Jimbard swept the saloon floor while Moley and Coulton took the liquor bottles off the shelves and put them under the bar, out of sight, and neatly, politely out of mind. Don't judge them too harshly for having church service in the saloon: it was a big room, it was already there, and it had a working piano that was mostly tuned. Jimbard was like an encyclopedia of music. He moved from songs about lovers and yellow roses, seemlessly into hymns on Sunday morning. He had the gift of music, but thank goodness he did not sing alongside his playing.
A wagon came along outside, which was a bit of a rarity. A lot of people stopped what they were doing and looked at the new thing. It had "Rocky Top Gazette" stenciled on the side in the color of fresh blood. Soon it was stopped at the old newspaper office, the Side of the Hill Democrat office, which had been closed-up now for about twelve years. Marshall Kimball and Braithwaite's old dried-up aunt were down there with the wagon, watching two hulking plains boys take the desks and the printing press from the building.
Ralph Dunham awakened late to the bright mid-morning sky and singing birds. He had a trace of a sore throat from his snoring, pulling in the night air. He stumbled to his feet, already fully-dressed, with even his boots on, and he went to the cabin to find some breakfast. Inside, he discovered his possessions had been rifled during the night. He made a note to buy a lock in town later.
Back in town, came another wagon, and on the Lord's day. This one was a big covered wagon with a bum wheel. The wheel lolled crazily, and on the front of the big wagon. The smithy and hostler was in the same shop with a big sign out front. That's where this one stopped. A hog that had been following along behind stopped, too, and began to sniff at the ground.