intensely alert. He remembered now having seen this man in the saloon back in Pueblo. This was the same man who had walked out of the saloon, looking nervous and leaving behind a full glass of whiskey. Matt didn’t know who this person was, but was reasonably sure he wasn’t just someone who was made uncommonly thirsty by train travel.
Although Matt had dozed a few times when the train first left the station, he had no intention of sleeping anymore. He stayed awake for the rest of the night, keeping a wary eye on the man at the rear of the car.
When the train pulled into the Salida station the next morning, Meacham watched in frustration as Matt Jensen got off the train. He had missed his opportunity to kill him during the night.
It was still early in the morning, but Meacham had been awake most of the night, so he was more in the mood for a beer than he was for a cup of coffee. Fortunately for him, the Pair-o-Dice Saloon was already open, so he went inside.
“Well, now, I ain’t seen you in coon’s age,” someone said, and looking toward the speaker, Meacham recognized Angus Witherspoon. The two men had been bounty hunters together for a while.
Meacham took his beer over to the table to join him.
“Witherspoon,” he said. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Here and there. You?”
“Here and there,” Meacham answered. “What are you doing here? You on someone’s trail?”
“No, I got no prospects at the moment,” he replied. He was drinking coffee, and he took a sip, eyeing Meacham over the rim of his cup. “You taking to drinking beer for breakfast, have you?”
“No. I was up on the train all night,” Meacham replied.
“Following a prospect?”
For a moment, Meacham wasn’t going to answer; then he decided that Witherspoon might come in handy. They had worked together before, and Jensen was proving to be a little more difficult than Meacham had expected.
“As a matter of fact, I do have something going,” Meacham said. “Are you interested?”
“I might be. How much is the reward?”
Meacham shook his head. “Huh-uh, it ain’t that kind of a deal. This is what you might call a private job.”
“But it is a paying job, right?”
“Oh, yes, it is a paying job all right.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
“You mean two hundred fifty apiece?”
“No,” Meacham said. He took a swallow of his beer, then smiled across the table at Witherspoon. “I mean five hundred dollars for you.”
“Really? How much are you getting?”
“What difference does it make to you how much I’m getting, as long as you get your five hundred?”
“It don’t make no difference, I don’t reckon,” Witherspoon said.
“It involves killing,” Meacham said.
“I don’t mind killin’ as long as I’m the one doin’ the killin’, and not the one getting’ killed,” Witherspoon replied with a little chuckle.
“Then you’re in?”
“I’m in,” Witherspoon said. “Who are we killin’?”
“Matt Jensen.”
“Matt Jensen?”
“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, I don’t have no problem with it. But I’m wonderin’, do you know who Matt Jensen is?”
“I know him when I see him. We aren’t what you would call pards or anything. Why do you ask? Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I know him. Well, what I mean is, I’ve never met him, but I know about him. And I know enough to know that he ain’t goin’ to be all that easy to kill.”
“If he was easy, I wouldn’t have even asked you to join in. Are you still in? Or does Jensen scare you?”
“Hell, yes, Jensen scares me. He scares anyone who has any sense. But yeah, I’m in. When do I get the five hundred dollars?”
“You ain’t goin’ to get the money till the job is done,” Meacham said.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Matt left the train, he walked down the street to the J.C. Jones Corral where he was met by a tall, very slender man with a large nose and a pockmarked face. The man was smoking a pipe, and he pulled it from his mouth as he greeted Matt.
