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  “I reckon you’re right about that. But I’m sort of a curious kind of a feller, so I guess I woulda come anyhow just to see what this is all about. Which is just what I’m a-doin’,” he added.

  When they reached the big house of the Straight Arrow Ranch, Gibson held his hand out toward DuPont’s horse. “I done got my twenty dollars, so there really ain’t no need for me to be a-goin’ in there to talk to the bosses. Iffen you’d like me to, I’ll see to your horse to get ’im some food ’n water.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” DuPont said as he dismounted.

  His first thought once he stepped into the office was to let Kennedy and O’Neil know that he did not appreciate being summoned like a schoolboy. He held that thought in check when he saw a third man.

  Something about him activated the old policeman instinct in DuPont. He stared at the man, who returned the stare with unblinking eyes.

  “Mr. DuPont, thank you for coming,” Kennedy said.

  DuPont tried to read the faces of Kennedy and O’Neil, but their expressions told him nothing. The expression on the face of the third man was a little easier to read. It was one of smug confidence.

  But smug confidence about what? he wondered.

  “Is there any need for this man to be here listenin’ in to whatever it is we got to talk about?” DuPont asked, nodding toward the third man.

  “He is the reason we asked you to come meet with us,” Kennedy said. “Mr. DuPont, this is Merlin Boggs.”

  “Boggs? Is he the one they call the Undertaker?”

  “Indeed he is. I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to meet.”

  The expression on Boggs’s face didn’t change, and he made no effort to extend his hand in welcome.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about him. He’s a gunfighter, ain’t he?” DuPont asked, purposely talking about him as if he weren’t in the room.

  Boggs made no show of irritation over the obvious snub.

  “He is indeed a gunfighter, and quite a good one at that,” Kennedy said. “And that’s why he’s here. I think you would agree that with Shardeen gone, we are quite likely at a disadvantage as it might relate to this new champion of Hugh Conway and the small ranchers. That’s why Mr. O’Neil and I have just hired Boggs.”

  “Yeah, well if it’s all the same to you, I’ll do m’ own hirin’. I’m lookin’ for someone to replace Shardeen, that’s true enough, but there ain’t no need of you a-doin’ it.”

  “Oh, by all means, Mr. DuPont, yes, do find your own replacement for Shardeen, but I think you may have misunderstood what I’m saying. Mr. Boggs isn’t a replacement for Shardeen, and he won’t be working for you, nor will he, in any way, be answerable to you and the Regulators. Merlin Boggs is an employee of the Straight Arrow Ranch and, as such, he will be answerable only to Mr. O’Neil and me.”

  “Yeah, you’re right I don’t understand,” DuPont said. “Why would you want to hire a gunfighter like Boggs? I mean if it’s for protection, ain’t that what you got the Regulators for?”

  “Indeed it is,” Kennedy said. “But you might say that Mr. Boggs is just a second layer of protection, so to speak.”

  DuPont was quiet for a long moment, then he glanced over at Boggs again. The gunfighter had not spoken a word, changed the expression on his face, nor given any indication that he was paying attention to the discussion, even though it was about him.

  “Is this the only reason you asked me to come in to see you?” DuPont asked.

  “Yes. I wanted to extend you the courtesy of letting you know about our newest employee.”

  “Courtesy?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  DuPont gave a curt nod of his head. “All right, I know.”

  * * *

  “That was DuPont?” Boggs asked after DuPont left.

  “Yes, Tyrone DuPont,” Kennedy said.

  “He don’t seem like all that much to me.”

  “Individually, I’m sure he isn’t very much. He is certainly not good enough to be of any worry to you,” O’Neil said. “But you can’t think of him as an individual.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “DuPont has a group of men riding for him. They can be quite deadly, and they are intensely loyal,” Kennedy said.

  “That’s the Regulators you are talking about?”

  “Yes,” Kennedy replied. “And though not a single man among them can hold a match to you, every one of them is experienced in, let us say, armed confrontation. And all of them together would be most formidable, especially as they are quite well led. Mr. DuPont was once a police officer in St. Louis, so he is well schooled in the concepts of leadership and discipline.”

