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Western Canada some 40 years ago. It's late afternoon and Sergeant Michael Flanagan of the North West mounted police carries a half-conscious man to the kitchen door of a ranch house. Open up. Open up or I'll drop him on the porch.

John. My uncle isn't home, he's... Hello? Yes he did. Smell it. Oh, like a brewery. I think he was trying to be one. Why, if I brought him here? Don't you want him? I certainly do not, and I'll thank you to get him out of here right now.

I don't think your uncle would like that. Where is he? He's out looking for Mr. Hawkins, the cook. Well, this just happens to be Mr. Hawkins. Oh, I got it. Oh, you haven't been here very long, have you?

No, I just arrived today. From Boston. That's in Massachusetts. Thank you. And your name is Catherine Mario Fallon. Your uncle told me he was expecting you. I'm Sergeant Mike Slammy. Shut up, Danny. Shut up, will you?

Miss O'Fallen, do you happen to have any coffee ready? Right here on the stove. I'm afraid Danny's in no condition to get supper tonight. Can you cook? Of course I can cook. You made this coffee?

What's wrong with it? Oh, nothing at all, Miss O'Fallen. Only now I know why they prefer tea and Boston. I think maybe sleep is what Danny really needs. I'll give you a hand as soon as I get him in bed.

Oh, you will. On second thought, don't touch a thing, Miss O'Fallen. I'll fix it myself. Sorry, I missed you last night, Michael. Many stills be a help fix that good dinner I had. Oh, I guess I helped a little.