He put that idea aside almost as quickly as the notion was born. There were three of them to the one of him, and he wasn’t that good of a shot anyway.
What if they burn the barn and the bunkhouse? Billy Ray knew he had to get out of the bunkhouse while the getting was good. He thought of Harley Mack and Dusty, and wished there was some way he could get them out, but he was afraid to take the chance. They were already dead, anyway.
He opened the door and crawled away into the darkness while the three men continued to watch the burning flames of their handiwork.
* * *
Matt was toward the western boundary of the Spur and Latigo Ranch when he heard shooting coming from a distance. He saw flames and knew they were coming, not from the Spur and Latigo, but from the Rocking P. He put Spirit into a gallop and covered the two miles in less than four minutes. He saw three riders silhouetted against the orange glow of the ranch they had just torched. Matt moved Spirit off the trail, then dismounted and climbed up onto a rock to wait for them.
They were riding no faster than a walk, and as they came closer, Matt was able to overhear their conversation.
“We shoulda looked inside the bunkhouse to see if ever’one was kilt,” one of the riders said.
“They was more ’n likely all dead,” another voice said. “Hell, we didn’t hear nothin’ from ’em after we rode up there, did we?”
From the tone of their conversation, and seeing the men against the fire, Matt could believe that the gates of hell had opened, and three of its most evil denizens had escaped.
He cocked his pistol then stood on the rock to confront them. “Hold it right there!” he called out to the three men.
“What the hell?” one of the men shouted. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am the acting sheriff, and you three men are under arrest.”
“The hell we are! Shoot ’im down!” one of the three men shouted out.
The riders pulled their pistols and opened fire. Matt returned fire and with his first shot, one of the men dropped from his saddle and skidded across hard ground. The remaining two men returned fire, but after several seconds it was quiet again as faint echoes bounded off distant hills. A little cloud of acrid gun smoke drifted up over the deadly battlefield, and Matt hopped down from the rock and walked out among the fallen riders, moving cautiously, his pistol at the ready.
It wasn’t necessary. All three men were dead, and the entire battle had taken less than a minute.
* * *
In the east the sun was a bright orange ball, a full disc above the horizon, bathing the clouds in gold. A dozen wagons were parked in the soft morning light. Nestled among quilts and blankets slept the children of the families who had come directly from the meeting to help fight the fire the night before. The light of day disclosed the damage the fire had done. The main house had been completely destroyed, but the granary, bunkhouse, and barn had been spared.
Ethyl Pollard stood next to her husband, looking at the blackened remains of the house. Their two children, Ava, age nine, and Lennie, age six, stared with wide, confused eyes.
“Mama, where will we live now?” Lennie asked. “We ain’t got no house no more.”
Everyone was tired and covered with a great sadness for the two young cowboys who had been killed. In addition to their deaths, the death of a home was also particularly hard, because this was an area where homes and people were few and far between.
Five bodies were lying out on the ground. Harley Mack Loomis and Dusty Waters were separated from the three outlaws Matt had killed. All five were covered with blankets so that the children wouldn’t have to see them, but the men had all taken a close look at the outlaws.
“Do any of you know them?” Matt had asked.
“I’ve never seen any of them before,” Edmonston said.
“We can get Prufrock to put ’em out in front of his place,” Poindexter suggested. “Maybe somebody will recognize them.”
“Travis, if we’re goin’ to have the mortician take care of them three lowlifes who burned my place, then I want Prufrock to take care of Harley Mack and Dusty first,” Pollard said.
“Yeah, I agree that’s the way it should be done,” Poindexter replied.
“Mama, where are we going to sleep?” Ava asked again.
“We’ll sleep in the bunkhouse until we get our house rebuilt,” Pollard answered instead.
“Oh, goodie!” Lennie said. “I think it’ll be fun to sleep in the bunkhouse.”
“Enjoy it while you can, young man,” Ernest Dean Fawcett said. “Because we’re goin’ to build you a new house in no time at all.”
