Daisler had been in charge of the Denver black market for over four years. He had been ordered here to establish the intelligence and trade hub three months before Colorado even became a state. He was due for a transfer at the end of the year; the organization's leadership rotated every five years.
In his time here, Daisler had grown to love the feeling of pulling the strings from behind the curtain. He was the underground lawman of Denver, the city's uncrowned king.
He had seen gunslingers like Henry before. A man's skill with a gun, no matter how fast or precise, had its limits. In the mountain wilderness, Henry was a king. But in a city like Denver, he was a dead man walking. No one could maintain that level of vigilance forever. With a bounty this high, a bullet could come from anywhere, at any time.
His only real concern was that the McKinley family would get to Henry first, denying the black market its ten percent commission on the bounty. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Besides, there was a unique pleasure in crushing a rising star, a pleasure that nothing else could quite match.
Daisler sighed and glanced down at his own slight paunch. He, too, had once been a handsome young gunslinger.
It was nearly 6 PM when Henry's party arrived at the Mellon estate. It was another Victorian-style manor, with a three-story main house that had more than enough room to accommodate everyone. The staff, already familiar with Richard and Madeline from their previous stay, quickly prepared rooms for the new arrivals and began to make dinner.
But Richard soon received an invitation, delivered by Brendan McKinley's own steward, Elendt. Dinner, at 7 PM.
Richard understood Brendan's anxiety. After a brief discussion with Madeline, he asked Edith to host Henry's party in their absence, and the two of them departed for the McKinley manor.
After they had left, Henry gave his own orders.
"I have business to attend to. I may be out all night."
"This estate has no guards of its own. Charles, Owen, each of you will take three men, not including Pete, and set up a rotating watch at the four corners of the property."
"Bick, you'll be with Charles's team. When I return, you will be a free man."
The young outlaw mustered his courage. "Sheriff Henry, I'd like to work for you, if you'll have me."
Henry smiled. "I have certain requirements for the men who work for me. We'll talk when I get back. For now, just do your job well."
"Yes, Sheriff!" Bick said, and immediately went to join Charles's team.
Edith and Linda were washing up. Not wanting to disturb them, Henry asked Pete to pass on his plans, then went to the stable and retrieved the brown quarter horse he had infused with a husk. He saddled the animal and rode off.
His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. Seeing no one suspicious, he spurred the horse toward a grove of aspen trees five hundred meters away. After rounding two bends, just before he reached the woods, he looked back. The road was empty. No one was following him.
He rode into the trees.
He stored the quarter horse, then changed his clothes, swapping his grey shirt and blue jeans for a blue canvas shirt and grey trousers. He exchanged his brown boots for a black pair and his wide-brimmed hat for a newsboy cap. He then applied a thick, dark brown beard and mustache.
Finally, he summoned a new mount: a grey-white Appaloosa, its coat covered in leopard-like spots. He swung into the saddle and rode out the other side of the woods.
A few minutes later, he passed the Hamlet Saloon. It was in the east end of the city, just as Drummond had said.
He rode two hundred meters past the saloon, turned into an empty alley, dismounted, and stored the Appaloosa. Then he walked back toward the saloon on foot.
He pushed through the swinging doors. The ground floor was laid out much like the Phoenix, with a pool table and a boxing ring in the corners. A large crowd was gathered around the ring, cheering on two bare-knuckle fighters who were trading brutal, bloody blows.
Henry's tall, 1.86-meter frame immediately drew the attention of the two bartenders. The average man in this era was much shorter; he stood out like a giant.
He walked straight to the bar. "I'm looking for Blackjack," he said to the bald bartender who approached him.
The bartender sized him up, exchanged a few words with his colleague, then came around the bar. He gave a slight jerk of his head, and Henry followed him to a small room near the back door.
"Hand over your weapons," the bartender said. "You can pick them up on your way out. You'll be searched. Any weapon you're caught with will be confiscated, and you'll be punished. Don't try anything clever."
Henry just shrugged. "I know the rules. I'm not carrying."
The bartender gave him a skeptical look. "You don't want to find out what the punishment is. Now, the deposit is one hundred dollars."
Henry pulled twenty five-dollar bills from his pouch. The bartender counted them twice, then took a small, palm-sized wooden token and a black cloth hood from a drawer and handed them to Henry.