Die with the Outlaws Read online

  During dinner and after, they discussed the other smaller ranchers. Frank Edmonston and Bob Guthrie had been cowboys down in Texas, but settled in Wyoming when they were able to homestead some land. Travis Poindexter had actually been a cowboy for the Straight Arrow, but decided to try ranching on his own. Gerald Kelly was a former soldier who had been in the Seventh Cavalry with Custer. He was with Reno in the fight at Little Big Horn. Ernest Dean Fawcett was one of the earliest settlers in the area, arriving even before Kennedy and O’Neal.

  Sylvester Malcolm was also part of the group but, like Hugh, Sylvester didn’t run cattle. Sylvester had moved from Missouri. He had been a farmer in Missouri and was still farming.

  “They’re good men, all of them,” Hugh said.

  “I’m afraid Malcolm might be about ready to give it up, though,” Jim said. “The drought hurt him last year, and a couple of weeks ago some cattle came through one of his wheat fields and knocked it all down to stubble. Sylvester said he’s sure it was Straight Arrow cattle, but Kennedy and O’Neil deny it, and Sylvester has no proof.”

  “Edmonston has said that he might give it up as well and go back down to Texas,” Hugh said. “But Lisa and I are not leaving.”

  “I have no intention of leaving, either,” Jim said. “I’ve never really belonged anywhere before, ’n until I met up with Mary Ella, I was all right with that. But Mary Ella and I are making a home here. Someday I hope we have some kids, ’n if we do, I want to have something to leave to them.”

  “It’s good to have good friends as close neighbors,” Lisa said.

  “Yes, friends are good to have,” Mary Ella agreed.

  “Mr. Jensen,” Jim started.

  “It’s Matt.”

  “Matt, what about Shardeen?”

  “What about him?”

  “Shardeen is one of the Regulators, and that means that you ’n he might come up against each other.”

  “I expect we will.”

  “Well, what I’m asking is, if you ’n Shardeen do wind up facing each other, how do you think it’ll come out?”

  “I guess we won’t know about that until it happens.”

  “Matt, are you worried about it?” Lisa asked, showing an expression of concern.

  He shook his head. “It does no good to worry about such a thing.”

  “But he’s fast. He’s very fast,” Hugh said.

  “So I’ve heard. But worrying about it will make me no faster, nor will it make me shoot straighter.”

  Hugh chuckled. “When you look at it that way, I guess that’s right.”

  * * *

  “Deputy Jensen, would you like to buy me a drink?” the very pretty young bar girl asked.

  Matt nodded, then glanced toward the bartender of the Pair O’ Dice. “Mr. Cheatum, would you please pour a drink for Jennie Lou?”

  “I would be glad to,” Cheatum replied, getting a special bottle beneath the bar.

  “Would you like to sit at a table?” Jennie Lou asked.

  In truth, Matt would have preferred to remain at the bar, but he knew that Jennie Lou spent most of the time on her feet and would probably appreciate sitting for awhile. “Sure. Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his drink and following her to the table.

  “What did you think of Mary Ella Wilson?” Jennie Lou asked.

  Matt smiled. “How do you know I met her?”

  “Mary Ella told me. She’s my friend, you know.” Jennie Lou made little circles on the table from the condensation of the bottom of her glass. “I’m glad she was able to leave the line, but I do miss her.”

  “She seems like a very nice person.”

  “She’s real smart, too. Why, did you know that she used to teach school? She got fired when her no-account husband went to prison, which I don’t think is fair, then she couldn’t get a teachin’ job nowhere else, so she wound up here, which is where I met her.”

  “And so now, she is married to Jim Andrews,” Matt said.

  “No preacher will say any words over ’em, so I guess she ain’t actual married, but it’s the same as.” Jennie Lou chuckled. “Thing is, Mr. Andrews, whenever he would come here, he only wanted Mary Ella, ’n if she was busy, he would wait till she wasn’t busy. There wasn’t nobody who worked here who didn’t see that them two was in love. ’N when the two of ’em decided to get ’em a ranch together, all the rest of us was real happy about it.”

