“Who would do such a thing?” Helen asked.
“It was Denbigh, ma’am,” Leo replied.
“You saw Denbigh?” E.B. asked.
“No, sir, I didn’t see Denbigh, but it was him that done it all right, ’cause I seen a lot of his men that I recognized. Slater, Dillon, Wilson, Carver, and that new fella he has workin’ for him. Meacham, I think his name is.”
“Pa, come out on the porch! I can see the fire from here,” Green called back into the house.
E.B. and the others ran out onto the front porch, where they could see a red glow in the night coming from the direction of the McCann ranch.
For a moment, everyone just stood there, mesmerized by the scene. Then, E.B. gathered his senses. “Come on!” he shouted. “If we get over there in time, we might be able to save some of it! Sue, you gather all the buckets you can find. I’ll hitch up the wagon.”
“I’ve got some more buckets back over at my house,” Putnam said. “I’d better go get them.”
“Do that, I’ll meet you there,” E.B. said as he started toward the barn. “Green!”
“Yes, Pa?”
“You saddle Rhoda—no, wait, better make it Patch, he’s stronger and faster. Ride as fast as you can and go to as many farms and ranches as you can get to. Tell them what is happening and tell them to meet us at McCann’s.”
“All right,” Green said. He was disturbed by the fact that the house of one of their neighbors was being burned down, but excited over the prospect of riding Patch. He was not only going to ride his father’s favorite horse, he was going to ride him at full speed.
“Which way you goin’ first, Green?” Leo asked.
“I’ll go east,” Green said. “Startin’ with Mr. Byrd’s house.”
“All right, I’ll go north, starting with Mr. Donovan’s place.”
Even before E.B. had the wagon hitched up and brought around to the front of the house, Green and Leo left, both riding at a full gallop.
Sue ran out of the house carrying six empty buckets that she threw in the back of the wagon. No sooner was she in her seat than E.B. snapped the reins against the back of the team and the wagon lurched forward, reaching full speed quickly.
By the time they arrived, a few others, who were closer to the McCann Ranch and had seen the fire, were there also. A bucket brigade had already started with a line of men passing buckets filled from the well toward the men nearest the fire, while a line of women passed the empty buckets back for refill. E.B. and Sue added their buckets and joined in, just as the Putnams arrived.
d
3Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man
Chapter Twenty-seven
The next morning, the cool morning air was redolent with the smell of smoke and charred wood as the sun peeked up over the eastern horizon. More than a dozen wagons were parked in the soft, morning light, and in the wagons, nestled among the quilts and blankets, slept the very young children of the families that had come to help fight the fire. By light of day, the damage done by the fire could be clearly seen. The house had burned all the way to the ground, and was now nothing more than smoldering ashes. The stained-glass transom that was one of the hallmarks of the house was now a slag of melted and discolored glass. The bodies of Dobbins and Toomey, McCann’s only two cowboys, were lying on the porch of the bunkhouse, covered by a single sheet. The smokehouse, granary, bunk-house, and barn had not burned because they had been protected from the flames by the efforts of those who had come to fight the fire.
Cora McCann was showing signs of exhaustion and, like everyone else, was covered with soot and smoke. She sat on the porch of the bunkhouse, holding a picture frame in her hands.
“It’s a picture of my mama and daddy,” Cora said sadly. The picture was of a man sitting on a chair and a woman standing behind him with her hand on his shoulder, both staring stoically at the camera. “It is all I have left of them, and it was the first thing I saved.”
Nearly all of the McCanns’ furniture had been destroyed in the fire, but a few things had been rescued, and they formed a pathetically small pile on the ground at the end of the bunkhouse porch. Within the ashes of the once-beautiful house, the belongings not saved were blackened and twisted beyond recognition, though standing out undamaged, almost defiantly, in the midst of what had been the kitchen, sat the cast-iron stove. Leo was poking around through the ashes, and he opened the oven door.
