“By engaging you in an affair of honor,” Denbigh said.
“What are you talking about?” Matt asked.
“We are going to have a duel, you and I, Mr. Jensen,” Denbigh said. Reaching into his saddlebag, he removed a wooden box. He opened the box and pulled out two dueling pistols.
“When I say duel, that is exactly what I mean. Not the kind of crass gunmanship by which you bested Mr. Butrum. This will be a gentleman’s duel, fought with the weapon of a gentleman—a single-shot, beautifully balanced pistol.”
As he was talking, he was also loading the two pistols, then, once loaded, he held both of them out by the barrel, presenting the butts toward Matt.
“To show you that I have engaged in no chicanery in the charging of the pistols, you may choose whichever one you wish,” he said.
Matt selected one of the pistols, then checked to see that the cap was in place.
“Very good,” Denbigh said. “Now, since this is an affair of honor, we shall require seconds. Mr. Bryce! I take it you are there, somewhere among those standing on the barricade.”
“I’m here,” John replied.
“You will be Mr. Jensen’s second. Mr. Tolliver, you will be my second.”
“What does a second do?” John asked.
“As seconds, it should have been we who loaded the weapons,” Tolliver said. “And, according to that same code, we should try and arrange some accommodation between the parties that would prevent the duel from occurring in the first place.”
“Very good, Mr. Tolliver, you know the code duello. But then, I was certain that you would. However, do not be concerned if all the niceties aren’t observed. You see, a duel is between two gentlemen of equal birth. Mr. Jensen, being a commoner, should not even be afforded this honor. However, I am a man of magnanimity, so I am extending him this privilege.”
Matt looked at the pistol in his hand as if it were something foreign and incomprehensible.
“Mr. Jensen, you seem uncomfortable with your weapon,” Denbigh said. “Would you rather use your own Colt?”
“Yes,” Matt replied.
Denbigh laughed. “I’m sure you would. But I intend to make a gentleman of you, if it kills you.” He laughed again, harder this time. “If it kills you,” he said again.
“Are you planning on talking all day?” Matt asked.
“No,” Denbigh said. “The only thing left to say is to explain the rules to you. We will stand back to back, then we will walk off twenty paces. Mr. Meacham shall count the paces. Upon the count of twenty, we will both turn and fire. Then, after you are killed, Mr. Meacham will maintain custody of the boy until we are safely out of here.”
“Suppose I don’t want to do this?” Matt said.
“I’m going to kill you, Mr. Jensen, one way or the other,” Denbigh said. “At least this way, you will have a chance. Not much of a chance, to be sure, but you will have a chance. Now, shall we proceed?”
Matt and Denbigh stood back to back, holding their right arms crooked, so that the pistols were pointing straight up.
“Mr. Meacham, if you would, please, begin your count.”
“One,” Meacham started, and as he counted, Matt and Denbigh paced away from each other, the distance between them opening appreciably. There was not a sound from any of the men who were standing on the barricade, watching.
At the count of twenty, both men turned. Denbigh pointed his gun toward Matt and fired, but Matt, in violation of the code of dueling, dropped to one knee so that the heavy ball whistled harmlessly by his head. Matt aimed, not at Denbigh, but at Meacham who, while watching the duel, had presented more of himself than before. Even so, it was a small target, but it was all the target Matt needed. The .58-caliber ball hit Meacham in his right eye, then burst through the back of his head carrying with it, blood, bone, and brain detritus. Jimmy Smith was free.
Denbigh, who was also wearing a pistol, drew his gun and aimed it at Matt, but before he could pull the trigger, the sound of another shot rent the air.
Denbigh was struck in the chest, and he clasped his hand over the wound, then pulled it away and watched as his blood filled the palm. Looking toward the man who had fired the shot, he saw Tolliver holding a smoking pistol.
Matt was standing in front of the newspaper office. Spirit was saddled and ready to go, and John, Millie, Lucy, Kenny, and Jimmy were with him.
“As the new owner of Prestonshire, Mr. Tolliver has removed the tollgate, and has promised to rebuild every house that was burned,” John said.
“It’s obvious that Tolliver is a decent man,” Matt said. “And a lucky break that he is the one who inherited the ranch.”
“More than just a lucky break,” Matt said. “It’s a matter of family inheritance. Turns out that Tolliver and Denbigh shared the same father, and though he could not pass on his name or title, the old man did see to it that Tolliver was in the will, if anything happened to Denbigh.”
“I wonder if Tolliver knew that when he shot Denbigh,” Millie said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said. “The killing was obviously justified. And the result is positive for everyone.” He
