Massacre at Powder River

Chapter Twenty-nine

As the men were shouting at each other, Matt used the noise to cover any sound, and the darkness to cover any visual contact, as he moved through the shadows past the smokehouse where the aroma of the cured meat reminded him that he had eaten nothing but a few pieces of jerky all day. He saw an outside door that led to the cellar. He was sure it would be locked, but when he tried it, he discovered to his surprised satisfaction that he could lift it open.

Matt closed the door behind him, then went down the steep stairway, feeling his way step by step. He had never been in such dark before. He literally could not see his hand when he held it three inches in front of his face. When he reached the bottom, he held his arm out in front of him and began moving it back and forth, using it to feel his way across the dirt floor until he encountered a support post. He took out a match and struck it against the post. In the flare of the match, he saw a stack of candles on a shelf and he got to them, managing to light one just before his match went out.

Now, in the golden bubble of light, he could see, and he made a closer examination of the cellar. He saw several jars of canned food, tools, rope, a furnace, and a coal bin. And he saw a set of steps going up. He used the candle to get him over to the steps, then he blew it out.

Matt moved up the stairs, one at a time, treading softly on each one until he reached the top. This door, too, was unlocked, and Matt opened it. He found himself on a small landing, with four more steps going up in the opposite direction.

When he got to the top, there was a bit of ambient light coming from a room to the left, and improving his position to where he could look inside, he saw Teasdale, Morrison, and Reed together in the parlor. Morrison and Reed were both standing at the window, looking outside. Teasdale was sitting in a big leather armchair.

“I can’t believe the dumb bastards shot each other up like that,” Reed said.

“Why not? Stonewall Jackson was killed by his own men,” Morrison replied. “Things like that happen.”

“What do we do now?” Reed asked.

“If they don’t get so nervous that they start shootin’ each other again, we’ll just wait out the night. Right now, in the dark, he has the advantage. But when it gets light, he will be exposed, and it’ll be our turn again.”

“Where do you think he is now?” Reed asked.

“It doesn’t matter. We know that he isn’t here, and we know that his objective is Teasdale. Right now, we have the upper hand.” Morrison turned away from the window, stretched and yawned, then walked over toward a sofa.

“Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take a nap,” Morrison said. He looked up at the big grandfather clock. “It’s two o’clock. Wake me at four, then you can get a couple hours.”

Looking around, Matt saw that he was in a small anteroom that was just off the parlor. He decided that this must be Teasdale’s office. There was a closet at the back of the room, and when Matt opened it and checked inside, he was able to determine that it was wide enough that he could move into one end and be completely out of sight. He decided that if Morrison could take a nap, he could, too. He would sleep until morning.

Matt always did have an internal clock. He could tell himself what time he wanted to awaken and do so within two or three minutes of that time. He opened his eyes just before the clock chimed six. He could see a thin line of light coming under the closet door. Moving to the door, he stood there for a moment listening, then slowly and quietly opened it and stepped out into Teasdale’s office.

It was full daylight outside.

Matt retraced the steps to the parlor. Reed was asleep on the sofa, Teasdale was asleep in the big leather chair, and Morrison was looking through the window.

“Morrison, you should be ashamed of yourself,” Matt said.

“What the hell!” Morrison shouted spinning around. Morrison’s pistol was in his holster. He saw that Matt’s gun was in his hand. “Where did you come from?”

“What is it? What is going on?” Teasdale asked, waking up groggily. Seeing Matt Jensen standing in his parlor, gun in hand, shocked him almost into insensibility.

“How? How did you get through everyone?” Teasdale asked.

“It was easy,” Matt said. “While they were shooting each other, I just came on into your house. I spent the night in your office. That is a very nice office. You had a very good thing going here, Teasdale. It’s a shame you couldn’t have been satisfied with what you had. You had to try and break Mr. Frewen by sending Logan and his outlaws out to steal his cattle.”

“I didn’t do that,” Teasdale said.

“Don’t lie to me, Teasdale,” Matt said with an irritable tone to his voice. “I don’t like it when people lie to me. I know damn well you have been working with Logan, and I have his journal to prove it.”

“What? What are you talking about? What journal?”

“Ahh, I see you didn’t know about his journal, did you? He wrote it all down, everything, dates, how many cattle he stole, how much money you gave him for each head. What was it? Five dollars a head, I think his journal says.”

Matt was running a bluff. There was no journal; he was merely using the information he had overheard in the conversation between Pool, Greer, and Bragg.

“What fool would keep a journal like that?” Teasdale asked in anger, and Matt knew that his bluff had worked.

