Massacre at Powder River

by William W. Johnstone

  “I intend to make certain their visit is pleasant. They should be on this coach. And I’m sure they are, or I would have gotten a telegram from Mr. Jensen informing me that they aren’t.”

  “Jensen? Isn’t that the gunfighter you hired? You mean you sent the gunfighter to escort your sister-in-law and your nephew?”

  “Who better to send for protection than someone who knows his way around firearms?”

  “But he killed a man the first night he was in town, didn’t he? That’s the kind of man you want escorting your kin?”

  “If you have heard that he killed a man, you have also heard that the man he killed provoked the fight,” Frewen said.

  “Kyle Houston. He was supposed to be very good with a gun, I’ve heard,” Teasdale said.

  “Evidently he wasn’t good enough,” Frewen replied with a chuckle.

  “You laugh about this,” Teasdale said. “But just how safe do you think someone like Matt Jensen is? He obviously draws men like Kyle Houston to him, men who want to make a reputation for themselves. I mean, do you really want someone like that around?”

  “That is exactly the kind of man I want around,” Frewen said.

  “I hope you haven’t made a mistake,” Teasdale said.

  “I’m sure I haven’t, but I do appreciate your concern. I’d better get back over to Clara. She doesn’t like to sit alone for too long.”

  As Frewen returned to his carriage, Teasdale controlled a smile. If things went the way he hoped, the only way Matt Jensen would be on that stagecoach would be if his body was sprawled out on top. If someone like Kyle Houston hadn’t been able to take care of him, then it was obvious that one man couldn’t do it. But Logan had told him this would be three men, three professionals who knew guns, and who had experience holding up stagecoaches.

  “Coach is comin’ in!” someone shouted.

  “Coach is comin’,” another repeated, and those people who were in the part of town near the stagecoach depot paused long enough to watch the arrival.

  Ed liked to depart and arrive with a bit of a show, so, though he didn’t whip the horses into a gallop, they were at a rapid trot as the coach came moving quickly down Sussex Road. He pulled the team to a stop in front of the stage depot, then set the brake.

  “Hello, Ed!” the depot manager called. “Any trouble?”

  “Ha!” Ed replied. “No trouble for us, thanks to Mr. Jensen.”

  Hearing that, Teasdale looked toward the coach. He saw a man step down, then help three ladies in the coach exit, including Jennie Churchill, whom he recognized. Teasdale had never met Matt Jensen, but he knew without having to be told that this was him.

  “Jennie!” Clara Frewen called and she and Jennie ran toward each other with arms extended, meeting in the middle with a big embrace. Winnie stood quietly alongside his mother until Clara bent down to greet him as well.

  “My, how you have grown!” Clara said. “I certainly hope you don’t consider yourself too big now to give your aunt Clara a hug.”

  Winnie smiled and complied with Clara’s request. When Frewen extended his hand, Winnie took it and they shook hands.

  “Oh, you must be exhausted, poor thing,” Clara said.

  “Perhaps more exhilarated than exhausted,” Jennie replied. She extended her hand toward Frewen. “It was so wonderful of you to agree to receive us as guests,” she said.

  “You are always welcome in our home, Jennie,” Moreton said. “I see you met Mr. Jensen.”

  “Indeed we did,” Jennie said. “It was very thoughtful of you to send him for us. He was not only the perfect gentleman and a pleasant traveling companion, he also saved us from what could have been an unpleasantness.”

  “Our stagecoach was almost robbed!” Winnie said excitedly. “But Mr. Jensen prevented it.”

  “Oh, how frightening that must have been!” Clara said.

  “Frightening? No,” Jennie said. “It was exciting! Wasn’t it, Winnie?”

  “Yes, very,” Winnie replied.

  Marshal Drew was one of those who had come to meet the stage, and upon overhearing the conversation, he walked over to the driver who was talking to the depot manager.

  “Mr. Frewen’s guests are talking about a holdup,” Marshal Drew said.

  “That’s right, there was a holdup,” Ed replied. “Well, no, there weren’t really no holdup.”

