existence and in fact, had no intention of ever doing so. At any given time, he was both a long way from home, and as close to home as the nearest hotel, or back room in a saloon. Most often, though, home was no more than a bedroll made from a saddle blanket and poncho.
When he left the courtroom after the hearing, he had nothing on his mind except to get a few days of rest and relaxation. And he intended to start that relaxation by finding a friendly card game in the nearest saloon.
Although the hearing had been open to the public, Lucas Meacham didn’t attend it. He felt reasonably secure since the stable hand had told him that the only witness had seen him from behind and was, thus, unable to identify him. Meacham was in the saloon when, shortly after the hearing was over, two men came in.
“There ain’t goin’ to be no charges against Matt Jensen. The judge just dismissed the case,” one of the men said.
“What did you expect?” his friend replied. “Jensen was just sleepin’ in bed in the hotel room when the three come into his room to kill him. He didn’t have no choice but to kill them, or else he would’a been kilt his ownself.”
“Well, he only kilt two of ’em. The third one got away.”
“Who was the third man, Gilley, do you know?” the bartender asked as, responding to their silent signals, he began drawing two mugs of beer.
“No, sir,” Gilley answered. “Don’t nobody know who the third man was.”
“Didn’t Dupree see him?”
“You talkin’ about the drummer? Yeah, he saw him all right, but he wasn’t able to describe him at all. It was too dark and the man was goin’ downstairs away from him. All he could say was that he did see the man kill Bubba James.”
“So the third man got clean away, did he? I’ll bet he’s halfway to California by now.”
“I don’t think so,” Gilley said.
“Why not?”
“Why would he have to run anywhere? Didn’t nobody see him, which means there can’t nobody identify him. Hell, he could be anywhere in town. For all we know, it could be that fella over there.” Gilley pointed to Meacham.
Meacham cringed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“No, that ain’t him,” the other man said.
“Really?” Gilley replied. “Now, tell me, Pollard, just how do you know he ain’t the one?”
“Well, look at him,” Pollard said. “Does he look Mex to you?”
“Mex? What does that have to do with anything?” Gilley replied in exasperation.
“Think about it,” Pollard said. “The two that was kilt was Mex, so don’t it stand to reason that the third one would be Mex too?”
“So? Dupree didn’t say the third man was Mexican.”
“That don’t mean nothin’. Dupree just seen the back of his head, is all, which means he wouldn’t know if he was Mexican or not. No, sir, if them other two was Mex, then you know the third one was too. Look around. Do you see any Mexicans in this room?”
“No, I reckon not.”
“Then you can bet that the third one ain’t in this saloon.”
Meacham relaxed a little. He had been cursing himself for selecting Pablo Sanchez and Enrico Gutierrez because they were so incompetent that they were unable to do the job, getting themselves killed instead. But because they were Mexican, it now appeared that everyone thought the third assailant was also Mexican, and that definitely kept him in the clear.
Meacham’s confidence faded, though, when he saw Matt Jensen push his way through the batwing doors a few moments later. Last night, he had been standing in the doorway of Matt Jensen’s hotel room, exchanging gunfire with him. It was dark, but there had been some light from the muzzle flashes of the three pistols. Was there enough light for Jensen to see? Had he gotten a good enough look at him last night that he could recognize him now?
“Beer,” he heard Matt Jensen say to the bartender.
The bartender drew a beer and handed it to Matt.
“Congratulations on the hearing, Mr. Jensen. Course, we know’d all along that there wouldn’t be no charge against you, seein’ as how you didn’t have no choice but to do what you done.”
“Thanks,” Matt said.
“And of course, getting the bank’s money back, well, that was good too. Only, when you think about it, it wa’nt really the bank’s money anyhow, was it?” the bartender asked. “That was money that belonged to all the people of town who had it on deposit there. I had a hunnert and seven dollars and sixty-three cents of my own money in the bank, so you might say you got my money back for me. Would ’a been hard for me to have to tell my wife that we’d lost a little better’n two months pay. Which is why this beer is on me.”
“Thanks, and I’m glad I could be of help,” Matt replied.
Matt raised the beer mug, blew off the head, then drank nearly three-quarters of it before he took it down. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned his back to the bar to look out over the patrons.
Jensen looked directly at Meacham, then passed his eyes around the rest of the room, showing no recognition
