To shoot a man in a drunken stupor or to put a cold bullet through his skull from the shadows of a midnight alley—that was the way of the West. The common folk talked of gunfights, not duels.
The many duels Barrett had fought in his past were all formal affairs. The average man would much rather ambush his enemy and blow his brains out before he could draw.
And, as it happened, two groups of outlaws were planning to do just that to Henry.
Aside from the truly elite assassins who were confident in their own skills, most who came for Henry's bounty would operate in gangs. Otherwise, even if they got lucky and claimed his head, they'd never make it out of the eighty-five miles of treacherous mountain roads alive.
The first was the Wild Wolf Gang, twelve men strong, led by a man named Wolf.
The second was the Skull Gang, eight men led by a man named Bond.
Both were notorious, ruthless, and highly successful gangs with a long list of crimes to their names. They had arrived in town that morning, posing as ranchers and fur traders. They had already heard how the assassins from the day before had all been sent to hell by Henry, so they had spent the day scouting the town and planning their attack.
The news of the duel was a godsend.
There's no way Henry can focus on a duel with Barrett and watch out for other gunmen at the same time, right? they all thought. If we don't put a dozen holes in him, it won't be worth the ride to get here!
It was nearly 10 PM when Henry left the saloon. He decided to use the time to patrol the town and think.
As for the duel with Barrett, he wasn't concerned in the slightest. From the moment Barrett had insisted on the duel, he was a dead man in Henry's eyes. It didn't matter what Barrett's reasons were, or how honorable his intentions. Henry would kill him.
The logic was simple and cold. As a master gunslinger, Barrett would have an uncanny feel for his own shots. He would know, instinctively, if a bullet that should have hit its mark had somehow missed. He would sense the secret of Henry's invulnerability, even if he couldn't explain it.
In a chaotic gunfight, with bullets flying everywhere, no one could tell which shot was meant for whom. But in a one-on-one duel, the truth would be exposed.
Therefore, Barrett, as a potential witness, had to die.
Besides, even if Barrett survived the duel, he would be wounded. He would likely never return to his peak condition. His value would be greatly diminished.
The real problem on Henry's mind was how to get Linda to the Denver train station safely.
Frisco was nestled deep in the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by peaks that soared over 4,000 meters high. The terrain was a maze of mountains, plateaus, and basins, crisscrossed by dry riverbeds and steep cliffs—a perfect landscape for an ambush. If he was going to escort Linda through eighty-five miles of that, he had to be extremely careful.
Taking the train from the closer town of Georgetown was out of the question. That line was primarily for freight; the passenger cars were few and slow. A train moving at 20 kilometers per hour through the winding mountain passes would be an easy target for mounted outlaws.
No, taking the train was impossible. He had to be in control of his own fate.
He patrolled until 1 AM before returning home to rest.
The next morning, the moment Henry arrived at the office, Pete rushed into his room and closed the door.
"Henry, what are your chances in the duel?" Pete asked, his face etched with worry.
"One hundred percent, of course," Henry said with a smile. "Did you place a bet?"
"No," Pete said, throwing his hands up. "I can't gamble with your life."
A warmth spread through Henry's chest. "You don't have to worry. I put two hundred dollars on myself. Now listen, I'm assigning four men to you. I want you to take them to Linda's house and stand guard. I'm worried someone might use the duel as a distraction to make a move on her. Tell her not to worry about me."
"Right," Pete said, his expression hardening with resolve.
After giving his orders, Henry went to the church in the town square to speak with Pastor Philip.
The morning passed quickly.
Half an hour before noon, Henry arrived at the square with Luke and sixteen of the new deputies. He had them sweep the six elevated positions that overlooked the square, leaving two men to stand guard at each one. He handed his own "One of 'One Thousand" Winchester to Luke, who, along with four other deputies, was tasked with maintaining order around the square.
The square itself was a fifty-by-fifty-meter patch of open ground. Unlike a formal European duel, there were no seconds to inspect the weapons, no rules about the number of shots. And there were no restrictions on how many guns a man could carry.
Pastor Philip made one last attempt to dissuade both men. When he saw it was no use, he instructed them to take their positions.
The town was laid out on an east-west axis, and the two men now stood thirty meters apart in the center of the square, facing each other along the same line. The duel was set for high noon, when the sun was directly overhead, ensuring neither man would be blinded by the glare.
The day was clear and hot. A heat haze shimmered off the ground.
The crowd was packed two or three deep along the north and south sides of the square, a silent audience of four or five hundred people. Mayor William and his six guards watched from the church steps.
Meanwhile, the Wild Wolf Gang and the Skull Gang had taken up positions within the crowd, one gang to the north of Henry, the other to the south. Each gang, unaware of the other's presence, silently praised their leader's cunning. They had chosen to fire from the crowd rather than the rooftops, which Henry's men had just secured. Their ambush was perfectly in place.