“Ma!” he shouted. “The biscuits!”
“What biscuits?”
Leo pulled out a tray, upon which stood two dozen perfectly baked biscuits. He took a bite of one, then laughed. “They’re still good!”
“How could that be? I didn’t even bake them,” Cora McCann replied. “I just had them in the oven ready to bake this morning.”
“That’s how it happened,” E.B. explained. “The heat from the house burning was enough to bake them, but the oven protected them from being burned.”
“You want one, Ma?” Leo asked.
Cora shook her head. “No, pass them around to the others. As hard as everyone worked all night, some of the folks are sure to be hungry.”
Because only the very young took biscuits, there were enough to go around. They ate with relish, but the adults and the older children who had worked side by side with the adults through the long night were too tired to participate in the impromptu breakfast. They were also saddened by the death of the two young cowboys who had worked for McCann, as well as for the loss of the McCanns’ house.
“How many were there?” E.B. asked Ian. This was the first chance they had to really talk about it, because the entire night had been passed in the effort to protect the other buildings.
“There were at least nine or ten,” Ian said. “I didn’t get a real good count.”
“Leo said he recognized some of them,” E.B. said.
“Yeah,” Ian said. “It was some of the same ones we run into the day we tried to go through the toll-gate. Slater, Dillon, Wilson, Bleeker …”
E.B. shook his head. “No, it couldn’t have been Bleeker. Bleeker got himself killed, remember?”
“You’re right. It was the other one who mans the tollgate. What is his name?”
“Carver,” Leo answered.
“Yes, Carver. And that new fella that Denbigh hired was with them. Fact is, he was leading them. I can’t think of his name, but he was the fella that came to the dance and didn’t do nothin’ but lean up against the wall the whole time and stare at people.”
“That would be Lucas Meacham,” E.B. said.
“Yes, Meacham. He was with them too.”
“This has gone too far,” Louis Killian said. “If the sheriff won’t do anything, then maybe we need to go to the federal government.”
“What can they do?” Putnam asked. “We aren’t even a state. They barely know that we exist.”
“I know who can help,” E.B. said.
“Who?”
“Matt Jensen.”
“Why would he help? And what could he do anyway?” McCann asked. “He got himself cut up in a knife fight the night of the dance, remember? He’s half dead.”
“Ralph saw Doc Purvis yesterday morning,” E.B. said. “Doc said Jensen was comin’ along just fine.”
“Still, he is just one man.”
“He doesn’t have to be one man,” E.B. said.
“What do you mean?”
“The idea you had the other day of all of us getting together to try and force our way through the tollgate was a good one, but it didn’t go far enough. It could be that Frank Tanner was right.”
“What are you saying? That we should go to war against Denbigh?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. With someone like Matt Jensen to lead us.”
“Do you think he would?”
“Yes, I think he would. He is working for the newspaper, and we already know that John is a fighter,” E.B. replied. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if John hadn’t invited Jensen to come for this
very reason. Remember, he killed Ollie Butrum in a face-to-face gunfight, and he fought Bleeker and Carver barehanded when both of them had knives. You know how that came out. He killed Bleeker and he ran Carver off.”
“All right, E.B.,” McCann said. He looked over at Cora, who was still staring at the picture she was holding; then he looked at his two cowboys, lying dead on the porch beside her. “When we go into town to bury Curly and Slim, we’ll have a talk with this Jensen fella and see what he has to say.”
Ma Perkins’ Boarding House
If anyone had asked Lucy about Matt, she could have testified that he was very much alive and very well. It was before dawn and he was still asleep when Lucy slipped outofMatt’s bed. Her clothes were lying on a chair next to the dresser, and for a moment she considered just darting down the hall to her own room naked, just as she had done a few times after a very late night bath. But, there was always the chance that one of her guests might step out of his or her room, so she decided it would be safer if she put her clothes on before she left the room.
