Dakota Ambush

Chapter Fifteen

Big Rock, Colorado

When Matt stepped down from the train in Big Rock, he waited on the platform until his saddle and saddlebags were off-loaded. Then, picking them up, he walked across the road from the depot to Mercer’s Corral where, according to a professionally lettered sign, one could RENT HORSES, BUCKBOARDS, AND WAGONS.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be right with you,” the proprietor said when Matt walked into the barn through the wide-open double doors. The proprietor was putting a horse into a stall.

“No big hurry, Bob, I never like to disturb a man at his work,” Matt said.

Hearing himself addressed by a familiar voice, Bob turned, then, smiled broadly.

“Well, Matt Jensen, as I live and breathe,” he said jovially, hurrying toward the opening with his hand extended.

Matt shook his hand.

“What can I do for you?” Bob asked.

“I just came in on the train,” Matt said. “I’d like to rent a horse for a while.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll pick out a good one for you,” Bob said. “Are you going to be here long?”

“Not too long,” Matt said. “I thought I’d ride out and visit with Smoke for a spell.”

“Yes, I thought that might be what brought you here. Is Smoke back?”

Matt looked confused. “Back? I don’t know—I didn’t know he was gone. This wasn’t a planned trip, I just happened by.”

“Well, he may be back, I don’t know. All I know is he left a few days ago, for who knows where. You never know with Smoke, he is one travelin’ man. Oh, but this time Sally didn’t go with him, so even if he isn’t here, you can say hi to her.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Matt replied, disappointed that his old friend Smoke might not be home.

Sugarloaf Ranch

“Miss Sally?” Cal called in through the back door of the main house. “Miss Sally?”

“Yes, Cal, what is it?”

“There’s a rider a’ comin’.”

“Oh, is it Smoke?”

“No, ma’am, it ain’t him. I don’t know who it is.”

“Oh!” Sally said, seized by a sudden fear. “Oh, God in heaven, Cal, you don’t think …” She let the sentence die in her throat, too frightened to give words to the terrible thought that maybe something had happened to Smoke and this was someone who had come to tell her.

“No, ma’am, I don’t think that,” Cal said, understanding what she meant. “If somethin’ had happened to Smoke, it would more’n likely be Sheriff Carson comin’ to tell us, or maybe Mr. Longmont. It wouldn’t be no stranger.” “Yes,” Sally said. “I’m sure you are right.” Sally walked out onto the porch and looked toward the rider. For a long moment, the anxiousness did not leave her face. Then, suddenly, she relaxed and broke into a great smile.

“Well, I’ll be. It’s Matt,” she said. “My goodness, I haven’t seen him in ages.” “Matt who?” Cal asked. “Who is Matt?” “An old friend,” she said as she stepped down from the porch and hurried to meet the rider with a welcome wave.

Fifteen minutes later Matt, Pearlie, and Cal were sitting around the kitchen table. Sally was in the kitchen as well, but at the moment she was standing by the stove, with the oven door open. The kitchen was redolent with the sweet aroma of freshly baked bear claws.

“You should’a seen ’im,” Cal said. “Pearlie hung on to that bull like a tick on a dog, an’ no matter what that bull did, goin’ this way and that, humpin’ up in the middle, kickin’ out his hind legs, he couldn’t shake Pearlie.”

“Cal didn’t do bad his ownself,” Pearlie said. “He won the calf-ropin’ and the bull-doggin’ contest.”

“I’m sure Smoke will be proud of both of you,” Matt said. “I’ll tell you the truth, Miss Sally, that smells mighty good,” Matt said.

“Sally makes the best bear claws in Colorado,” Pearlie said.

“Sally makes the best bear claws in the world,” Cal added, not to be outdone.

“You boys don’t have to butter me up,” Sally said. “I’m baking enough bear claws to satisfy even your appetites.”

“Too bad Smoke isn’t here to enjoy them,” Cal said.

“Yes, I had hoped to see Smoke,” Matt said as he took a bear claw from her. “Where is he anyway?”

“He is in Nevada,” Sally said. “Nicole’s brother, Bobby Lee Cabot, got himself into some trouble, and Smoke went to help him out.”²

“Really? What sort of trouble has Bobby Lee got himself into? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Wait a minute, you know this fella, Bobby Lee, do you?” Cal asked.

