several innocent Indians were killed and I want no part in it.” Bixby sat down.
“You’re behind this, ain’t you, Jensen?” Willis said. “You’re behind this, and you’re doing it because you want the reward all to yourself.”
Matt stared at Willis for a moment before he answered. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said quietly. “I’m behind this. And I’m doing it because I want the reward all for myself.”
“You!” Willis said, choking on his anger. Turning to face Matt, he moved his hand so that it hovered threateningly just over his pistol. “I’ve had a bellyful of you.”
Chairs tumbled over and tables were scooted across the floor as everyone in the saloon moved quickly to get out of the line of fire. They watched expectantly as Willis and Matt stared at each other. Matt was still seated.
“Stand up, Jensen,” Willis said with a snarl. “Stand up. Let’s get this done.”
“I don’t need be standing to beat someone like you,” Matt said. “You want to play this out, go ahead and draw. I can kill a little pissant like you as easily sitting as I can standing.”
Like the others in the saloon, Meechum had moved to get out of the way. Now, standing to one side of the action, and seeing that Matt Jensen’s attention was focused entirely on Pogue Willis, he realized that he had an opportunity he would never get again.
He drew his pistol.
“Draw, Jensen!” he shouted, even as his own pistol was clearing his holster.
Within the blink of an eye, Matt reacted with a draw that was fast and smooth. His practiced thumb came back on the hammer in one fluid motion while his finger put the slightest pressure on the hair trigger of his Colt. There was a blossom of white, followed by a booming thunderclap as the gun jumped in his hand.
Meechum tried to continue his draw, but the .44 slug from Matt’s pistol caught him in the heart. When the bullet came out through the back, it brought a chunk of Meechum’s shoulder blade with it, leaving an exit wound the size of a quarter.
Meechum’s hand came away from his gun and it slipped back down into his holster as he staggered backward, crashing into a table before coming down on it with a crunch that turned the table into firewood. He landed flat on his back, on the floor, his mouth open and a little sliver of blood oozing down his chin. His body was still jerking a bit, but his eyes were open and unseeing. He was already dead. Only the muscles continued to respond, as if waiting for signals that could no longer be sent.
The exchange had caught Willis by surprise, and by the time he looked back toward Matt, he saw that he was looking into the smoking barrel of Matt’s pistol.
Willis put his hands up.
“No!” he said. “No, I ain’t drawin’ on you. I ain’t drawin’.”
“Get out of here, Willis,” Matt said dryly. “I don’t like you. If I see you again, I may kill you just for the hell of it.”
“You all heard that!” Willis shouted to the others in the saloon. “I want you to remember that you all heard him threaten to kill me.”
“If you are still here ten seconds from now, it won’t be a threat, it’ll be a fact,” Matt said.
Willis glared at Matt a second longer, then turning, he hurried from the saloon.
“Ha!” one of the saloon patrons said. “I never thought I would see Pogue Willis turn tail and run.”
Several others laughed, though their laughter was nervous and guarded, as if they were afraid someone might tell Willis they had laughed at him.
Matt stood up and looked down at Bixby and Hendel, both of whom were staring at him with shocked expressions on their faces.
“I’m going to find your wife now,” Matt said. “I strongly suggest that you be here when I come back with her.”
“I’ll—I’ll be here,” Bixby said.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Matt was close.
He was not only close, he was pressing them because they were getting more careless in abandoning their campsites. At this campsite, they’d left the still-glowing embers of a campfire.
As Matt was examining the campsite, he realized that he was being watched. And because whoever was watching him had not killed him, he did not believe he was in immediate danger.
Stirring up the coals, Matt reignited the campfire, then put coffee grounds and water into his coffeepot and set it over the campfire to boil. Within moments, its rich aroma permeated the area. When he knew the coffee was done, he took two cups from his saddlebag.
“Would you join me for coffee, friend?” he called out.
Getting no response from his offer, he put one cup down by the fire and filled the second cup. Then, sitting on a nearby fallen log, he began to drink.
He heard a movement, then out of the corner of his eye saw the person who had been watching him.
Nopoloto came out from hiding, walked over to the fire, picked up the cup, then poured himself some coffee. Still without talking, he came over and sat on the same log as Matt.
“Agent Baker told me that you tried to seek justice for the raid on my village,” Nopoloto said.
