Henry walked over to Richard and handed the other waterskin to Madeline.
"Sit. Drink. Wash your hands. We'll eat, and then we need to leave this place as soon as possible." He knew their minds were in a state of shock; short, direct commands were all they could process right now.
He walked back to Edith, took the waterskin from her, and gently poured some water over her trembling hands. "There's beef jerky. Take it. Eat."
She followed his instructions like an automaton. He did the same for Richard and Madeline.
As they ate, Henry walked over to the young outlaw who had been mauled by the cougar. The man's face was a mask of agony, his breathing almost imperceptible. Henry let out a long sigh and brought his boot down on the man's throat, ending his suffering.
He then turned his attention to Bick. The young outlaw scrambled backward in terror.
Henry reached down and pulled the gag from his mouth. Bick immediately began to gasp for air.
"Your entire crew is dead. They died on this mountain. I'm giving you one chance. Tell me why I should let you live. Otherwise, you can be buried here with them."
Bick's mind went blank with panic. He was so terrified he couldn't think of a single thing to say.
"Can you drive a four-wheeled carriage?" Henry asked.
"Yes! Yes, I can!" Bick sputtered, latching onto the lifeline. "I grew up on a ranch! I'm an expert driver! Two wheels, four wheels, two horses or four, it's all the same to me!"
"You will drive Mr. Mellon's carriage. If you do a good job, you live."
"Yes, sir! I will!"
Henry confiscated his pistol, then unlocked his handcuffs. "Get the feeling back in your hands and feet. We're leaving immediately."
"Yes, sir!" Bick replied smartly.
"Mr. Mellon, ladies," Henry said, turning to the others. "I still need to go back and get my companions on the other side of the gulch. Where were you headed?"
"I have an appointment to visit Mayor William in Frisco," Richard replied.
"If you want to go to Frisco today, I can only see you through the gulch. After that, Mr. Bick here will have to escort you the rest of the forty-three miles. I have to take my own friends to the train in Denver."
Richard, Madeline, and Edith exchanged a look. They all understood. After what had just happened, they would not travel another mile without a powerful protector.
"Sheriff, please," Richard said, "allow us to accompany you to Denver. We need to regroup and make a new plan."
"Fine. Will you wait here, or come with me to get my friends?"
"We'll go with you. I don't want to spend another minute in this horrible place."
"Then let's move. My friends have been waiting for a long time."
They followed him toward the horse camp. In this era, it was considered a sin for a woman to wear trousers. Edith and Madeline were both dressed in the fashionable bustle skirts of high society. The undergarments were a cage of wire and padding designed to make the rear protrude, while the dress itself was a cascade of decorative fabric. The narrow hem, sometimes trailing on the ground like a fishtail, was elegant and refined, but utterly impractical for walking in the wilderness.
Fortunately, the path from the cave to the horse camp was relatively clear.
When they arrived, they were greeted by a horrific scene.
A massive pack of twenty-two North American gray wolves was feasting on the bodies of the dead outlaws and their horses. The beasts were enormous, nearly two meters long and weighing ninety kilograms, their powerful bodies rippling with muscle.
They looked up as the group approached, their eyes glowing with a feral, green light. Their muzzles were red with blood, and gory saliva dripped from their bared teeth.
Ruth, Edith, Madeline, and Richard froze, their legs turning to jelly.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Henry, standing at the front of the group, raised his rifle and fired. At this range, his aim was perfect. Six shots, six dead wolves.
The rest of the pack charged. They would cover the fifty meters in three seconds.
Henry dropped his rifle, activated his Super Reflexes, and drew his two double-action revolvers.
In less than a second, twelve bullets left the barrels, all of them striking the charging wolves in the head. Half of the shots went straight through their eyes, killing them instantly.
He used a grey pearl to reset his health, holstered the empty revolvers, and drew a single-action pistol, activating his talent again.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
The art of fanning the hammer was reborn. In under a second, he emptied the six-shooter, the bullets striking the last four wolves in the eyes, dropping them in their tracks. Their momentum carried their bodies forward, and they slid to a stop just three meters from his feet.
The entire engagement, from the first shot to the last dead wolf, had taken less than seven seconds.
Edith, Richard, and Madeline stared at him as if he were a living god of war. They finally understood how one man could eliminate a hundred outlaws.
He isn't human.
Bick's mind was completely broken. He now looked upon Henry as a divine being. How blind was Frank, he thought, to make an enemy of a man like this? He got us all killed!
Henry picked up his rifle and led them toward the carriages. Luckily, both the main coach and the luggage wagon were untouched.
Soon, the small party was moving down the mountain path. Henry drove the main carriage, with Edith and Madeline inside. Bick drove the luggage wagon, with Ruth beside him. Richard rode alongside.
When they reached the valley floor, Henry stopped the carriage. "Watch Bick," he told Richard. "I'm going back up for a minute. I'll be right back."
"Bick," he called out, "you want to live, you stay put. Don't even think about running."
"Yes, Sheriff! Don't you worry!" Bick replied quickly. Run? he thought. This carriage can't outrun a horse, and Richard would put a bullet in my back before I got ten feet. And then the devil himself would come for me. Only a fool would run now.