Dakota Ambush

Chapter Twenty-three

As Lucas Meacham approached the tollgate, he thought about telling them that, like them, he was working for Denbigh. If he didn’t tell them, they would charge him a dollar every time he rode through, and that could get expensive.

Meacham smiled at the thought. What did he care how much it cost him, as long as he got every dollar back? And then he had an idea. What if he claimed more trips through the gate than he actually made?

No. That wasn’t such a good idea. If Denbigh found out what he was doing, it could mess up the entire thing. He was going to make enough money just by killing Matt Jensen. But if he hadn’t known before, he knew now that killing Matt Jensen wasn’t going to be easy.

Bleeker came out to meet Meacham as he approached the gate.

“Well, now, seems to me like you just come through here yesterday. What’s the matter, you don’t like Fullerton?”

“Just take my dollar and keep your mouth shut,” Meacham said.

“Mister, I don’t know who you are,” Bleeker began, but he stopped in mid-sentence when he saw how quickly Meacham drew his pistol.

“You’ve got two choices, mister,” Meacham said. “You can take my dollar and keep your mouth shut, or you can…” Meacham swung his pistol toward Carver when he saw Carver trying to sneak out his own gun. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

Carver moved his hand away from his gun.

“What do I have to do to make you take my dollar?” Meacham asked.

“Don’t go gettin’ a burr under your saddle, mister, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Bleeker said. He took the dollar proffered by Meacham. “Open the gate, Carver, let this gentleman through.”

“Just be glad Butrum ain’t here,” Carver said. “He ain’t as nice as we are.”

“Butrum is dead,” Meacham said as he rode through the open gate.

“What? How? When?”

Carver’s shouted question was ignored.

“Is Lord Denbigh expecting you, sir?” Tolliver asked when he answered the door pull ring.

“No.”

“Wait here, I will see if he will grant you an audience.”

“Tell him Butrum is dead,” Meacham said.

“Oh, dear, that is news,” Tolliver said.

Meacham chuckled. “I must say, you don’t seem all broke up over it.”

“I cannot lie, sir,” Tolliver replied. “I cannot work up any degree of distress over his demise. Wait here, please.”

“How did it happen?” Denbigh asked a moment later, when Meacham was shown into his study.

“Jensen killed him.”

“Was the contest fair?”

“It wasn’t fair at all.”

“I didn’t think so. Butrum was exceptionally skilled in the use of his pistol, could withdraw it from its holster quite quickly, and discharge it with extreme accuracy. I can understand how someone would have to take unfair advantage in order to best him.”

Meacham shook his head. “You got it all wrong. It wasn’t fair because Butrum already had his gun out and fired first. He missed, and before he could fire a second time, Jensen drew his gun and killed him.”

“That is hard to believe,” Denbigh said.

“It’s not hard to believe at all. Matt Jensen is known all over the West. Nobody outside of Dakota Territory ever heard of that little turd you hired.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had done your job,” Denbigh said. “I hired you to kill Jensen and you haven’t done it. Now I am out my best man.”

“He wasn’t your best man,” Meacham said.

“Oh? And who is?”

“I am.”

“But you don’t work for me. I have contracted with you to do one thing, and you have not done that.”

“I’m going to do it, but the conditions have changed,” Meacham said.

“You have already changed the conditions once,” Denbigh said, obviously irritated by the way the conversation was going. “I will not raise the agreed-upon amount.”

“No need to,” Meacham replied. “I’ll still kill him for three thousand dollars, just like we agreed. But I also want to work for you full time. I want to take Butrum’s place.”

“I thought you were quite the paladin, roaming the West in pursuit of desperadoes for the reward money.”

“I’m tired of that,” Meacham said. “Most of the time, you don’t get more’n a couple hundred dollars for it, and sometimes you don’t get nothin’ at all. I’m lookin’ for a job that can use my particular skills and will let me settle down.”

