Free The Quantro Story by Chris Scott Wilson

through the open gateway and turned along the main street again.
    The old man at the stable chuckled when Quantro dumped his load into the straw of an empty stall. He knew the cowboy and promised to see he was left alone to sleep it off. A silver dollar ensured the old man’s co-operation.
    A few minutes later Quantro was back out on the street, still with his woman problem. Not the problem of owning one, more the problem of satisfying his need for one. For the second time that evening he set out for the cathouse up the street. This time he would make it for sure.
    As he drew level with Janey Morgan’s house he glanced at the porch, then heard her calling out softly in the darkness. He turned in at the gate and walked up the path. She was standing by the door, her small hands held together in front of her.
    â€œI just wanted to explain about Jimmy…”
    â€œNothin’ to explain, ma’am. That’s your business. Ain’t nothing to do with me. I was only glad to be of help.” He paused and looked at the ground. “Any man’d do the same for a woman as sweet lookin’ as you.”
    He looked up and she appeared flustered by his compliment.
    â€œNo. I would like to explain. Really. It wasn’t what it seemed…” Her voice trailed away, then in a fresh burst she carried on. “We can’t talk out here. Come inside.”
    â€œWell, Miss Morgan, er…”
    â€œNo buts, come inside.”
    She didn’t need to ask twice.
    She opened the front door and led him into a neat and tidy living room. He busied himself lighting the hurricane lamp as she removed her gloves and shawl. He sat down and watched her with open admiration as she bustled about the room, drawing the curtains and adjusting cushions. He accepted her offer of coffee, then waited while she disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes.
    Finally, when she seemed to have overcome her awkwardness of the situation, she sat down opposite him and poured out two cups of the best coffee he had ever tasted.
    â€œNow,” she said, her mouth determined. When Quantro opened his mouth to speak she silenced him with a deft gesture of her hands. “What happened out there wasn’t what it seemed to be. Jimmy is a ranch hand who comes into town a few times a month. Sometimes he eats in my restaurant.” She sighed audibly. “The trouble is you smile at a man a few times and well, when he’s had a few too many drinks he remembers those smiles and he reads something into them that wasn’t there.” She sighed again and fluttered a hand. “Tonight I was coming home and when I got to the front door he was waiting. Well, you heard what he wanted. Things were just beginning to get difficult when you came along.” She shrugged. “That’s all there was to it. He got the wrong impression…”
    â€œI told you it didn’t matter to me, ma’am…”
    â€œPlease call me Janey,” she said, looking straight into his blue eyes.
    â€œOkay,” he promised, “as long as you call me Shag.”
    â€œIt’s a deal,” she smiled. “Anyway, tell me about yourself. It seems that you already know all my troubles. What with tonight, and earlier this afternoon.”
    As he nursed his second cup of her coffee he began to tell her of his travels across the States, the prairies and the deserts, the towns he’d seen, and his winter up at the cabin in the snow-capped Colorado peaks with Tom Galloway. Before he knew it, he had been talking for an hour. She listened to his stories, her coal black eyes twinkling in the lantern light, smiling as he recounted his hunt of an ornery old elk that had kept him out all day, and each time he got close enough to aim the old elk just started moving again. He remembered the stupid things that had happened to him and they laughed together over them.
    But for all he told her of his life, he did not mention the