  “So what you have to do is make certain you don’t ever have to face any more than one of them at a time,” O’Neil added.

  “If they’re workin’ for you, why is it I’d ever have to face any of ’em, even DuPont?” Boggs asked.

  “Why indeed?” Kennedy asked. “Let us hope that you never will have to. It’s just that the first loyalty of every one of the Regulators is to DuPont. And the first loyalty of DuPont is to himself. I want someone whose first loyalty is to Mr. O’Neil and me.”

  “You’ll have my third loyalty,” Boggs said.

  “Third?” Kennedy asked with an expression of surprise and disapproval on his face.

  Boggs smiled, the smile making him appear even more evil. “My first loyalty is to me, my second is to the money you will be paying me, and my third loyalty will be to you.”

  Kennedy laughed. “All right, Mr. Boggs. I think that arrangement would be quite acceptable.”

  * * *

  Later in the day, O’Neil found the occasion to be speaking with his daughter. “Is it true what I have heard about you and Cooter Gregory?”

  “I don’t know whether it’s true or not. It depends on what you’ve heard.”

  “I’ve heard that you have been keeping company with him.”

  “I have.”

  “I would rather you not spend time with a common cowboy.”

  “There is nothing at all common about Cooter. He is very smart, I would trust him with my life, and he is one of the nicest men I have ever known. Besides, he isn’t just a cowboy. He is the foreman of the largest ranch in the valley. The truth is, you and Mr. Kennedy own the ranch, but Cooter is the one who actually runs it.”

  “I’m sure you can find someone more appropriate.”

  “Where? Who in town would be a more appropriate person for me to keep company with?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Then I shall continue to keep company with Cooter,” Colleen said defiantly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rongis

  “His name is Merlin Boggs,” Sheriff Clark told Matt. “But they call him the Undertaker. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

  “I thought maybe you had. I figure that all you fellas that’s really good with a gun prob’ly sort of keep up with one another. Have you ever seen or met ’im?”

  “I’ve never met him, and if I’ve ever seen him, I’m unaware of it.”

  “Well, I expect you will meet him soon enough. He’s come to the valley.”

  “Is he the one DuPont got to take Shardeen’s place?”

  “Uh-uh,” Clark said as he shook his head. “And that’s the strange of it. Boggs won’t be ridin’ none with DuPont. He’ll be working for Kennedy and O’Neil.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “Yeah, but you got to wonder why that is. I mean what will he be doin’? Anything that Kennedy or O’Neil need done with guns or just plain bein’ rough on someone can be done by DuPont and The Regulators.”

  “Perhaps Kennedy and O’Neil feel control slipping away from them,” Matt said. “There’s a story about a man that got on board a bucking bull. ‘Why are you ridin’ that bull, John?’ someone shouted at him. “I’m ridin’ this bull ’cause I can’t get off,’ John yelled back.”<
br />
  Sheriff Clark chuckled. “I see what you mean. What you’re sayin’ is, Kennedy and O’Neil might be havin’ second thoughts about gettin’ hooked up with DuPont, but they can’t figure out a way to let go. So they got this Boggs feller to be on their side just in case DuPont and his boys starts a-turnin’ on ’em.

  “But the truth of it is, I reckon you could be tellin’ that about me, couldn’t you?” Clark added. “I mean here I was, hooked up with DuPont ’n all them men he’s got a-ridin’ with him, ’n there didn’t seem like nothin’ I could do about it till you come along. Kennedy ’n O’Neil have got Merlin Boggs, ’n I have you.”

  “You’ve got me,” Matt said with a little chuckle.

  “But you’ve also lined yourself up with the small ranchers and farmers, and Boggs is with the biggest landowner in the county. That sort of puts you ’n the Undertaker at cross-purposes, don’t it?”

  “I suppose it does,” Matt admitted.