“Sure do.”

“How come you know him and we don’t?”

“Cal, Matt knew Nicole, Smoke’s first wife,” Sally said.

“Wow, I had no idea you had known Smoke that long,” Cal said.

“Oh, I knew Smoke long before he ever thought about marrying Nicole,” Matt said. “But yes, I knew Nicole. I also knew Art, their baby.”

“Yeah, I know about Smoke’s first wife and his kid,” Cal said. “And I know they was both kilt, and Smoke kilt the ones who done it. Didn’t know you knew them, though.”

Sally laughed. “That’s understandable, Cal, since you didn’t even know about Matt until a few minutes ago.”

“When did you first meet Smoke, Matt?” Pearlie asked.

“You might say that Smoke met me,” Matt replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I was nothing but a kid, starving and freezing to death in the mountains, when Smoke found me. If he hadn’t found me when he did, I would’ve been dead within another few hours.”

“You might say that Smoke’s finding you was quite fortuitous,” Pearlie said with a broad smile.

“Why, Pearlie,” Sally said. “Fortuitous? I’m impressed.”

“Yes, ma’am. I learned that word while I was at the rodeo in Denver, and I’ve been lookin’ for a chance to use it.”

“Speaking of that, Matt, one might also say that your stopping by is quite fortuitous.”

“Fortuitous in what way?” Matt asked.

“Yesterday, I received a letter for you. I was going to give it to you before you left, but this seems as good a time as any.”

“A letter for me?” Matt asked, surprised by the statement.

“Yes. Well it was addressed to Smoke, but when I opened it, I saw that it was actually meant for you.”

“Who is the letter from?”

“It is from a man named John Bryce. Do you know him?”

“John Bryce?” Matt thought for a moment. Then he smiled and nodded. “Yes, I remember John Bryce. Smoke and I met him a long time ago. I was about to be tried for robbery and murder, the charge lodged by a crooked assayer. And since I was a stranger to the town, the sheriff took his word over mine. I hadn’t been tried yet, but it wasn’t looking good for me, and Smoke had already determined to break me out of jail if need be. Of course if he had done that it would have made criminals out of both of us. But, just before the trial, John Bryce, who was a journalist for a local newspaper at the time, wrote a story that cleared me. And I have a letter from him, you say?”

“Yes. Just a moment, I’ll get it for you.”

Dusting a residue of flour from her hands, Sally walked over to a secretary/bookcase, opened the curved-glass door, and took out an envelope, which she handed to Matt.

Matt remove the letter from the envelope, then turned it slightly to catch the morning sunlight. The cursive letters were formed by neat and even strokes on the stationary.

“He sure has a neat hand, doesn’t he?” Matt said.

“He certainly does,” Sally agreed. “I taught school for seven years and never encountered anyone with such penmanship.”

Dear Mr. Matt Jensen,

I do hope you remember me, though as our paths crossed so long ago, I would not be at all surprised if you have forgotten the humble journalist whose investigative reporting once freed you from the unjust accusation of murder and robbery.

Although I intend this letter to be for Matt, I am addressing to Smoke, because whereas I know that Smoke Jensen can be reached at Surgarloaf Ranch, I do not know how to get in contact with Matt. I feel some degree of confidence that this will reach Smoke, and I ask, if you are still in contact with Matt Jensen, that you forward this missive to him.

Matt, I recall that you once promised to come to my aid should I ever require it. I require it now, though I am ever mindful of the fact that any obligation to me, if it had ever existed at all, would have been totally satisfied by your generous donation of money by which I was able to start a newspaper. I hasten to add, however, that it is not for me alone that I seek help, but rather for the people of the town of Fullerton, and the county of Dickey, in Dakota Territory. The hapless citizens of this fair community are sorely in need of justice, that commodity being denied us by the nefarious operations of an evil Englishman who, by stint of wealth and land holdings, holds us all in his grip. The person of whom I speak is Nigel Cordell Denbigh.

I have no wish to make a request that would be a disruptive imposition, but if you are available, and if you would be so inclined as to pay a visit to the offices of my newspaper, The Fullerton Defender, in Fullerton, Dakota Territory, I would be eternally grateful. I must tell you, though, that any help you might supply us would have to be gratis, for I can offer you nothing but the guarantee of good home-cooked meals prepared by my wife, Millie, an uncomfortable bed in our spare room, and the undying gratitude of a newspaper editor who is giving test to the adage “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Your friend,

John Bryce

When Matt finished the letter, he folded it, returned it to the envelope, then handed it to Sally.

