The first attacker’s knife plunged into the heart of the man Matt was holding. The first attacker realized with shock that he had not only just killed his friend, he was also now at a distinct disadvantage in this fight. Not willing to press his luck any further, he turned and ran off into the night.
The knife wound caused Matt to lose a lot of blood, and feeling faint and nauseous, he dropped the man he was holding, then managed to find his way back into the Sand Spur. His sudden and unexpected entrance startled everyone into silence. He stood just inside the door, holding his hand over his side while blood spilled between his fingers. Despite his nausea and dizziness, Matt could see the expressions of shock on their faces. Even the piano player stopped playing and was now turned all the way around on his bench. Not one person was speaking, and it was so quiet that the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock and the quiet hiss of the burning lanterns.
Matt walked over to the bar, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and put it down in front of the bartender.
“Better make it a whiskey this time,” he said.
Without so much as one word, the bartender responded quickly, putting the glass in front of Matt. He started to pull the bottle back, but Matt reached out and put his hand on the bartender’s arm.
“Leave the bottle,” Matt demanded.
The bartender left the bottle. “Mr. Jensen, you need to see a doctor with that wound.”
“I’ll be fine,” Matt replied, his voice strained. He poured some whiskey into the glass and drank it. Then he opened his shirt, and poured a considerable amount of the whiskey from the bottle over his wound.
The whiskey washed away some of the blood, exposing the wound which, originally was but a thin slice, had been opened up by the exertion of the fight.
The bar girl who had warned Matt now came up to him, holding her petticoat in her hand. She tore it into two pieces, one of which she used to clean the wound, and the other to press over the wound.
“Thanks,” Matt said.
“Damn, Mister, who did this?” the bartender asked.
“They didn’t leave their names,” Matt said as he closed the shirt over the wound.
“They? You mean there was more than one?”
“There’s only one now,” Matt said. “The other one is lying out in the street.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I certainly intended for him to be.”
Matt had saved enough whiskey for one more drink. He poured another glass, tossed it down, set the empty glass on the bar, then turned to address those in the saloon who, after halting all card games, conversation, and drinking at his entrance, continued to stare at the bleeding apparition who stood before them.
“I’ll be going now,” he said with a strained voice. “I don’t want anyone to follow me. If I see anyone following me, I’ll kill them.”
“Like I said, Mr. Jensen, you had better see a doctor,” the bartender repeated.
“I thank you for your concern,” Matt said. “But I’ll be fine.”
Matt looked at the bar girl who had warned him to be alert. He raised his hand to the brim of his hat.
“Miss,” he said. “I’m obliged for your company and your conversation.”
After that, Matt turned and walked away from the bar, growing more dizzy with each step. When he reached the batwing doors he had to reach out and grab the door frame to steady himself. Then, calling on every ounce of reserve strength, he took his hand down, leaving a bloody hand print behind as he stepped outside into the darkness.
Matt mounted Spirit and started away from the saloon.
Chapter Fifteen
When Matt woke up he was lying in a strange bed. He felt some soreness in his side and putting his hand down, felt, not the petticoat he had pressed against the wound, but a well-constructed bandage that was wrapped all the way around his waist.
Matt looked around at the room. Embossed metal tiles covered the ceiling, while twelve-inch crown molding separated the ceiling from the wall. The wall itself was covered with white wallpaper embossed with a pattern of flowers. The furniture, like the bed, was massive and elegant. This was not his room and he had no idea how he got here. The last thing Matt could remember was mounting Spirit and riding away from the saloon, intending to return to Coventry on the Snake.
He tried to sit up, but winced with pain from the effort and had to stay still for a moment until the pain went away. After a moment, he tried again, and this time he was successful. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then realized for the first time that he was naked.
At that very moment the door opened and Matt looked around, quickly, but unsuccessfully for his pistol.
“What are you doing sitting up?” Kitty asked, coming into the room then. “You shouldn’t be getting up yet.”
Frederica, who was carrying a tray, came into the room behind Kitty.
“Lay back down,” Kitty ordered. “We’ve brought your lunch.”
“This isn’t my room, but I must be at your house.”
“Yes, this is my room. And of course you are at my house,” Kitty answered. “Where did you think you were?”
Matt looked around the room and chuckled. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t in Heaven,” he said. “And when I heard someone coming through the door, I thought maybe it was St. Peter coming to tell me that there had been a mistake, and I was going to have to be on the next train out of here.”
Kitty laughed. “I admit, this is much nicer than Captain Mumford’s Home for Wayward Boys and Girls,” she said, “but I wouldn’t exactly call it Heaven. Now, you lie back down like I said.”
“How am I going to eat my lunch if I lie back down?”
“I’m going to feed you,” Kitty said. “Frederica, if you would, please, put his lunch there, on the small table.”
“Si, Señora,” Frederica answered, setting the tray on the table. Matt saw a bowl of soup, a large chunk of freshly baked bread, and a coffeepot.
“Thank you,” Matt said.
“Señor,” Frederica acknowledged with a nod of her head.
“Thank you, Frederica. I can handle it from here,” Kitty said.
Frederica let herself out of the room and shut the door behind her.
“How did I get here?” Matt asked.
“You don’t remember?”
“The last thing I remember is starting to ride away from the saloon.”
Kitty dipped the spoon into the soup, then held it out for Matt. He hesitated.
“It isn’t too hot,” Kitty said. “I let it cool a bit before we brought it up to you.”
Matt took the spoonful, swallowed it, then nodded.
“Oh,” he said. “That is good. That is very good.”
“Thank you. It’s a duck soup that I made myself,” she said. “I even made the noodles.”
Matt took another swallow and smacked his lips appreciatively. “It is very good,” he said again.
He picked up the piece of bread and tore off a piece, then stuck it in his mouth. “Good bread too,” he said.
“So the last thing you remember is riding away from the saloon?”
“Yes. I don’t remember riding out here at all.”
“Not surprising that you don’t remember riding out here, since you didn’t do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you didn’t get very far,” Kitty said. “You got only as far as the school before you fell off your horse.”
“I fell off my horse?” Matt said incredulously. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. That’s not possible.”
“Don’t get your feelings all bruised. Maybe I worded that poorly. What I should have said is that you passed out from loss of blood, then you fell off your horse.”
“All right, that explains that part of it. But if I didn’t ride out here, how did I get here?”
“Millie brought you here.