After wiping the dog down, Henry filled its bowl with fresh water. Paul, still thirsty from the effects of the drug, immediately trotted over and began to drink.
When he was finished, Henry patted the dog on the head. "Stay alert," he said quietly. "I'm leaving."
He walked out of the garden and locked the gate behind him. Paul let out a few low barks, as if saying goodbye.
With the dog awake and on guard, Henry could now begin his patrol with peace of mind. He would just have to swing by every half hour or so to check on the house.
He walked twenty meters down the street, back into the shadow of a neighboring house, and began the process of looting the bodies he had stored. There were no major surprises this time, just four more daggers, four revolvers, over three hundred rounds of .44 ammunition, and $426 in cash. One of the men had been carrying $312 all by himself.
To his surprise, Henry found that when he held the paper bills up to his face, he could clearly read the denominations in the pitch-black darkness. His constitution was truly not far from granting him perfect night vision.
He had also gained one new green pearl, containing a skill, and three grey pearls. He now had enough to upgrade his Handgun Mastery to LV 4.
Satisfied, Henry began his patrol. He would check the bounty lists tomorrow. If these eight men weren't wanted, he wouldn't even mention the incident at the department.
The next hour passed quietly. A few minor scuffles broke out at a couple of the saloons, but that was it. The Sheriff's office didn't get involved in drunken brawls. Either the patrons sorted it out themselves, or the saloon's bouncers handled it.
He made one last pass by Linda's house, found nothing amiss, and then returned to his own stable. He unsaddled the eight horses and stored the saddles in his space.
He approached his front door cautiously. The dry leaf was still wedged in the jamb. He unlocked the door and went inside, locking it behind him.
He had gained 1 green pearl, 3 white, and 4 grey pearls tonight. His total was now equivalent to 108 grey pearls.
He focused his mind. Leave one white pearl and three grey pearls. Use the rest to upgrade Handgun Mastery.
Instantly, the warm current washed over him. His mind was flooded with new experiences: the knowledge of operating a steam locomotive; the art of grilling every kind of meat; the instincts of a master survivalist; the rhythmic steps of a tap dancer.
And finally, a lifetime of experience with single and double-action revolvers. He felt he had reached the legendary state of man and gun becoming one. He could now perform the "Fanning the Hammer" technique with flawless precision, emptying a six-shooter in a blur of motion.
The technique, a cornerstone of the so-called "American Iaijutsu," was an art form, a belief in the romantic, deadly perfection of the draw. It was a faith as deeply held as the Chinese devotion to their legendary martial arts.
In his past life, a man named Bob Munden had been a grandmaster of this art, named by the Guinness World Records as "The Fastest Man with a Gun Who Ever Lived" He could draw and accurately hit five different targets in under a second. In the hearts of Americans, he was a sword saint.
Henry knew, with absolute certainty, that he was now every bit as fast as Munden, if not faster. His two constitutional upgrades meant that his enhanced physique would amplify the skill to an even greater degree. It was like boxing; there were many champions with skills comparable to a prime Mike Tyson, but against Tyson's sheer power, they would go down with a single punch.
It was past 2 AM by the time Henry finally went to sleep.
When he woke in the morning, he went to the Sheriff's office and gave the stable hand thirty dollars, hiring him to help feed the horses in his private stable for a month, using the department's hay. The horses were all good stock; he intended to keep them for his own private use in the future.
Meanwhile, in a saloon in the city of Pueblo, a skinny cowboy with buck teeth pulled his wide-brimmed hat down low and stepped inside.
He was an unassuming figure, but he was the legendary gunslinger known as Billy the Kid—a master of the twin pistols, with a draw faster than a striking snake. It was said he could draw and fire in 0.3 seconds.
Billy had made his name in the Lincoln County War in New Mexico. After his employer was murdered, he and a few others had formed a gang and waged a bloody war of revenge, even killing the local Sheriff. He had since killed over twenty other notorious outlaws, his fame growing with each body he dropped.
The bounty on his head was now five thousand dollars—a king's ransom. He had been laying low, following the old cattle trails from New Mexico up into Colorado to let the heat die down. With such a high price on his head, he didn't even dare go to the saloons at night, forced to sneak in for a drink in the early morning.
The Jenson Saloon was a small, dingy place. A ten-meter-long, U-shaped bar dominated the room, which had only six tables. Three rough-looking men were playing cards at one of them.
Billy the Kid walked up to the bar and placed a ten-cent coin on the polished wood.
"Two bourbons," he said, his voice flat.
The bartender, a balding, middle-aged man, deftly swiped the coin from the bar and poured two glasses from a bottle.
Billy picked up one of the glasses and downed it in a single gulp.
The moment he set the glass back down, he spat the foul liquid onto the floor. In the same instant, the black, gaping maw of a Colt 1873 was pressed against the bartender's forehead. The man's eyes were wide with shock; he hadn't even seen him move.
"You dare try to pass off that 'bug poison' on me?" Billy the Kid said, his voice cold as a grave.
"Bug poison" was saloon slang for cheap, fake whiskey—a shot of low-grade alcohol mixed with burnt sugar and a bit of chewing tobacco.