  “Was there, or wasn’t there?”

  “There wasn’t, but it ain’t cause the robbers didn’t try.” Ed laughed. “They was waitin’ for us like they done before, only Matt here, he seen ’em from the coach. It was back at Crowley Ridge it was, you know where the road makes a real hairpin turn around the end of it? It’s real near Teapot Dome. Anyhow, Matt clumb up over the ridge and then come down behind ’em. And when me ’n Gary got there, we seen Carter, Hodge, and Decker sittin’ just as purty as you please on the side of the road. And there was Jensen standin’ in the road waitin’ for us, holdin’ on to all their guns.”

  “You weren’t carrying any money this time, were you, Ed?”

  “Nope, nary one red cent,” Ed replied.

  “Then I don’t understand why they tried to hold you up. Ever’ time they’ve done it before, you’ve had something to rob.”

  “Yeah,” Ed said. “Well, truth is, I don’t know why they tried it, either. All I know is they did try it, and, thanks to Matt Jensen, they didn’t get away with it.”

  Matt walked up to the marshal, carrying Pete’s hat with three pistols.

  “Here you go, Marshal,” he said. “I told the men I took these guns from that they could get them back from you.”

  “Ha!” Marshal Drew said. “There’s a fat chance of that happening.”

  Frustrated at seeing Matt Jensen still alive, Teasdale turned back to his coach. “Take me home, Mr. Reeves,” he said to his driver.

  Matt accepted an invitation to eat dinner with Frewen and his family that evening, but when Frewen offered him a bed in his guest room, Matt declined.

  “If you have a spare bed in the bunkhouse, I’d rather stay there,” Matt said. “I think it would give me more freedom to ride around, and if I’m going to find and stop the rustlers, that’s what I’m going to have to do.”

  “All right,” Frewen agreed. “I also have several line shacks, one less than I did have, since Logan burned one of them, but if you find yourself near one of them, feel free to spend the night there. They are all occupied, but I would be glad to give you a letter that would identify you so that—no, wait, that won’t do any good. There are several of them who can’t read.”

  “You could give him a paybook,” Clara suggested.

  Frewen smiled. “Yes, that’s a good idea. They would all recognize that.”

  “A paybook?”

  “Shortly after I started ranching, I learned that there is a rather quaint custom among some of the cowboys to show up at payday on the larger ranches, and stand in line to draw their pay—whether they work there or not. Apparently I was an easy mark, because my bookkeeper pointed out to me some months I was paying from one to two more cowboys than actually work for me.”

  “So now any cowboy who shows up for pay must present his paybook,” Clara said.

  “It was her idea,” Frewen said. “If you are challenged by anyone, all you would have to do is show them your paybook.”

  “All right,” Matt said. “Give me a paybook and I’ll carry it.”

  After dinner, Matt walked out onto the front porch and stood there for a moment, enjoying the quiet. He sensed someone coming up behind him, and recognized her perfume.

  “Hello, Jennie,” he said without turning around.

  “Oh, my, I have heard that you are one of the most noted men of the West,” Jennie said. “But I didn’t know you had eyes in the back of your head.”

  “I don’t,” Matt said. “It’s just that you are wearing perfume and that makes it hard to sneak up on a person.”

  Jennie laughed, a low, throaty laugh. “Of course
,” she said. “I should have thought of that. Do you like it? It is Fougère Royale from the House of Houbigant in Paris. I was assured by Paul Parquet, my par-fumerier, that this scent would madden men. Does it have that effect on you?”

  “It smells good,” Matt said.

  Jennie threw her head back and laughed. “It smells good,” she repeated. “Matt, you are just too precious. I shall have to tell Monsieur Parquet the next time I see him that you said his perfume ‘smells good.’”

  Jennie came up to stand close to him, much closer than she needed to stand.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “The stars are even more beautiful here than they are at sea. They are so close it is almost as if you could reach up and touch them.”