  “Which means there ain’t hardly no way that you ’n Boggs ain’t goin’ to come agin each other. So, here is my question for you. If it comes down to a fight betwixt you ’n Boggs, do you think you can handle ’im?”

  “There’s only one way to answer that question. If it comes to a confrontation between us, I’ll have to handle him, won’t I?”

  “Yeah,” Sheriff Clark said. “Yeah, I reckon you will at that.”

  * * *

  The next morning a slight breeze filled the muslin curtains of the open window and lifted them out over the wide-planked floor of the hotel room. Matt moved to the window and looked out over the town, which was just beginning to awaken. Water was being heated behind the laundry, and boxes were being stacked behind the grocery store. A team of four big horses was pulling a fully loaded freight wagon down the main street.

  From somewhere, Matt could smell bacon frying and his stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry. He splashed some water in the basin, washed his face and hands, then put on his hat and went downstairs. There were a couple of people in the lobby, one napping in one of the chairs, the other reading a newspaper. Neither of them paid any attention to Matt as he left the hotel.

  The morning sun was bright, but not yet hot. The sky was clear and the air was crisp. As he walked toward the café, he heard sounds of commerce—the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer, a carpenter’s saw, and the rattle of working wagons. That was opposed to last night’s sounds of liquor bottles, off-key singing, laughter, and boisterous conversations. How different the tenor of a town was between the business of morning and the play of evening.

  Half an hour later, Matt was enjoying a breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits and gravy when a boy of about sixteen came to his table.

  “Mr. Jensen, I got your horse saddled ’n brung ’im here to the café like you asked.” The boy smiled. “Spirit sure is a good horse.”

  “Yes, he is. Thank you, Joey,” Matt said, giving the boy a fifty-cent piece.”

  “Thank you!” Joey replied with a happy smile.

  “I’ve noticed you over at the livery stable. You’re very good with horses.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you. I reckon I’m good with horses on account of I’ve been around them most of my life.”

  “You’ve worked at the livery that long?”

  “No, I ain’t always worked for Mr. McGill. Time was when my pa and ma and me run a ranch. It wasn’t a very big ranch, but since Pa and me didn’t have no hands, it was just the right size for us to run alone. But that’s all gone now. Pa couldn’t pay the loan at the bank, ’n somehow Mr. Kennedy ’n Mr. O’Neil wound up with the ranch. My pa got so upset he died of the apoplexy. It warn’t long after that before my ma died of a heart that was broke.”

  “I’m real sorry to hear that, Joey.”

  “Yes, sir, me too. But Mr. McGill has give me a job, ’n he’s been just real good to me, so I reckon things could be worse.”

  After breakfast, Matt got a haircut and a bath, changed into his clean shirt and pants, then took the ones he had been wearing to the laundry. Lisa had offered to do his laundry for him, but he had declined.

  “Matt, it means nothing,” she’d told him. “I do the laundry for Mr. Sanders, and for Patterson and Haverkost, as well for Hugh. One more set of clothes wouldn’t matter.”

  “I can get them done in town,” Matt had said.

  He knew that Lisa was right, if she did the clothes for the hired hands, doing his might not mean anything to her. But it would be one more connection that might further complicate a situation that was already somewhat problematic.

  Lisa was too vulnerable right now, and Matt knew that even if she wasn’t married, there would be no chance for any kind of a real relationship between them. He was a drifter; his lifestyle didn’t lend itself to marriage. Eventually he would ride on, and when he did, she would be hurt.

  He also had to think about the man they called the Undertaker. Matt knew that Boggs hadn’t been hired as a cattle hand. He was here for one reason, and everyone in Sweetwater Valley knew what that reason was. He was here to kill Matt.

  Matt had asked Joey to bring Spirit to him this morning because he planned to ride out to the Spur and Latigo to see how things were going. Hugh’s horses would be moved to Bitter Creek when the time came, and once that was done he would make enough money to pay off all his debts, including the mortgage on his ranch. After that, Matt would be riding on to somewhere else.

