Dakota Ambush

Chapter Twenty-six

When Matt opened his eyes, he was lying in bed in the room he had rented from Lucy Perkins. He felt a slight pressure around his middle and lifting his head from the pillow, saw that he was wearing a bandage that had been wrapped all the way around his body. For just a moment, he wondered what he was doing here, and why he was wrapped in a bandage. Then he remembered the fight he had had with two of Denbigh’s men.

Damn. He had been in this position before when a man named Clyde Payson had hired two Mexican assassins to kill him. They had come at him with knives in the night, and though he had been badly cut in that fight, as he had in this one, he had left one of them dead and the other blind.³

He wondered if the cut he’d received this time had cut across the old scar.

Matt tried to get up, but when he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness, and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to stand up.

The door to his room opened, and Lucy came in.

“What are you doing sitting up?” she asked sternly. “The doctor said you were to remain flat on your back for at least five days. It has been only three days.”

“Three?” Matt said. “I’ve been in bed for three days?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Matt realized that, except for the bandage wrapped around his middle, hewas naked. And the bandage concealed nothing.

“Damn!” he said, and he got back into bed and under the sheet so quickly that he got dizzy again. He put his hand to his forehead, as Lucy chuckled.

“It serves you right, trying to get up by yourself,” she said. “And don’t worry about me seeing anything. Who do you think has been changing your bandage every day?”

“I’m hungry,” Matt said.

“Well, blessed be, I’ve been waiting three days to hear you say that,” Lucy said. “You lost a lot of blood, and Dr. Purvis said I should give you beef broth to restore it. But, try as I might over the last three days, I couldn’t make you take anything except a little water. I’ll get you some broth.”

“Forget the broth, how about a steak?” Matt said.

“You’ll like this broth,” Lucy promised. “I already have some ready.”

Lucy left, then returned in just about a minute, carrying a tray with a bowl and a spoon. She put the tray on a table and moved the table closer to the bed.

The broth was rich, with a very appetizing aroma, and when Matt looked at it, he saw that it was augmented with noodles.

“I don’t see how the noodles can hurt you,” Lucy said. “And since you haven’t eaten in three days, you probably need something a little more substantial than just broth.”

“Uhmm,” Matt said after he took his first bite. “Lucy, these noodles are delicious!”

“I’m glad you like them,” Lucy said. “Mrs. Black didn’t make these. I made them myself. I learned how to cook them from my mammy.”

Matt chuckled. “Your mammy. That’s right, John did say you were a Southern lady.”

“Oh, and the worst kind,” Lucy teased. “I’m a Southern lady who married a Yankee.” She poured a glass of red wine and handed it to him. “The doctor said that red wine would help too.”

“What about beer? Did he say beer would help?”

“I think we’ll just go with the wine,” Lucy said.

“Won’t you join me?” Matt asked.

Lucy smiled and poured another glass for herself. “I thought you would never ask,” she said.

Prestonshire on Elm

“Tell me, Mr. Meacham,” Denbigh said as he held a brandy snifter in his hand. “What do you know of psychology?”

“Psychology? I’ve never even heard of that word. What does it mean?”

“It is the study of the human mind, and how the mind works,” Denbigh said. “Herr Wilhelm Wundt has established a laboratory in Germany and is discovering some fascinating aspects of how the mind works.”

“I see,” Meacham said.

Denbigh chuckled. “You don’t see at all, do you?”

“No, sir, I don’t reckon I do.”

“I bring the subject of psychology up, Mr. Meacham, because we are about to do something that will have a whole effect that is greater than its parts.”

Meacham’s face was still a blank.

“Never mind. I will explain so that even you can understand. The largest rancher around, other than myself, of course, is Ian McCann. If something were to happen that would cause McCann to cease operation, I believe it would have a great psychological effect on all the others. They would see that if the biggest among them is not safe, then neither will they be.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Meacham asked.

“No,” Denbigh replied. “Though I must say I am heartened by your eagerness to perform such a task, should I ask it of you. It won’t be necessary to kill him, only to dishearten him. Are you willing to do that?”

“You’re the boss,” Meacham said. “I’m willing to do whatever you want.”

Leo McCann was in the bunkhouse with Curly Dobbins and Slim Toomey. Curly was playing a guitar, and Slim was accompanying him with a Jew’s harp. Leo was stamping his foot and clapping his hands, enjoying the impromptu performance, when Slim lowered the Jew’s harp and walked over to look through the window.

“What the hell?” he said.

Curly quit strumming the guitar, and the music fell silent. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you see out there?”

“Lights,” Slim said. “I see a lot of lights.”

“Lights? What? Lanterns? Candles? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. I’m going outside to take a better look.”

“I’ll come with you,” Curly said, laying the guitar down, then stepping out onto the porch of the bunkhouse with his friend.

Leo went out onto the porch with the two men who rode for his father. As he stepped outside, he saw what Slim had seen, nearly a dozen lights. But even before he had time to wonder what he was seeing, he started wondering why he was seeing it. Each light was a burning torch, carried by a horseman, and now the horses were thundering down Crowley’s Ridge, heading straight for the ranch buildings.

“Son of a bitch! It’s Denbigh’s men!” Slim shouted. “They’re comin’ to burn us out! Boy, get our guns! They’re just inside the door!”

Leo stepped back into the bunkhouse and grabbed a pistol from each of the holsters that were hanging from a peg, then hurried back outside and handed them to Curly and Slim.

