Massacre at Powder River Read online

  “What do you want to meet him for? He ain’t hirin’ nobody,” Ian said.

  “He’s already hired me,” Matt said.

  “Hired you to do what?” Ian asked.

  “Well, now, I’m afraid I can’t answer that question,” Matt said. “He sent me a letter, but he didn’t say what he wanted me to do.”

  “Mr. Frewen sent you a letter?” Ian asked.

  “He did.”

  “You got that letter with you?”

  “I do.”

  “Let me see it,” Ian said.

  “Now, Ian, that sounds like a demand,” Matt said. “And if you stop and think about it, seeing as how I am pointing a gun at you, you really aren’t in position to make any demands, are you?”

  Ian and Johnny exchanged glances.

  “No, sir,” Ian said, sheepishly. “Now that you mention it, I don’t reckon I am.”

  “All right, since you’ve taken that attitude, I’ll let you see it,” Matt said. He took the letter from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ian.

  “But I’m going to take it as a real unfriendly act if something happens to that letter while it’s in your hands,” Matt said.

  “He didn’t say nothin’ to us about hirin’ someone,” Ian said, before he started to read the letter.

  “Does he tell you all his business?” Matt asked.

  “No. But since we’re supposed to keep strangers off the property, you would think we would have heard something, don’t you?”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” Matt said.

  “Holy shit!” Ian said looking up from the letter at Matt. “Are you Matt Jensen?”

  “I am.”

  “Let me see it,” Johnny said.

  Ian handed the letter to Johnny, and Johnny took a moment to read it.

  “Looks like the boss’s writin’,” Johnny said.

  “It is real,” Matt said. He held his hand out. “Could I have my letter back, please?”

  Johnny returned the letter. “What do you think we ought to do, Ian?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, what should we do? Are you crazy? Didn’t you read the letter? This is Matt Jensen, for God’s sake.”

  “I’ll tell you what to do. Take me to him,” Matt said. “I don’t want to get jumped by anyone else. They may not be as intelligent as you two are, and I might wind up having to kill them.”

  “All right, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Ian said. “We’ll take you.”

  Back at the house, Frewen got up from his chair, crossed the room and planted a kiss on the lips of his beautiful wife.

  “My dear,” he said. “Don’t you know that my life started when I met you? Compared to that lucky day when you agreed to become my wife, nothing from my past—no dalliance, no adventure, no accomplishment of any kind—could ever be of any import.”

  Clara smiled. “You do have a way of smoothing my feathers, don’t you, Moreton?”

  Frewen returned her smile. “Lord, I certainly hope so,” he said.

  Moreton Frewen’s “gentleman’s gentleman” stepped into the drawing room.

  “Sir Moreton, there is a gentleman by the name of Matt Jensen to see you.”

  “He’s here? Good, good, show him in, would you please, Benjamin?”

  “Who is Matt Jensen?” Clara asked as Benjamin left.

  “He is someone that I hope I can convince to do some work for me,” Frewen replied.

  When Matt was led into the drawing room, he saw as handsome a couple as he had ever seen. The woman was blond and beautiful, the man tall and handsome, with a well-groomed mustache. Both were elegantly dressed.

  “Mr. Jensen, thank you so much for coming,” Frewen said.

  “I must confess, Mr. Frewen, that your invitation was quite compelling,” Matt said. “In fact, I would say that it provided me with five thousand reasons to come.”

  Frewen chuckled. “I hoped that would get your attention. I’ve read a great deal about you, Mr. Jensen. I knew that if I had any hope of getting your attention, I would have to do something dramatic.”

  “You got my attention,” Matt said.

  “Good.” Frewen turned toward Clara. “Clara, would you excuse us, please, my dear? Mr. Jensen and I are going to talk some business and I fear that some of it might not be suitable for a lady’s ears.”

  “Very well,” Clara replied without protesting. She flashed a big smile toward Matt. “If you would excuse me, Mr. Jensen?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Matt replied with a slight nod of the head.

  Frewen waited until after Clara was gone before he resumed the conversation.

  “I hear that there was some unpleasantness last night in the pub.”

  For a second, Matt had to think about what Frewen was talking about. Then he realized the pub Frewen was talking about was The Lion and The Crown Saloon.

  “Yes, I’m afraid there was,” Matt said. “The man I shot, Kyle Houston, said that he had been hired to kill me.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have hired him?” Matt asked.

  “My foreman and I were discussing that same subject,” Frewen said. “And we have come up with the idea that it may have been Sam Logan.”

  “Sam Logan?”

  “Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Only that you mentioned him in your letter.”

  “Yes, well, he is an outlaw, though I have heard that at one time he was a peace officer. I do find that hard to believe, though. I mean, why would a former peace officer become an outlaw?”

  “It’s really not all that hard to believe,” Matt said. “The West is full of outlaws who have gone straight and started wearing a badge, as well as peace officers who have crossed the line to become outlaws.”

