Prescott held back. “What is it, Cook? You ain’t plannin’ on gettin’ me into no gunfight now, are you? I’m just the deputy, remember.”
“No, no, it ain’t nothin’ like that. Mr. Jensen, he’s already got the fella captured.”
“What fella are you talkin’ about?”
“The fella that tried to kill ’im, that’s the fella I’m talkin’ about,” Cook said.
“You ain’t makin’ no sense at all.”
“You don’t have to be worryin’ about nothin’. All you have to do is put the fella in jail. Like I said, Jensen has him captured, and he isn’t even armed.”
“All right, all right, hold your horses. I didn’t say I wasn’t comin’.”
Matt wasn’t able to put on any more clothes than his pants, because he had to keep an eye on Brax Barlow. Then, after a couple more minutes, during which neither he nor Barlow said a word, he heard someone from the front of the shop.
“Hello?” The call was tentative and hesitant.
“We’re back here,” Matt replied.
“Is everything all right?” It was the deputy marshal’s voice, and he called into the room without making a physical appearance.
“If you mean am I still holding him prisoner, the answer is yes. Come get him now, so I can get dressed.”
The deputy stepped into the room with his gun drawn. “Who have you got?” he asked.
“He says his name is Barlow. He and his brothers were the ones who tried to hold up the coach today.”
“Is that a fact?” Prescott said. “Well, Mr. Barlow, I reckon you just chose the wrong town to mess with. Come on, let’s go.”
Prescott waved his pistol to signal Barlow to follow him.
“I’ll be down later to sign a statement for you, if you want,” Matt said.
“What kind of statement? What do you mean?” Prescott said.
“Won’t you need a statement as to how he came in here and tried to kill me?” Matt asked.
“Oh, yeah. I guess so. You can come down anytime.”
Matt finished dressing, then walked out front to pay Cook for his bath.
“Oh, there won’t be any charge,” Cook said with a wide smile. “I’ll more’n get my money’s worth by telling people that Matt Jensen had a shoot-out right here in my shop.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You know we’re goin’ to have to take care of Jensen, don’t you?” Carter said to Fletcher when they were alone.
“What do you mean, take care of him?”
“You know what I mean. We’re goin’ to have to kill him. If he found Crowley, then he’ll find us.”
“But from what Doomey said, he wasn’t lookin’ for Crowley, he just happened to find him.”
“Which means he could just happen to find us, if we don’t do somethin’ about it.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any hankerin’ to go up ag’in Jensen, even if it is two to one. You heard what Doomey said. Crowley already had his gun out, but Jensen kilt him anyway.”
“Who said anything about goin’ up against him? I said we were goin’ to have to kill him—I didn’t say nothin’ about doin’ it fair. This ain’t no contest. It’s just us against him, only I don’t plan to give him a chance.”
“How do you plan to do it?”
“We’ll shoot the son of a bitch from ambush. He won’t even see it comin’.”
“Yeah,” Fletcher said. “Yeah, if we’re goin’ to kill ’im, that would be the best way to do it. When?”
“The sooner the better.”
Annabelle O’Callahan stood back and looked at the way the dress was hanging. Lillian Trout, wife of the mayor, was wearing the dress Annabelle had made for her, a slate-gray velvet walking suit, trimmed in red cashmere frieze.
“Oh, this is absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Mrs. Trout said. “Annabelle, my dear, you are a treasure. Please don’t ever leave Shady Rest. Why, the ladies would be absolutely bereft.”
“I have no plans to go anywhere,” Annabelle said. She glanced toward the clock. “Oh, except for dinner tonight, and I must hurry and get dressed. Do you mind if I leave you to find your own way out?”
“No, of course not, I don’t mind at all, my dear,” Mrs. Trout said. “But what is it about dinner that has you so eager?”
“I’m having dinner with Matt Jensen.”
“Matt Jensen?” Mrs. Trout replied with a curious expression on her face. “Who is Matt Jensen? Has he recently arrived in town? I don’t believe I have met him.”
“He is the one who stopped the stagecoach robbery today,” Annabelle said.
“Oh, yes, I heard about that. So, you are having dinner with the hero, are you? Well, you must tell me all about it.”
“It’s just a dinner, there’s nothing to it. It’s my way of saying thank you. You see, I was carrying more money with me than I normally would, because I had been on a buying trip for material. And if the robbers had gotten away with it, it would have been a devastating loss.”
“Yes, well, speaking for my husband, the mayor, please give him the thanks of the entire town,” Mrs. Trout said.
“I shall.”
The sun slipped down below El Capitan, and while it was not yet dark, the shadows had begun to lengthen by the time Matt left the barbershop and walked down the street to the Milner Hotel. The floor of the lobby in the Milner was of wide, unvarnished planks of wood, though much of it was covered with a patterned carpet of rose and gray. There was a leather sofa and several comfortable chairs scattered about. A large fireplace was at one end of the lobby, though as it was summer, no fire was burning. Matt walked across the lobby to the front desk.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?” the desk clerk asked with a welcoming and practiced smile.
