In a hotel in east Denver, a hawk-nosed, middle-aged Spaniard named Carlos was speaking about Henry.
"We can be certain that Kahlenbeck went to Frisco four days ago to assassinate Henry. We have heard nothing since. I fear he has met with misfortune."
A man named Pizarro, his beard half-white, slammed his fist on the table. "He was here for ten years and became completely addicted to the thrill of the kill! He lost all sense of priority. We are on the verge of a breakthrough in our family's two-century-long search for this treasure, and he takes the map with him on a petty assassination job!"
"Alas," Carlos said with a sigh, "according to his last telegram, he did believe he had found the map, but…" He just shook his head.
"We must act immediately," Pizarro said. "Every day we wait costs us a fortune. Settle the men, then go to the black market. I want all the latest intelligence on this Henry. I want to know his every move for the next few days."
Carlos nodded and left to carry out his orders.
An hour later, in the McKinley manor in Denver, Brendan finished reading a telegram from Richard Mellon.
"Has Sean replied to my morning telegram?" he asked.
"Not yet, sir," the steward, Elendt, replied.
"And still no word from Kahlenbeck?"
"Four days, sir. Nothing."
"Jesse James or John Gale?"
"They have not responded, sir. There are rumors Jesse was seen in Chicago."
Brendan's frustration was mounting. Kahlenbeck, the deadly snake, had likely become a dead one. This Henry was an impossible problem. How could an ordinary young man suddenly become this?
"Send another telegram to Sean," Brendan ordered. "Tell him to host Mr. and Mrs. Mellon, and to guarantee their safety at all costs. Have him arrange a sufficient escort to meet them at Dead Man's Gulch tomorrow at noon. He is authorized to pull up to thirty men from the smelting plant if necessary."
"Yes, sir," Elendt said, and left.
Back in Frisco, Linda, accompanied by Pete, spent the day visiting her closest friends with her children, Andre and Becky. She brought them small pastries she had baked, saying her final goodbyes. That evening, they would have one last dinner at the Mayor's house.
At the Denver train station, a man and two women disembarked, followed by a valet, a ladies' maid, and six armed guards. The McKinley family's man on the ground, Dylan, rushed forward to greet them.
"Mr. Mellon, welcome to Denver. I am Dylan, from the McKinley family. Please, come with me."
Richard Mellon nodded and, with the two ladies and their entourage, followed him.
The women were soon seated in a luxurious, four-wheeled convertible carriage, the height of fashion for aristocratic ladies. They sat in the back, each holding a small parasol, elegantly and discreetly observing the city.
Richard, however, would be riding with four of his guards. He had business to attend to before joining the ladies for the McKinley's dinner party that evening.
The older of the two women was Richard's new wife, Madeline Jones. The younger was her cousin, Edith.
Brendan McKinley had asked Richard to act as an intermediary with William Sinclair, and Richard saw it as a golden opportunity to expand the Mellon family's influence in the Colorado mining industry. He had agreed after only a day's consideration.
"Madeline," Edith said brightly, "I'm so glad I came to visit you. I would have died of boredom at home."
"You are the lucky one," Madeline said with a gentle smile, fanning herself. "Your uncle has agreed to let you attend university in England."
Edith sighed, leaning in to whisper in her cousin's ear. "What good is that? I envy you. You have a good husband, young and successful, and he adores you. He brings you on his travels to the far reaches of his family's business."
Madeline's smile faded. "We women are always expected to be chaste, to keep house and raise children," she whispered back. "Our lives are a straight line between the home and the church. When I think of the next few decades… sometimes I feel like I can't breathe."
The two women fell silent, watching the repeating streetscape rush past them, a perfect metaphor for their own predetermined lives.
Henry awoke, fully refreshed. He had slept for nearly four hours; it was almost 5 PM.
He washed up and went to the Mayor's office.
"Grandpa William," he said, getting straight to the point, "I plan to escort Linda and the children to Denver tomorrow morning with a few of my men. She'll take the train to New York from there."
"That's good of you, Henry. Have you arranged for a carriage?"
"Not yet. I was going to borrow one from Drummond. His are much more comfortable than the department's prison wagons."
"Nonsense," William said. "You'll take my two-door Brougham. I'll have my driver ready for you in the morning."
"Thank you, Grandpa William. I know Becky and Andre will be thrilled."
The Mayor's carriage was the pinnacle of luxury, a standard for any wealthy family.
"The twenty outlaws who attacked me during the duel," Henry reported, "twelve were from the Wild Wolf Gang, eight from the Skull Gang. Both gangs have been more or less wiped out."
"Excellent work, Henry. But you must be careful. With so many enemies eliminated, their allies may seek revenge."
"I will. Thank you for the concern," Henry said, then stood. "I should get going."
He hadn't told the Mayor about his solo operations. The truth was simply too unbelievable. To admit it would only confirm the Mayor's suspicion that he had other, powerful allies. So he said nothing, letting the old man draw his own conclusions.
He would do his job, and he would do what he thought was right. His conscience was clear. If the Mayor trusted him, he would continue to serve as Sheriff. If not, he would resign. It was as simple as that.