Massacre at Powder River

Chapter Eleven

Out at Thistledown Ranch, William Teasdale, the subject of Lily Langtry’s discussion, was in the ranch office, talking to Reed.

“I thought Kyle Houston was supposed to be the best money could buy,” Teasdale said.

“He is damn good,” Reed said. “The best I ever saw.” Reed scratched at his brown beard, pulled something out, examined it on the end of his finger, then flicked it away.

“You mean he was damn good, don’t you?” Teasdale asked. “Now he is damn dead.”

“Yes, sir, I reckon he is. So, what are we goin’ to do about this Jensen fella now?”

Teasdale knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry off his cattle rustling—though he preferred to call it his ranch enlargement—scheme unless he had the support of his foreman. He had left it up to Reed to hire the cowboys, men he could trust, men who knew of the arrangement Teasdale had with Sam Logan and the Yellow Kerchief Gang.

“For the time being, we will just play defensive chess.”

“Say what?”

“We will monitor, closely, the moves made by Frewen and Mr. Jensen,” Teasdale said.

News of the gunfight between Matt Jensen and Kyle Houston had reached Frewen Castle almost as quickly as it reached Thistledown.

“I am wondering, Mr. Morrison, If I have opened Pandora’s box?”

“What do you mean?” Morrison asked.

“This man Matt Jensen,” Frewen said. “I haven’t said anything to anyone about him, but he is here because I sent for him. And what is the first thing he does when he arrives? He gets into a gunfight.”

“Yes, sir, but from what everyone is saying, Houston is the one who provoked the fight. And, from what I understand, he claimed that he had been hired to kill Jensen.”

“Heavens, do you suppose Jensen has made so many enemies that there are actually people who will pay to have him killed?”

“That, or ...” Morrison started, but he let the sentence hang.

“Or what?”

“Or it is somebody local. It could be that someone found out that you hired him and decided to take care of him.”

“You mean somebody like Sam Logan?”

“That would be my guess,” Morrison said. “He is the head of the Yellow Kerchief Gang. I could see how he might not want someone like Matt Jensen poking around out there.”

“But Logan is a desperado himself,” Frewen said. “Why would he hire someone else to oppose Mr. Jensen?”

“Because he runs with a gang,” Morrison said. “And ultimately, people who run with gangs are cowards.”

“That might be so,” Frewen said. He looked up at the clock. “Heavens, it is nearly tea time. I had best join Mrs. Frewen. You will excuse me?”

“Yes, sir,” Morrison said. “I’ve got some things to take care of anyway.” Morrison hastened his withdrawal. So far he had never been invited to “tea time” and he hoped that he never would.

“I’m sorry I’m late, dear,” Frewen said a moment later, when he stepped into the crimson drawing room where Clara Frewen was already waiting. He drew his own tea from a silver tea server, then selected a “biscuit,” though the cowboys would have called it a cookie, and took a seat on the opposite side of the table from Clara.

“What is that woman doing here?” Clara asked.

“What woman would that be, dear?” Frewen asked as he took a sip of tea.

“You know very well what woman,” Clara replied. “I’m talking about Lily Langtry. She is in town. Though, I’m sure that is not a revelation to you.”

“Miss Langtry is a singer, actress, and lecturer of no small renown,” Frewen said. She is performing at theaters all over America.”

“There is no theater in Sussex,” Clara said pointedly.

“My dear, you know that Miss Langtry and I are old friends of long standing,” Frewen said. “It does not seem that unusual to me that she would call upon us if she found herself in the area.”

“In the area? And just what area would that be, Moreton? Clara said. “The closest railroad is in Medicine Bow and that is two hundred miles away. The stagecoach from Medicine Bow only arrives three times per week, and it is a very long and difficult journey.”

Clara was a beautiful woman, dainty, blonde, with her hair worn in the close ringlet fashion of the day. Despite her American heritage, Clara had grown up in Paris, and was often a guest of Napoleon III. Clara and her even more beautiful sister Jennie had been the toast of Paris society. That she would be jealous of Lily Langtry, a much older and not nearly as attractive a woman, seemed ludicrous to all who knew the couple. And indeed, those who knew Clara well knew, also, that she wasn’t really jealous, but used this merely as a means of keeping Moreton Frewen wary of any dalliances.

“I only call on her in town because you seem to find her company so objectionable,” Frewen said. “And I have no wish to upset you.”

“Invite her out for dinner,” Clara suggested.

“What? But I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t like her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be civil around her. And I would much rather have her come here for a visit than to have you go into town, alone, to visit her. Somehow, that seems so very sordid.”

Frewen smiled. “Very well, I shall invite her,” he said.

