In less than a second, Henry had reholstered both revolvers.
The crowd hadn't even had time to process what had happened, let alone panic.
"These six were assassins. They're dead now. Everyone remain calm," Henry said, his voice a steady baritone. "Pete, go back to the office, get a wagon to haul these men away, then come back and finish your dinner."
"Right." Pete immediately headed for the door.
"You," Henry said, pointing to one of the saloon's bouncers. "Go get Drummond for me."
The bouncer nodded and quickly left.
Henry walked over to the bodies of the two men by the staircase and gave them a quick search. Aside from twenty-six dollars in small bills and coin, two daggers, two Colt revolvers, and a hundred rounds of .44 ammunition, there was nothing of note.
He checked the other four assassins. It was the same story. They were all broke, with barely a hundred dollars between them.
Henry tossed ten dollars to the red-faced saloon girl—a week's wages for her trouble—then gathered up all the wallets and pistols and had a bartender put them in a sack. In reality, he had already transferred most of the ammunition and all of the cash into his storage space.
By then, Pete had returned with the wagon. Henry called over a few of the larger men to help toss the six bodies into the back.
"Pete, take this bag to the storeroom and then come back and eat. We'll process them later," Henry instructed.
"Yes, sir!" Pete said with a mock salute, then drove the wagon back toward the Sheriff's office.
Drummond, the owner, still hadn't arrived.
Henry walked back to his table and called out, "Let's get that food out here!"
The saloon was now buzzing with excited chatter. A young, bearded cowboy couldn't contain his curiosity. "Sheriff, how did you know they were trouble?"
The room fell silent. Everyone wanted to know the answer. The men were clearly assassins, their guns already drawn. If Henry had been a second slower, who knows who would have been killed.
Henry just smiled. "I'm the Sheriff," he said simply. "It's my job to know."
The crowd was left speechless. If he didn't want to talk, there was nothing they could do. No one dared to press the issue. Questioning a man like that, Sheriff or not, was a good way to end up dead in the street. In a saloon, curiosity was a form of disrespect.
They went back to their own quiet discussions.
The food arrived quickly, Pete's order along with it. Henry dug in, eating with a voracious appetite. By the time Pete returned to the saloon, Henry had already cleaned his plates and was feeling satisfied.
Pete was halfway through his own meal when Drummond finally arrived. He was a man in his forties with a full head of white hair. He'd been a friend of Sheriff Bryan, and knew the original Henry, though not well.
Henry told Pete to take his time, then followed Drummond up to his third-floor office.
After they had taken their seats, Drummond spoke. "Henry, thank you. If it weren't for you, there would have been a massacre in my saloon today."
Henry leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about them," he said, his voice even. "Who were they, and why did they try to ambush me?"
Drummond hesitated. He looked at Henry's expressionless face and felt a shiver run down his spine. He suddenly realized he wasn't talking to the unremarkable young deputy he barely remembered. This was the new Sheriff, a man who had killed over a hundred men in two days and had just added six more to his tally without breaking a sweat.
"Someone put a bounty on your head in the black market," Drummond said, his voice firm. "Ten thousand dollars."
"Can you find out who posted it, or where it originated?"
"No. The information that flows between the saloons is all anonymous. To collect the bounty, you have to go to the black market in Denver."
"Where is it? How do I get in?"
"You need a contact to vouch for you, and a fifty-dollar fee. If you don't have a contact, you can go to the Hamlet Saloon in the east end of the city and pay a hundred dollars. They'll arrange for someone to take you. Everyone inside wears a mask."
A gentle smile touched Henry's lips. "Thank you for the information. Now, tell me about your arrangement with Bryan."
"Aside from the discounts for the department, I paid him thirty percent of my monthly net profit," Drummond replied. "About five hundred dollars."
That was six thousand dollars a year. If Bryan hadn't had to share it, that would be an extra $36,000 over the six years the saloon had been open. Knowing how much he loved Linda, he had probably given it all to her. That was a fortune in this era, more than enough to ensure his family would live comfortably.
"And what did Bryan have to do for that money?"
Drummond looked Henry in the eye. "He ensured the saloon was protected, or that we were compensated for any damages. He made sure no… external factors, could interfere with our daily business."
"Tell me about your business."
"Food, moonshine, girls, lodging, card games, and information brokering."
"Information brokering?"
"We help customers post buy-and-sell notices, sometimes we provide intel from the black market, and we can even act as a proxy to post or submit jobs on a client's behalf through our network."
Drummond paused, then added, "We don't participate directly. We're just middlemen. Bryan even used us to post official bounties sometimes."
"And if Bryan needed information from the black market?"
"He still had to pay the market's price. We just cut our own agent's fee in half. Our fee is usually ten to twenty percent of the information's value."
Henry considered this for a moment. "Alright," he said. "We'll continue this arrangement, with one condition. If you hear any information that concerns my safety, you are to report it to me immediately. You will be compensated for it."
"Of course. Today's information was a public bounty. There's no charge for that."
"Good. My first request is information on the McKinley family—their members, their assets, everything you can find, especially in and around Denver. The more detailed, the better."
"I'll get it for you as soon as possible. We can settle the fee then."
"Excellent," Henry said, standing and extending his hand. "I look forward to a profitable partnership."
Drummond quickly stood and shook his hand. Then, the two men went back downstairs.