  “Then perhaps the rumors are true. Whatever his background, he is affiliated with a very active gang of cattle rustlers who are operating here in Johnson County with absolute impunity. They call themselves the Yellow Kerchief Gang because they all wear a yellow kerchief, as if it is a point of great personal pride. And, I am sorry to say, they have already killed six of my men, to say nothing of the cattle they have stolen.”

  “Thank you for the way you put that,” Matt said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When you said that they were causing you trouble, you put the lives of your men above the loss of your cattle. Not all ranchers would do that.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Jensen, I feel the loss of each life most intensely.”

  “Did you tell anyone you were contacting me?” Matt asked.

  “I did, actually,” Frewen replied. “I hoped that just the knowledge that you might be working with me would cause Mr. Logan to have second thoughts about stealing cattle from me.”

  “How does Logan work?”

  “Well, as I said, he is the head of the Yellow Kerchief Gang, and they have gotten very bold, because now they are quite large. They succeed by overwhelming numbers. And Logan seems to understand military tactics. He knows where he will be able to enjoy numerical superiority, and he will ride in, bold as you please, with a group of ten or twelve men against two or three, four at the most, and proceed to cut out cattle. On one such raid, he took over fifteen hundred cattle.”

  “So, what, exactly, do you want from me, Mr. Frewen?”

  “I want you to protect me and mine,” Frewen replied.

  “For how long?”

  “At least until we are able to take our cattle to market.”

  “All right,” Matt agreed.

  “Oh, and there is one more thing,” Frewen said.”

  “What would that be?”

  “My sister-in-law and her young son Winnie are coming to America for an extended visit. They will arrive by train in Medicine Bow on Friday. From there, they will have to travel by stagecoach until they reach Sussex. If you would, I would like for you to be there to meet them, then ride in the coach with them back here to the ranch. I know that may sound a bit odd to you, but I’m more
than just a little concerned about their safety.”

  “All right, I’ll do that,” Matt agreed. “But tell me, do you have any specific reason to be worried? Is there something I should know?”

  “I have no specific reason to be worried,” Frewen admitted. “It is just a feeling I have. I’m sure it’s foolish.”

  “Not foolish at all,” Matt said. “I stay alive by paying attention to such feelings.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Two days later, Teasdale left Thistledown and rode out to Nine Mile Creek, again going through the ritual of displaying a yellow flag tied to the barrel of his rifle. There were half a dozen horses tied up out front, and when Teasdale dismounted and tied his own horse off, Sam Logan stepped out onto the front porch.

  Logan was holding a cup of coffee, and he had a yellow kerchief at his neck.

  “Hello, Bill,” Logan said.

  Teasdale winced. “You don’t have to call me Sir William, as I know that there is no regard for titles in this country. But I would prefer it if you would call me Mr. Teasdale.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want. I just thought that, what with us bein’ friends and all, that we would be callin’ each other by our Christian names.”

  “We are not friends, and there is certainly nothing Christian about our relationship,” Teasdale said. “We have a mutually beneficial working partnership, and that is all.”

  “Well, Mr. Teasdale, if you ain’t too good to drink coffee with us, come on in and have a cup,” Logan invited.

  “I’ll do that,” Teasdale replied.

  There were five others inside the shack who, like Logan, were all wearing yellow kerchiefs.

  “I am sure you have heard by now what happened to Kyle Houston,” Teasdale said.

  “I’ve heard.”

  “I thought you said he would be able to take care of this man, Jensen,” Teasdale challenged.

  “I thought he would,” Logan said. “You don’t think I would send my own cousin out to be killed, do you?”

  “Well, he was killed, and this puts us back to where we started.”

  “Not quite where we started,” Logan replied with a big smile. “I’ve got another hundred and fifty cows for you,” Logan said. “That will be another seven hundred fifty dollars.”

  “Where did you get them?” Teasdale asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. You know damn well it matters. I told you, I will support you and your people only so long as you continue to conduct all of your operations against the Powder River Cattle Company, Limited.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you that we did take these cows from the Englishman,” Logan said. “And I’ve already got my men changing the brands.”

  “Good,” Teasdale said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of Matt Jensen, does it?”

  “You don’t have to worry about Matt Jensen. I’ll find a way to take care of him.”

  “You are going to take care of him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want to deal with him.”

  “I don’t want to deal with him alone, and I won’t. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be dealt with.”

  Teasdale smiled. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “And you’ll have a few days to decide how to do it, since he’s going to be gone from now until Friday.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “He is taking a stagecoach down to Medicine Bow to meet Frewen’s sister-in-law and nephew. He is going to ride back in the stagecoach with them.”

  “Is he now?” Logan said. “Hmm, that is interesting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean being in a box like that, riding in the coach and all, Jensen is going be sort of hog-tied. That will make it easier to get to them.”

  Because Matt would be riding from Medicine Bow to Sussex on the stagecoach with Mrs. Churchill and her son, he decided to leave Spirit back at Frewen’s ranch and make the trip to Medicine Bow on the coach. That gave him the opportunity to scout the terrain on the way down, to pick out areas where he would need to be particularly alert.

