of him.”
“Well, Mr. Meacham, you can’t very well kill him if you don’t know where he is, can you?”
“No, sir.”
“Hadn’t you better be looking for him?”
“Yes, sir, but the thing is, seeing as you are the one who wants him dead, well, I was thinking that maybe you might know where he is.”
Denbigh chuckled. “Most astute of you, Mr. Meacham,” he said. He lifted his pistol and Meacham grew tense, but relaxed when he saw Denbigh aim the gun at something outside the window.
“The truth is, I do not know where he is at this exact moment, but I have a pretty good idea of where he will be soon.”
“Where?”
“Here, Mr. Meacham. Or at least, in Fullerton. It would seem that Fullerton has a crusading journalist, and that journalist has written a letter to Matt Jensen, inviting him to come to town. I don’t think it will be for a social visit.”
“Do you know when he is coming to Fullerton?”
Denbigh looked at Meacham with an expression of annoyance. “No, I’m afraid he did not clear his itinerary with me.”
“Well, then, I’ll just go into town and wait on him,” Meacham said.
“Yes, you do that,” Denbigh replied.
Denbigh loaded his pistol, then fit it with a percussion cap. “I’ll walk you outside,” he said.
Meacham was visibly nervous at seeing Denbigh with a loaded pistol, but he walked outside with him. Once outside, Denbigh pointed to a prairie rose. The small, pink wildflower was some thirty yards distant.
“Would you like to see a demonstration of the Kehlner dueling pistol?”
Meacham chuckled. “You ain’t goin’ to tell me you can hit that flower from here with that thing, are you?”
Denbigh didn’t answer. Instead, he aimed, and pulled the trigger. The percussion cap popped, then concurrent with the boom of the pistol, there was a flash of smoke and light. The heavy-caliber bullet destroyed the prairie rose.
“As I said, Mr. Meacham, one shot is enough,” Denbigh said.
“Yes, sir, I reckon it could be,” Meacham said.
The groomsman who had taken Meacham’s horse from him earlier now came toward him, leading the animal.
“Mr. Meacham?” Denbigh said as Meacham swung into the saddle.
“Yes, sir?”
Denbigh gave Meacham a dollar. “You will come to a tollgate on the road between here and town. Give the men who are manning the gate this dollar, and they will give you a coupon. When you get into town you will encounter Butrum. Butrum will ask you to show him a coupon, proving that you paid the toll. Show him that coupon.”
“Since I’m workin’ for you, won’t they just let me through? Especially if you give me a letter or something?” Meacham asked.
“Yes, I’m sure they would,” Denbigh replied. “But I don’t want anyone to know you are working for me, not the men at the gate, and not Mr. Butrum. When you get to town, try and remain as inconspicuous as you can until you get the opportunity to attend to your task.”
“All right, whatever you say, Mr. Denbigh.”
Denbigh glared at Meacham.
“Lord Denbigh,” he reminded him.
***
Meacham had been on the road for about half an hour when he saw the tollgate. Someone stepped out into the road in front of him. For a moment he contemplated telling them that he worked for Denbigh, and keeping the dollar. After all, a dollar was a dollar.
But for some reason, Denbigh didn’t want anyone to know that Meacham was working for him, and he didn’t want to anger Denbigh, because he didn’t want to take a chance on losing the three thousand dollars he was going to get for killing Jensen.
“Where you headed?” the man at the tollgate asked.
“What difference does it make to you as long as I pay the toll?” Meacham asked.
“No difference at all, I reckon. That will be …” Bleeker started to say, but when he saw Meacham extending a dollar to him, he stopped in mid-sentence. “A dollar, yes,” he said. “Well, good for you, you had the money all ready. How did you know how much the toll was?”
This would be his opportunity to say that Denbigh told him, but he restrained himself.
“I’m not here to palaver with you. Just open the damn gate and let me through,” he said.
Bleeker took the dollar. “Well, it’s good to see that you are a good citizen. Oh, and if you are goin’ into town, more’n likely you are going to run into a sawed off runt of a fella, a real little man by the name of Butrum. He’s goin’ to want to see this coupon, so it’s best you don’t lose it. Oh, and when he asks you to see it, you show it to him,