“I would like a room,” Matt said. “Preferably one at the front of the building, with a window view that looks down onto the street.”
“I think we can accommodate you, mister . . .”
“Jensen. Matt Jensen.”
The smile broadened. “Jensen? Yes, I’ve heard your name mentioned many times today. You are the one who saved the stagecoach, aren’t you?”
“I was there. I don’t know that you would say I saved it,” Matt replied. Although he had spent a lifetime as the recipient of accolades, he still wasn’t comfortable with them.
“Well, Mr. Jensen, I will give you a room in front of the hotel that looks right down onto the street. And if you want to know the truth, it’s also the finest room in the hotel. I heard what you’ve done for the town, so there’s nothing too good for you, Mr. Jensen.”
“Thank you.”
Matt took the key, then climbed the stairs to his room. He looked down the long, narrow hallway, which was flanked on both sides by closed doors. A couple of wall-mounted gas lamps hissed quietly, and emitted an orange light that lit the way. Behind the stairway Matt saw a small alcove that was dark, except for the dim splash of light that did little to illuminate it. At the front of the building, there was a cross hallway, making a T, and those were the rooms that looked out onto the street.
Before Matt went to his room he walked down to the opposite end of the hall to check on the window there. Examining it, he could see that the window overlooked the alley behind the hotel.
Opening the window, Matt leaned out and looked in both directions to see if there was a way this window could provide entry into the hotel without someone having to come through the front lobby. There didn’t appear to be any access to the hotel through that window, short of climbing up a straight brick wall, and that was good. Matt had learned long ago, both from his mentor, Smoke Jensen, and from life experiences, to always err on the side of caution. As he stood there looking down, he saw a cat poised on the top of a fence, its tail moving back and forth slowly as he stared down at a rat. The rat, nibbling on a piece of bread, was totally unaware of the cat’s presence, and his own imminent mortality.
Satisfied that the
rear window offered no danger, he walked down to check out the room he had just been assigned. He had stayed in rooms that were larger, and much plusher, but this room was adequate. He would certainly be more comfortable here than he was on the frequent nights he spent out on the trail.
Now Matt checked out the front window. From here he had a good view of the main street. It was scarred with wagon ruts and dotted with horse droppings. The stagecoach depot was halfway down the street and he saw that the same coach he had escorted in today, now without horses, sat hulking and empty, awaiting the morrow when it would make a return trip to Van Horn. Right across the street from the hotel, as Hawkins had pointed out earlier in the day, was the livery stable.
Below him now, and next door to the hotel, was the Texas Star Saloon, and because the Texas Star was on the same side of the street as the hotel, he couldn’t actually see it from his window. He was able to discern its presence though, by the bright splash of light the saloon threw into the street. He could also hear laughter and piano music.
That was for him. After he had his supper, he would go back to the Texas Star and see if Culpepper had returned to the game. Culpepper had left the game to have the doctor tend to the cut on his head, but, from what Matt had seen, the cut didn’t seem serious enough to keep him away. Matt enjoyed poker, which was one of his few vices.
Wait a minute, he thought. He was having dinner with the woman from the stagecoach tonight. It might not be convenient for him to leave the dinner table early, just so he could have a game of poker. He might have to give up the game of poker, but spending the evening with a beautiful woman—and she was a beautiful woman—could have its own rewards.
He smiled at the thought of it.
Annabelle O’Callahan was having her own flights of fancy. She was thinking about the dinner she would be having with Matt Jensen, and she realized that, despite her age, experience, and a self-made life of success, she had never actually had an engagement with a man before. Oh, she had had dinners with men, sometimes even with one man, but in every previous case the dinners had been working dinners. Not once, on any occasion, had she ever forgotten that.
But this dinner tonight was different. She had invited him, ostensibly to “thank him” for what he had done in saving the stagecoach. But the truth was, she wanted to have dinner with him. She wanted to know what it was like to engage a man in conversation that wasn’t related to business in one way or another.
Annabelle was different from almost any other woman she knew. She depended on no one but herself, and this left her out of the mainstream of life. Her best friends were books, her only adventures were in her mind, and her stimulation was her work
Her apartment was on the second floor over her shop, and she laid out a change of clothes—her usual working outfit, a gray wool flannel skirt and a white muslin blouse. But before she changed clothes, she stopped to consider her wardrobe. That was very good for business meetings, but this wasn’t a business meeting. She wanted to look more feminine tonight.
Now, why would she want to look more feminine tonight over any other night? she wondered. But even as she wondered, she knew the answer. She just didn’t want to articulate the answer, either in word or thought.
Annabelle chose a gold dress that clung to her figure, and she spent extra time with her long red hair, securing it in the back with a yellow ribbon, forcing some ringlets to fall casually in front of her ears. When she looked in the mirror she hardly recognized herself. She was very pleased with her appearance.
It had grown dark enough in the lobby for lanterns to be lit, and the hotel clerk went over to the wall where the anchor point of the chandelier suspension rope was. Releasing the rope, he began turning the pulley crank, until the great lobby chandelier was lowered enough to allow the clerk to light the fixtures. When Bill Carter stepped through the front door, the clerk was so engaged, standing on a small stool and holding a lighted taper to each lantern wick.
