Fortner said. "You seem to know your way around town. And, I'm wondering if you'd run down to the Marshall's office for us and tell him to hustle over here 'cause we got some news for him. I'd go down there myself but ... Well, I've already sent some of the boys out to Potee's place, and I've got a business to run."
Arabella frowned, but only because 'some news' sounded a bit vague and the Marshall, who could be a little crusty sometimes, might not answer such a summons.
He smiled at her. "Whaddya say?"
"Sure!" she beamed a smile that would have made her cheeks ache if she had been forced to keep it up too long. It would do her good to get out of the atmosphere of the place. Unlike Caroline, who always said what she meant when angered, Arabella was getting good at dissembling. "I'll just grab my hat and shawl!" she yelped and disappeared into the back.
As she left the raucous, though now music-less, noises of the Saloon behind, a million thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams swirled through her head: the catalyst of the evening's awful and tragic drama had brought home to her just how precarious life out here was. Who knew, this time next week , maybe she would be hanging from a rafter, or begging on the street: like poor Mr Potee must do now with no livelihood and a little girl to support. Or maybe her dreams would start to come true, she would be able to start saving money in earnest for New York: maybe Mrs Wentworth would even get her theatre group started.
Reaching the Marshall's office, she knocked and went inside "Mister Guyer? Charlie? Anybody home?"