If William were to become suspicious or try to control him over his methods, it would simply mean their personalities were incompatible. In that case, Henry would resign his post before their friendship could sour completely. He still cared for William, Mikayla, and Alice, thanks to the memories he'd inherited. The position of Sheriff was no longer that important; it wasn't the only way to "release" people. He was looking for partners, not a boss.
At noon, Henry had done a full accounting. He now had $54,663.80 in cash, gold bars worth $24,804, and was owed another $24,000 in reward money from the town, plus about $8,000 in bounties. His liquid assets now exceeded $110,000. It was a small sum to the great capitalists, but it was more than enough to make him a wealthy man, enough to fund his plans.
After leaving the Mayor's house, he went to the Phoenix Saloon for dinner. As he ate, intelligence regarding his plan to escort Linda's family to Denver the next morning was already spreading through the saloon and black market networks.
In a hotel in east Denver, Carlos spoke, his voice laced with indignation. "These black market information dealers are vampires! Three hundred dollars for the latest report on Henry!"
Pizarro said nothing, his eyes scanning the document. After a long moment, he spoke. "If it weren't a time-sensitive matter with few potential buyers, they would have charged five hundred."
"I suppose it's worth it, for those who want to buy," Carlos conceded.
"Of course it's worth it," Pizarro said with a sigh. "This Henry's skill with a gun is beyond anything I've ever heard of. He put down Billy the Kid and 'The Blue Death' Barrett Hicks. We all know how good Barrett was. It's unbelievable."
"To kill Barrett while simultaneously taking down twenty outlaws… it's no wonder they put a ten-thousand-dollar bounty on him," Carlos agreed.
"But even the greatest gunman can be killed in an ambush," Pizarro reasoned. "The Doran Gang managed to kill the rest of the posse, didn't they? Even Sheriff Bryan died. Henry couldn't save them. It's possible Henry was just a nobody at the time, and the gang didn't pay him any mind, allowing him to escape and counter-attack."
"Right," Carlos said confidently. "No matter what, we can't let him go. If twenty men couldn't kill him, our full force certainly can."
"Exactly. Anyone still hunting him now will be a top-tier killer or a powerful gang. We cannot allow the map to fall into anyone else's hands," Pizarro commanded. "Go and get Diego and Antonio. They've operated in the Colorado Rockies before."
At the same time, in a small wooden building in a Denver market, four men were playing cards. A skinny man in his late twenties revealed his hand: three aces and a pair of eights. A full house.
"Read 'em and weep," he said with a grin, raking the pile of cash and coins toward him.
"Damn it, Frank! No one's going to play with you if you keep this up!" one of the losers grumbled.
Just then, the door opened and a young man in a newsboy cap entered, handing a document to Frank. He read it over carefully.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Well, well. Opportunity's knocking. Tomorrow morning, Henry is escorting a woman and her two small children through the mountains to Denver."
"About damn time! I was about to start eating rotten potato peels from the market."
"Serves Bond right, the greedy bastard. Trying to keep a bounty that high all to himself."
"Yeah, if the boss hadn't come looking for him, we never would have known he was moonlighting."
The men were all members of the Skull Gang, and they were furious with their fallen leader.
"I knew Bond was running side jobs with his old crew," Frank, their true leader, said, his voice turning serious. "But this Henry is a different animal. We can't be careless. Let me tell you about the men he's put in the ground these past few days…"
At 6:30 PM, Henry rode out of town alone, galloping across the vast Western landscape. He passed red rock cliffs, rolling hills, salt flats, forests, and dry riverbeds. He saw cacti, tumbleweeds, and Joshua trees, and occasionally startled a rattlesnake, a grey wolf, or a golden eagle. It was, he thought, far more satisfying than driving a Porsche down the Pacific Coast Highway.
About seventy minutes later, he neared the turnoff to the McKinley smelting plant. He immediately spotted four sentries positioned on the hills fifty or sixty meters above the road.
Crack-crack-crack-crack.
Six shots. Three of the sentries collapsed. The fourth reacted just in time, diving behind a rock. "Enemy attack!" he screamed. "Only one man!"
Henry galloped forward two hundred meters, reaching the entrance to the plant. The main gate was wide open. The guards in the watchtowers were already behind cover. They were waiting for him.
He reined in his horse and opened fire on the five guards and one dog patrolling the entrance. They returned fire instantly.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Ten shots. Five or six seconds. All five men and the dog were down. Just then, a sharp pain flared in his brow. Danger.
He immediately wrenched his horse around and fled.
Crack! Crack!
Two more shots from his rifle, and the last sentry on the hill, who had dared to peek out from behind his rock, was shot through the head.
The roar of Gatling guns erupted behind him, almost drowned out by an even more terrifying sound: the thunder of dozens of charging cavalry horses.
Four green pearl husks and six white ones shattered.
Damn it. They had been prepared. The four sentries were just bait.
Henry glanced over his shoulder. Dozens of riders were pouring out of the factory. He was already back on the main road, but they were only 350 meters behind him.
He dug his spurs into his horse's flanks and charged toward the first bend in the road, two hundred meters away, a storm of lead and fury hot on his heels.