Benjamin understood immediately. Henry wanted to help Linda's family without them knowing.
"Henry, you have a heart of gold. Of course. I will assist you in handling this matter with the utmost discretion."
After finalizing the arrangements, Henry bid the lawyer farewell and walked back to the Sheriff's office.
At that same moment, in Mayor William's study, a private investigator named Raphael was giving his report.
"The Doran and Douglas gangs were almost completely wiped out. We've also confirmed that Ronald McKinley sent James to Dwyer Manor with a letter last night."
"Furthermore, between five and six o'clock this morning, residents of the Maxson Farmstead were awoken by the sound of heavy gunfire coming from the direction of Wild Wolf Valley. They remained on high alert. An hour after the shooting stopped, they sent out a scouting party. They found over one hundred and fifty dead cavalrymen."
"Based on their uniforms and the brands on their horses, they were McKinley family private soldiers. The identity of their dead leader, the infamous 'Hawkeye' Oliver, confirms this."
A flicker of emotion crossed William's eyes. "Hawkeye" Oliver was no common gunman.
Raphael continued his report.
"Shortly after the farmstead's scouts left, a large column of McKinley cavalry arrived at the battlefield to collect their horses and their dead."
"Around 5 AM this morning, Sheriff Henry left town, riding alone. He returned at approximately 7 AM."
"I've placed a watch on Dwyer Manor, but the main body of their private cavalry isn't there. They must have another camp."
William listened to the report, then fell into a long, thoughtful silence. "Send more men to find out what the McKinley prospecting teams have been up to lately," he finally said. "I want to know if they've made any new, major discoveries."
"Understood."
"And Raphael," the Mayor added, his voice low. "Do not, under any circumstances, let Henry know you are investigating him. We cannot afford any misunderstandings."
"Of course, sir."
"That will be all. Keep me informed."
After Raphael left, William sat in silence for a long time. Then, he went to the telegraph office and sent messages to each of his children. He had to get to the bottom of this, and quickly. As the patriarch of Frisco, any threat to the town was a direct challenge to him.
Back at the Sheriff's office, Henry began to pore over the town archives, familiarizing himself with the personnel and layout of the town and its surrounding fifteen-mile radius.
He quickly understood why the town was so prosperous. The region was rich with mines: three large gold mines, five silver mines, five copper mines, eight coal mines, and six gypsum quarries.
Much of the silver ore in the region was mixed with copper or zinc, so the silver and copper mines were often one and the same, their assets simply divided on the account books after smelting and refining.
William Sinclair's family owned two gold mines, one silver mine, one copper mine, and three coal mines.
The McKinley family owned one silver mine, one copper mine, and two coal mines.
The Palermo family owned one gold mine and one coal mine.
Numerous smaller operations also dotted the landscape. The entire town's economy revolved around the mining industry, with a population of miners, prospectors, guards, and merchants all serving the three major families.
The area was also supported by over fifty farms of various sizes, providing the town with meat, vegetables, fruit, and grain. Even so, the demand for meat was so high that from spring to fall, cowboys drove massive herds of cattle up the trails from Texas, through New Mexico, and into Colorado, passing through Denver on their way to towns like Frisco.
The coal, copper, and stone were hauled to Georgetown, twenty miles away, to be shipped out by train. The refined gold and silver were transported under heavy guard eighty-five miles to Denver, home to countless banks and the United States Mint. To be a mining tycoon, you had to have the strength to protect your fortune.
The Frisco Sheriff's Department was mainly responsible for maintaining order within the town itself. The mining companies handled their own security.
Henry counted the open warrants. Thirty-four outlaws were still at large. He'd already cleared eight names from the list in the last two days. After a careful comparison, he confirmed that one of the three bodies he had stored from the first ambush had a bounty of $500. He decided to hold onto it for now; the bodies might have a more suitable use later.
Four hours earlier, in a Victorian manor eighty-four miles away in Denver, the McKinley family patriarch, Brendan, sat with his brow tightly furrowed.
He had received Sean's telegram at 8 AM and now understood the scale of the disaster. The losses were catastrophic. The money he'd paid to the Doran and Douglas gangs was a write-off, a mere fifteen thousand dollars.
The ambush this morning was what truly gutted him. The horses and weapons were nothing. It was the 156 elite cavalrymen that mattered. It took at least five years and over $2,000 to train a single, battle-hardened rider. His entire family only had about 600 such men. In one morning, a quarter of his army had been wiped out. And he still had to pay their families' pensions.
Even with the family's vast wealth, this was a crippling blow. Brendan knew that if he couldn't secure that gold mine, his time as patriarch was coming to an end.
His foolproof plan had been shattered by the sudden appearance of a boy named Henry.
And now, William Sinclair, no matter how slow he was, would surely sense that something was wrong. The back-to-back failures had exposed too much. Ronald, he assumed, had likely been captured or killed by William.
Brendan let out a long sigh. When he'd first proposed this risky plan, three of the six family elders had opposed it. Now, a swift, decisive victory was impossible. He was forced to consider the elders' original proposal: approach William Sinclair and try to negotiate for a share of the profits. After all, the discovery of the mine had been a stroke of luck. If his prospectors hadn't found it, the Sinclairs might never have known it was there.
He hadn't made a direct move against any of the core Sinclair family members yet. There was still room to negotiate.
But first—Henry must die.
Brendan swore the oath through gritted teeth.
The timing was too perfect. Henry had left town at 5 AM and returned two hours later, coinciding exactly with the time of the ambush. He had to be one of the gunslingers, if not the only one.
A blood debt must be paid in blood.
Killing him would also serve as a show of force, to prove the McKinley family was not as weak as this disaster made them seem. It would put them in a stronger position for the coming negotiations with the Sinclairs.