Slim got off one shot, Curly didn’t even do that, before a fusillade came back from the riders. Curly and Slim both went down, while Leo, unhit, dived off the porch, then crawled around behind it.

The riders started shooting through the windows of the main house, a couple of them taking great delight in shooting holes through the stained-glass transom that was the pride of Leo’s mother. Then, one by one, they rode right up to the house and tossed their burning torches, some of them through the windows, others onto the roof. Not until the house was heavily involved in flames did they turn and, with laughter as from hell, rode away at the gallop.

“Ma! Pa!” Leo shouted. He was concerned about Slim and Curly, but more concerned about his parents, who he knew to be still in the house. He started toward the house, but before he got there, he saw his mother and father come running out the front door. They hurried down the porch steps, then ran over to Leo, who embraced his mother.

“Who did this? Who did this terrible thing?” Cora McCann asked.

“I seen ’em,” Leo said. “I seen all of ’em.” Leo looked at his father, whose skin now glowed orange in the reflected light of the fire. “It was Denbigh’s men, Pa,” he said. “I recognized a bunch of them.”

“Curly? Slim?” Ian said.

“They was both shot. They’re layin’ there on the porch of the bunkhouse.”

Ian hurried over to his two men, then knelt beside them. It took but a cursory examination to see that both were dead.

“What are we goin’ to do, Pa?” Leo asked.

Ian stood up and looked back at the house, which was now totally enveloped in flame.

“It’s too late for the house,” Ian said. “But we might be able to save the other buildings if I can get help here quickly enough.”

“You stay with Ma,” Leo said. “I’ll go get help.”

The Fowler Ranch

E.B. Fowler had guests for dinner, and Sue had gone all out for the occasion. She baked a ham, made two pies, and had decorated the house with wildflowers.

Their guests were their nearest neighbors, Ralph and Amanda Putnam and their daughter Helen. The Putnams were farmers rather than ranchers, but Ralph had been one of the men who had gone with E. B. Fowler, Ian McCann, and the others in the unsuccessful attempt to force their way through Denbigh’s tollgate.

They had just finished their dinner and were in the parlor talking.

“Do you know anything about this fella Matt Jensen?” Ralph asked.

“Why?” Sue asked quickly. “I know he was hurt the other night at the dance. He hasn’t died, has he?”

Ralph shook his head. “No, I was in town this morning, and I saw Doc Purvis. He said Jensen is coming along.”

“Oh,” Sue said. “That’s good. For a moment, you frightened me. I thought he might have died.”

“Why are you so concerned about him? Do you know him?”

“We sort of know him,” E.B. said. “He stopped by here on his way into town the first day.”

“What kind of man is he?”

“He’s very nice, pleasant, well spoken,” E.B. said.

“He had lunch with us,” Sue added.

“He may be pleasant and well spoken, but he has been here less than two weeks and he’s already killed two men,” Ralph said.

“Ralph, that isn’t fair,” E.B. said. “Both cases were self-defense.”

“Yes, so they say.”

“Do you have any reason to doubt it?”

“You don’t think he killed Butrum because—” Ralph paused in mid-sentence.

“Because what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to take Butrum’s place? It would be a good way of getting it.”

“You mean work for Denbigh?” E.B. asked.

“Yes.”

“No, he would never do that. He has taken a job with John Bryce, and you know how Bryce feels about Denbigh. Anyone who has ever read the Defender knows how Bryce feels about Denbigh.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Sue, this cake is wonderful,” Amanda Putnam said, changing the subject.

“Thank you, it’s a recipe I got from Cora McCann.”

Green and Helen were over in the corner, playing a game of checkers.

“Look how well they get along together,” Amanda Putnam said. “Like brother and sister.”

“Ha! Better than that,” Sue said. “I had a brother, and we fought like cats and dogs.”

“Who knows, maybe they will get married someday and can join our properties together,” E.B. said.

“And which would it become, E.B.? A bigger ranch or a bigger farm?” Ralph asked.

E.B. laughed. “Either way, maybe they could compete with Prestonshire on Elm.”

“Not likely. Denbigh isn’t going to stop until he owns the whole valley,” Putnam said.

“Please, let’s not spoil a perfectly lovely evening talking about Nigel Denbigh,” Sue pleaded. “I don’t care to hear his name again.”

“I agree,” Amanda said. “We hear enough about that monster as it is. There is no need to let him destroy our evening.”

E.B. held up his hand. “All right,” he said. “You have my solemn oath that I won’t mention that son of a bitch’s name again.”

“E.B.!” Sue scolded. “Your language!”

“Well, what else could I say, Sue? You said I couldn’t mention his name again.”

Ralph laughed out loud. “I think he got you there, Sue.”

Suddenly, someone burst through the front door, startling everyone with his unexpected entrance. His clothes were dirty and torn. His face was scratched by brush, his hat was gone, and he was bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. It was Leo McCann, Ian’s son. E.B., Ralph, Sue, and Helen went over to him.

“Leo, what in heaven’s name is it?”

“Mr. Fowler! Mr. Putnam!” Leo said, gasping for breath. “You gotta come! You gotta come quick!”

“Come where, son? You have to tell us what is going on.”

“Our ranch has been hit!” Leo said. “Curly and Slim have both been shot dead.”

“What?” Sue gasped.

“And they’ve set fire to the ranch. Our house is burnin’ down, Mr. Fowler. I expect it’s purt’ nigh burnt to the ground by now!”

“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