  In Medicine Bow, the railroad kept a roundhouse of five stalls in which locomotive engines were kept. Before proceeding on west, depending on the size of the train, one or more engines would be added in order to assist the train up the steep grade to Carbon, the next stop. The army maintained a supply depot there as well, and, because this was the shortest way to the Black Hills, it was a stop that was far busier than its population would suggest. There were a few stores in town, mostly to cater to travelers, three saloons, the Railroad Hotel and Restaurant, a Freight Company, the stagecoach depot, and a handful of houses.

  Matt was standing on the brick platform as the engine came thundering in, steam gushing from the driver wheels, smoke streaming from the stack and glowing embers falling from the firebox to leave a shimmering trail of gold between the tracks. There was a squeak of steel on steel as the train shuddered to a stop; then, even though the train was still, it wasn’t quiet. The relief valve vented steam in loud sighs, the bearings and journals popped and snapped, and the bell rang. The engineer, with his pipe in his mouth, looked down from his lofty perch as he wiped the sweat from his face with an oversized red kerchief. Enjoying a few minutes of respite, he leaned on the windowsill to observe the activity on the platform.

  The conductor stepped down first, followed by a porter who put a boarding step in position for the detraining passengers to use. Matt leaned against one of the posts that supported the platform awning and crossed his arms across his chest, observing each of the passengers as they disembarked.

  He saw one rather plump young woman with a boy of about ten, and he straightened up from the post and started toward them. But before he got close enough to speak to them, he heard the boy call out.

  “Papa!”

  A bearded man wearing a brown suit embraced the woman and the boy, and Matt returned to his post.

  A man and woman got off the train. Three women stepped down, followed by a family of four, then a couple of men left the train, and Matt knew without having to ask that they were drummers.

  Because there was a long pause after the drummers disembarked, Matt was beginning to think that perhaps Mrs. Churchill and her son had missed the train. He was about to go back into the depot when a young boy stepped down. He stood on the depot platform with his hands on his hips, looking around in what was obviously great curiosity. There was something about the boy that caught Matt’s attention. He did not look like most of the young boys Matt had seen. He was much better dressed, wearing dark blue trousers held up with buttons rather than straps or suspenders, a white shirt with blue cuffs, and a dark blue neckerchief.

  A moment after the boy stepped down, he was followed by an exceptionally pretty woman, with dark, upswept hair and amber eyes. She reached down to touch the boy on the shoulder and then glanced around the depot platform as if looking for someone. Frewen had described her to Matt.

  “She will, no doubt, be the most handsome woman you will see on the train, so I don’t think you can miss her.”

  If this was Lady Churchill, Frewen’s description of her had been very accurate. If she wasn’t the prettiest woman he had ever seen, she was certainly the “most handsome” he had seen detrain. He walked up to her.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am, but would you be Missus, uh, that is Lady Churchill?”

  “I am,” she said. “And you are?”

  “My name is Matt Jensen, ma’am,” Matt said. “I’ve been sent by Mr. Frewen to ride in the coach with you and the boy from here to Sussex.”

  “Do you have some proof of that?”

  Matt smiled. “Your sister said you would ask for some proof that I am who I say I am. She wrote a letter and asked me to give it to you.” He pulled the letter from his shirt pocket.

  Dear Jennie,

  How wonderful it is to have you and young Winnie pay us a visit. Th
e tall, handsome gentleman who should be standing before you right now is Matt Jensen. He has a widespread reputation of being someone who is proficient with a gun, and has been tested many times.

  You may wonder why I tout his proficiency with a firearm. That is because there are evil men about right now, and I persuaded Moreton to call upon Mr. Jensen to escort you from Medicine Bow. You will be safe with him. But knowing you as I do, I can’t help but wonder if he will be safe with you.

  Please forgive the joke.

  Your loving sister,

  Clara

  Jennie smiled as she finished reading, then folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. “Apparently my sister and my brother-in-law have put me in your hands,” she said. She flashed a huge smile. “And they appear to be such strong hands, too. I shall try not to be any trouble.”

  “Lady Churchill, I’m sure you will be no trouble at all.”

  “Lady Churchill is so cumbersome, and so bloody British. I’m back in America now. And since we are going to spend some time together, I would really appreciate it if you would call me Jennie.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Matt said. “I think that would be awfully forward of me if I called you by your first name.”

  “And rude if you refused my specific request that you do so, Matt,” Jennie said.

  Matt smiled back at her and remembered that Lily Langtry had also asked him to call her by her first name.

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t want it to get back to Mr. Frewen that I was rude to his sister-in-law. If you really want to be called Jennie, I will oblige you.”

  “I do,” Jennie said. “Will we be taking the coach tonight?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, the first coach for Sussex doesn’t leave until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve got rooms for us here at the hotel.”

  “I’m afraid I have a rather large traveling trunk,” Jennie Churchill said.