Massacre at Powder River

Chapter Twelve

Two days later, Teasdale left Thistledown and rode out to Nine Mile Creek, again going through the ritual of displaying a yellow flag tied to the barrel of his rifle. There were half a dozen horses tied up out front, and when Teasdale dismounted and tied his own horse off, Sam Logan stepped out onto the front porch.

Logan was holding a cup of coffee, and he had a yellow kerchief at his neck.

“Hello, Bill,” Logan said.

Teasdale winced. “You don’t have to call me Sir William, as I know that there is no regard for titles in this country. But I would prefer it if you would call me Mr. Teasdale.”

“All right, if that’s what you want. I just thought that, what with us bein’ friends and all, that we would be callin’ each other by our Christian names.”

“We are not friends, and there is certainly nothing Christian about our relationship,” Teasdale said. “We have a mutually beneficial working partnership, and that is all.”

“Well, Mr. Teasdale, if you ain’t too good to drink coffee with us, come on in and have a cup,” Logan invited.

“I’ll do that,” Teasdale replied.

There were five others inside the shack who, like Logan, were all wearing yellow kerchiefs.

“I am sure you have heard by now what happened to Kyle Houston,” Teasdale said.

“I’ve heard.”

“I thought you said he would be able to take care of this man, Jensen,” Teasdale challenged.

“I thought he would,” Logan said. “You don’t think I would send my own cousin out to be killed, do you?”

“Well, he was killed, and this puts us back to where we started.”

“Not quite where we started,” Logan replied with a big smile. “I’ve got another hundred and fifty cows for you,” Logan said. “That will be another seven hundred fifty dollars.”

“Where did you get them?” Teasdale asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. You know damn well it matters. I told you, I will support you and your people only so long as you continue to conduct all of your operations against the Powder River Cattle Company, Limited.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you that we did take these cows from the Englishman,” Logan said. “And I’ve already got my men changing the brands.”

“Good,” Teasdale said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of Matt Jensen, does it?”

“You don’t have to worry about Matt Jensen. I’ll find a way to take care of him.”

“You are going to take care of him?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to deal with him.”

“I don’t want to deal with him alone, and I won’t. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be dealt with.”

Teasdale smiled. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “And you’ll have a few days to decide how to do it, since he’s going to be gone from now until Friday.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“He is taking a stagecoach down to Medicine Bow to meet Frewen’s sister-in-law and nephew. He is going to ride back in the stagecoach with them.”

“Is he now?” Logan said. “Hmm, that is interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean being in a box like that, riding in the coach and all, Jensen is going be sort of hog-tied. That will make it easier to get to them.”

Because Matt would be riding from Medicine Bow to Sussex on the stagecoach with Mrs. Churchill and her son, he decided to leave Spirit back at Frewen’s ranch and make the trip to Medicine Bow on the coach. That gave him the opportunity to scout the terrain on the way down, to pick out areas where he would need to be particularly alert.

In Medicine Bow, the railroad kept a roundhouse of five stalls in which locomotive engines were kept. Before proceeding on west, depending on the size of the train, one or more engines would be added in order to assist the train up the steep grade to Carbon, the next stop. The army maintained a supply depot there as well, and, because this was the shortest way to the Black Hills, it was a stop that was far busier than its population would suggest. There were a few stores in town, mostly to cater to travelers, three saloons, the Railroad Hotel and Restaurant, a Freight Company, the stagecoach depot, and a handful of houses.

Matt was standing on the brick platform as the engine came thundering in, steam gushing from the driver wheels, smoke streaming from the stack and glowing embers falling from the firebox to leave a shimmering trail of gold between the tracks. There was a squeak of steel on steel as the train shuddered to a stop; then, even though the train was still, it wasn’t quiet. The relief valve vented steam in loud sighs, the bearings and journals popped and snapped, and the bell rang. The engineer, with his pipe in his mouth, looked down from his lofty perch as he wiped the sweat from his face with an oversized red kerchief. Enjoying a few minutes of respite, he leaned on the windowsill to observe the activity on the platform.

The conductor stepped down first, followed by a porter who put a boarding step in position for the detraining passengers to use. Matt leaned against one of the posts that supported the platform awning and crossed his arms across his chest, observing each of the passengers as they disembarked.

He saw one rather plump young woman with a boy of about ten, and he straightened up from the post and started toward them. But before he got close enough to speak to them, he heard the boy call out.

“Papa!”

A bearded man wearing a brown suit embraced the woman and the boy, and Matt returned to his post.

A man and woman got off the train. Three women stepped down, followed by a family of four, then a couple of men left the train, and Matt knew without having to ask that they were drummers.