As soon as she was dressed, she leaned over and kissed Matt gently on the cheek, then felt a warmth as she recalled their time together last night. Matt stirred slightly, but didn’t awaken, and Lucy opened the door quietly, then closed it just as quietly as she stepped out into the hall.
“Ma?” Kenny said.
Kenny’s unexpected appearance startled her and she jumped.
“Oh!” she said.
“Are you all right?” Kenny asked.
“Yes, you startled me, is all. My goodness, the sun isn’t even up yet! What are you doing up so early?”
“Me’n Jimmy’s goin’ fishin’,” Kenny said. “Did you just come out of Mr. Jensen’s room?”
Lucy breathed a sigh of relief that she was completely dressed.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“That’s really none of your business, Kenny, but I heard him call out,” she said. “I thought maybe his wound had opened up again, so I stepped into his room to check on him.”
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that. Is he all right? Do you need me to stay home from fishing?”
“No need for you to stay home. Mr. Jensen is fine. He’s sound asleep. He must have been dreaming or something. Where are you going?”
“Brewer’s Pond,” Kenny said. “Jimmy said there’s lots of perch there. Maybe I can catch enough for you to have fried fish for supper. Do you think Mr. Jensen likes fried fish?”
“I’m sure he does, honey. Almost everyone likes fried fish.”
“Especially the way Mrs. Black makes it,” Kenny said. “She makes the best fried fish in the whole world.”
“You mean you don’t like it when I cook?”
Kenny looked shocked. “No, Ma, no, I don’t mean that. I mean, Mrs. Black, she can cook fish and all, but you are the one who is really the best cook in the world.”
Lucy chuckled, and ran her hand through her son’s hair. “I was just teasing you,” she said. “You don’t have to say I’m the best cook just because I’m your mama. But it’s a good thing to be nice to your mama. Run along now, and have a good time.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
E.B., Sue, and Green were returning to their own house after spending the entire night fighting the fire at the McCann ranch. All three were in the wagon, though Patch, the horse Green had ridden to arouse the other farmers and ranchers, was tied onto the back.
The morning sun beat down upon the wagon, giving back both heat and the distinct smell of weathered wood. Sue was beside E.B., her head nodding as she dozed where she sat. Green had stretched out in the back of the wagon and was sound asleep. Even E.B. was experiencing long periods of time when his eyes were closed, but the team knew the way back home and as they plodded along, the hollow clopping sound of the hoofbeats served as a serenade.
Suddenly, three men appeared in the road in front of the wagon, causing the team to stop abruptly. The rapid stop jerked both E.B. and Sue awake. E.B. recognized all three of them as being Denbigh’s men, but he could only recall the names of two of them, Meacham and Slater.
“Well, now, look what we have here. A nice little farmer’s family out for a morning ride. What are you doing out on the road so early, farmer?” Meacham asked.
“I’m a rancher, not a farmer,” E.B. answered.
“Hey, Slater, Wilson, you think having a couple of milk cows makes a man a rancher?” Meacham asked the two men with him, and they both laughed.
“You didn’t answer my question, farmer. What are you doing out on the road so early?”
“Not that it is any of your business, but we spent the night helping Mr. McCann fight the fire at his ranch.”
“Oh? McCann have a fire over at his place, did he?”
“Come to think of it, you sorry son of a bitch, I suppose it is your business, since you are the one who set the fire and killed his two riders.”
Meacham’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate being called a son of a bitch,” he said.
“Is that a fact? Well, I’m sure that Mr. McCann didn’t appreciate having his house burned down either. Now get out of my way.”
A cold smile started at Meacham’s lips, but didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. He shook his head.
“We’re not going anywhere until you pay the toll.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve paid the damn toll every time we have gone into Fullerton. There is no tollgate here. I’m going home now, and I’ll be damn if I pay the toll to go back to my own house.”
By now Green was awake, and he was on his knees behind his mother and father.
“What’s going on, Pa?” Green asked.
