Prelude: Don't Drink The Water ((Trace, Katy))
He shook his head. "Not long, ma'am. Little over two weeks. I was passing through here, on my way to Roswell. Ended up staying when some work presented itself. Earl Johnson, one of the local ranchers, has been having some trouble with rustlers. Needed someone to watch over his herd."
Hargrave had caught sight of the pearl handled pistol on the rider's belt. The only sorts he'd known that carried a weapon that fancy were either young fools destined for an early grave or the wolves among sheep who handled a gun like it was second nature. He felt quite certain that she was one of the latter.
He extended a gloved hand. "Trace Hargrave, ma'am," he said, "Any chance you could tell me who you're looking for?" Instinct prompted his next words. "I promise, I'm no bounty hunter. But I might have heard talk of the person you're seeking, or even laid eyes on them myself."