“Hello, old boy,” Matt said, walking up to the stall. Spirit put his head down and let Matt pet him and pull on his ears. This was Matt’s second horse named Spirit, and this one was so much like his first mount of the same name that he could almost believe that the “spirit” of Spirit One had somehow become a part of Spirit Two.
“Sorry I’ve been gone so long,” Matt said. “But as soon as I get my business taken care of here, we’ll do some riding together.”
Walking back up front, Matt approached the liveryman. “Do I owe you anything?”
“Not yet, you don’t,” the liveryman replied. “The fella who arranged this for you has it all paid up for another week.”
“Good, I expect we’ll be here for at least another week, and perhaps longer. Thanks for looking out for him for me.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Jensen. My pleasure.”
When Matt reached the building the sheriff had pointed out as the one Marcus was using to build his brewery, he saw that the front door was open. Matt stopped at the door, but didn’t go inside.
“Hello?” he called.
Not getting an answer, he stepped on into the building and called again.
“Hello?”
The inside was in shadows, poorly illuminated by the open door, a few open windows, and the bars of sunlight that streamed in through the cracks between the boards. Matt saw someone working on a large vat, and there was enough similarity in appearance to Lee that Matt knew immediately that he had found the right man.
“Are you Andrew Marcus?”
“Hand me that spanner, would you, mister?” the man replied, pointing to a wrench.
Matt picked up the wrench and handed it to him.
“Now, when I turn this, what I want you to do is look underneath this vat and see if it closes off the drain.”
“All right,” Matt said.
The man began turning the nut and Matt looked underneath the vat. He saw the drain close.
“Did that close it down?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good, I’ve been working on that all morning. Thanks for your help.”
Matt chuckled. “I didn’t do a whole lot,” he said.
“Sure you did. I needed another pair of eyes and you came along at the right time.” Marcus picked up a towel and began wiping his hands. “You got my name right, I’m Marcus. Who are you, and what can I do for you?” he asked.
“My name is Matt Jensen, Mr. Marcus, and I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
“Bad news? Wait a minute, are you tellin’ me there’s some kind of law says I can’t open a brewery here? Because if there is, it must be a new law. I read the law and all the statutes pertaining to brewing, and I didn’t see anything that says I can’t do it.”
“No, it’s not about that, it has nothing to do with the brewery. It’s about Lee, your brother.”
“Damn,” Marcus said. “I knew it. He’s in trouble with that mine he bought, isn’t he? I told him he was a fool for getting mixed up in something like that.”
“No, sir, I wish that was the worst of it,” Matt said. He took a deep breath. “The truth is, Mr. Marcus, your brother is dead.”
Marcus took a quick, surprised breath of air. “What?” he asked, his voice considerably softer now. He took a step back and put his hand on the side of the vat. “Did you—did you say Lee is dead?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“How did he die?”
“He was killed in a gunfight.”
“Lee? Killed in a gunfight? Mister, are you sure we are talking about the same man? Lee might get himself into a fistfight, maybe even a brawl, but he would never get into a gunfight.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Marcus. I am talking about your brother,” Matt said. “Though I would give anything in the world if it wasn’t true.”
Andy walked over to sit down on the bottom step of a stairway that led to a platform that stretched out over the three vats.
“When did it happen?”
“Almost a month ago now,” Matt said.
“Damn. That means he’s already been buried. Here I’ve been so busy trying to get this brewery started that I didn’t even know about it. And I didn’t know about it because I was too damn selfish. Hell, I wasn’t even there for his funeral.”
“I went to St. Louis to find you,” Matt said. “Lee thought that’s where you were.”
“I’m sorry about that. I mean about you goin’ to all that trouble and me not even bein’ there,” Marcus said. “But the truth is, Mr. Jensen, Lee didn’t know where I was, because I didn’t write to tell him I had left St. Louis. You see,
