“I would say that is a smart observation, Santelli,” Matt said.
“Take your gun out of your holster, using only your thumb and finger,” Mason ordered.
Santelli reached for his pistol, then suddenly wrapped his entire hand around the pistol butt.
Seeing that, Matt made a lightning draw of his pistol, pulling the hammer back as he brought his gun to bear. The sound of the sear engaging the cylinder made a loud clicking noise.
Hearing it, Santelli jerked his hand away from his gun and held it, empty, out in front of him, imploring Matt not to shoot. “No, no! I ain’t goin’ to draw! I ain’t goin’ to draw!’ he shouted. Holding his left hand up in the air as a signal of surrender, Santelli’s right hand removed his pistol from the holster, using his thumb and forefinger as the deputy had directed.
“Now, lay your pistol on the floor and kick it over here,” Mason ordered.
Santelli did as he was directed.
“I’ll help you march him down to jail,” Matt said.
“Thanks.”
“Did you see that draw?” someone asked, the quiet voice reflecting his awe. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that.”
“Didn’t you hear who that is?” another asked. “That’s Matt Jensen.
Deputy Mason put Santelli in handcuffs, then he and Matt walked the prisoner down to the jailhouse. Three minutes later, the cell door clanked loudly as it closed on him.
“Jensen,” Santelli called out as Matt started to leave.
Matt turned to him.
“I have a feeling me ’n you are going to meet again, someday.”
Matt nodded, but said nothing.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jenny was getting desperate. She had not been able to find a job, and she was nearly out of money. She’d paid her rent for August, but if she didn’t find employment soon, she would have to give up her room. Sitting at her desk, she was writing a letter to her uncle, begging his forgiveness and pleading to be allowed to come back to work for him.
She was agonizing over the letter she didn’t want to write when there was a knock at the door. Answering it, she saw a very pretty, elegant woman in her early fifties.
Jenny recognized her. Adele Summers was the proprietor of the Colorado Social Club, a house of prostitution.
“Miss Summers,” Jenny said, surprised to see her. “What can I do for you?”
“I hope it is something I can do for you,” Adele replied. “I’ve heard of your problem, and how the school board, a bunch of ninnies, fired you. I would like for you to come work for me, and I will pay you three times more money than you were making teaching school.”
“Oh, Miss Summers, uh, I thank you, I really do. But I don’t think I could do something like—”
“Hear me out before you reply. It isn’t what you think.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not asking you to be a prostitute,” Adele said. “Not for a minute. I don’t know what you know about the Social Club, but it isn’t your ordinary house of prostitution. We have a very high-classed clientele. I would want you to meet our clients when they arrive, and for those clients who would enjoy such a thing, spend a little time with them, talking to them, having a drink with them, and making them feel welcome. That’s all.”
Jenny thought back to her time working in the grand salon on the
“Yes!” Adele replied with a wide smile. “Yes, that is exactly what you would be. You would be a hostess and nothing more.”
A rather short, beady-eyed man with a red, splotchy face and thin blond hair dismounted in front of the Kiowa Jail. Tying his horse at the hitching rail, he went inside. Three men were in the front, two of them in conversation. The third sat behind a desk in the far corner of the room. The sign on his desk read ADAM CARTER—SHERIFF— ELBERT COUNTY.
“Can I help you?” one of the two deputies asked.
“You’ve got my brother in jail. I want to visit him.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ward, Bob Ward.”
The deputy shook his head. “We don’t have anyone by that name in jail.”
“You’ve got Michael Santelli here, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“We have the same mother. We don’t have the same father.”
Sheriff Carter looked up. “Ward? Isn’t there some paper out on you, Ward?”
“Not ’ny more, Sheriff. I was let out of prison two months ago. You can check.”
“All right. Mason, let him see his brother.”
“Take your pistol belt off and lay it on the desk,” Deputy Mason said.
Ward did as directed, then he was thoroughly searched for any hidden weapon.
“He’s clean,” informed the deputy who searched him.
“I’ll take him back,” Mason said.
“Deputy, is there someplace we can talk in private?”
“What do you want to talk in private for?”
“My brother’s goin’ to be hung, ain’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, we may have some private, family things to talk about.”
Mason looked at his boss. “What about it, Sheriff?”
“Has Durham sobered up?” Sheriff Carter asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m sure he has.” Mason chuckled. “He probably has a pretty bad headache, though.”
“He’s the only other prisoner we have right now. Turn him loose. That’ll give Ward and Santelli the whole place alone.”
“Come with me,” Mason said.
Mason took the keys into the back of the building, while Ward followed close behind. Eight cells made up the back of the jail, four on either side of a center aisle. Mason opened the door to one of the cells. “Let’s go, Durham.”
Durham was lying on the bunk. “It ain’t time for me to be turned out yet.”
“You’re getting out early.”
“Damn. Can’t you let a man sleep it off?”
“Let’s go,” Mason repeated.
Grumbling, Durham got up and plodded out of the cell.
“I’ll give you half an hour,” Mason said to Ward as he pushed Durham to the front. He closed the door to the cell area, leaving Ward and Santelli alone.
“Well. My brother has come to see me. I’m touched.”
“They tell me you’re goin’ to hang,” Ward said.
“That’s what the judge said at my trial.”
