The Family Jensen

by William W. Johnstone

  “Do you think Longacre had Talley pull down the wires to disable the telegraph?”

  Ferguson shrugged. “I’d say it’s highly possible, even probable. Longacre had to have had an idea what Roscoe would do. That’s where things stand now. The railroad is still headed this way, but where it goes from here is up to the courts.”

  Matt downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “It’s an interesting story,” he said as he set the empty glass on the desk, “but what does it have to do with me?”

  “I just wanted you to know what you’re getting into by making an enemy out of Judd Talley, and by extension, Cyrus Longacre.”

  Matt shook his head. “Talley, maybe, because I stood up to him when he was bothering your niece. But I don’t have anything to do with Longacre. And unless Talley wants to follow me up to the mountains and interrupt my hunting and fishing, I’m done with him, too.”

  “Unfortunately, Talley’s liable to do exactly that, and Longacre will back him. You see, Longacre doesn’t want anybody standing up to his men and getting away with it. They’ve come in here, run roughshod over the town, done pretty much anything they wanted, and cowed Sheriff Sanger and Judge Dunwoodie into letting them get away with it. It’s sheer arrogance, is what it is. They do those things because they can.” Ferguson toyed with his glass. “Some of us here in Halltown would like to see a stop put to it. We’re willing to do what it takes to make that happen.”

  Matt’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the desk at the man. “Now I see what’s going on,” he said slowly. “You want me to be your hired gun, the same way Talley packs iron for Longacre.”

  Ferguson shook his head. “I didn’t say that—”

  “But it’s what you were driving at,” Matt insisted.

  Again, Ferguson’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “It’s clear that you can handle yourself, Matt, and you’re not afraid of Talley and those other gunmen who work for Longacre. Nobody else around here can say that.”

  “I’m just one man,” Matt pointed out. “Going up against all of Longacre’s men would be the same as suicide, wouldn’t it?”

  Ferguson’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve got a hunch that if anybody could take on the whole lot of them and have a chance of coming out on top, it would be you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Matt said, although his tone of voice made it clear that he didn’t really mean it. “But I’m not a hired gun, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Colin,” the hotel owner reminded him.

  Matt came to his feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferguson. If you’re making me an offer, the answer is no. I’m riding on in the morning. If you’ve changed your mind and want me to pay for my room tonight, I’ll be glad to.”

  Ferguson waved away the offer. “No, no, you’re welcome here for helping out my niece the way you did. Maureen and I are the only family we each have left, so she means a great deal to me. Actually, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I’m in that much debt to you.”

  “Consider it square any time you want,” Matt said with a shake of his head. He gestured toward the empty glass on the desk. “Thanks for the drink.”

  Ferguson nodded gloomily. He was obviously disappointed by Matt’s reaction to the conversation.

  Matt left the office and walked back to the lobby. He slid his pocket watch out of his jeans and opened it to check the time. The hour was late enough to start thinking about supper. He gave the clerk behind the desk a polite nod and went to the front doors.

  Halltown’s main street was still busy. Cowboys from the large ranches in the area went in and out of the town’s several saloons, restaurants, hash houses, gambling dens, and dance halls. Some of the houses at the edge of town were probably more unsavory establishments that also catered to the local ranch hands. Men came and went on horseback, and buckboards pulled up in front of Gibson’s Mercantile and the other general stores in town. As afternoon wound down and evening came on, Halltown didn’t look like a place that had been buffaloed by a bunch of hired guns.

  Of course, Talley and his friends had ridden out earlier, so they weren’t around to cause trouble. The townspeople and the punchers from the nearby spreads might be taking advantage of that fact. It might be different later, Matt reminded himself.

  He wondered if the camp Talley had mentioned was the railroad construction camp. That seemed likely.

  He didn’t know which restaurant in town was the best, and he didn’t particularly want to go back in the hotel and ask Ferguson for a recommendation. He would just have to make a choice and take his chances, he decided. He was about to do just that when a voice spoke behind him.

