Agent Baker says that he has no idea why Delshay abandoned his peaceful residence at the reservation to, once again, take up the warpath.
“We treat our Indians with kindness, providing them with food and shelter. It defies all logic and understanding as to why some of them would leave a situation where all the necessities of life are furnished, in order to take up the warpath against the very whites who feed, clothe, shelter, and protect them.”
“Ah, there you are, Hendel,” Bixby said, coming down the stairs into the lobby. “Have you located a conveyance?”
“Yes, Mr. Bixby,” Hendel said. “The Sundown Corral will provide a buckboard and team for a dollar-fifty.”
“A dollar-fifty?” Bixby replied. “Did you tell them I will only be using it for half a day?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Otherwise, it would have been three dollars.”
“Why, that is an outrage! An absolute outrage. Could you find nothing less expensive?”
“I shopped around,” Hendel said. “That was the best offer I could find.”
“Very well, if that is the absolute best offer, then it will have to do. I do resent, however, that they are taking advantage of me because I am a visitor to this desolate place.”
“I believe that is the price they charge everyone,” Hendel replied.
“Of course you would believe that. You are very good with numbers, Hendel, but you are very naive when it comes to business.”
“If you say so, Mr. Bixby.”
Bixby didn’t reply because he didn’t quite know how to react to Hendel’s response.
“Yes, well, Cynthia and I will be taking our lunch now. We’ll leave first thing this afternoon. If Dan Conway shows up at the hotel looking for me, tell him I will meet with him tomorrow morning.”
“I thought Mr. Conway was going with you.”
“I decided I would rather look at the land myself first. I don’t want Conway trying to influence me.”
“Oh, Mr. Bixby, I don’t know if that is such a good idea,” Hendel said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it may not be wise for you and Mrs. Bixby to go out on your own. I’m not sure it’s all that safe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bixby said. “Safe from what?”
“Indians.”
Bixby laughed. “Indians? Where did you get such an idea?”
Hendel showed Bixby the newspaper he had been reading. Bixby looked at it for a moment, then handed it back.
“Stuff and nonsense,” he said. “That’s just a story to sell newspapers. Obviously, it’s some fool Indian who has gone off on his own. It isn’t as if there is an Indian war going on.”
“Still, I would feel better if you had someone local with you. Someone who knows the geography and can keep you out of trouble.”
“You don’t worry about me,” Bixby said. “I will be just fine. What I want you to do is to make certain that the transfer of funds between my bank and the local bank is going through all right.”
“Yes, sir,” Hendel said. Looking toward the stairs, Hendel saw Cynthia coming down into the lobby, and he stood quickly. “Good morning, Mrs. Bixby. My, what a pretty green dress you are wearing.”
“Why, thank you very much for noticing, Mr. Hendel,” Cynthia said, smiling prettily. “Isn’t it a lovely day today?”
“Yes, it is indeed,” Hendel replied.
“Jay and I are going to take our breakfast now,” Cynthia said. “Won’t you join us?”
“Hendel doesn’t have time to join us,” Bixby said, speaking before Hendel could answer. “I have given him a task to perform and it must be taken care of promptly.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Bixby is correct,” Hendel said. “I do have a task to perform that may keep me busy for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, such a shame,” Cynthia said. She smiled again. “Perhaps you can take you lunch with us when we return.”
“I shall endeavor to do so,” Hendel said.
“For crying out loud, Cynthia, you aren’t arranging a social,” Jay said. “We are out here on business, and Hendel is an employee, not a personal friend.”
“On the contrary, Jay,” Cynthia replied. “Mr. Hendel has been a close personal friend for more years than I have even known you.”
“Nevertheless, he is a mere employee, and I do wish you would remember to keep things at that level. Now, come, we can’t tarry here all day.”
Maison Doree Restaurant
Five hundred dollars richer, due to his share of the bounty paid for the three would-be stagecoach robbers, Matt Jensen was enjoying his breakfast in the Maison Doree, advertised in the paper as: “The finest restaurant in Phoenix—meals served with European flavor—a new French Chef in residence.”
He had just started on his omelet when he saw Bixby and his wife come in. Cynthia saw him and smiled broadly.
“Mr. Jensen, how nice to see you,” she said. “I hope you are having a pleasant meal.”
Matt stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Bixby, I am enjoying my meal,” he said.
“Cynthia,” Bixby said gruffly. “I told you not to speak to that man. Come.” He led her to a table in the back of the room and Matt, smiling and shaking his head, sat back down to finish his breakfast.
“Jay, there was no need for you to be rude to Mr. Jensen,” Cynthia said as the two of them sat at their table in the rear of the restaurant.
“I told you I didn’t want you to have anything to do with him,” Bixby said. “The man is a cold-blooded killer.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Cynthia said. “He had every right to shoot those robbers. In fact, I think he may have saved our lives.”
“Regardless of what you think of his heroics, you are to have nothing more to do with him. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Cynthia said.
“Good. Now, eat quickly. I want to go out and get a good look at the land I’m going to buy, and I expect that will take the rest of the morning.”
At the other end of town, Sheriff Williams sat at the desk in his office processing the papers that had authorized payment of the bounty for the three would-be stagecoach robbers.
“One thousand, five hundred dollars,” he said aloud.
“What?” The response came from Norman Keith, who was serving three days for public drunkenness.
It wasn’t the sheriff’s policy to arrest everyone who got drunk, but Keith had a habit of getting drunk and urinating in public, thus becoming a regular in the Phoenix jail.
“I said one thousand, five hundred dollars,” Sheriff Williams repeated. “That’s how much bounty we just paid to Pinkie’s widow and that Jensen fella for killin’ the three stagecoach robbers. That’s a lot of money.”
“I agree, fifteen hundred dollars is a lot of money. But consider this, Sheriff. When one engages armed robbers to earn it, one should certainly be allowed to keep the fruits of such a hazardous enterprise,” Keith said.
“I don’t know. I have to do that—that hazardous enterprise you were talking about—all the time because it’s my job,” Sheriff Williams said. “And I only get thirty dollars a month for doin’ it.” He pulled his pistol, looked at it for a moment, then spun the cylinder. “I suppose I could always quit being a sheriff and become a bounty hunter,” he said.
Keith laughed.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I’m laughing at the notion of you being a bounty hunter,” he said. “Come on, Bob, could you see your wife letting you do that? You aren’t a bounty hunter, you’re a sheriff. And I’ll admit that you are a pretty good sheriff, but that’s all you will ever be.”
Williams laughed as well. “Oh, my, and comin’ from the town drunk, I reckon I should be all worried about that,” he said.
“I guess you got me there,” Kieth said. “Only, just remember, I haven’t always been a drunk.”
Norman Keith was right, he hadn’t always been a drunk. At one time he was an English professor at Tempe Normal, but a fire in his campus home had taken the life of his wife and two small children. Unable to cope with the grief, Keith had abandoned academia and begun drinking.