  * * *

  Sanders greeted him when he rode into the yard. “Hello, Matt. Mr. Conway ain’t come out yet this mornin’. You can go on in, I’ll take care of Spirit for you.”

  “Thanks. You and Joey.”

  “Joey?”

  “The young man who works for Maurice McGill at the livery,” Matt said.

  “Oh, yes, that would be Joey Dunaway.”

  Sanders led Spirit off to the barn and Matt started toward the house, met on the front porch by Hugh.

  “Keith Dunaway was a good man,” Hugh said after Matt told him of his conversation with Joey. “It’s a shame what happened to him. He had a small ranch, Tumble D, where he ran about six or seven hundred head of cattle. Rustlers took half of his herd, his barn burned down in a mysterious fire, and then nature took over.

  “A few years ago, beef prices began falling and much of the range was overgrazed because the Straight Arrow had built up a herd too large for the land. The summer was unusually hot and dry, and a drought hit. Even on ranges that hadn’t been overgrazed, the grass died. Brushfires burned off even more. Water sources dried up.

  “Then in November, the snow came. Day after day the snow came down, and the weather stayed so cold that there was little thawing, so the snow just kept piling higher and higher. By January, the drifts had filled the ravines and coulees to almost level. Temperatures dropped to thirty below, and it was even colder the next month.

  “By spring, when it thawed, it was too late for Keith. He had so few cows left that even if he had been able to sell them at top dollar, he wouldn’t have been able to make the payment due. That was when he learned that Kennedy and O’Neil were holding the mortgage to the Tumble D. They foreclosed, and Keith was dead within a month. Mrs. Dunaway died two months after that.

  “Joey was fourteen then, and McGill gave him a job at the livery. He’s been working there ever since.” Hugh laughed. “He says that when he’s older, he’s going to buy back the Tumble D.”

  “You know what? I think he just might do that,” Matt replied.

  “Matt, you are going to the celebration at the Circle Dot, aren’t you?” Lisa asked, joining the men.

  “What celebration?”

  “Jim and Mary Ella are getting married next week,” she said with a broad smile.

  “Well, good for them. They found a preacher who would read the words over them, did they?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t understand. How is it that they are getting married?”

  Hugh laughed. “You can thank Lisa
for that. She figured out how they could do it.”

  “They are just going to declare themselves married in front of all their friends.”

  Matt laughed. “Why not? It works for me.”

  “Hugh is going to play the piano for them.”

  “That is, if we can get the piano moved over there. It’s pretty heavy,” Hugh said.

  “Can you count on Ed, LeRoy, and Jake?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, I’ll help too, and that’ll be four of us.”

  “No, five of us,” Hugh said.

  “You’re the piano player. You’re the one who should be directing us on how it should be done.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the Red Desert Gazette:

  NUPTIALS TO BE SPOKEN

  THURSDAY NEXT

  Jim Andrews and Mary Ella Wilson

  to Be Wed

  Friends and neighbors are invited to the Circle Dot Ranch for the purpose of celebrating the marriage of Jim Andrews and Mary Ella Wilson. While this may not be a traditional marriage in that unique circumstances will not permit it to be celebrated by a man of the cloth, it will be validated by the expressions of love that the two will share.

  Those who attend the wedding, for a wedding it shall be, will be treated to music appropriate to the occasion as performed by Mr. Hugh Conway, who has been acclaimed as one of the finest concert pianists in America.

  This editor is pleased to use the GAZETTE as a means of publicly expressing his congratulations and best wishes to the couple.

  As Art Walhausen was having his dinner in the Palace Café, he looked up to see three women coming toward him. He recognized one of them as Marie Goodbody, who was the president of the Ladies League. She was a frequent visitor to the newspaper, generally with complaints. She was opposed to the saloons, to the dance hall, to any visiting theatrical group, and even to the annual Founders Day parade. The expression on her face was a clear indication that she had something else to complain about, and Art was pretty sure he knew what the complaint would be.