“I thank you for that,” Ethyl said.
“But, Mama, we don’t have anything to put in the house when it’s built. All our stuff burned up,” Ava said.
“That’s all right, darlin’,” Fawcett said. “You’ve got neighbors.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Rongis
By noon of that same day, three plain wooden coffins were standing up in front of Seamus Prufrock’s mortuary establishment. Two of the men had their eyes closed, but one of them had one eye closed and one eye open. One of the three had an old scar on his cheek, and one of them had buckteeth that protruded under his lips.
A printed sign was attached to the wall above them.
DO YOU KNOW THESE MEN?
These Three Villains
Killed HARLEY MACK LOOMIS
and DUSTY WATERS and
Burned down DARREL POLLARD’S HOUSE.
If you know who they are, please notify:
ACTING SHERIFF JENSEN.
As soon as Seamus Prufrock put the three bodies out in front of his establishment, the citizens of the town began drifting down to look at them. Some came to look at them in a genuine effort to see if they could identify them, but most were drawn by morbid curiosity.
One of those who came to view the bodies did recognize them, but he had no intention of notifying anyone. Moe Greene looked at the three men who had recently come to join the Regulators and walked down to the Pair O’ Dice Saloon to have a drink.
“I don’t have no idea who none of those sons of bitches is,” one of the saloon patrons said. “But seein’ as they kilt Harley Mack ’n Dusty, ’n they burnt down Mr. Pollard’s house, I’m glad they got themselves kilt.”
“Yeah, me too,” one of the others said. “Only they didn’t get themselves kilt.”
“What the hell do you mean they didn’t get themselves kilt? Why they’re a-standin’ up down there in front of Prufrock’s place right now, just as big as life.”
The second speaker laughed. “How can they be standin’ up there big as life, when all three of ’em is dead? ’N the reason I said they didn’t get themselves kilt, is on account of they was kilt by Matt Jensen.”
“What’ll it be, Greene?” Cheatum asked.
“Whiskey,” Greene replied.
Cheatum poured whiskey in the glass. “You got any idea who them three are that’s down at the undertakers?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Greene’s response was like a growl.
“Well, you’re with the Regulators, ’n that’s like the law,” Cheatum said. “Ain’t it pretty much the law’s duty to keep up with such things when outlaws come around to kill folks ’n burn down houses ’n the like?
“Oh, yeah. Well, I reckon it is,” Greene said. “’N that’s why I’ve come into town like I done. I was goin’ to see if maybe somebody mighta had ’em an idea as to who them three outlaws is.”
Cheatum shook his head. “I ain’t heard anyone say as they might know.”
* * *
An hour later Moe Greene was at Purgatory Pass talking to Tyrone DuPont. “You don’t have to be worryin’ no more ’bout where Stryker, Adams, ’n Malone is at.”
“What do you mean?” DuPont asked.
“I mean you don’t have to worry none about ’em no more on account of they’re dead. All three of ’em.”
&nbs
p; “Dead? Who told you they’re dead? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. ’N no one had to tell me, on account of I seen all three of ’em out in front Prufrock’s place, deader ’n a doornail.”
Walter Toone laughed. “That’s funny.”
“What’s funny?” DuPont asked.
“Doornails don’t die. How can a nail die?”
A few of the other men laughed as well.
“Who killed them, do you know?” DuPont asked.
“They’re sayin’ in town that it was Matt Jensen.”
“Yeah, it would be,” DuPont said.
“They got a sign up wantin’ to know who them three is,” Greene said.
“Did you tell ’em who they was?”
“No, I didn’t say nothin’.”
“That’s good. It’s best to act like we don’t know nothin’ about ’em.”
“You say it was Jensen that kilt ’em?” Asa Carter asked.
“Yeah.”
“Seems to me like we’re goin’ to have to get rid of that man,” Carter said.
“Yeah,” John Mason agreed. “Onliest thing is Shardeen tried it, ’n he wound up gettin’ his ownself kilt.”
