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  The two men headed over toward the hardware store. Dismounting, they tied off their horses, then moved in to see what was going on.

  “Damn, Hennessey, lookit that! That’s ole Loomis there!” Taylor said.

  “Yeah, and Malone and Kale,” Hennessey added grimly.

  Loomis, Malone, and Kale, their skin now a pale blue-white, had been tied into their coffins and propped up against the front of the hardware store. On an easel alongside them was a sign:

  EMIL CARTER, photographer:

  Take your picture with dead outlaws,

  25 cents.

  The photographer was doing a booming business by charging citizens twenty-five cents apiece to be photographed standing alongside the bodies. When he saw Hennessey and Taylor looking at the bodies, he smiled broadly and waved at the two men.

  “Would you like your picture took with the outlaws?” he asked. “Just cost you a quarter. And for an extra ten cents, why, you can hold a gun while I take the picture.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Hennessey asked.

  “Could be, some years from now, folks will look at that picture and think you’re the one that brought ’em to justice, never mind that it was Matt Jensen.”

  “Matt Jensen, huh?”

  “Yes, sir, quite the hero he was too, what with killin’ the outlaws and savin’ the train and all. So, what’ll it be, gents? Do you want your picture took with the outlaws?”

  “No, I ain’t interested in that,” Hennessey said. He took in the three bodies with a wave of his hand. “Where’s the other one?”

  “The other one?”

  “There was four of them,” Hennessey said. “Where’s the other one?”

  “Oh, it could be that you are talking about the engineer and the fireman,” the photographer said. “Their bodies have been took down to the Railroad Hall, where they’ll stay till the funeral.”

  The photographer looked back at the three dead outlaws and chuckled. “Don’t reckon these boys will be havin’ much of what you would call a funeral.”

  “I’m not talkin’ about the fireman and the engineer. There was another man with these three,” Hennessey said.

  The photographer shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Sure there was another one, Emil, don’t you mind what the undertaker said? There was one that got runned over by the train.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, I think the undertaker has him somewhere in the back. What’s left of him, that is. Wasn’t nothin’ he could do with that fella ’cept put a few bloody pieces in a box. Surely you don’t want to see him, do you?”

  “No, I reckon not,” Hennessey said.

  “Come on, Al, let’s go get us a drink,” Taylor suggested.

  “Yeah,” Hennessey agreed.

  Five minutes later, the two men were sitting at a table drinking a whiskey. Several others in the saloon were talking about the incident with the train and how heroically Matt Jensen had been in fighting off the would-be robbers and stopping the train.

  “That Jensen fella is one son of a bitch we need to avoid,” Taylor said.

  “Or kill,” Hennessey said as he took another swallow of his whiskey.

  Chapter Twelve

  Matt was passing through the lobby of the hotel when someone called out to him.

  “Mr. Jensen?”

  Looking toward the person who called his name, Matt saw a very short, bald man holding a pencil and a narrow tablet.

  “You are Matt Jensen, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Jensen, my name is Brandon. Alan Brandon. I’m a reporter for the Rocky Mountain News. I would like to do a story about you.”

  Matt was silent for a moment. He didn’t particularly enjoy notoriety, but he didn’t know how to send Brandon away without being rude. He motioned toward the chairs and sofas that were in the lobby. “Would it be all right to talk here?”

  “Yes, sir, this would be fine.”

  “I don’t know understand why anyone would want to do a story about me.”

  “You’re much too modest, Mr. Jensen. You are a hero. The public has a right to know all about you.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, I’m no hero,” he said. “And the public has no right to know anything about me,” Matt replied.

  “Please, Mr. Jensen. I’m just a man trying to make a living,” Brandon replied. “Won’t you let me interview you?”

  Matt let out a sigh. The reporter had taken just the right tack by not saying he would make Matt famous. Matt was not interested in any self-aggrandizement, but he could understand how a man might need to make a living.

  The reporter was someone who belonged to something that Matt referred to as “the other life.” The other life consisted of hardworking, honest men who ranched or farmed, who drove wagons or stagecoaches, who clerked in stores and worked in banks and offices, or who, like this man, worked for a newspaper. It also consisted of the women and children who were there in support of those same hardworking, honest men. And though Matt referred to them as “the other life,” it wasn’t meant as a derisive sobriquet. On the contrary, they were people he admired, respected, and envied.

  “All right,” Matt finally agreed. “Ask your questions, I’ll answer as best I can.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Mr. Jensen,” the reporter said. He raised his pencil to the tablet. “What brings you to Denver?”

  “As it turns out, I wasn’t doing anything in particular, and you can do nothing in particular anywhere. So, I decided to do nothing in particular here in Denver,” Matt said.

  The reporter laughed.

  “Wonder what all the passengers on the Midnight Flyer would say if they knew that their hero was coming to Denver for no reason in particular.”

  “I told you, I’m not a hero,” Matt said.

  “That’s what you told me, all right, but that’s not what the governor’s niece says.”