  * * *

  When Angus Shardeen rode into town, he had two things on his mind. Most important was the five hundred dollars he would get for killing Matt Jensen, but there was also the recognition he would get for killing him. Shardeen didn’t plan to be a Regulator forever, and being known as the man who killed Matt Jensen would elevate his status and his earning power above almost anyone else who planned to make a living with his gun.

  As a boy in Litchfield, Illinois, Shardeen was always the smallest of any of his peers. The others teased him, and called him the “runt of the litter.” One boy in particular, Billy Taylor by name, had been a brutal bully, beating up on Shardeen every chance he got.

  When Shardeen was sixteen he got a gun and, holding it behind his back, confronted Taylor one night as he was coming back home from working for a freight company, loading and unloading wagons.

  Shardeen remembered that night.

  “Taylor?” he said, stepping out from behind a tree where he had been waiting.

  “Well, well, well,” Taylor said, smiling. “If it ain’t the little runt. You ready for another ass-whuppin’, are you, runt?”

  “No, you ain’t goin’ to whup me no more,” Shardeen said, bringing the pistol around to point at Taylor.

  “Ha! Am I supposed to be scared of you now?” Taylor asked confidently, defiantly.

  “No. You’re supposed to die,” Shardeen said, pulling the trigger.

  The last expression on Taylor’s face was one of complete surprise.

  Shardeen gave a nod. Taylor was the first man he had ever killed.

  Since then Shardeen had proven his skill with the pistol many times, as well as a propensity, almost an eagerness, to use it. He enjoyed watching bigger, stronger men quake in their boots when he addressed them. And so far he had come out on the still-standing side of every gunfight in which he had been a participant.

  Deciding to have a beer before he looked up Jensen, Shardeen tied his horse off in front of the Wild Hog Saloon then stepped inside.

  “There is Shardeen,” said Candy, one of the girls who worked in the Wild Hog. “He frightens me.”

  “He’s an ugly little toad,” Fancy said. “But he doesn’t frighten me.”

  “Are you saying you aren’t scared of him?”

  Fancy smiled. “Why should I be? He won’t have anything to do with me because I’m colored.”

  “Ha. Then no wonder he doesn’t frighten you. Oh, there goes Belle. She’s new here. Let her deal with him.”

  “Hello, cowboy. Welcome to the Wild Hog,” Belle said with a practiced smile.

  “Cowboy? Do I look like a cowboy to you?” Shardeen asked, his response little more than a growl.

  “Uh, would you like to buy me a drink?” Belle asked.

  “No, get the hell away from me.”

  Belle walked away from him, a little cowed by Shardeen’s unexpected reaction. “What a rude man,” she said as she joined the other two.

  “Be thankful that rude is all he was,” Candy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A girl that worked here before you came, named Lucy, took him up to her room one night, and the next day she was covered with bruises.”

  “From him?” Belle asked, pointing to Shardeen.

  “Lucy never would say, but everybody knows that’s who did it. She was too scared to talk about it, and a couple days later she left town.”

  “Why doesn’t somebody do something?”

  “Do what?” Fancy asked. “He’s a Regulator. The Regulators get away with anything they want.”

  “Beside
s, they say he’s about the best with a gun that there is,” Candy said.

  Standing at the bar, Shardeen was unaware that he was the subject of conversation. The only thing on his mind was Matt Jensen. Shardeen knew that Jensen had the reputation of being a fast draw and accurate shooter. But he also knew that Jensen valued his reputation of always being in the right.

  Shardeen wasn’t burdened with the necessity of being in the right. He didn’t feel a need to make the fight fair. All he intended to do was kill Jensen, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get the job done.

  When it’s all over, Jensen, you’ll be dead, I’ll still be alive, ’n I’ll be five hunnert dollars richer. Shardeen smiled at the thought.

  He also knew that he would be known as the man who killed Matt Jensen, and nobody would give a second thought to how it was done.

  “Hey,” Shardeen called down to the bartender.

  “Yes, sir?” the bartender replied, approaching Shardeen with apprehension.