“Shardeen went about it the wrong way,” Carter said.
“What do you mean, he went about it the wrong way?” McCoy asked.
“Hell, he wanted to prove to folks that he was better ’n Jensen. They don’t none of us need to try ’n prove nothin’ like that. The way to kill the dirty dog is to just kill ’im. There ain’t no need for bein’ fair about it. If you’re goin’ to kill the egg-sucker, just kill ’im ’n be done with it.”
“Kill ’im ’n be done with it, huh?” DuPont said. “I’ve dealt with such men before, ’n it’s lot easier to talk about killin’ ’em than it is to actual do it.”
* * *
Shortly before noon on the fourth day after Darrel Pollard’s neighbors started rebuilding the house, the last shingle was put on, and the house was completed. In addition to the house being rebuilt, two wagons had been loaded with furniture to be moved in after lunch.
“We should have some sort of housewarming,” Kelly said.
“No, please. The last time the house got too warm it burned down,” Pollard said, and the others laughed.
The lunch turned into a genuine celebration, then the furniture was unloaded from the wagons and the Pollard family had a home once more.
After the last piece of furniture was moved, the neighbors returned to their own homes. Matt watched them all leave, then with a final good-bye to the Pollards, he too made his exit.
* * *
It was a busy night at the Pair O’ Dice Saloon. Several of the cowboys who had helped rebuild the Pollard house had come into town for their own celebration, sharing stories about the previous four days.
“Did you see ol’ Logan McMurtry?” Doodle Cosby asked. “When Michaels had that long board on his shoulder ’n turned around right quick, why, ol’ Mac purt near got his head bashed in.”
“I ain’t never seen nobody duck so fast,” one of the others said to the general laughter.
“What is the house you’re talkin’ about that you built?” Cooter Gregory asked.
“I’m talkin’ about the house that them two no-accounts that you work for had burnt down,” Billy Ray Harris said. “It was the house belongin’ to Mr. Pollard, who’s one o’ the best bosses I ever worked for.”
Cooter shook his head. “I heard about that, but I don’t believe either Mr. Kennedy or Mr. O’Neil had anything to do with it. Besides, they buried the three men that did do it, ’n they’re lying in unmarked graves, because nobody knew who they were. I’m foreman of the Straight Arrow. Don’t you think if they had been riding for the brand, I would have known them?”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t say you done it. I’ve knowed you a long time, Cooter, ’n I ain’t never knowed you to do nothin’ bad, other ’n to commence a-ridin’ with the Straight Arrow outfit.”
Cooter held out his hand. “Now, Billy Ray, I’m a cowboy, just like you. After Emil Tucker went broke and the T-Bar Ranch wound up as part of the Straight Arrow, I tried to get on with someone else, but none of the smaller ranchers could afford to put on another hand. I didn’t have any choice but to go to work for Kennedy and O’Neil.”
“You know what? Now that Harley Mack ’n Dusty is dead ’n in the ground, mayhaps you can get on with Mr. Pollard.”
“Why would I do that? I’m foreman at the Straight Arrow and I’m making really good wages.”
“And don’t forget Miss O’Neil is there,” one of the others said.
“Yeah, well, what difference does that make? She’s an O’Neil just like her old man,” another said.
Cooter shook his head. “No, she isn’t at all like O’Neil. Colleen is as good as anyone I’ve ever met.”
Matt Jensen stepped into the saloon then, and Billy Ray pointed him out to Cooter. “Now right there is what you would call a genuwine good man, ’n one o’ these days them two you work for are goin’ to get their comeuppance because of Matt Jensen. You mark my words.”
“That may be,” Cooter agreed. “But if he does do it, he’ll have to come through the Undertaker, ’n I don’t figure that’s goin’ to be an easy task.”
Unaware that Cooter and Billy Ray were talking about him, Matt stepped up to the bar, where he was greeted by Cheatum.
“Hello, Lonnie, how about a beer?”
“Had a full day, have you?” Cheatum asked.