  “The governor’s niece? What does the governor’s niece have to do with anything?”

  “She says she met you on the train, and she credits you with saving her life.”

  “The governor’s niece?” Matt shook his head. “No, I don’t recall meeting anyone like that.”

  “You didn’t meet the governor’s niece on the train?” Brandon asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

  Matt shook his head. “No.”

  “Hmm. I wonder why Miss McKenzie told me that she met you.”

  “Wait a minute,” Matt said quickly. “Did you just say McKenzie? Would that be Layne McKenzie?”

  “Yes. Layne McKenzie is the governor’s niece,” Brandon explained.

  Matt chuckled, surprised by the announcement. “In that case, I guess I did meet her,” Matt said. “Only, she never told me that she was the governor’s niece.”

  “She is, and if she sings your praises to the governor the way she did to me, why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the governor didn’t invite you to the mansion for a dinner.”

  Matt chuckled. “I don’t think that is very likely.”

  “You would go, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it would depend on what he is serving,” Matt answered easily.

  Brandon chuckled, then continued with the interview. Two days later, the story ran in the newspaper.

  HEROIC ACTION SAVES TRAIN.

  Hero to be Honored.

  On April 5 of this year, passengers on board the Midnight Flyer en route to this city had their journey interrupted by a band of brigands who lay in wait at the crest of Thunder Pass. The outlaws knew that at this point the train would be traveling at no faster than a slow walk, the decreased velocity necessitated by the long, steep climb.

  It was here that the would-robbers managed to board the train, whereupon they immediately began to implement their nefarious plan. They forced the engine to stop; then they sent two men onto the cars to relieve the hapless passengers of any coin of the realm they might be carrying on their person.
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  While the robbers made careful plans as to where, how, and when to board the train, they failed to take into account the presence on board of a man who proved not only to be their nemesis, but more than their equal.

  When one of the robbers entered the car in which Matt Jensen was traveling, the bold young man confronted the bandit, ultimately besting him in a shootout. Jensen then left the train to engage the others, and his spirited attack, though one man against many, interrupted the robbery, setting to flight the remaining outlaws.

  In the meantime, the road agents killed both the engineer and the fireman. Although exact details are unknown, it is believed that the fireman managed to put the engine in motion immediately prior to receiving his fatal wound. That resulted in a drastic increase in the train’s velocity on a section of track that railroad experts deem as quite hazardous due to the many sharp turns that are necessitated by requirements of geography. The train, which should have been traveling at no greater speed than ten miles per hour, was going downhill with the throttle at full open. As a result, it accelerated to an excess of sixty miles per hour.

  Reboarding the train, Jensen realized rather immediately that something was terribly amiss, and he decided upon a course of action that would slow the speeding cars. That course of action, however, required that he reach the engine, and as he was separated from the engine by two express cars that would not allow interior passage, he could accomplish that mission only by climbing over the top.

  It should be noted here that, in addition to the train’s great speed, a raging ice storm added to the danger. Despite these perils, the intrepid Mr. Jensen, with total disregard of and great risk to his own life, braved both elements and the law of physics by climbing to the top of the speeding, oscillating, and ice-covered cars. The realization that the 131 hapless passengers were being hurtled to a sure death, and the concern for their safety being paramount in his mind, Matt Jensen undertook the task before him.

  Our intrepid hero succeeded in reaching the engine cab, where he found Fireman Hank Mabry dead as a result of a gunshot wound. Acting quickly, Passenger Jensen, who knew naught of the operation of a modern locomotive, save that which had been provided him by Conductor Cooper prior to his undertaking the adventure, managed to bring the speeding train to a halt just before it reached Miller’s Curve where, no doubt, it would have plunged over the trestle, resulting in the untimely death of all on board.

  At a special ceremony to be held on the 21st instant, in the ballroom of the Palace Hotel, Governor John Long Routt will present Mr. Jensen with a proclamation expressing the thanks of the State of Colorado. In addition, a representative of the Denver and Rio Grande will give an award of five hundred dollars, and a one year’s free pass upon any Denver and Rio Grande train.

  Matt was sitting at a table in the Parker House Café as he read the article. Although he considered the entire article to have inflated his exploits, it wasn’t until he reached the last paragraph that he reacted. “Wait a minute!” Matt said out loud, even though he was sitting alone at the table. “Nobody said anything to me about some special ceremony.”

  He heard someone clearing his throat and, looking up, saw a tall, thin, bald-headed man sporting a goatee, standing at his table. A pair of pince-nez glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he was carrying a bowler hat.

  “Mr. Jensen?” the man said. “Are you Mr. Matt Jensen?”

  “Yes, I’m Matt Jensen.”

  “My name is George Highgate, Mr. Jensen. I am a private secretary to His Honor John Long Routt, Governor of the State of Colorado.” Highgate handed Matt a small, white envelope. “The governor asked me to give this to you,” he said.

  “What is it?” Matt asked, taking the envelope.