  “Mr. Jensen?”

  Matt swung around. The voice belonged to a woman.

  And a mighty pretty one at that.

  Chapter 4

  The woman was a blonde, maybe twenty-five years old, Matt judged, and compactly built but with an intriguingly curved shape that was well displayed by the dark blue dress she wore. A hat of the same shade adorned with a feather perched atop the blond curls. Her eyes weren’t quite as dark a blue as the dress and hat, but almost. Her lips curved in a smile as she looked at Matt. He had a feeling she was well aware of the way his eyes assessed her, and she didn’t mind a bit.

  “That’s right. I’m Matt Jensen, Miss . . . ?”

  “Barry. Virginia Barry. Why do you assume that I’m unmarried, Mr. Jensen?”

  Matt gestured toward the hand that held an elegant bag. “No wedding ring.”

  “I’m wearing gloves.”

  “They’re tight enough that I think I’d see a ring through them.”

  Actually, Matt was guessing. It was pure instinct on his part that told him Virginia Barry didn’t have a husband. That, and a vibrant boldness to her gaze that he thought would be uncommon in a married woman.

  “Well, how about it?” he said. “Am I right?”

  Smiling, Virginia tucked the bag under her arm and used her right hand to pull the glove off her left hand. When her fingers were uncovered, she held them up where Matt could see them. Just as he had suspected, there was no wedding band on her ring finger. In fact, no jewelry of any kind decorated the slim, supple fingers.

  “You’re a perceptive man, Mr. Jensen.”

  “I try to be. Now that we’ve settled your marital status, Miss Barry . . . what can I do for you?”

  “I’d heard that you were probably staying at Mr. Ferguson’s hotel. I looked you up so I could extend an invitation to you.”

  That took Matt a little by surprise. He didn’t know Virginia Barry, or hadn’t until a moment ago. He didn’t know anyone in Halltown except Colin Ferguson and Ferguson’s niece Maureen. Who else could be inviting him anywhere?

  “What sort of invitation?” he asked.

  “For dinner,” Virginia replied.

  “With you?” If that turned out to be the case, it wouldn’t be the first time an attractive woman had decided to pursue him. Matt was far from vain, but he was pragmatic enough to know that women often thought he was good-looking.

  “I’ll be there”—Virginia continued to smile—“but actually I’m delivering the invitation on behalf of my friend, Mr. Cyrus Longacre.”

  That really took Matt by surprise. So far he hadn’t heard anything good about Longacre, and the fact that an arrogant varmint like Judd Talley worked for Longacre was another mark against the man. But Matt had to admit he hadn’t heard both sides of the story.

  “I’m not acquainted with Mr. Longacre,” he said. “I’m not sure why he’d invite me to dinner.”

  “Well, you weren’t acquainted with me just a few minutes ago, were you? Mr. Longacre has heard about you, and he wants to meet you.” Virginia paused. “And Cyrus is the sort of man who usually gets what he wants.”

  Her casual use of Longacre’s first name told Matt quite a bit. He was curious. “Where’s this dinner going to take place?”

  “In Mr. Longacre’s suite at the hotel.”
/>   Matt turned his head to glance at the building he had just left.

  “No, not this hotel,” Virginia said. “The Sierra House. It’s two blocks down, on the other side of the street. You can’t miss it.”

  Matt wasn’t the sort to spend a lot of time brooding or fussing over a decision. He made up his mind quickly. “What time should I be there?”

  Virginia’s smile brightened. “You’re accepting?”

  “I am.”

  “Then we’ll be expecting you at seven o’clock. Good evening, Mr. Jensen.”

  Matt touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Good evening, Miss Barry.”

  She turned and moved off along the boardwalk. Matt watched her go, and he would have been lying if he’d said that he didn’t enjoy the view.