“It’s been a busy one, all right.’
“I imagine it has been. I heard you got Darrel Pollard’s house put back up,” Cheatum said as he set a fill mug on the bar.
“All the neighbors and these men,” Matt said, taking in several of the cowboys, “came over and pitched in to get it done. I must confess that mostly all I did was watch.”
“Yes, well, out here neighbors and friends are the best insurance,” Cheatum said.
Matt had no idea what made him look around at that precise moment. Maybe he saw something in the mirror, maybe he heard something, or maybe it was true what they sometimes said of gunfighters . . . that they had a sixth sense about danger. For whatever reason, Matt looked around just as one of the customers sitting against the wall suddenly stood up, his abrupt action dumping a bar girl from his lap.
Missy Crews screamed in surprise and fright as the customer came up with a pistol already in his hand.
“Matt, look out!” Billy Ray cried as he and the others at the bar dived for the floor, just as the customer fired.
The sudden move had caught Matt by surprise, and even as he was bringing his pistol up from the holster, his assailant was pulling the trigger. The bullet from the gunman’s pistol hit the mug of beer Matt had been drinking, sending shattered shards of glass and a little shower of beer all over.
The cowboys weren’t the only ones on the floor. Everyone else in the place had also dived for cover, leaving only Matt and the shooter still standing. But the shooter didn’t stand for long. Matt fired before the other man could pull the trigger a second time. The heavy slug from Matt’s gun sent the would-be gunman crashing through a nearby table. Glasses and bottles tumbled and whiskey and beer spilled out onto the table and dripped down, making a little puddle on the floor. Gun smoke drifted slowly up to the ceiling, then spread out in a wide, nostril-burning cloud. Matt looked around the room quickly to see if anyone else might represent danger, but he saw only the faces of the customers, and they showed only fear, awe, and surprise.
“Damn!” Billy Ray said into the silence that followed the two gunshots. “I wonder what made that fool think he could do something like that?”
“Is he dead?” someone asked.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” Matt said, even before anyone was able to check on him.
“How do you know he’s dead?” Cooter asked.
“Because I didn’t have time not to kill him. Do any of you know him?”
“I’ve seen him befor
e,” Cooter said. “His name is Asa Carter.”
“What do you know about him?” Matt asked.
Cooter shook his head. “About the only thing I really know about him is that he’s one of the Regulators.”
Chapter Thirty-two
“Kennedy and O’Neil now own the Circle Dot,” Art told Matt and Hugh. “Every acre of land, every building, and every head of stock.”
“What? How did they get all that?” Hugh asked. “I know for a fact that Jim didn’t have a mortgage. He owned the property free and clear.”
“Taxes,” Art said. “There was a five-hundred-dollar tax assessment levied against the Circle Dot with forfeiture of the property being the penalty for nonpayment. Kennedy and O’Neil paid it.”
“That’s strange. Jim never said anything to me about owing taxes.”
“Not strange at all,” Art said. “He couldn’t have told you, because the assessment wasn’t made until after he and Mary Ella were both dead.”
“Who levied the taxes?” Matt asked. “Wait, let me guess. Judge Briggs?”
“My, my, how did you guess that?” There was a clear sarcastic tone to Art’s response.
Matt shook his head. “I have run across a lot of evil men in my life, but I don’t know that I’ve ever encountered so many that it was hard to decide who among them was the worst.”
“Kennedy and O’Neil got it for five hundred dollars? The stock alone is worth more than twenty thousand and the ranch is at least another ten thousand. And they got it all for five hundred?” Art asked.
Spur and Latigo Ranch
“I wonder if Gabe Short knows about this,” Lisa asked later that day when Hugh told her what he had learned from Art.
“Gabe Short?”
“He’s Mary Ella’s brother. Don’t you remember? He lives in St. Louis.”
“Yes, I had forgotten about that. Mary Ella did have a brother, but they were estranged, weren’t they?”
Die with the Outlaws Page 22
