These next few days, before the new officers were recruited and trained, would be the most dangerous time for the town.
And now, as Sheriff, any crime that occurred would fall on his shoulders. A series of major, violent incidents would be a devastating blow to his reputation.
With that thought, Henry put on his coat, his bowler hat, and his badge, and stepped out into the night to begin his patrol.
He didn't bother calling Pete or the others. If there was danger, he didn't want to risk losing any more men. Besides, with his storage space, he could replenish his food and hot water at any time, or even pull out a chair and rest. A patrol wouldn't be so tiring for him. And if he did find any outlaws, it would be a good chance to gather more Release Pearls.
It's a win-win, Henry thought, silently congratulating himself on his diligence. Before he left, he wedged a single, dry leaf into the door jamb, half a meter from the floor.
He planned to patrol until 1 AM, focusing on the areas around Linda's house, Pete's house, the Mayor's manor, and the four saloons. A man had to prioritize his friends.
He checked his Patek Philippe. It was 10:28 PM. Only two and a half hours of overtime.
The sky was completely dark now. Aside from the saloons, every house was shuttered. The occasional gas lamp cast a warm, yellow glow, seeming to ward off the monsters that lurked in the blackness.
He made a pleasant discovery: even with only a few faint stars in the sky, he could see objects clearly within a ten-meter radius. It wasn't as sharp as daylight, but he could make out shapes and silhouettes without a problem. The upgrade to LV 3 Constitution had been well worth the 400 pearls. One more upgrade, he suspected, and he would have perfect night vision.
He headed for Linda's house first.
It was a short, one-minute walk. A single gas lamp illuminated the front of her house, which was surrounded by a small, hundred-square-meter garden enclosed by a meter-high picket fence. It was a playground Bryan had built for his wife and children.
Everything seemed normal. The family's border collie, Paul, was lying listlessly on the lawn. Henry cursed the "lazy dog" under his breath and walked past the garden, heading toward Pete's house.
Wait.
Border collies are herding dogs. They're incredibly alert. And he knew Paul well; every other time he'd come by, the dog had rushed over, tail wagging.
Henry turned and walked back to the garden gate.
He looked closer. Something was definitely wrong. Paul was completely still, in a deep, unnatural sleep. The outlaws must have drugged him recently. They would likely make their move soon, before the effects wore off. It could be poison, but he doubted the dog would have eaten it so easily.
The house itself was dark and silent, all the lights extinguished. Whatever was happening, it was happening here.
Henry stepped back seven or eight meters, melting into the deep shadow of a neighboring house, and waited.
Less than ten minutes later, a small, skinny man in his late twenties crept up to the fence. He saw the motionless dog, leaned over to confirm it was unconscious, then turned and hurried away.
Henry considered following him, but decided to wait. What if there were others? Or if they were splitting their forces? It was better to hold this position.
A few minutes later, four men dressed as cowboys walked up to Linda's front gate. One of them took out a set of lockpicks and went to work.
Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!
The sound of knives slicing through the air.
The three men standing guard only had time to register the knife suddenly sprouting from the back of the lockpick's neck before they felt a cold, sharp sting in their own.
Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!
Four more knives flew, crisscrossing the first set, sinking deep into the throats of all four men. They collapsed in a heap, their hands clawing at their necks as they choked on their own blood.
Henry remained in the shadows, waiting.
A dozen seconds later, his vision updated: one new grey pearl and three white, one of which pulsed with the light of a new skill.
He quickly moved to the bodies, stored them in his space, and then retreated back into the darkness to loot them one by one. It was a decent haul: four daggers, four Colt revolvers, a full set of lockpicks, 48 throwing knives, and a collection of strange vials and powders. It seemed one of the unlucky four had been a master of the thrown blade.
Twenty meters down the road, Gallagher and three other men sat on their horses, each holding the reins of a spare mount, waiting.
Nearly twenty minutes passed with no sign of Royce and his team. The silence from the house was absolute, and with every passing second, it grew more ominous. The men grew anxious.
"I'm done waiting," Gallagher finally said. "Let's go see what's happening. Be ready to shoot."
He spurred his horse forward, the other three close behind.
When they reached the front of Linda's house, they found nothing. No sign of a struggle. It was as if Royce and his men had simply vanished into thin air.
They would soon have no need to worry about it.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Eight knives, seemingly from the netherworld itself, flew from the darkness, two for each of them, sinking into their throats and sending them to the same fate as their comrades.
The dying struggles of the men sent their horses into a panicked frenzy. Henry had used knives precisely to avoid this, but it couldn't be helped.
The four men tumbled from their saddles. One of them got his boot caught in the stirrup and was dragged for a dozen meters before his horse finally stopped. The other mounts quieted down as well.
Lights flickered on in some of the nearby houses, but no one opened their doors. In the dead of night in the West, curiosity was a fatal flaw.
Henry rounded up the four spare horses, then walked over and freed the dead man's foot from the stirrup. He stored all four bodies.
He mounted one of the horses and led the other seven back to the stable next to his house. His grandfather had built it during his ten years as Sheriff; it had room for twelve horses.
After stabling the animals and storing the eight Winchesters from their saddle scabbards, he walked back to Linda's house.
Linda, bless her heart, hadn't noticed a thing. The house remained dark and quiet.
Henry used the lockpicks he'd just acquired to open the garden gate and walked over to Paul. The dog's chest was rising and falling faintly. He was just unconscious. It had been over an hour since he'd been drugged; the effects should be wearing off.
Henry took out a waterskin and poured a stream of cool water over the dog's head.
Paul came to with a start.
"Woof! Woof!" he barked, immediately recognizing Henry and wagging his tail enthusiastically.
"Alright, that's enough," Henry whispered, pulling a large towel from his space to dry the dog off. "Don't wake Linda and the kids."