“I’ll be right with you, sir,” the clerk said as he continued with his task.
Carter walked over to the front desk and looked around to see if he could find the registration book, but didn’t see it.
With the chandelier lit, the hotel clerk stepped back over to the wall and turned the pulley crank so that the rope lifted it back to the ceiling. That done, he secured the rope, then came over to the desk.
“Yes, sir, now how may I help you?” the hotel clerk asked.
“I’m looking for Emmett Barnes,” Carter said. “What room is he in?”
“Emmett Barnes? I don’t believe I remember such a person checking in.”
“He’s here. I know he is, ’cause I’m s’posed to meet him, right here at this hotel.”
“I will check, but I’m sure I don’t remember seeing that name.”
“Don’t tell me he ain’t here.”
The clerk examined the registration book, then shook his head. “No, sir, it is just as I thought. We have nobody by the name of Barnes who is registered at this hotel.”
“This is the only hotel in town, ain’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it is. But I assure you, there is nobody by the name of Emmett Barnes registered here.”
“You’re lyin’. Let me look at your registration book, I’ll find ’im myself.”
“All right, look for yourself,” the clerk said, turning the book around. “I have no reason to be lying to you, sir, and as you will see, there is no such person here.”
Carter looked through the book until he found the name he was looking for; then he pushed the book back.
“You’re right, he isn’t here.”
“Of course, I’m right,” the hotel clerk said, indignantly.
Carter started toward the door.
“Sir,” the hotel clerk said. “Would you like to leave a message in the event Mr. Barnes checks in?”
“In case who checks in?”
“Mr. Barnes.”
“No, why would I want to leave him a message?”
“Well, I don’t know why, sir. You were the one who was looking for him.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, I was, wasn’t I? No, no message.”
“Very good, sir,” the clerk replied, thinking the entire conversation was rather odd.
Chapter Eighteen
“You see the second window from the left?” Carter asked Fletcher a few minutes later. “I’m talkin’ about the one on the top floor,” he added.
“Yeah, I see it.”
“That’s Jensen’s room.” Carter looked up and down the street; then he smiled. “Damn!” he said.
“What is it?”
“Hell, this is goin’ to be easy. All we got to do is climb up in the loft of the livery stable. It’s right across the street, and from there we’ll have a prefect view of the hotel.”
“What good will that do?”
“Well, think about it, Lenny,” Carter said. “If we are up there in the loft with rifles, he’s goin’ to come stand in the window sometime. They don’t nobody take a hotel room without lookin’ through the window out onto the town. And soon as he does that all we got to do is pull the trigger. He’ll be dead before he knows what hit him.”
Fletcher smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I like that.”
The two men went into the livery.
“Just a minute,” someone called from the back of the livery. “I’ll be right with you.”
With nobody up front to see them, Fletcher and Carter climbed the ladder quickly and silently. A moment later they were both lying on their stomachs in the hay at the loft window. They had a perfect view of Matt Jensen’s room.
“All right, now what can I . . .” the stable man started to say as he came back to the front. He stopped when he didn’t see anyone. “Hello?” he called. He scratched his head, shrugged his shoulders, then went back to whatever had been occupying his time at the rear of the barn.
Very quietly, the two men jacked rounds into the chambers of their Winchesters, then waited.
&n
bsp; Deciding she was as ready as she was going to get, Annabelle left her apartment and strolled down the boardwalk to the hotel, which was but three buildings north of her shop on Railroad Avenue.
When she stepped into the lobby a couple of minutes later, the hotel clerk was surprised to see her.
“Miss O’Callahan? What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Hello, Michael. I’m having dinner with Mr. Jensen tonight. I assume he is one of your hotel guests?”
“Oh, he is indeed,” Michael said with a broad smile. “He is on the second floor, room two-oh-one. Would you like me to run up and summon him for you?”
“No, if it is all right with you, I’ll go up myself.” She smiled. “That is, if you don’t think it would be too scandalous.”
“Miss O’Callahan, your reputation is such that I don’t think it would be possible for you to do anything scandalous,” Michael said. “Go right on up.”
“Thank you.”
Bathed, shaved, and in clean clothes, Matt Jensen bore little resemblance to the trail-worn and dirt-covered traveler who had ridden into town today. It had grown dark outside and the first thing Matt had done after checking into his hotel room was light the lantern. He had just turned it up when there was a knock at the door.
Taking no chances, Matt stepped up to the wall just beside the door, then, reaching out, turned the knob and jerked the door open. A woman who was just about to knock on the door a second time, lost her balance because of the sudden opening of the door and she had to step into the room very quickly in order to stay erect.
“Hello,” Matt said.
Because Annabelle had stumbled into the room, she hadn’t seen Matt, who was now behind her. At the sound of his voice she turned toward him with a smile, but the smile left her face when she saw that he was holding a gun.
“Oh!” she said, startled by the sight of the pistol in his hand.
Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man The Eyes of Texas Page 13