  “It’s the clear mountain air,” Matt said. It was the reason he had heard given, but in truth he had seen stars like this for most of his life, so he couldn’t always relate to what people were talking about.

  “Moreton said that you turned down his offer to stay in a guest bedroom,” Jennie said.

  “Yes.”

  “But that is silly. Where will you sleep?”

  “I will sleep in the bunkhouse, or wherever I happen to be when I get sleepy,” Matt replied.

  “Like last night, when we slept together in the bed?” There was a throaty, flirtatious tone in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I seem to have a memory of something—something that I’m sure would be most embarrassing to me if I could remember it clearly.”

  “No need to be embarrassed,” Matt said.

  “Then, something did happen, didn’t it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, wait,” Jennie said. “I remember now. I believe that at some time in the middle of the night I kissed you. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am so sorry,” she said. Jennie put her hand on his cheek and moved her fingers softly over the stubble. “And if memory serves me, it was right here.”

  Matt took her hand in his and gently, but firmly, pushed it back down. “As I said, Mrs. Churchill, you have nothing to apologize for, or to be embarrassed about.”

  “I am glad you are so forgiving,” Jennie said. “When will you be leaving on this sojourn of yours, this quest to find the rustlers Moreton was talking about over the dinner table?”

  “First thing tomorrow,” Matt replied.

  “And you will be sleeping in the—I believe you called it a bunkhouse—tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, before you go, perhaps you would like to come back inside for a drink.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be a bother to anyone,” Matt said.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t be a bother to anyone. That is, if you came to my room to have the drink. There would only be the two of us. And I assure you, we would be—quite alone,” she added, her voice now almost a purr.

  Matt had been trying to tell himself that Jennie was just being flirtatious, but she was taking it into an area where he wasn’t comfortable. He needed to stop it now, before she got the notion that he was open to the idea.

  “Mrs. Churchill, I do thank you for the kind invitation, but it wouldn’t be right. You are a married woman and—”

  “Lord Randolph and I have an understanding,” Jennie said.

  “Yes, ma’am, maybe you do, but I don’t. Like I said, you are a beautiful woman, Mrs. Churchill. In fact, you may be one of the—if not the—most beautiful women I have ever seen. If I let myself take advantage of you, a simple understanding between you and your husband wouldn’t be enough. Because then I would want you exclusively, you see, and if someone got in my way, I couldn’t promise you that I wouldn’t kill him. And that would include your husband.”

  Matt had gone over the top with his declaration, but when he heard Jennie gasp, and saw the look of shock, and even a little fear, in her eyes, he knew that it had exactly the effect he wanted. She stepped back, opening a little distance.

  “Mr. Jensen,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I was just being a bit flirtatious. It is a naughty pastime of mine. But you must know that I love my husband most dearly, and would never do anything to hurt him.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Matt said. “That is why I wasn’t questioning you. I want to make it clear that I was referring to myself. I am not beyond letting a beautiful woman make me do things that I have no business doing.”

  “Well in that case, perhaps I had better be somewhat more reserved around you,” Jennie said. “I, uh, am sorry if my conversation discomfited you in any measure. I’ll just bid you good night and be on my way.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Churchill,” Matt said as she stepped back inside.

  Matt waited until he heard the door shut behind him, then he looked out into the night and smiled.

  Clara had seen her sister go out onto the porch, so she moved without fanfare to the front window so she could look outside. She knew that Jennie was an outrageous flirt, and had been even from the time when they were girls together in Paris. Among the sophisticates of Europe, Jennie could play these dangerous games, skate to the edge to entice, even madden men, then jump back from the abyss with no further damage done.

  But this was America. And not only America, it was the West, and Clara knew that Jennie had never encountered men like Matt Jensen, strong and principled men with codes of honor, men who could not be trifled with. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her sister step away from him, then start back inside. She turned away quickly so she would not be discovered spying.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the next week, Matt rode over the land that made up the Powder River Cattle Company. He covered not only the land that Frewen held deed to, but also the land that was considered open range where Frewen’s cattle sometimes roamed in search of fresh graze. A couple of times, he was challenged by some of Frewen’s cowboys. These were the ones who were staying in line shacks rather than the bunkhouse, so they had not met him. When he showed them the paybook Frewen had given him, they accepted him as one of them, so he was able to enjoy free roam of the range.

