Chapter Six
From the
Word has reached this paper that Manny Sullivan and Paddy McCoy have paid for their heinous crime with their own lives. Readers of this paper may recall reading about these two outlaws in a previous edition. The two outlaws brutally murdered and ravaged the wife and young daughter of Jarvis Winslow, then killed Mr. Winslow as part of their nefarious scheme to rob the bank of Livermore, Colorado.
These contemptible cretins were subsequently located by the dogged determination and excellent tracking of Matt Jensen. Mr. Jensen extended to the outlaws an opportunity to surrender themselves and be brought before the court to answer for their evil deeds. Alas, they did not avail themselves of that generous offer, but chose instead to respond with gunfire. Mr. Jensen answered in kind, and whereas the outlaws missed their mark, the balls energized by Jensen’s pistol struck home with devastating effect. Many readers will recognize the name Matt Jensen, as he has achieved no little fame for his many deeds of heroism in serving his fellow man.
Mr. Jensen was not available for an interview, but it is believed that he has continued his quest for justice by going after Red Plummer, the third member of the murdering lot.
The Boar’s Head Saloon was on 18th Street just across from the Western Hotel. It was one of the many saloons along Cheyenne’s 18th Street that appealed to the lowest-caliber customer. Matt was looking for Red Plummer, and he knew that the Boar’s Head was exactly the kind of saloon Red Plummer would frequent.
After Matt reached Cheyenne, he became a semi-regular habitue of the 18th Street saloons, nursing a beer in one, playing cards in another, engaged in conversation in yet another, all the while listening to the conversations of others. Not once did he mention Red Plummer’s name, but his quiet observation provided him with all the information that he needed. He learned that, while Plummer was not in town now, he was a frequent visitor. Matt decided to wait for him. He waited for two weeks until, finally, Plummer showed up.
Inside the Boar’s Head Saloon, Red Plummer was sitting in the back, drinking whiskey and playing solitaire. Red Plummer was a thin man, with dark, unruly hair, a nose like a hawk’s beak, and a large red birthmark on his face. He was also missing the lower lobe of his left ear, having had it bitten off during a fight while he was in prison.
When Matt Jensen came into the saloon, Plummer heard several of the other saloon patrons call out to him.
“Hello, Jensen, you still around?”
“Matt,” the bartender called. “We made some fresh cracklins today. They go real good with beer.”
Plummer had never seen Jensen up close, but when the others called him by name, he looked over at him. He was a big son of a bitch, with broad shoulders and hard eyes. It was him, all right.
For a moment, Plummer panicked. He had already read in the paper what Jensen did to his two pards, and he knew that Jensen was looking for him. It was all he could do to keep from getting up and bolting through the back door. His hands began to shake so badly that he dropped the deck of cards, causing several of them to scatter across the floor.
“Just beer,” he heard Matt Jensen say to the bartender. “Hold the cracklins.”
“All right, but you’re missin’ out on a good thing,” The bartender said as he drew a beer and handed it to Matt. Matt blew some of the foam off the head, then took a swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned his back to the bar to look out over the patrons.
Plummer felt a sense of relief. Jensen hadn’t even recognized him.
Matt saw him; he fit Plummer’s description perfectly. But he didn’t want to make a scene here in the bar, deciding it would be better to just wait Plummer out until he left the saloon. Then Matt would confront him on the street. The question was, had Plummer recognized him?
Matt had just turned back toward the bar when suddenly a knife flashed by beside him. The blade buried itself about half an inch into the bar.
Drawing his pistol and turning toward the direction from which the knife had come, he saw Plummer getting up from a table with a gun in his hand. Plummer fired, just as Matt, instinctively, moved to his left. The bullet from Plummer’s pistol put a hole in the bar exactly where Matt had been but a second before. Matt returned fire, and the impact of the bullet knocked Plummer back into the stove with such impact that that the stove piping was pulled loose. It came tumbling down with a clanging crash as soot and black dust poured forth to mingle with the billowing cloud of gun smoke from the two shots fired.
Matt stood there, holding the smoking pistol in his hand as he looked at Plummer to see if the outlaw represented any further danger.
For a long moment there was absolute quiet in the saloon, as everyone had been shocked into silence by the sudden and unexpected gunplay. Finally, one brave soul wandered over to look down at Plummer. There was a dark red hole in Plummer’s shirt, just over his heart. His right hand was still clutching the grip of his pistol, and his eyes were open and staring sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“Is he dead, Paul?” someone asked.
“Deader than a doornail,” Paul replied.
“Sum’bitch, did you see that? He threw a knife and took a shot with his pistol, but still got hisself kilt.”
Conversation broke out all over the saloon then, and it was still going on when a police officer came hurrying in.
“Someone want to tell me what happened here?” the policeman asked.
Everyone began talking at the same time, but eventually the policeman got the story. In the meantime, Matt stood against the bar, slowly sipping his beer and watching the policeman work. Finally, realizing that Matt was the one who did the shooting, the policeman came over to talk to Matt.