Spirit kicked up sheets of silver spray as he splashed through the stream. Matt would have paused to give his horse an opportunity to drink if he wanted to, but Spirit gave no indication that he was thirsty.

Once across the stream, Matt turned back around to pay attention to where he was going. For some time now, he had been aware that two men were dogging him, riding parallel with him, and for the most part staying out of sight.

He was pretty sure they were some of Moreton Frewen’s men, because he had been on Powder River Cattle Company land for some time now. He had picked them up the moment they started shadowing him.

Matt rode on for a couple more miles, all the while keeping his eye on them until finally he decided to do something about it. He waited until the trail led in between two parallel rows of hills. Once into the defile, he cut off the trail and, using the ridge line to conceal his movement, rode ahead about two hundred yards. He went over to the gully his two tails were using, dismounted, then pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard and climbed onto a rocky ledge to wait for them. He jacked a round into the chamber.

Matt watched and waited. He saw them come around a bend in the gully and knew that not only had they not seen him, they hadn’t even missed him. He waited until they were right on him, then he suddenly stood up.

“Hold it!” he shouted.

“What the hell?” one of the riders yelled. He had to fight to stay on his horse, for the horse had been so startled that it reared. The other rider started for his gun.

“Don’t do it!” Matt said, raising his rifle to his shoulder.

“Johnny, keep your hand away from your gun!” the first rider said, just now regaining control of his horse. “There didn’t nobody say nothin’ ’bout shootin’ anybody.”

“How did you get here on Powder River Cattle Company land?” Johnny asked.

“You ought to know,” Matt replied. “You’ve been dogging my tail for the last two miles.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Johnny,” Matt said. “That makes me mad.”

“What do we do now, Ian?” Johnny asked.

“All right, Mister, we’ve been dogging you,” Ian admitted.

“Why?”

“Because you are on Powder River Cattle Company land, that’s why.”

“That’s good to know, seeing as I intend to be there,” Matt said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m just here to pay the ranch a friendly visit, is all,” Matt said.

Ian shook his head. “Huh, uh,” he said. “We ain’t friendly and we don’t like visitors.”

“Shouldn’t you let Mr. Frewen decide that?”

“Our job is to keep people away from him, keep ’em for botherin’ him so he don’t have to decide whether or not to see saddle bums like you,” Johnny said.

“Saddle bum?” Matt held out his arm and examined his newly bought shirt. “Now you are hurting my feelings. And here I thought I had gone and gotten all dressed up to meet Mr. Frewen.”

“What do you want to meet him for? He ain’t hirin’ nobody,” Ian said.

“He’s already hired me,” Matt said.

“Hired you to do what?” Ian asked.

“Well, now, I’m afraid I can’t answer that question,” Matt said. “He sent me a letter, but he didn’t say what he wanted me to do.”

“Mr. Frewen sent you a letter?” Ian asked.

“He did.”

“You got that letter with you?”

“I do.”

“Let me see it,” Ian said.

“Now, Ian, that sounds like a demand,” Matt said. “And if you stop and think about it, seeing as how I am pointing a gun at you, you really aren’t in position to make any demands, are you?”

Ian and Johnny exchanged glances.

“No, sir,” Ian said, sheepishly. “Now that you mention it, I don’t reckon I am.”

“All right, since you’ve taken that attitude, I’ll let you see it,” Matt said. He took the letter from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ian.

“But I’m going to take it as a real unfriendly act if something happens to that letter while it’s in your hands,” Matt said.

“He didn’t say nothin’ to us about hirin’ someone,” Ian said, before he started to read the letter.

“Does he tell you all his business?” Matt asked.

“No. But since we’re supposed to keep strangers off the property, you would think we would have heard something, don’t you?”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Matt said.

“Holy shit!” Ian said looking up from the letter at Matt. “Are you Matt Jensen?”

“I am.”

“Let me see it,” Johnny said.

Ian handed the letter to Johnny, and Johnny took a moment to read it.

“Looks like the boss’s writin’,” Johnny said.

“It is real,” Matt said. He held his hand out. “Could I have my letter back, please?”

Johnny returned the letter. “What do you think we ought to do, Ian?” he asked.

“What do you mean, what should we do? Are you crazy? Didn’t you read the letter? This is Matt Jensen, for God’s sake.”

“I’ll tell you what to do. Take me to him,” Matt said. “I don’t want to get jumped by anyone else. They may not be as intelligent as you two are, and I might wind up having to kill them.”

“All right, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Ian said. “We’ll take you.”

Back at the house, Frewen got up from his chair, crossed the room and planted a kiss on the lips of his beautiful wife.

“My dear,” he said. “Don’t you know that my life started when I met you? Compared to that lucky day when you agreed to become my wife, nothing from my past—no dalliance, no adventure, no accomplishment of any kind—could ever be of any import.”

