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The bartender looked her over, as though he were trying to judge whether or not this was a joke. Here she stood, seemingly clueless, and the lad that was with her was certainly a wet-behind-the-ears recruit. Why did the city not send real professionals to investigate this matter? He knew why...because the city gained nothing from helping a bunch of outcasts who seldom came to town for anything, so their lives were expendable. Forget the fact that they lived on government property and were expected to pay the taxes required of them...but now his mind was wandering off again on tangents...
"Look ere, if ye go out the door and turn ye left, ye'll pass by four buildings on yer right. Pass the fourth one and turn right and walk out that way for about a mile...ye'll see a road...and the only farm house ye'll come to is Jared's place. He's a head taller than me with 30 years on him, and dark hair. This time of day, ye'll see him out in the field tending to his corn."
He still could not believe that the city cared so little as to send such as these...and they were not the first! Everybody that came here seemed to be nothing but the bottom of the barrel picks...as though they lost some contest and the losers had to come smell the marshes. To hell with them all. And he turned to answer a call for another round of corn whiskey.
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