  “It’s not my place to say, sir,” Highgate replied.

  “Fair enough,” Matt said. He opened the envelope, then removed the card.

  The card was beautifully written:

  John Long Routt, Governor of the State of Colorado,

  Requests the presence of Matthew Jensen,

  At a reception in his honor to be held in

  The Ballroom of the Palace Hotel

  On the 29th of April

  “Do you have a response for the governor, Mr. Jensen?” Highgate asked.

  “Yeah, I have a response.”

  “And your response would be?”

  “My response is I’m not going.”

  “But, surely you are not serious sir,” Highgate said, chagrined at the response. “One simply does not refuse an invitation from the governor.”

  “This . . . one . . . is refusing,” Matt said, setting the word one apart as a sarcastic response to Highgate. “Just tell the Denver and Rio Grande to send me a draft for the money.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that,” Highgate replied. He smiled. “The governor anticipated something like this, so he has made getting the money from the railroad company contingent upon you being present for the ceremony.”

  For a brief instant, Matt was angry with the governor for doing that, then realizing that the governor’s method was one sure way of making certain that he attend, Matt smiled.

  “I’ll give the governor this,” he said. “He’s a smart old coot. Because there is absolutely no way I would attend such a thing without this incentive.”

  “Your word for the governor, sir?” Highgate asked.

  “Tell the governor I will be honored to attend,” Matt said.

  Highgate smiled and nodded. “I’m sure that the governor, and his niece, Miss Layne McKenzie, will be quite pleased you have accepted the invitation,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At that very moment, Layne McKenzie was in the same café as Matt Jensen, though she was standing behind a post and a potted plant, keeping herself out of sight. She watched as Highgate approached Matt and presented him with the invitation from her uncle. With Layne was a new friend she had met since arriving in Denver.

  “There he is,” Layne said. “Do you see him?”

  “The man Mr. Highgate is talking to?” Millie replied.

  “Yes.”

  “So that is the dashing and heroic Matt Jensen, is it?” Millie asked. “Oh, my, I can see why you are so taken with him. He is a very handsome man.”

  “Yes, he is,” Layne agreed. She looked at her friend. “Oh, Millie, please don’t stare. I would simply die if he caught us staring at him.”

  “I thought you and he were old friends.”

  “We met on the train,” Layne said. “That doesn’t make us old friends.”

  “Why don’t you introduce me?”

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “I see. You want to keep him for yourself, do you? Well, I can’t say as I blame you.”

  “No, it isn’t that,” Layne said. “It’s just that, well, I rather foolishly threw myself at him on the train. I invited him to call on me when we reached Denver and he hasn’t done so.”

  “He may yet,” Millie suggested.

  Layne shook her head. “I doubt it. It has been nearly two weeks now, and he has made no effort to contact me.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know where to find you.”

  “He knows. When Mr. Highgate delivered my uncle’s invitation to him, I made certain that Mr. Highgate would remind him that I was the governor’s niece.”

  “Well, there you go,” Millie said. “It could be that he is intimidated by you.”

  “What do you mean, intimidated?”

  “You are the governor’s niece, after all,” Millie explained. “I can see how that might give most men pause before they called on you.”

  Layne laughed. “Millie, you are talking about a man who faced a gang of outlaws all alone, then climbed on the top of a train doing sixty miles an hour in an ice storm. I cannot see such a man being intimidated by the mere fact that I am the governor’s niece.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Millie admitted. “I was just trying to give you an excuse for why he hasn’t cont
acted you—other than the fact that he might find you ugly.”

  “What?” Layne gasped, then, as she saw the smile on her friend’s face, they both laughed.

  “I know what you can do,” Millie said.

  “What?”

  “You can invite him to the Firemen’s Charity Ball tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think I could do that,” Layne said. “Ask him to escort me to a dance? That would be very unseemly.”

  Millie laughed. “You aren’t asking him to escort you. You are merely asking him to come to the ball. After all, it is a charitable function. The volunteer fire company will be taking up a collection there, to be used for the widows and orphans fund.”

  “Yes,” Layne said. “Yes, I suppose I could do something like that. That wouldn’t be forward, would it?”

  “Not at all,” Millie said. “Would you like me to come with you? We can ask him now.”

  “Oh, yes. Would you?”

  “Of course I will,” Millie said. “I fear you will never introduce me if I don’t.”

  Layne laughed. “All right, come with me.”

  Layne and Millie walked over to Matt’s table. Seeing them approach, Matt stood.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Jensen,” Layne said. “I wonder if you . . .”

  “Uh-humm,” Millie said, clearing her throat.

  Layne looked at her friend for a second, then smiled as she realized that Millie was hinting at an introduction.

  “Oh, uh, Mr. Jensen, this is my friend Millie St. Cyr.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Jensen,” Millie said, extending her hand palm down.

  Matt took her hand and shook it. The expression on Millie’s face indicated that she had intended him to kiss her hand, but she recovered quickly.