Clara smiled. “You do have a way of smoothing my feathers, don’t you, Moreton?”

Frewen returned her smile. “Lord, I certainly hope so,” he said.

Moreton Frewen’s “gentleman’s gentleman” stepped into the drawing room.

“Sir Moreton, there is a gentleman by the name of Matt Jensen to see you.”

“He’s here? Good, good, show him in, would you please, Benjamin?”

“Who is Matt Jensen?” Clara asked as Benjamin left.

“He is someone that I hope I can convince to do some work for me,” Frewen replied.

When Matt was led into the drawing room, he saw as handsome a couple as he had ever seen. The woman was blond and beautiful, the man tall and handsome, with a well-groomed mustache. Both were elegantly dressed.

“Mr. Jensen, thank you so much for coming,” Frewen said.

“I must confess, Mr. Frewen, that your invitation was quite compelling,” Matt said. “In fact, I would say that it provided me with five thousand reasons to come.”

Frewen chuckled. “I hoped that would get your attention. I’ve read a great deal about you, Mr. Jensen. I knew that if I had any hope of getting your attention, I would have to do something dramatic.”

“You got my attention,” Matt said.

“Good.” Frewen turned toward Clara. “Clara, would you excuse us, please, my dear? Mr. Jensen and I are going to talk some business and I fear that some of it might not be suitable for a lady’s ears.”

“Very well,” Clara replied without protesting. She flashed a big smile toward Matt. “If you would excuse me, Mr. Jensen?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt replied with a slight nod of the head.

Frewen waited until after Clara was gone before he resumed the conversation.

“I hear that there was some unpleasantness last night in the pub.”

For a second, Matt had to think about what Frewen was talking about. Then he realized the pub Frewen was talking about was The Lion and The Crown Saloon.

“Yes, I’m afraid there was,” Matt said. “The man I shot, Kyle Houston, said that he had been hired to kill me.”

“So I heard.”

“Do you have any idea who might have hired him?” Matt asked.

“My foreman and I were discussing that same subject,” Frewen said. “And we have come up with the idea that it may have been Sam Logan.”

“Sam Logan?”

“Have you ever heard of him?”

“Only that you mentioned him in your letter.”

“Yes, well, he is an outlaw, though I have heard that at one time he was a peace officer. I do find that hard to believe, though. I mean, why would a former peace officer become an outlaw?”

“It’s really not all that hard to believe,” Matt said. “The West is full of outlaws who have gone straight and started wearing a badge, as well as peace officers who have crossed the line to become outlaws.”

“Then perhaps the rumors are true. Whatever his background, he is affiliated with a very active gang of cattle rustlers who are operating here in Johnson County with absolute impunity. They call themselves the Yellow Kerchief Gang because they all wear a yellow kerchief, as if it is a point of great personal pride. And, I am sorry to say, they have already killed six of my men, to say nothing of the cattle they have stolen.”

“Thank you for the way you put that,” Matt said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When you said that they were causing you trouble, you put the lives of your men above the loss of your cattle. Not all ranchers would do that.”

“I assure you, Mr. Jensen, I feel the loss of each life most intensely.”

“Did you tell anyone you were contacting me?” Matt asked.

“I did, actually,” Frewen replied. “I hoped that just the knowledge that you might be working with me would cause Mr. Logan to have second thoughts about stealing cattle from me.”

“How does Logan work?”

“Well, as I said, he is the head of the Yellow Kerchief Gang, and they have gotten very bold, because now they are quite large. They succeed by overwhelming numbers. And Logan seems to understand military tactics. He knows where he will be able to enjoy numerical superiority, and he will ride in, bold as you please, with a group of ten or twelve men against two or three, four at the most, and proceed to cut out cattle. On one such raid, he took over fifteen hundred cattle.”

“So, what, exactly, do you want from me, Mr. Frewen?”

“I want you to protect me and mine,” Frewen replied.

“For how long?”

“At least until we are able to take our cattle to market.”

“All right,” Matt agreed.

“Oh, and there is one more thing,” Frewen said.”

“What would that be?”

“My sister-in-law and her young son Winnie are coming to America for an extended visit. They will arrive by train in Medicine Bow on Friday. From there, they will have to travel by stagecoach until they reach Sussex. If you would, I would like for you to be there to meet them, then ride in the coach with them back here to the ranch. I know that may sound a bit odd to you, but I’m more than just a little concerned about their safety.”

“All right, I’ll do that,” Matt agreed. “But tell me, do you have any specific reason to be worried? Is there something I should know?”

“I have no specific reason to be worried,” Frewen admitted. “It is just a feeling I have. I’m sure it’s foolish.”

“Not foolish at all,” Matt said. “I stay alive by paying attention to such feelings.”