John's in for a real treat then, as it doesn't take much to keep Goodnight talking. He prefers sound to empty space. He'd be more than happy to recite Whitman or Shakespeare if prompted. Probably if not prompted either.

"I am afraid so. As real as they get." He gives one of his trademark crooked smiles. "I'm none so sure about you. What's an Englishman doing so far out west? Thought to try your luck with the silver mines?"

As long as he can, he's going to allow himself to think Rose Creek was just another in a very long line of terrible dreams. He's simply in an inn, ready to start another day.

"By my reckoning, I do believe that the saloon would be right down stairs. You're more than welcome to join me." A pause and then he offers up his name along with his hand. "Goodnight Robicheaux is the name." He braces, waiting for the reaction.