  He hadn’t accepted the invitation just because Virginia Barry was a beautiful young woman. He was genuinely curious what Cyrus Longacre thought he stood to gain by wining and dining an hombre who was just passing through Halltown. From what Matt had heard about Longacre, the man struck him as the sort who wouldn’t do anything if he didn’t think he might somehow profit from it.

  Maybe Longacre was afraid Matt would stay around town and cause trouble for him because of the little ruckus with Judd Talley. Maybe he worried some of the town’s citizens might try to recruit Matt to stand up to Longacre’s rule. After all, that was what the conversation with Colin Ferguson had amounted to. Longacre might be trying to get to him first.

  He wasn’t going to be bought off by either side, Matt told himself. His gun wasn’t for hire unless you counted things like riding shotgun on a stagecoach, which was an honest job. But it wouldn’t hurt anything to let Longacre buy him a meal, he thought.

  Besides, he would get to see Virginia Barry again, and there was no denying he was looking forward to that.

  Since there was a little more than an hour until he was supposed to show up at the Sierra House for his dinner engagement, Matt walked down the street to the livery stable where he had left his sorrel earlier. The old-timer who ran the place greeted him with a friendly nod.

  “I’m takin’ good care of your horse, son,” the hostler said. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” Matt assured him. “I just thought I’d stop by for a minute.” He reached over the stall gate and patted the sorrel’s shoulder. “I’ve heard a lot of talk around town about this fella Cyrus Longacre. What do you think about him?”

  Matt knew that fellas who ran livery stables were often good sources of information about what went on in a town. They dealt with many of the citizens, and they saw most of the strangers who came and went, as well. And when they were old-timers, like that one, he knew they could be counted on to have a hankering to talk.

  The short, wiry, grizzled hostler grimaced, twisting up his weathered face in a look of distaste, like he had just bitten into a rotten apple. “Longacre,” he repeated. “Well, he’s got a lot of money, I reckon. But that’s just about the best thing I can say about him.”

  “To some people, that’s all that would matter.” Matt picked up a curry comb and began running it over the sorrel’s sleek hide.

  The liveryman shook his head. “Not to me. Oh, I don’t mind money. I wish I had more of it. But that ain’t all that counts in the world. There’s such a thing as bein’ honorable, too.”

  “You wouldn’t describe Longacre as honorable?”

  The old-timer took a deep breath. “You had your own run-in with that hombre Talley who works for him. You reckon an honorable man would hire a skunk like that?”

  “You can’t always condemn a man just because of what his employees do.”

  “I know that. But the first thing Longacre done when he come to town was to sic Talley on poor ol’ Joe Dunaway.”

  “Who’s that?” Matt asked.

  “He owned the freight line that ran betwixt here and Reno. Longacre tried to buy him out.”

  “Why would he do that? Because Dunaway was competition?”

  The old-timer nodded emphatically. “That’s right. The way I see it, Longacre thought he could buy the freight line and shut it down, so there wouldn’t be no way to get goods up here for a while, until the railroad rolls in. By that time, folks’d be so desperate for regular freight service again, they’d pay whatever Longacre wants to charge for shippin’ things on his trains.”

  Matt frowned. “But he could’ve just waited until the tracks get here, undercut Dunaway’s prices, and run him out of business that way.”

  “Would’ve cost more, at least startin’ out, and would’ve taken longer,” the liveryman explained. “One thing about Longacre, son, and it didn’t take folks long to learn it . . . he wants what he wants when he wants it and how he wants it. He don’t take kindly to anybody gettin’ in the way of that.”

  Matt nodded slowly. That agreed with what Ferguson had told him about Cyrus Longacre. It was starting to sound familiar. Matt had run into men like that before.

  “What happened with Dunaway and his freight company?”

  “Joe told Longacre to go to hell. I reckon he knew he couldn’t compete with the blasted railroad over the long run, but he was bound and determined to hang on as long as he could.” The old-timer shrugged. “Somebody jumped him one night, beat the hell outta him, and busted him up so bad he didn’t have no choice but to go back east and live with his daughter and her family, so they could take care of him. Longacre wound up buyin’ the freight outfit after all, but he only give Joe pennies on the dollar for what it was worth.”