“How long have you had the letter?” Matt asked.

“Just since yesterday,” Sally replied.

“That means it is still timely.”

“I would think so. Are you going to answer his request?”

“Yes, I’ll go. I would be honored to go. I’ll leave right away.”

“I don’t know the man, but if he is responsible for saving you from hanging, then I am glad you are going to help him,” Sally said.

“Now I need to ask a favor of you,” Matt said.

“Of course,” Sally said.

“I need a horse,” Matt said. “Spirit broke his leg and I had to put him down.”

“Oh, Matt,” Sally said, reaching her hand across the table to rest on his arm. “I know what Spirit meant to you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said. “He sort of carried on the spirit of the first Spirit, if you know what I mean. I’d like another horse that can do that as well, and seeing as I got Spirit One from Smoke, I think it would be really good if I could get Spirit Three from him as well. Of course, I intend to buy him, not take him as a gift the way I did the first one.”

“Smoke took Seven with him, but he left Drifter behind. You can have any horse but Drifter. Cal, take Matt out to the corral.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said. “Uh, Miss Sally, does that mean any horse?”

Reading the expression on the young man’s face, Matt knew what was troubling him.

“Cal, point out Drifter, also the horses you and Pearlie are riding. I’ll pick from the rest.”

A wide, relieved smile spread across Cal’s face. “Yes, sir, come on out. Smoke has some really great horses.”

After looking through the horses in the Sugar-loaf stable, Matt saw one that appealed to him. Examining the horse carefully, he saw a coat that glistened like burnished copper, though his long tail was somewhat lighter. The horse was just under seventeen-and-a-half hands at the withers, completely blemish free, and a model of conformation

“What do you think about that one?” Pearlie asked.

“Do you know the horse?” Matt asked. He rubbed the horse behind his ear, and the horse dipped his head in appreciation.

“I know him. He’s a good horse,” Pearlie said. “He can run like the wind and he’ll hold to a good trot all day without tiring.”

“What do you think, Spirit?” Matt asked. “You want to come with me?”

“You’re going to name him Spirit?”

“That is his name,” Matt said.

“I thought you said your other horse was named Spirit.”

“Both my other horses were named Spirit.”

Pearlie chuckled. “You’re just like Smoke. He names all his horses Seven or Drifter.”

“I find nothing strange about that,” Matt said. “If you find a good name, why give it up?”

Walking over to the rental horse, he removed the saddle, then put it on Spirit Three. Spirit stood tall and proud, accepting the saddle without the slightest complaint.

“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “We’re going to get along just fine.”

As Matt tightened the saddle cinches, Cal and Pearlie stood with him. He finished, just as Sally came out of the house, carrying a small sack.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” Matt said. “I was going to come back in to pay you for the horse, and to tell you good-bye.”

“If I took money for the horse, Smoke would be all over me,” Sally said. “He’s yours.”

“I don’t feel right about just taking him without paying you.”

“Then take it up with Smoke next time you see him.” Sally held out a little sack. “I thought you might enjoy these. I’m sending some bear claws with you,” she said.

“Thanks,” Matt replied. “I know that I will enjoy them.”

“But you kept some behind, didn’t you, Miss Sally?” Cal asked.

“I kept some behind,” Sally said.

Matt took the bear claws, shook hands with Cal and Pearlie, then swung into the saddle. Pearlie had put a lead bridle on the rental horse, and he handed it to Matt.

“You can just leave this lead bridle with Mr. Mercer at the livery in town,” Pearlie said. “One of us will pick it up, next time we go in.”

“Thanks,” Matt said. He touched the brim of his hat. “Tell Smoke I’m sorry I missed him, but I’ll drop back by sometime in the not too distant future.”

“I will,” Sally said. “Be careful, Matt. I don’t know what was behind this letter, but I’ve learned, since living with Smoke, that most of the time when someone sends a letter like that asking for help, it’s not just a walk in the park.”

Smoke nodded, then slapped his legs against Spirit’s side, riding out at a gallop. This was as good a time as any to see what the animal had in him.

²Shootout of the Mountain Man