Matt slapped his legs against Spirit’s sides, and the horse burst forward as if being shot from a cannon. Within less than a minute, he was half a mile down the road.
“Are we goin’ after him?” Bleeker asked.
“And do what? We ain’t got no guns. He took them, remember? And even if we did, did you see how fast he drew his pistol? I mean, he was sittin’ on a horse, but still draw’d that gun faster’n anyone I ever seen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t faster’n Butrum,” Carver said.
“I doubt that. I don’t think there’s anyone faster than Butrum,” Bleeker said.
“Yeah? Well, as far as I’m concerned, that’s a question better left decided between Butrum and this feller. I can tell you true, I ain’t about to go up against him for no dollar. Especially seein’ as it ain’t even my dollar we’d be fightin’ over,” Carver said.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What did he say his name was?”
“He said his name was Matt Jensen.”
“You ever hear of him before?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Think we should tell Lord Denbigh about it?”
“Hell, no. You know how he is. If we tell him, he’d more than likely make us pay the dollar.”
About one mile beyond where he had been stopped, Matt dropped the pistol belts and guns on the side of the road, then continued on his way. Half an hour later, he saw something that, from this distance, seemed little more than a series of low-rising lumps of clay and rock. As he drew closer, however, the lumps began to take on the shape of houses and buildings, until they finally materialized into a recognizable town. Just on the outside of the town was a sign that read FULLERTON. It gave both the elevation, 1442 feet, and the population, 312.
In his wanderings through the West, Matt Jensen had encountered scores, maybe hundreds of towns like this, so that after a while there was a sameness to all of them. He had never been to Fullerton, but the houses of ripsawed lumber and false-fronted businesses were all familiar to him.
An earlier rain had left the street a quagmire, the mud and horse apples melded together by horse hooves and wagon wheels so that it was now one long, stinking ribbon of slime. There was no rain now and the sun, currently a blazing orb midway through the afternoon sky, beat down upon the manure and the mud, creating a foul-smelling miasma to offend the nostrils and burn the eyes of all who dared to go outside.
On Monroe Avenue, halfway between First and Second Street, Matt saw the office of the newspaper, identified by a sign as the
“I know I had more capital f’s than this,” a man was saying as he was searching through his type boxes. “I can’t very well set an ad that says window and door frames without the letter f now, can I?”
“You could spell frames with a ph,” a woman replied.
“Ha. Door p-h-r-a-m-e-s. Mr. Johnson would love that now, wouldn’t he?”
“Here you are, John. Maybe this will help,” the woman said, holding out a box.
“F’s! Yes! Millie, I love you. I would even marry you if I wasn’t already married!”
“What would your wife say about that?” Millie asked.
John smiled. “Oh, I think she would approve.”
John and Millie kissed, then, with a start, Millie pulled away. “Oh,” she said.
“What?”
“It appears we have company.”
John turned toward the front of the room and saw a man standing there, smiling.
“Can I help you, Mister…” John started. Then he stopped in mid-sentence. “I remember you. You are Matt Jensen!”
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Bryce.” Matt extended his hand.
“Please, it’s John, not Mr. Bryce,” John said as he shook Matt’s hand. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
“Why not? You asked me to, didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was shameless of me to hold you to a passing remark you made back in Swan, Wyoming, so long ago. But I was desperate enough to eschew all honor.”
“Not shameless at all, and it wasn’t just a passing remark. I meant it. I am well aware, John, that if it hadn’t been for you I might not even be alive today. So whatever I can do for you, I am more than glad to do it.”
“Oh, since the last time you saw me, there has been an addition,” John said. He held out his hand toward his Millie and, smiling shyly, she walked over to join the two men.
“This is my wife, Millie.”
“Oh, after what I just saw and heard, I hope so,” Matt teased.
“A bit of foolishness,” John said, laughing.
“Mrs. Bryce, it is very nice to meet you,” Matt said.
“And I am especially pleased to meet you,” Millie said. “John has talked about you. You made quite an impression on him.”
“Believe me, he made an even larger impression upon me,” Matt replied. “If he hadn’t written that story when
