Nothing,' Trip said.

'Nothing!' Chester and Isaac exchanged an amused glance. 'Then Milton sure found himself a prize greenhorn, didn't he, Isaac?'

'He sure did,' Isaac uttered, his breath coming in short bursts as he fought to keep his amusement under control. 'Didn't think Milton would ever find an idiot stupid enough to pay that much for his property.'

Isaac and Chester threw back their heads and they both ripped out a loud snort of laughter then slapped each other on the back and laughed some more. They even linked arms and jigged around on the spot, kicking up the dirt and punching the air as they gave vent to their amusement.

'I don't know what you're laughing about,' Trip murmured when their first burst of merriment had died down, 'but Milton Calloway owned a saloon and a stretch of land around here.'

'He did.' Chester disentangled himself from his son's arm then rubbed his jaw and winced as if the laughter had made it ache. 'And how do you think Calloway's Crossing got its name?'

Trip pointed at the river, shrugging.

'Because it's the best place to cross the river?'

'Travellers do come here to cross the river. But I own most of the land around here, so why didn't I call it Wheeler's Crossing?'

'Don't know.'

Chester chuckled, prolonging the moment before he gave his answer.

'Because Milton Calloway double-crossed so many of those travellers that any fool who used the crossing ended up being crossed by Calloway.'

Trip rubbed his forehead as Chester and Isaac whirled around on a new jig. He raised his voice.

'Be obliged if you stopped enjoying yourself now and just show me where my saloon is.'

Chester stomped to a halt then swung round to face the trading post.

'I sure will. I wouldn't miss this for anything.' Chester pointed at the post.

Trip narrowed his eyes, but couldn't see what Chester wanted him to see. So Chester beckoned him to follow him to the post and then around the side. Slowly the land behind the trading post opened up to his view. And between the meandering creek and the post there was an expanse of mud.

Trip closed his eyes a moment. 'Am I right in thinking that Calloway's land is the stretch of mud behind your trading post?'

'You guessed it.'

Trip walked to the edge of the mud and with his hand to his brow looked towards the river. As far as he could tell, the creek that ran into the river overflowed its banks frequently and it had converted the low-lying land to mud. Chester had had the sense to erect his buildings on elevated and dry land, but if Trip judged where he thought his land started correctly, he didn't have that luxury.

'Is all Calloway's land that muddy?'

'Nope. Nearer to the river, there's quicksand.' Chester laughed. 'Milton Calloway might have been the sneakiest, double-crossing varmint who ever lived around these parts, but he sure didn't have himself any sense or get much luck. He bought the only stretch of land around here that was of no use to man nor beast.'

'And the saloon?'

Chester beckoned Trip to follow him into the mud. They waded for three paces before the slurping mass pulling at their feet dragged them to a halt.

Chester gestured around him and Trip glared at the sodden and stinking earth, at first seeing nothing but the occasional bubble form then pop in the sea of mud. Then he noticed several rotting lengths of timber poking out.

'Calloway's Saloon,' Chester said, pointing at the strewn wood. He gestured with his arms outstretched, signifying a large structure, then flopped his hands over. 'It fell down, then sank.'

Trip sighed. 'I'm getting the idea that Milton Calloway ain't the most trustworthy man I've ever met.'

'He ain't. But he ain't the most useless man I've ever met because now this mud is yours, all yours.'

Trip hunkered down beside the longest whole length of wood he could find.

'Yeah,' he murmured, fingering the wood, then looked up to consider the expanse of mud before him. 'All this is mine.'

I'll add some notes here when I think of something to say!