"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a little red wagon sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? Bruno made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is Cheyenne, and it's about twenty-two miles east of here."
"Fine. We'd better start dashing off, then. Which way is east?"
"Uh, we're not going to walk to Cheyenne."
"Fine. I didn't invite you anyway."
"Hold on. They're bound to pick us up soon. We have no food, nothing to drink, no money, as if we had a way to spend it. We may as well go back to Business card Lodge."
"I didn't find Bruno the innkeeper back there very accommodating. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"I've been trying to tell you, I'm not working with them. They forced me to come here, and yes, they told me to hook up with you. I just don't know what else to do," she reminded victoriously.
"Holy cats. So, what is this place? Romano's private resort?"
They had been parading down the trail all this time, and found themselves in a gulch.
"Let's go down to that maple tree and wait," he pointed out. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Romano fatheads don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a blank stare or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?