  “Do you know Matt Jensen?” Shardeen asked.

  “Well, no sir, not really. I mean, not so’s you could call us friends or nothin’. But I recognize him when I see him.”

  “Where can I find ’im?”

  “Well, I s’spose he could be just most anywhere.”

  “You ain’t helpin’ out much,” Shardeen said gruffly.

  “Uh, no, sir, I’m sorry. But he don’t spend much time in here. He’s a deputy sheriff, so he might be in the sheriff’s office, but the truth is, you’re more likely to find ’im in the Pair O’ Dice. ’N even iffen he ain’t in there, why, they’d be more apt to know where he is than I would.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Uh, would you like another drink, Mr. Shardeen?”

  “No.”

  Shardeen pulled his pistol. Frightened, the bartender stepped back from him. Shardeen opened the gate then rotated the cylinder to check the loads, then he closed the gate and slipped the pistol back into his holster.

  “Did you see him check his pistol like that?” Candy asked after Shardeen left the saloon.”

  “Yes, I saw it,” Fancy replied.

  “What do you think that was all about?”

  “I don’t know, but if he has it ’n mind to go after someone, I’m sure glad that it ain’t goin’ to be in here,” Fancy said.

  “Yes, I am too,” Candy agreed.

  “I’d like to see it,” Alice said.

  “Why on earth would you want to see it?” Candy asked.

  Alice grinned. “Maybe the miserable rat will get hisself kilt.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Jennie Lou, how long are you just goin’ to sit there?” someone called.

  Jennie Lou smiled across the table at Matt. “I reckon I had better get back to work. Just a minute,” she called. “I’ll be right there, cowboy!”

  “I’ve enjoyed the visit,” Matt replied with a friendly smile. He stood as Jennie Lou did.

  As she walked over toward the cowboy who had called out to her, Matt stepped up to the bar. “Mr. Cheatum, I’ll have another beer, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir, one beer coming up.”

  * * *

  When Shardeen stepped into the Pair O’ Dice a moment later, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the bar, holding a beer. Shardeen had never seen Matt Jensen before, but he knew about him, and he had heard him described, so he was reasonably certain this was the man he was looking for.

  He decided to make sure, so he called the bartender down. “Hey, Cheatum, would that feller standin’ down there be the one they call Matt Jensen?” “Yes it is,” Cheatum replied. “You want a drink?”

  “I don’t need no drink for what I’ve got in mind. Hey you, Matt Jensen!” Shardeen’s shout was loud and angry.

  Matt didn’t turn.

  “I’m talkin’ to you, Jensen.”

  Matt turned his head then, and saw an incredibly ugly man standing at the other end of the bar. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re going to die!”

  “I expect I will,” Matt replied. He smiled and lifted his beer toward Shardeen. “You know it’s true what they say. No one gets out of life alive.” His response was in a conversational tone.

  “Did you hear me? I said you was goin’ to die,” Shardeen repeated.

  “Yes, I heard you. Tell me, sir, is there any particular reason you would like to talk about dying?”

  This was a new experience for Shardeen. At this point in any previous confrontation, his adversary was showing fear, and their fear always played to his advantage. It was quite evident that Matt Jensen wasn’t afraid of him.

  “Yeah, there is. The reason I brung it up is on account of you’re goin’ to die today. I’ve come to kill you.”

  “Have you now? Well, I suppose that would be information I should know, and I do appreciate you telling me. But I must ask, did you come alone? Or did you bring others with you?”

  “No, why would I need anyone else? I can get the job done all by myself.”

  “You think so, do you? Well, when you set out to do a job like this, I suppose it is good to be confident in one’s own abilities.”

  While still holding the beer mug in his gun hand, Matt turned fully and faced Shardeen.

