“He told you too?”
“I was correcting your grammar,” the schoolteacher said.
“To hear Jimmy tell it, it must have been somethin’ to see,” Kenny said. “According to Jimmy, Butrum come into, uh, I mean came into the saloon with his gun in his hand, blazing away. His first shot missed Mr. Jensen, but Mr. Jensen drew his gun and shot back and didn’t miss. Jimmy said he had never seen anyone draw his gun as fast as Mr. Jensen drew his.”
Throughout Kenny’s dissertation, Matt said not a word. Instead, he just picked up his cup of coffee and took a swallow.
“Very good coffee, Mrs. Perkins,” Matt said, aware that she and everyone else at the table were now staring at him. He put the coffee cup down.
“Is the boy telling the truth?” Proffer asked. “Did you kill Butrum last night?”
“Yes,” Matt said. “Mrs. Perkins, I’m sorry if this distresses you. I’ll move out as quickly as I can.”
“If you make him move out, I will move out as well,” Proffer said quickly.
“Nonsense,” Lucy said. “Neither of you need move out. If Mr. Butrum was shooting at you, of course you had no choice but to defend yourself. And though I never met Mr. Butrum, I did read about him in the newspaper. I know that he has killed at least three men within the last month. I am not normally given to such sentiments, but in his case, I would say good riddance.”
“Will there be a hearing?” Proffer asked.
“Yes, I am to present myself to the marshal’s office at ten this morning.”
“You may not know this, Mr. Jensen, but I am a retired lawyer,” Proffer said. “I would be glad to accompany you to the hearing, just to make certain that you are treated fairly. And I will do sopro bono.”
“Pro bono?” Kenny asked.
“It means he would do it for free,” Matt explained. He looked over at Proffer. “I would love to have you accompany me,” he said. “But I intend to pay for your services.”
There was no courtroom as such, so the hearing was held in the marshal’s office, presided over by James Cornett, the city magistrate. Because of the lack of room, the only ones allowed in were those whose testimony would have direct bearing on the outcome of the case. That included those saloon patrons who were eyewitnesses. Matt asked for, and received permission for, Julius Proffer, duly licensed and a member of the bar, to be present as his counselor. Cornett agreed.
The hearing took less than half an hour, and the magistrate ruled that the shooting was justifiable.
“I got no reason to hold you, Jensen,” Marshal Tipton said, “so I ain’t goin’ to.” He raised his finger to make a point. “But I am goin’ to be keepin’ an eye on you. You say you’re workin’ for the newspaper, but I’ve got the idea in my mind that you ain’t just a handyman. I figure if you’re workin’ for John Bryce, he has somethin’ else in mind. So I’m tellin’ you right now, don’t you be makin’ no trouble for Nigel Denbigh. I don’t need it, and this town can’t afford it.”.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt said.
When Matt returned to the newspaper office, John showed him a broadsheet.
“I’ve put out another extra,” John said. “What do think?”
“We have been doing a newspaper in this town for over two years,” Millie said. “In all that time, not one extra, but this is the second extra this month.”
“Do you think this story doesn’t deserve an extra?” John asked.
Millie smiled, then walked over to her husband and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.
“I think it absolutely deserves an extra,” she said. “I was just making an observation.”
Matt took the broadsheet from John.
EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA
SHOOTOUT AT NEW YORK SALOON
Olliver Butrum, a killer employed by Nigel Denbigh and, in the opinion of this editor, Satan’s surrogate, was himself killed yesterday when he attempted, yet again, to ply his deadly avocation. Witnesses stated that Butrum rushed into the New York Saloon with wild and flashing eyes, his mouth contorted with anger, and with a blazing pistol in his hand.
His target was Matt Jensen, a man who was standing at the bar enjoying a beer. What happened next sent Butrum to his Maker with what had to be the biggest surprise of his life. Confident in his own ability to dispense death by the adroit use of his pistol, Butrum encountered a man who was more than his equal. Matt Jensen, witnesses report, stood calmly as the bullets flew, drawing his own revolver in the blink of an eye and discharging it with deadly effect. Butrum went down with a .44-caliber ball lodged in his heart.
As Nigel Denbigh’s employee, Butrum’s only job was to intimidate and, if necessary, kill in the enforcement of Denbigh’s illegal collection of tolls on the Ellendale Road. Butrum was quite good at his job and, within the month instant, sent three innocent men to their graves.
Although the death of anyone should not be applauded, there are times when it is difficult not to be grateful for the demise of evil, even if that evil is incarnate in the form of a human being. Ollie Butrum was just such an incarnation and this is such a time.
Matt read the story, then handed the paper back to John. “Denbigh is not going to like the story much,” he said. He chuckled. “Which is why I like it.”
“Yes, well, it never hurts to tweak the beard of the giant when you can,” John replied.
“Denbigh ain’t got no beard.”
