“Drop it!” Matt called again.
“The hell I will!”
Hodge fired at Matt, the bullet flying past Matt’s ear. Matt returned fire and Hodge, now with a bullethole in his chest, was propelled backward through the front door, back out into the street. He fired two more times, almost in reflexive action, both bullets going into the dirt. He fell flat on his back.
“Hodge, what happened?” Decker shouted, rising up from his position behind the water trough.
“I happened,” Matt said, stepping out through the front door of the laundry.
“You!” Decker shouted. Lifting his pistol he began shooting. His shooting was so wild and erratic that Matt wasn’t in any danger, but he knew that innocent people in the town were, so he fired back, once.
One shot was all it took.
With the shooting stopped, and the gunsmoke of the several discharges drifted away, the townspeople gradually began reappearing. Some gathered in front of the apothecary around Carter’s body, which was lying in, and not on, the boardwalk. Others were collected in front of the Chinese laundry, staring down at Hodge. Still more stood congregated at the feed and seed store, looking down at Hodge.
Marshal Drew checked all three bodies, then came over to talk to Matt, who was leaning against a hitching rail with his arms folded across his chest, just looking out at the people. Marshal Drew was unable to discern any expression of excitement, fear, or anger. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that he had just been in peril, or that he had just killed three men. From the expression on Matt’s face, he might have been observing the commerce of a normal day.
“I heard what happened between you and these three men back in The Lion and The Crown,” Marshal Drew said. “You gave them every opportunity to walk away from it, and they didn’t. These are the same three who tried to hold up the stagecoach, aren’t they?”
Matt nodded.
“They must have been pissed that you broke it up.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think revenge had anything to do with it. In fact, I don’t think they were even trying to rob the stagecoach.”
“Really? Then what the hell were they planning?”
“I think they were there to kill me,” Matt said. “And when it didn’t work that day, they came back.”
“For the reward?”
“Yes.”
“There will be more coming after you, won’t there?”
“There will be until I can get to the source of the reward.”
“Sam Logan?”
“I suppose so,” Matt replied.
“What do you mean, you suppose? Everyone says it is Logan.”
“Over the years I’ve learned to trust nothing that I hear and only half of what I see,” Matt said.
Chapter Twenty-three
Over the several days since young Winston Churchill had been given access to a horse, he spent at least four hours a day in the saddle. He gained confidence and poise, but he also learned the meaning of the term saddle sore. However, he neither complained nor even mentioned it, bearing up stoically in order to continue with this, his newfound passion.
By now, Winnie had become not only a familiar sight around the ranch, but a favorite of the cowboys as well. He joined them as they attended to their regular duties, such as seeing that the cattle were moved around the ranch to water and grazing areas, mending the fences, even branding when necessary. He was invited to eat in the cookhouse with the other cowboys, and he became a regular at mealtimes, learning not only to eat but to relish the cowboy fare of biscuits, beans, fried steak, and especially apple pie. And though he was used to drinking tea, he was teaching himself to drink strong, black coffee.
“They call it grub,” he explained to his mother. “And it is quite tasty.”
“Heavens,” Jennie said. “How can anyone eat something that is called grub?”
“You can eat it if you are a cowboy,” Winnie said.
“I see,” Jennie said with a smile. “And you are a cowboy now, are you?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you a cowboy?”
“Mama, I have given blood, toil, tears and sweat on the range. I believe that makes me a cowboy.”
Jennie leaned down and kissed Winnie on the forehead.
“I certainly won’t question that,” she said.
Believing that the time had come to put his plan into operation, Teasdale rode out to Logan’s headquarters at Nine Mile Creek. Following the ritual which would let the lookouts recognize him from some distance, he rode up the coulee until he reached the shack. Word had already reached Logan that Teasdale was on his way in, so he was waiting out front.
