Denham followed Travis down the street, then into the Hog Waller.
Recently, there had been some discussion before the city council as to whether or not the Hog Waller should be closed. Those who spoke against it talked about it as a health hazard, and if filth had anything to do with disease, as Denham believed, then there was some justification for it, because the Hog Waller literally reeked with filth.
In addition to being filthy, the Hog Waller appealed to the lowest common denominator of citizen, attracted by the cheap women and the cheaper whiskey.
The move to close the Hog Waller failed for two reasons. Prentiss Hampton was a member of the city council, and he felt that he could not support the proposal because it would appear as if he were trying to stifle the competition. Also, it was pointed out that most of the card cheating, fistfights, and other acts of disreputable behavior took place in the Hog Waller.
“It’s as if we have a place marked off just for such behavior,” Moore said in arguing against the proposal. “Maybe as long as we keep it contained there, it won’t spread through the rest of the town.”
In the end, Moore’s argument prevailed, and the city council took no action in closing the Hog Waller.
The first thing Denham noticed when he stepped inside was the smell. It was overpowering, but it didn’t seem to be bothering any of the patrons.
“Is he here?” Travis asked quietly.
“Yes. That’s him, standing next to Cletus. Tyree is the fella with the gray shirt.”
“Thanks,” Travis replied. Travis pulled his pistol from his holster. “Now, step back out of the way.”
What Travis did not realize was that Tyree had seen him through the window before he came into the saloon. Tyree had also seen the badge on Travis’s vest, so he knew why Travis was coming.
Unnoticed by anyone else at the bar, Travis had pulled his pistol and cocked it and was holding it in front of him, concealing it between his stomach and the bar, even as the marshal came in.
“Jefferson Tyree, turn around,” Travis called authoritatively.
Tyree spun around and fired, catching Travis by surprise. Even so, Travis reacted quickly, pulling the trigger on his own pistol so soon behind Tyree that those who only heard the sounds of the gunshots thought the fight was much closer than it really was. In truth, Travis’s bullet plunged into the floor right in front of him.
“Travis!” Denham shouted, running toward the collapsed form of his friend.
Tyree stood for a long moment, holding the still-smoking pistol as Denham attempted to administer to his friend.
“Is he dead?” Tyree asked calmly.
“Yes, he’s dead,” Denham replied. “You murdered him.”
“You might’ve noticed he already had the gun in his hand when he braced me,” Tyree said.
“He didn’t brace you, Tyree. He was attempting to arrest you,” Denham said.
“Arrest me, huh? Well, maybe he should’ve said somethin’. I thought he was just somebody trying to build a reputation by killing Jefferson Tyree.”
“One doesn’t build a reputation by killing polecats or rattlesnakes,” Denham said. “And compared to you, the polecat and the rattlesnake are some of God’s noblest creatures.”
“You have a big mouth, don’t you, friend?” Tyree said. He looked over at Cletus. “This fella always have a way with words like that?”
“Oh, yes,” Cletus said. “This is Harold Denham, the publisher of our local newspaper.”
“The local newspaper, huh?” Inexplicably, a broad smile spread across Tyree’s face. “So, are you going to write about me, Mr. Newspaperman?”
“I am indeed,” Denham said, still on his knees next to Travis Calhoun’s body. “If you think you can frighten away the press, you have another think coming.”
“Oh, I don’t want to frighten you away. I want you to print the story, just as it happened. And I want you to say that when this fella braced me, he was already holding a pistol in his hand, but that I was so quick that I turned, drew, and shot him before he could shoot me.”
“I will not make anything heroic out of this,” Denham said.
“I ain’t askin’ you to make me a hero, mister,” Tyree said. “I’m just askin’ you to tell the truth, that’s all.”
When Falcon saw the buckboard with General Garrison and his daughter arrive at the site where the bridge was being built, he walked over to them.
“Hello,” he said, greeting them with a smile. “Are you out here to check on the progress?”
“I wish that was the only reason,” Garrison replied.
Falcon noticed the grim expressions on their faces.
“What is it?” he asked. “What has happened?”
“Marshal Calhoun has been killed.”
Falcon frowned for a second, wondering why they would be telling him what he already knew. Then, suddenly, he realized they weren’t talking about Titus, they were talking about Travis.
“Wait a minute! Travis?” he said. “Are you saying Travis Calhoun has been killed? He just took office.”
“Yes.”
“The Clintons?”