  “They say that you’re real good with a gun,” Shardeen said. “Is that true? Are you real good with a gun?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty good,” Matt replied. “But then I’m also a good rider, a good roper, and I’m a pretty good at mumblety-peg.” Matt chuckled. “I can’t sing though. I’ve tried a few times, and my friends tell me I sound like a heifer with her foot hung up in a strand of barbed wire.” He laughed.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you some kind of a fool? Didn’t you hear what I said, mister? I said I’ve come to kill you and all you want to do is stand there ’n talk about nonsense!” Shardeen shouted, his challenge a loud bluster.

  By now the little man’s belligerence told the others in the saloon that shooting was imminent, and they might be best served by making certain they weren’t in the line of fire when the shooting broke out.

  “May I give you a word of advice? Don’t try me,” Matt said.

  He was still holding the mug of beer in his gun hand, and that give Shardeen a boost of confidence. “Don’t try you? Don’t try you?”

  The saloon had grown deathly still as the patrons and the three bar girls stood well out of the way, quietly, nervously, and yet titillated by the life-and-death drama that had suddenly begun to unfold in front of them.

  Shardeen turned to address the others. “Did you folks hear that? He said ‘don’t try me.’ I suppose he thinks I should just quake in my boots because I am in the presence of the great Matt Jensen.”

  “Did DuPont send you here to challenge me?” Matt asked.

  “DuPont? No, he don’t even know I’ve come to town. But he’ll know about it before this day is out. Ever’body will know about it, and I figure by me a-killin’ the great Matt Jensen, why the price of my gun is going to go up.”

  “The price of your gun?”

  “Yeah, I sell my gun for a livin’. ’N I do pretty good at it, too.”

  “You do pretty well, huh? What is your name?”

  “What is my name? Are you kidding me, mister? Are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”

  Matt knew exactly who he was, but he also knew that Shardeen was a very vain man. To think that he wasn’t recognized would agitate and unnerve him.

  “No, I don’t know your name. Should I?”

  “The name is Shardeen. Angus Shardeen. I reckon you’ve heard of me.”

  “Yes, now that I think about it, I believe I have heard of you,” Matt said.

  Shardeen’s smile broadened. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

  “I’ve heard that you are an ugly, dried-up little pissant.” Matt’s smile was without humor. “I must say that the description of you doesn’t do you justice. You are even uglier than I’ve heard.”

/>   Shardeen’s smile quickly turned to an angry snarl. “Draw, Jensen!” he shouted, but he had given himself an advantage by going for his own gun even before he issued the challenge and while the beer mug was still in Jensen’s gun hand.

  Keeping his eyes on Matt Jensen’s gun hand, he saw that Jensen didn’t drop the beer mug, nor did he make any effort to go for his gun. Shardeen smiled in triumph as he brought his gun up, but his smile turned quickly to an expression of horror.

  Matt’s left hand had suddenly whipped forward and, in absolute panic, Shardeen saw a knife, point first, quickly close the distance between them. He felt the sharp pain as it plunged into his chest all the way to the hilt. With little more than muscle memory, he was able to pull the trigger, but the bullet managed to do nothing more than poke a hole in the floor.

  Looking down at himself, Shardeen put his hand onto the handle of the knife as if he were going to pull it out, then he dropped his hand by his side and looked at Matt in disbelief. “A knife. You . . . you used a knife.”

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Well, I told you I was pretty good at mumblety-peg, and I don’t know whether or not you know the game, but it uses a knife. Oh, but here I am trying explain a game when we should be talking about dying. That is what you wanted to talk about, isn’t it?”

  Shardeen coughed once, then he fell back against the bar, making an attempt to grab hold of it to keep himself erect. The attempt was unsuccessful, and he fell onto his back, his right arm stretched out beside him. His pistol was still connected to him only because his forefinger was hung up in the trigger guard.

  Matt drained his mug, then set it on the bar before him. “Mr. Cheatum, I think I would like a refill.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Jensen. It’s coming right up, and it’s on me,” Cheatum said, holding a new mug under the spigot on the keg to draw another beer.

  When Sheriff Clark arrived a couple of minutes later, the bar was crowded with drinkers. A body with the knife still buried in its chest was lying on the floor.

  “I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Clark said, surprised to see who it was. “That’s Angus Shardeen.”