“I see. And how good are your particular skills?” Denbigh asked.

“They are good enough.”

“So you say. Suppose we arrange a demonstration?”

“All right. Want me to shoot a flower, the way you did?”

“Not quite,” Denbigh said. “I will come up with a way for you to display your prowess.”

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

Five minutes later Denbigh, Meacham, Tolliver, and several others from the household were out on the well-kept lawn, standing next to the exquisite flower garden of Denbigh Manor. Tolliver’s face was pale with fright. His right arm was extended to his side, and he was holding a whiskey glass.

“Now, when I say drop it, you drop it,” Meacham said. “I will shoot the glass before it hits the ground.”

“Not good enough,” Denbigh said.

“What do you mean?”

“You will, no doubt, begin your draw as soon as you tell Mr. Tolliver to drop the glass. That gives you an advantage. I propose that you say nothing. Allow Mr. Tolliver to drop the glass in his own time. Then, once you see the glass leave his hand, you can draw and shoot. If you are successful, then I will believe that your skills are certainly adequate for the task.”

“I don’t know. Something like that might make me hurry the shot. I could wind up hitting your man, instead of the glass.”

“Oh, my!” Tolliver said.

Denbigh had brought his own dueling pistol out, loaded and capped. He now raised his pistol and pointed it at Meacham.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Tolliver,” Denbigh said. “If Mr. Meacham’s bullet so much as nicks you, I will kill him.”

“What?” Meacham said. “If I hit him, it won’t be my fault! You are the one who changed the rules on me.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter whose fault it will be,” Denbigh said. “My declaration stands. If you so much as nick Mr. Tolliver with your bullet, I will kill you.”

“What kind of demonstration is that?” Meacham asked.

“Quite a good one, I would imagine,” Denbigh replied. “If you think about it, this very effectively duplicates the condition of a real encounter, because now, as in the case of an actual quarrel, your own life is in danger. You do have the choice now of backing out if you wish. But if you do back out, I must warn you now that any and all business arrangements we may have discussed will be considered null and void.”

“Null and void? What does that mean?”

“It means that our heretofore-agreed-upon contract pertaining to Matt Jensen is no more. No matter whether you fulfill the contract or not, I will pay you nothing.”

“And if I do the demonstration?”

“If you do it successfully, then our agreed-upon contract will still be in force, and, you will be the newest, and most highly compensated, employee of my fiefdom. So, which will it be, Mr. Meacham? Will you make the try, or not?”

“I’ll do it,” Meacham said.

“Good for you,” Denbigh replied. Aiming the pistol at the side of Meacham’s head, he cocked it, the hammer making a click as it came back and locked into place.

“Do you have to point that thing right at my head?” Meacham asked.

“Indeed I do.”

Meacham cleared his throat, then pulled his pistol from the holster to loosen it, before dropping it back. He held his hand, slightly cupped, just over the holster. He bent slightly at the knees, and just as slightly, leaned forward.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Mr. Tolliver, you may drop the glass at anytime you wish.”

Tolliver gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

“And don’t worry. You will not be struck by an errant shot for, should that occur, I will kill him.”

For a long moment, there was an eerie tableau vivant in the garden. In the stable, ahorse whickered; overhead, a crow called; and a freshening breeze created a whisper in the leaves of the aspen trees and caused the windmill blades to begin spinning.

Then, with a grimace, Tolliver dropped the glass. As quick as thought, Meacham drew and fired. The glass was shattered.

“Ahh!! I’m shot, I’m shot!” Tolliver shouted.

At Tolliver’s yell, Meacham looked toward Denbigh, and was relieved to see the Englishman smile and lower his pistol.

“You aren’t shot, Mr. Tolliver,” Denbigh said. “That’s merely shattered glass. Mr. Meacham was brilliant. I believe he has adequately proven his expertise to me.”

“Am I hired?” Meacham asked.

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Meacham. You are hired.”