“That is his name,” Matt said.
“I thought you said your other horse was named Spirit.”
“Both my other horses were named Spirit.”
Pearlie chuckled. “You’re just like Smoke. He names all his horses Seven or Drifter.”
“I find nothing strange about that,” Matt said. “If you find a good name, why give it up?”
Walking over to the rental horse, he removed the saddle, then put it on Spirit Three. Spirit stood tall and proud, accepting the saddle without the slightest complaint.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “We’re going to get along just fine.”
As Matt tightened the saddle cinches, Cal and Pearlie stood with him. He finished, just as Sally came out of the house, carrying a small sack.
“You didn’t have to come out here,” Matt said. “I was going to come back in to pay you for the horse, and to tell you good-bye.”
“If I took money for the horse, Smoke would be all over me,” Sally said. “He’s yours.”
“I don’t feel right about just taking him without paying you.”
“Then take it up with Smoke next time you see him.” Sally held out a little sack. “I thought you might enjoy these. I’m sending some bear claws with you,” she said.
“Thanks,” Matt replied. “I know that I will enjoy them.”
“But you kept some behind, didn’t you, Miss Sally?” Cal asked.
“I kept some behind,” Sally said.
Matt took the bear claws, shook hands with Cal and Pearlie, then swung into the saddle. Pearlie had put a lead bridle on the rental horse, and he handed it to Matt.
“You can just leave this lead bridle with Mr. Mercer at the livery in town,” Pearlie said. “One of us will pick it up, next time we go in.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. He touched the brim of his hat. “Tell Smoke I’m sorry I missed him, but I’ll drop back by sometime in the not too distant future.”
“I will,” Sally said. “Be careful, Matt. I don’t know what was behind this letter, but I’ve learned, since living with Smoke, that most of the time when someone sends a letter like that asking for help, it’s not just a walk in the park.”
Smoke nodded, then slapped his legs against Spirit’s side, riding out at a gallop. This was as good a time as any to see what the animal had in him.
2
Chapter Sixteen
“Excuse me, m’lord,” Tolliver said, stepping into the study of Denbigh Manor.
Denbigh, who was cleaning his dueling pistol, looked up when Tolliver came in.
“Yes, Mr. Tolliver, what is it?”
“There is a—gentleman—by the name of Lucas Meacham who wishes to have an audience with you.” Tolliver showed that he did not believe Meacham was actually a gentleman by the way he sat the word apart from the rest of the sentence.
“Meacham is here?” Denbigh asked, surprised by the announcement. “What is Meacham doing here? I thought he was … never mind, show him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Denbigh did not put the pistol away but was, instead, aiming it at an imaginary target when Tolliver showed Meacham in to the study.
“Ha!” Meacham said. “What the hell is that?”
“This is a single-shot percussion dueling pistol made by A. Kehlner of Prague. It is a .58-caliber, eight-and- seven-eighths-inch ribbed round barrel, exquisitely made, and perfectly balanced,” Denbigh said.
“What do you think somethin’ like that can do?” Meacham asked. “Especially since it only has one shot.”
Denbigh aimed the pistol at Meacham, and pulled the hammer back. “One shot is enough,” Denbigh said, his words cold, quiet, and calculating.
“What? Look here, what are you doing?” Meacham asked, putting his hands out in front of him. “Point that thing somewhere else.”
Denbigh held the pistol steady for a moment as Meacham squirmed; then, with a smile, he lowered it, and eased the hammer back down.
“Evidently, you think it quite capable of killing someone as well,” Denbigh said.
“Did you say that was a .50-caliber?” Meacham asked.
“It is a .58-caliber.”
“That’s the size of a small cannonball. Hell, yes, it can kill someone.”
