“Yes, well, that’s not very smart of Bryce, if you ask me,” Tipton said. “But I reckon that, being as it is his paper, he can pretty much do whatever he wants.”
“Marshal, have you seen all you need to see? Can I get this body hauled out of here?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, I’ve seen ever’thing I need to see. Go ahead, get him down to the undertaker’s place,” Tipton answered.
“Free drinks for the rest of the night to anyone who will get this little turd’s carcass out of here,” the bartender offered, and four men hurried over to pick up the body.
“I’ll have the magistrate hold an inquest tomorrow,” Tipton said. “So’s not to have to put you in jail tonight, I’ll release you on your own recognizance if you promise to show up.”
“I’ll be there, Marshal,” Matt replied.
Chapter Twenty-one
After Butrum’s body was dragged out of the saloon and the excitement of the event died down, Matt took his beer over to a table and sat down. A young boy who was sweeping the floor came over to him.
“I’ve read about you,” the boy said quietly.
“Have you?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve read all about you and your brother, Smoke Jensen.”
Matt didn’t correct the boy.
“I read all about you in a book called
Matt smiled. The boy was talking about the penny dreadfuls. And though Matt had not yet been featured in as many of the novels as had Smoke, there were a few about him out now as well.
“That is you, ain’t it? I knew it was you as soon as I seen the way you handled Butrum. And I know Butrum was fast, ’cause like the marshal said, he kilt two cowboys here a couple weeks ago, took ’em both on at the same time, and shot ’em both dead.”
“That’s me,” Matt said. “But do me a favor, will you? Don’t tell anyone else what you know about me.”
A big smile spread across the boy’s face. “No, sir, I won’t. I know how sometimes folks like you, when you are fighting for truth and justice, have to keep quiet about who you really are.”
“I appreciate that,” Matt said. “What’s your name?”
“Jimmy Smith.”
Matt gave Jimmy a quarter.”
“What’s this for?” the boy asked.
“I want to hire you to work for me, Jimmy,” Matt said.
“I can’t. I work for Mr. Paul Coker. He’s the bartender.”
“You can still work for him,” Matt said. “The kind of work you will be doing for me is secret work. From time to time, you might hear things that I should know. If you do, I want you to come over to the newspaper office and tell me. I’ll give you a quarter every day, and an additional quarter every time you bring me some information. Are you willing?”
“Yes, sir!” Jimmy said, the smile on his face growing even wider.
“We’ll keep it our secret,” Matt said.
“I will tell no one,” Jimmy said.
“Do you see that man sitting alone at that table over in the corner?”
“You mean The Hawk?”
“The Hawk?”
“Yes, sir, well, he ain’t been in town very long, so I don’t know his real name. The Hawk is just what I call him,” Jimmy said. “I call him that ’cause he’s got a big nose that looks sort of like a hawk’s beak. And he don’t never talk to nobody. He just watches.”
Matt had noticed him the moment he came into the saloon. This was the same man he had seen walking away from a full glass of whiskey back in Pueblo. He had seen him again on the train, going to Sugarloaf. That he was now here in Fullerton was way beyond mere coincidence.
“I want you to find out what you can about him,” Matt said. “But don’t let him know what you are doing.”
“That’s sort of like lawman work, ain’t it?” Jimmy asked.
“I suppose it is in a way.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Jimmy promised. “I figure that’s going to be my job one of these days.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said. He smiled proudly. “I don’t plan to stay in Fullerton much longer. One of these days soon, I’ll leave, and maybe I’ll get me a job as a deputy somewhere. What I’d really like to do is become a marshal. Not like Marshal Tipton, I’m talkin’ about a United States marshal.”
“That’s a pretty noble ambition,” Matt agreed. “But your mother and dad may want you to wait until you are a
