When Henry arrived back at the Sheriff's office, Pete and the other three officers were already there.
After a brief exchange of greetings, Mayor William arrived with the six other members of the town committee.
"You look very handsome today, Henry," the Mayor complimented him. "This is how you were always meant to look."
"Thank you," Henry replied with a nod.
"Where is Ronald?" William continued. "It's nine o'clock. Is he not here yet?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen him this morning," Henry said, then turned to the others. "Pete? Any of you?"
They all shook their heads.
"Pete," William ordered, "go to Ronald's house and see what's keeping him. Tell him to hurry."
Pete nodded and left.
A dozen minutes later, he returned. "He's not there, Mayor. I checked James's house and the others' as well. No sign of any of them."
William conferred quietly with the committee members. They decided to proceed with Henry's inauguration immediately. Once he was Sheriff, finding Ronald would be his own affair.
And so, with Mayor William presiding and the committee as witnesses, Henry raised his right hand and took the oath.
"As a lawman, my fundamental duty is to serve the citizens of this town. I will ensure my private life is beyond reproach. I will never allow personal feelings, prejudices, animosities, or friendships to influence my decisions. I will make no compromise with vice and crime, and will enforce the law with courtesy and without fear or favor. I will never use unnecessary force or accept gratuities. Before God, I dedicate myself to my chosen profession."
When he was finished, Mayor William, on behalf of the town, officially declared Henry Bruce the new Sheriff of Frisco. He pinned the six-pointed star to the left breast of Henry's black vest.
The room erupted in applause.
"At three-thirty this afternoon, we will hold a funeral service at the cemetery for the fallen officers," William told him. "Reverend Phillips has made the arrangements."
"We'll be there," Henry replied.
The Mayor gave him a few more quiet words of instruction before leaving with the rest of the committee.
The department was now down to a skeleton crew: Henry, Pete and the other three officers, a female clerk who managed the archives, and an officer who ran the storeroom. Seven men in total, plus a few coachmen and stable hands.
Henry immediately sent Pete to Dwyer Manor to inquire about Ronald's whereabouts. He then tasked the clerk with posting a notice to hire twenty new officers.
With his orders given, Henry walked into the Sheriff's office, closed the door, and sat down behind the large desk.
He focused his mind. Leave four grey pearls. Use all the others. Upgrade Constitution.
Instantly, the warm current washed over him. His mind was flooded with a lifetime of experience—the phantom memories of a man born with superlative vision, able to clearly see targets two miles away, with dynamic sight twice that of a normal man.
This was followed by an… intimate knowledge of procreation, an instinctive mastery of techniques that far surpassed the ordinary.
Then came a deluge of other skills: the subtle arts of theft, the thunderous rhythm of a machine gun, the meticulous logic of a detective, the graceful steps of the Polka and the Waltz, and the deadly dance of the dagger and the rapier.
When Henry returned to his senses, ten minutes had passed. The constitutional upgrade, it seemed, had added two extra minutes to the process.
He felt no different physically, but when he clenched his fists, he could feel the muscles in his body coil like powerful springs. He had no way to measure it, but he knew he was at least fifty percent stronger than when he first arrived in this world.
Six new skills had been added to his panel.
Skills: Theft LV 3; Machine Gun LV 3; Detective LV 3; Ballroom Dance LV 4; Dagger LV 3; Fencing LV 4
Ballroom Dance LV 4. It seemed some high-society gentleman had met his end in the desolate Western wilderness. The detective skills, he suspected, had come from Deputy Ronald.
He had also gained two new talents. A bountiful harvest.
Now, only four grey pearls remained. His defensive husks numbered 175 grey, 58 white, and 5 green.
For the first time since he'd arrived, Henry finally had a moment to breathe and reflect on the past two days.
It was clear now. The outlaws had been a tool, aimed directly at Sheriff Bryan and his loyal men. The source of the plot was Sean McKinley at Dwyer Manor, and likely the higher echelons of the McKinley family. Sean had been here for nearly a decade, living in peace with the town. Something had changed.
The attacks on Bryan, on him, and on the farmstead—they were all designed to weaken Mayor William and the Sinclair family. This had to be about a new struggle for wealth or power. Either William didn't know the cause, or he wasn't ready to tell him yet.
William's children were all powerful figures in their own right—a banker in New York, a politician in Washington, a mining operator in Denver, another politician in California, and a manufacturer in Chicago. A conflict could have arisen from any of those fronts.
He was now caught in the middle of it. There was no escaping. But how far he would involve himself remained to be seen. As close as he was to the Sinclair family, he wasn't about to work for free.
But one thing was certain: he had to eliminate any and all threats to his own life. If he hadn't acted preemptively, if he had been the one caught in an ambush by 200 riders, the situation would have been dire. Anyone else would have been killed without question.
He began to plan his next steps. After a while, he went to inspect the department's storeroom. He had to have absolute control over every aspect of this office. The man in charge of the stores, Old Whitey, was one of the Mayor's men. He would keep him for now, but he would be replaced as soon as Henry had his own trusted people.
He spent half an hour taking inventory. There were no surprises, though the ton of black powder and two dozen sticks of dynamite were interesting.
Henry gave some instructions to Luke, the officer on duty, and then walked back home.
The moment he stepped outside, he felt the difference. His field of vision was immense. He was keenly aware of the sixteen people within a hundred-meter radius, their appearances and actions reflected perfectly in his mind's eye. It was like something out of the martial arts novels of his past life—a mind like a polished mirror.
He stood in the middle of the main road and looked toward the far end of town. He could see things nearly two miles away with perfect clarity. It had to be one of his new talents. His enhanced constitution had likely amplified his precognitive abilities as well.
He knew, with absolute certainty, that he could now draw and fire his Colt revolver in far less than the blink of an eye.