  “I suppose everybody thinks Judd Talley is the one who attacked Dunaway.”

  “Joe said it was like a mountain fell on him. Ain’t nobody else around here who’s that big.”

  “But the sheriff didn’t do anything about it,” Matt guessed.

  The liveryman snorted in disgust. “By that time Walt Sanger had figured out it was in his best interests to go along with whatever Longacre wants, even if it ain’t best for the town. Walt never was what you’d call real strict on the law, but he was always pretty honest . . . until Longacre and Talley scared it outta him.”

  “Aren’t you a little worried, talking about them like this? What if it got back to them?”

  “Shoot, son, you was ready to shoot it out with Talley, I was told. I don’t figure you’re pards with him and his boss.”

  “No,” Matt admitted, “I’m not. I was just curious, and you’ve confirmed what I suspected.”

  “If your suspicions were that Cyrus Longacre and Judd Talley and the rest of that bunch are lowdown polecats, you’re sure as shootin’ right about that!”

  “Longacre has a friend, a Miss Barry . . .”

  “Friend would be a polite word for what that gal is, and Lord forgive me for sayin’ such an ungentlemanly thing.”

  “She’s a looker, though.”

  “That she is,” the old-timer agreed. “But looks don’t count for as much when you associate with the likes of Longacre.”

  Matt patted his horse’s shoulder again. “Well, I’ve got to be going . . .” Something stirred in his brain and made him pause. “What about Longacre’s trouble with the Paiutes?”

  The liveryman shook his head in dismay. “The dang fool’s gonna wind up causin’ an Indian war if he keeps tryin’ to push ’em off that land of theirs. It’s theirs by rights. They signed a treaty and they’ve abided by it. If Longacre had tried to strike a deal with ’em, he might’ve been able to. But he figured since they was redskins, he’d just take what he wanted.”

  “Do you happen to know the chief?”

  “I sure do. Fine old fella name of Walkin’ Hawk. Pretty fierce warrior in his time, I suspect, but now he just wants peace for his people. I don’t know if Longacre’s gonna let him have it.”

  Matt nodded. Everything he had heard about Cyrus Longacre was starting to remind him of something else. He wanted to learn more, though, before he sent a couple wires.

  He couldn’t do that anyway, he remind
ed himself. The telegraph lines were down.

  Maybe they wouldn’t stay that way. Western Union probably had a crew on their way to repair the line. As soon as the wires were humming again, Matt might have to get in touch with Smoke and Preacher. Awhile back, the three of them had run up against a problem big enough that it took all their guns to settle it. The situation in Halltown was shaping up to look like it might be connected.

  If that turned out to be true, Helltown really was a better name for the place.

  Matt said good-bye to the old-timer and left the livery stable. He had killed enough time that it was late enough for him to stroll toward the Sierra House. Earlier he had told himself to be fair and give Longacre the benefit of the doubt. After everything he had heard, he wasn’t sure if he could still do that.

  The Sierra House was as nice as the Ferguson Hotel, maybe even a little nicer. That didn’t surprise Matt. A rich man like Longacre wouldn’t want to stay in a construction camp when there was a town nearby, and he would stay in the best place in that town. When Matt told the desk clerk he had an engagement with Cyrus Longacre, the man nodded instantly and said, “You’re Mr. Jensen?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Miss Barry instructed me to tell you that you should go right up. Mr. Longacre’s suite is at the end of the hall, the biggest door up there. You’ll see it.”

  Matt nodded. “Obliged.” He went up the stairs.

  The door to Longacre’s suite was indeed bigger and fancier than any of the others on the second floor. Matt knocked on it, then took off his hat and held it in his left hand.

  He kept his right hand free, and it didn’t stray far from the butt of the .44 holstered on his hip. Habits like that helped keep a man alive.