Lily looked back at the carriage and, with a big smile, waved at Clara. “Of course, Clara might have something to say about that. I’m not sure she enjoys my visits all that much.” She spoke through her smile, hardly moving her lips.
“You are a beautiful woman, Lily. And all women are threatened by beautiful women.”
“Nonsense. Clara and Jennie are both for more beautiful than I.”
“Consider this. I was surrounded by beautiful women this past week. Other men should be so lucky,” Frewen said.
“Miss Langtry,” Ed, the driver, said. “We’ll be getting underway soon as you get aboard.”
“I’ll be right there,” Lily said. Lily extended her hand and Frewen took it, shook it briefly, then with a nod toward the driver, returned to the carriage.
“I enjoyed her visit more than I thought I would,” Clara said.
“I’m glad,” Frewen replied. “I know that she thinks the world of you.”
“Hiyaaaah!” Ed shouted, popping his whip over the head of the six-horse team. The horses started forward and with yet a second pop of his whip, Ed started the team into a rapid trot.
Out at Thistledown Ranch, a rider dismounted, reached into his saddle boot and pulled out his rifle. Neither Winchester nor Henry, this was a Sharps .50 caliber with a thirty-four-inch barrel and a double-set trigger. He carried the rifle in his right hand, hanging low as he started toward the front door of the house.
“Hold it, Mister, where do you think you are going?” Reed called.
When the man looked back toward him, Reed gasped. The man had some sort of skin condition that made his face beet red. In addition, the skin was so tightly stretched that it gave one the impression that he was staring at a red skull. He had very thin lips, and his eyes were more yellow than brown. Not since he was a child, and attended church and Sunday school at the insistence of his mother, had Reed ever given any thought to Satan. But if Satan had suddenly appeared in front of him, Reed was sure he would look exactly like this man.
“Is this the Thistledown ranch?” the man asked.
“Yeah, that’s what it says on the gate. Who are you?”
“My name is Silva. Carlos Silva, and I have come to offer my services to Mr. Teasdale,” the man said, his voice a sibilant sigh.
“What sort of services would that be, Mr. Silva?”
“Whatever service Mr. Teasdale might want,” Silva said, emphasizing his statement with a slight lift of the rifle he was holding.
“There is a lady in the house,” Reed said. “Mr. Teasdale never discusses business around her.” He pointed to the stable. “Suppose you wait over there. I’ll go get Mr. Teasdale and bring him to you.”
Silva nodded, but said nothing. He walked over to the stable and leaned back against the unpainted and sun- bleached wall as he waited. A few minutes later Reed returned with Teasdale.
“I’m William Teasdale,” Teasdale said. “I understand you wanted to speak with me?”
“I’ve heard that you want someone killed,” Silva said.
“What? What would make you say such a thing?”
“Perhaps I have made a mistake,” Silva said. “I’ll just be on my way then.” He started toward his horse.
“Wait!” Teasdale called after him.
Silva stopped, but he didn’t turn around.
“Where did you hear something like that?”
“I heard it from Kyle Houston.”
“Houston is dead,” Teasdale said.
“Yes. He was stupid. And so were you to hire him.”
“Hold on there!” Reed said. “You don’t come on Thistledown and call Mr. Teasdale stupid!”
Silva gave Reed only the barest glance, then he turned his attention back to Teasdale.
“I am expensive,” he said. “But, unlike Houston, I will deliver.”
“Are you faster than Houston was?”
“I’m not fast at all,” Silva said.
“Then how do you intend to—uh—do the job?” Teasdale asked.
“With this.” This time Silva lifted the rifle high enough that Teasdale got a good look at it.
“That’s a most unusual-looking rifle,” he said. “Two triggers? Why two triggers when it has but one barrel?”
“One trigger sets the other, taking up all the slack so that it fires with the lightest of finger pressure,” Silva said. “Would you like to see a demonstration?”
“Yes.”
Silva took a dime from his pocket and handed it to Reed, then he pointed to a fence post that was at least one hundred yards away. “Get yourself a piece of cord and tie this coin to that fence post,” he said.
Reed laughed. “Are you serious? You won’t even be able to see it from here, let alone hit it.”
