Sussex was a town with a single road that ran perpendicular to the Powder River. The road, which was appropriately enough called Sussex Road, was flanked on both sides by hitching rails and as many saloons as there were legitimate businesses. There were several horses tied to the hitching rails, most of them within a few feet of one of the eight saloons. The horses nodded and shuddered, swished their tails and stamped their hooves in a vain attempt to get rid of the annoying flies.
Matt Jensen surveyed the town as he rode in. Matt had never settled down in any one place, so in his lifetime there had been hundreds of towns like this, the streets faced by houses of rip-sawed lumber, false-fronted businesses, a few sod buildings, and even a tent or two.
It had rained earlier in the day, and the street was a quagmire. The hooves of the horses had worked the mud and horse droppings into one long, stinking, sucking pool of ooze. When the rain stopped, the sun, high and hot, began the process of evaporation. The result was a foul miasma rising from the street.
It wasn’t a matter of finding a saloon, but a matter of choosing which saloon he wanted to patronize. The one he chose was The Lion and The Crown, the biggest and grandest building in the entire town. It was only marginally cooler inside, and the dozen and a half customers who were drinking held bandannas at the ready to wipe away the sweat.
Matt surveyed the place, doing so with such calmness that the average person would think it no more than a glance of idle curiosity. In reality, it was a very thorough appraisal of the room. He was interested to see who was carrying and who wasn’t, and how they were armed, what type of weapons they were carrying, and whether or not those who were armed were wearing their guns in such a way as to indicate that they knew how to use them.
There was one man standing at the far end of the bar who did bear a second look. He was a small man, no taller than five feet, five inches, Matt guessed. He was dressed all in black, including a low-crown hat that was ringed by a silver band. What caused Matt to pay a little more attention to him than anyone else in the room was the fact that, while everyone else in the saloon had given him at least a cursory glance, this man stood at the bar staring pointedly into his drink. It was as if he was purposely avoiding any eye contact.
The heat was making everyone listless and slow-moving. There was nobody at the piano, and even the two bargirls seemed disinterested in working the room. For the moment, they were sitting as far away from the customers as they could, engaged in some private conversation.
The bartender stood behind the bar, wiping the used glasses with his stained apron before he stacked them among the unused glasses. When he saw Matt step up to the bar, he put a glass into place, then moved down toward him.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“I’ll have a beer,” Matt said.
The bartender reached for one of the glasses he had just “cleaned” with the stained apron, but Matt pointed to a different glass. It also might have been wiped with the dirty apron, but at least Matt hadn’t seen him do it.
“I’ll take that glass,” he said.
The bartender shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment as he held the new glass under the spigot.
Matt finished his beer, then put the glass down.
“Want another?”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “I’ve got four days of trail stink on me and I need to take a bath somewhere. I didn’t see a bathhouse on the way in.”
“That’s ’cause this town ain’t got a bathhouse,” the bartender said. “But if you’re wantin’ a bath, you can take one here. We got a bathing room upstairs. It’ll cost you two dollars.”
“Two dollars? For a bath? Most of the time it’s no more than a quarter,” Matt protested.
“Yeah, but since this is the only place in town you can get a bath, that is unless you’re planning on bathin’ in the Powder River, the boss charges what he can get.”
“How many people are willing to pay that?”
“No more’n one or two a week,” the bartender admitted.
Matt knew he was being taken advantage of, but he really needed a bath and had been thinking about it for the last twenty-four hours. He put two dollars on the bar.
“The water had better be hot, there had better be soap, and the towel had damn well better be clean,” he said.
“Don’t worry, it will be,” the bartender said as he took the money. “You can’t very well take a bath without hot water, soap, and a clean towel, now, can you?”
“I didn’t see a hotel, either.”
“Not likely you would, seein’ as we ain’t got one,” the bartender said. “We got rooms here, if you want one.”
“How much?”
“That’ll be two dollars.”
“Do you know where I can find a man named Moreton Frewen?” Matt asked.
“You lookin’ for him, are you?”
“I am.”
“If you’re thinkin’ you might get hired on out at the Powder River Cattle Company Ranch, I don’t think he’s hirin’ anyone new.”
“I’m not looking to be hired. I’m just looking for him.”
“Well, if you come in to town from the north, you more’n likely seen his castle.”
