surprised by two men with knives who suddenly jumped from the dark shadows between the buildings. It was only that innate sense that allowed him to perceive danger when there was no other sign that saved his live. Because of that sense, and his lightning quick reflexes, he was already moving out of the way of the attack even as the two men were starting it. The two assailants were dressed in black which, because of the darkness of the street, made it difficult for Matt to see them.
The attackers made low swinging, vicious arcs with their knives, and had he not moved when he did, Matt would have been disemboweled. Despite the quickness of his reaction, however, one of attackers did connect, and the flashing blade opened a wound in his side.
The other attacker moved in quickly to finish Matt off but Matt managed to slip to one side before sending a wicked right toward his attacker, hitting him in the side of the head and knocking him away. Almost immediately the other one moved in. Matt managed to avoid his thrust, then, before the attacker could draw his hand back, Matt grabbed him by arm and twisted it, causing the attacker to turn around. Matt pulled the attacker toward him, using him as a shield against another thrust by the first attacker.
The first attacker’s knife plunged into the heart of the man Matt was holding. The first attacker realized with shock that he had not only just killed his friend, he was also now at a distinct disadvantage in this fight. Not willing to press his luck any further, he turned and ran off into the night.
The knife wound caused Matt to lose a lot of blood, and feeling faint and nauseous, he dropped the man he was holding, then managed to find his way back into the Sand Spur. His sudden and unexpected entrance startled everyone into silence. He stood just inside the door, holding his hand over his side while blood spilled between his fingers. Despite his nausea and dizziness, Matt could see the expressions of shock on their faces. Even the piano player stopped playing and was now turned all the way around on his bench. Not one person was speaking, and it was so quiet that the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock and the quiet hiss of the burning lanterns.
Matt walked over to the bar, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and put it down in front of the bartender.
“Better make it a whiskey this time,” he said.
Without so much as one word, the bartender responded quickly, putting the glass in front of Matt. He started to pull the bottle back, but Matt reached out and put his hand on the bartender’s arm.
“Leave the bottle,” Matt demanded.
The bartender left the bottle. “Mr. Jensen, you need to see a doctor with that wound.”
“I’ll be fine,” Matt replied, his voice strained. He poured some whiskey into the glass and drank it. Then he opened his shirt, and poured a considerable amount of the whiskey from the bottle over his wound.
The whiskey washed away some of the blood, exposing the wound which, originally was but a thin slice, had been opened up by the exertion of the fight.
The bar girl who had warned Matt now came up to him, holding her petticoat in her hand. She tore it into two pieces, one of which she used to clean the wound, and the other to press over the wound.
“Thanks,” Matt said.
“Damn, Mister, who did this?” the bartender asked.
“They didn’t leave their names,” Matt said as he closed the shirt over the wound.
“They? You mean there was more than one?”
“There’s only one now,” Matt said. “The other one is lying out in the street.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I certainly intended for him to be.”
Matt had saved enough whiskey for one more drink. He poured another glass, tossed it down, set the empty glass on the bar, then turned to address those in the saloon who, after halting all card games, conversation, and drinking at his entrance, continued to stare at the bleeding apparition who stood before them.
“I’ll be going now,” he said with a strained voice. “I don’t want anyone to follow me. If I see anyone following me, I’ll kill them.”
“Like I said, Mr. Jensen, you had better see a doctor,” the bartender repeated.
“I thank you for your concern,” Matt said. “But I’ll be fine.”
Matt looked at the bar girl who had warned him to be alert. He raised his hand to the brim of his hat.
“Miss,” he said. “I’m obliged for your company and your conversation.”
After that, Matt turned and walked away from the bar, growing more dizzy with each step. When he reached the batwing doors he had to reach out and grab the door frame to steady himself. Then, calling on every ounce of reserve strength, he took his hand down, leaving a bloody hand print behind as he stepped outside into the darkness.
Matt mounted Spirit and started away from the saloon.
Chapter Fifteen
When Matt woke up he was lying in a strange bed. He felt some soreness in his side and putting his hand down, felt, not the petticoat he had pressed against the wound, but a well-constructed bandage that was wrapped all the way around his waist.
Matt looked around at the room. Embossed metal tiles covered the ceiling, while twelve-inch crown molding separated the ceiling from the wall. The wall itself was covered with white wallpaper embossed with a pattern of flowers. The furniture, like the bed, was massive and elegant. This was not his room and he had no idea how he got here. The last thing Matt could remember was mounting Spirit and riding away from the saloon, intending to return to Coventry on the Snake.