“What I don’t understand is how you could do something like that to a fellow countryman—someone who is supposed to be your friend,” Matt said.

“Frewen is an incompetent idiot,” Teasdale replied with a scoff. “He has lost thousands and thousands of dollars for his investors. Once they find out what I have done, they will thank me.”

“And will they thank you for murdering so many of Mr. Frewen’s men? How many was it? Six?”

“I had nothing to do with anyone getting killed,” Teasdale said.

“What about Kyle Houston? Carlos Silva? Jake Scarnes? What about Carter, Hodge, and Decker? Did you have nothing to do with them being killed?”

“What are you talking about? You killed those men!” Teasdale said.

“Because you offered them money to kill me. You are the one who set it in motion, Teasdale.”

“You can’t hold me responsible for that.”

“I can, and I do. By my count, Teasdale, no fewer than twenty-two men have died because of your greed and ambition. And that isn’t counting how many were killed last night when your own men started shooting at each other. You are a mass murderer, Teasdale. You have killed more men that Billy the Kid.”

“You—you are crazy!” Teasdale said. “No court will believe that!”

“No court will believe it? No court? You don’t understand, do you? I am the court. I am the prosecutor, I am the jury, I am the judge, and I am the executioner. I find you guilty as charged, and I sentence you to death.”

Matt cocked his pistol, raised it, and aimed it at Teasdale’s head.

“No! God no!” Teasdale cried. He dropped down to his knees and held his hands up as if praying. “I beg of you. Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I didn’t know so many people were going to be killed. I thought Frewen would give up and go home.”

“William!” a woman’s voice said. Margaret Teasdale had just appeared in the door that opened onto the hall from the parlor. “You did that? You are the cause of all those men being killed? You are the cause of Moreton Frewen’s troubles?”

“You don’t understand, Margaret,” Teasdale said. “I did it for you. I did it all for you.”

“For me? You did it for me? How dare you say that?” Margaret said. “Clara is the best friend I have in this world. How can I ever face her again?”

“Stand up, Teasdale,” Matt said.

“No, please, no.”

“Stand up, William! Stand up and face him like a man, for God’s sake!” Margaret said.

Teasdale got up, and when he did, it was obvious to all in the room that he had wet his pants. He began shaking uncontrollably.

Matt eased the hammer down, then lowered his pistol. “The killing ends now,” he said. “How many men do you have outside?

“I had seventeen, counting the men who were out on the range looking for you. But four were killed, last night, and five were wounded. There are eight left.”

“Reed, go outside and call them in. I want them disarmed and standing out front. All eight of them.”

Reed left to carry out Matt’s instructions. Teasdale walked over to the wall, then leaned against it, shaking and whimpering.

“What happens to me?” Morrison asked.

“You are the biggest disappointment of all, Morrison,” Matt said. “Frewen trusted you completely. The boy looked up to you. All of your men respected you. Benedict Arnold has nothing on you.”

Morrison looked down in shame.

“Don’t ever show your face at the ranch again. Leave, now.”

“I’ve got some things back at the ranch, I’ll have to go back ...”

“No. No going back. Leave now.”

“Come, Teasdale,” Matt said, motioning toward the front door with his pistol. When they stepped out onto the porch, Reed and the eight remaining men had gathered out front. Reed saw Morrison mounting his horse.

“Hey, Morrison, where are you going?” Reed called.

Morrison didn’t reply. Instead, he urged his horse into a rapid trot through the gate and up the road, riding quickly away from Thistledown.

“Men,” Matt said. “There is no job for you here. There is no money for you here. My advice to you is to leave.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” one of the men asked.

“I don’t care where you go,” Matt said. “But I’ll tell you this. If I ever see any of you again, I’ll shoot you on sight.”

The eight men looked at each for a moment, then they broke into a run toward the stable. Less than three minutes later, all of them were mounted, and leaving at a gallop.

“Those men are riding my horses,” Teasdale said.

“You don’t have any horses,” Matt said. “Reed, get the dead and the wounded onto a wagon and get them in town. What I told the men goes for you as well. I don’t ever want to see you around here again.”

With the business taken care of, Matt motioned for Teasdale to go back inside. Margaret was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, weeping silently. Teasdale started toward her, but she turned away from him.

“No!” she said. “Stay away from me! You disgust me!”

Matt picked up the phone and called Marshal Drew.

“Marshal? Matt Jensen. Come out to Thistledown, I’ve got a prisoner for you. That’s right, Thistledown. Your prisoner is William Teasdale.”