“Nothing is going on,” E.B. answered. Then he directed his attention back to Meacham and the other two men. “Get off the road. Get out of my way,” he demanded.
“Now, Mister …”
“His name is Fowler,” Slater said. “E.B. Fowler. He lives about a mile and a half south of here.”
“Thank you,” Meacham said. “Now, Mr. Fowler,” Meacham continued. “You know as well as I do how this is going to turn out. No matter how much you argue with me, it’s all going to end the same way. You are going to pay me two dollars, one for you, one for your wife. I won’t charge you anything for the boy. When you do that, I’ll let you through.”
“Get out of the way,” E.B. said again.
Meacham held up his hand. “I’ll tell you what. Just to show you the kind of generous man I am, I won’t even charge you for your wife. I’ll just charge you one dollar.”
“Look, Meacham, I don’t have any money with me, soIcouldn’t pay you a dollar even if I wanted to,” E.B. said. “We left home in the middle of the night to fight a fire, not to go into town to go shopping.”
“That’s all right, we can work something out,” Meacham said. He leered at Sue. “That is, if that pretty little wife of yours is willing to cooperate.”
“What? What do you mean? What are you talking about?” E.B. asked angrily.
“Well, now, come on, Mr. Fowler, I’m sure you’ve been around,” Meacham said. “You’ve seen ways women have of making money. There are three of us here. If your woman plays her cards right, you’ll not only get your toll paid, why, you can even come away with a dollar or two.”
“Shut your mouth, you filthy son of a bitch!” E.B. shouted. “On second thought, I’ll shut it for you!”
E.B. had a shotgun under the seat and he reached down to grab it, catching Meacham and the other two riders by surprise. He swung it around and fired, and though he hoped to hit Meacham, Meacham managed to dodge out of the way just in time. The load of buckshot caught Slater in the chest, knocking him from his horse.
E.B. never had the satisfaction of seeing that, though, because even as he was firing, so was Meacham. Meacham’s bullet hit E.B. in the middle of his forehead, knocking him over the seat and into the back of the wagon. He lay there w
ith a black, oozing hole in his forehead, and his eyes open, but unseeing.
“You killed him!” Sue screamed.
“I didn’t have no choice,” Meacham replied. “He killed Slater, and he would’ve killed me if he could.”
It wasn’t until then that Sue saw three or four little wounds on Meacham’s face. Though he had escaped the bulk of the shot, a few on the periphery of the shot pattern had hit him in the cheek, and he was now bleeding from the wounds. He took out a handkerchief and began dabbing at the small punctures.
“Meacham, Slater is dead!” Wilson said.
“I know the son of a bitch is dead. I’m here too, you know,” Meacham replied irritably. He glared at Sue as he continued to dab at the wounds on his face. Finally, he waved his hand.
“Go on,” he said. “Get on out of here.”
Green crawled over into the seat, picked up the reins, and slapped them against the back of the team, driving them away as his mother sat, weeping, by his side.
Hiding behind a berm that surrounded Brewer’s Pond and butted up against the road where the shooting had just taken place, Kenny Perkins and Jimmy Smith had seen the whole thing.
“You …” Kenny said under his breath and, angrily, he started over the berm, only to be pulled back by Jimmy.
“Get back down here and bequiet!” Jimmy hissed. “You want to get us both killed?”
“But did you see what he did?”
“I saw it.”
Acquiescing to Jimmy’s demand, Kenny remained quiet, and they watched as Green drove the buck-board away.
“What are we going to do about Slater?” Wilson asked.
“Throw his carcass over the back of his horse,” Meacham replied. “We’ll take him back to the ranch and let Denbigh do whatever he wants with him.”
“You mean Lord Denbigh, don’t you?” Wilson asked.
Meacham glared at Wilson, but didn’t respond. Wilson dismounted, then, struggling some because Meacham offered no help, he draped Slater’s body across the horse.
Kenny and Jimmy remained put until Meacham and Wilson were out of sight.
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