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The burly bartender looked suspiciously as our four intrepid travelers entered the saloon. He wore a long white apron over a white shirt with a black bowtie. He extended a gruff greeting, "What's your poison."

The saloon was empty, except for the bartender. "Poison?" said Billy. "Oh, right. How about two lemonades and two iced teas?" he said.

The bartender grimaced. "I don't serve that. This is a hard-drinking place." He looked around at the empty room then quietly said, "Wait, I'll see what I can do." He disappeared into a back room.

As their eyes grew accustomed to the dingy room, our fearless travelers looked around. Small round tables were scattered about. There was an upright piano in the corner.

The bartender returned. "I don't have those. How about apple juice or coffee?" he said.

They settled on apple juice, and sat down at the bar. "Why is business so bad?" asked Bobby.

"Everybody has left for the mines. They are dreaming of making a big strike, and getting rich. They've abandoned their farms and jobs. A rockslide knocked out part of the railroad last winter, and they still haven't fixed it. They started building a Trolley, but all the workers are gone, now." He sighed. "At least they come in here after they've found some ore."

The four travelers whispered among themselves. Finally it was Cindy who spoke up. "You know," she said. "I think we can help."