  He came across the line shack that had been burned out, and paused for a moment to have a look around. He had read the account of those last hours as kept by Paul Graham, one of those killed. It was easy to see what happened here because the charred remains of the front part of the wagon were pushed into the burned-out house. The back part of the wagon, including the rear wheels, was still intact. He thought about the young cowboy, forced out of the line shack by the fire, only to be ruthlessly gunned down by the outlaws.

  Later that same day, Matt happened upon two of Frewen’s cowboys. One was lying on the ground and the other was sitting beside him. The one on the ground had blood all over the front of his shirt.

  “What happened here?” Matt asked, dismounting and hurrying to the side of the wounded cowboy.

  “It was the Yellow Kerchief Gang,” the uninjured cowboy said. He was about sixteen, and the cowboy on the ground didn’t look any older. “They shot Burt, and took the cows we was watchin’. Burt’s hurt real bad.”

  The young cowboy wiped tears from his eyes.

  It only took one glance for Matt to see that Burt was more than badly hurt. Burt was dead. He confirmed it when he was unable to find a pulse.

  Matt had seen both cowboys before, but he hadn’t learned everyone’s name yet. “I saw you back at the ranch, but I don’t know your name,” Matt said.

  “My name’s Jeff. Jeffery R. Singleton. This here is Burt Rawlings,” he added, pointing to the cowboy on the ground.

  “Well, Jeff, I’m sorry,” Matt said. “But your friend Burt is gone.”

  Jeff was small, barely over five feet tall, and couldn’t have weighed over 120 pounds. He was young, but Matt was reasonably sure the boy wouldn’t be much bigger when he was full grown.

  Jeff wiped away another tear. “Yes, sir, I was sort of afraid of that. I was hopin’ I was wrong, though. Me ’n Burt, we was goin’ to go into
town this Friday on our day off. We was goin’ to buy me a French harp and Burt was goin’ to teach me to play it. You should hear him. Burt is just real good at playin’ the French harp. He can play most ...” Jeff stopped, and choked back a sob. “That is, he was just real good at playin’ the French harp. He could play most any song you ever heard tell of.”

  “The men who did this,” Matt said. “How many were there, and which way did they go?”

  “They was only two of ’em. They was waitin’ over there behind them rocks. When we come up, they shot Burt off his horse afore either one of us even seen ’em. Then they both come out from behind the rocks and they throw’d down on me. I prob’ly should’a fought back, but they had the drop on me. They took mine and Burt’s guns with ’em when they rode off with the cows.”

  “They took the cows, you say?”

  “Yes, sir. Fifty of ’em, I’d say.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “That way,” Jeff said, pointing west. “Of course, that’s about the only way they could go with them. Couldn’t go south ’cause that way is the Injun reservation. They couldn’t go north, ’cause there ain’t no water that way, an’ them cows was already a-gettin’ plenty thirsty when me ’n Burt was herdin’ ’em. And they couldn’t go back east, ’cause that’s back toward the main part of the ranch.”

  “I’m going to help you put Burt’s body on his horse. You take him back to Mr. Frewen. Tell him I’m going after his cattle and the two men who took them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff said. “You be careful ’round them two, Mr. Jensen. I mean, I know you are a gunfighter an’ all, but them two don’t fight fair. Like I said, they just rose up an’ shot Burt without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

  Matt didn’t like the use of the term “gunfighter” but he didn’t challenge Jeff. “I’ll be careful,” is all he said.

  It took a few minutes to drape Burt’s body over the back of his horse and to use Burt’s lariat to tie him onto the saddle so he wouldn’t slide off on the ride back to the big house. Matt made certain that the body was very securely tied, because he knew that if it fell off, Jeff probably would not be able to get him back onto the horse.