Because there was a long pause after the drummers disembarked, Matt was beginning to think that perhaps Mrs. Churchill and her son had missed the train. He was about to go back into the depot when a young boy stepped down. He stood on the depot platform with his hands on his hips, looking around in what was obviously great curiosity. There was something about the boy that caught Matt’s attention. He did not look like most of the young boys Matt had seen. He was much better dressed, wearing dark blue trousers held up with buttons rather than straps or suspenders, a white shirt with blue cuffs, and a dark blue neckerchief.

A moment after the boy stepped down, he was followed by an exceptionally pretty woman, with dark, upswept hair and amber eyes. She reached down to touch the boy on the shoulder and then glanced around the depot platform as if looking for someone. Frewen had described her to Matt.

“She will, no doubt, be the most handsome woman you will see on the train, so I don’t think you can miss her.”

If this was Lady Churchill, Frewen’s description of her had been very accurate. If she wasn’t the prettiest woman he had ever seen, she was certainly the “most handsome” he had seen detrain. He walked up to her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, but would you be Missus, uh, that is Lady Churchill?”

“I am,” she said. “And you are?”

“My name is Matt Jensen, ma’am,” Matt said. “I’ve been sent by Mr. Frewen to ride in the coach with you and the boy from here to Sussex.”

“Do you have some proof of that?”

Matt smiled. “Your sister said you would ask for some proof that I am who I say I am. She wrote a letter and asked me to give it to you.” He pulled the letter from his shirt pocket.

Dear Jennie,

How wonderful it is to have you and young Winnie pay us a visit. The tall, handsome gentleman who should be standing before you right now is Matt Jensen. He has a widespread reputation of being someone who is proficient with a gun, and has been tested many times.

You may wonder why I tout his proficiency with a firearm. That is because there are evil men about right now, and I persuaded Moreton to call upon Mr. Jensen to escort you from Medicine Bow. You will be safe with him. But knowing you as I do, I can’t help but wonder if he will be safe with you.

Please forgive the joke.

Your loving sister,

Clara

Jennie smiled as she finished reading, then folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. “Apparently my sister and my brother-in-law have put me in your hands,” she said. She flashed a huge smile. “And they appear to be such strong hands, too. I shall try not to be any trouble.”

“Lady Churchill, I’m sure you will be no trouble at all.”

“Lady Churchill is so cumbersome, and so bloody British. I’m back in America now. And since we are going to spend some time together, I would really appreciate it if you would call me Jennie.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Matt said. “I think that would be awfully forward of me if I called you by your first name.”

“And rude if you refused my specific request that you do so, Matt,” Jennie said.

Matt smiled back at her and remembered that Lily Langtry had also asked him to call her by her first name.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t want it to get back to Mr. Frewen that I was rude to his sister-in-law. If you really want to be called Jennie, I will oblige you.”

“I do,” Jennie said. “Will we be taking the coach tonight?” she asked.

“No, ma’am, the first coach for Sussex doesn’t leave until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve got rooms for us here at the hotel.”

“I’m afraid I have a rather large traveling trunk,” Jennie Churchill said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have it sent to the hotel,” Matt said.

For the entire conversation between Matt and his mother, Winnie had kept his eyes glued on the pistol at Matt’s side.

“Are you a real cowboy?” Winnie asked.

“I suppose that in a manner of speaking, you could say that I was a cowboy, in that I have punched a few cows in my day. But I don’t do that very much anymore, so you couldn’t rightly call me one. I tend to move around quite a bit.”

“Punched cows?” Winnie asked. He laughed; then, as if boxing, threw a punch. “You have punched cows?” he asked again.

Matt laughed with him. “I reckon that is a strange way of saying it, but when cowboys ride herd on cows, they use the term ‘punching cows.’”

“Uncle Moreton has cows, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then while I am here, I shall want to ‘punch’ a cow.”

“I’m sure you will get the opportunity,” Matt said.

“Would there be a restaurant in the hotel, Matt?” Jennie asked. “We haven’t eaten since lunch, and I’m sure Winnie is hungry. I know that I am.”

“The hotel has a very good dining room,” Matt said.

“Would you take dinner with us?” Jennie asked.

“I would be honored to.”

“Will I get to see any wild Indians while I am here?” Winnie asked.

“I’m sure that while you are here, you will see some Indians.”

“Are they wild?”

“There is no such thing as a ‘wild’ Indian,” Matt said. “The Indians were living here with their own culture for thousands of years before the white man ever came.”

“I meant no disrespect, sir,” Winnie apologized.

Matt laughed at the boy’s excellent vocabulary. “Young man, I don’t think it would be in your nature to show disrespect to anyone.”

When they reached the hotel, Matt made arrangements for the trunk, then led Jennie and Winnie into the dining room.