Savage Territory

Chapter Seven

At the Fort Collins train depot, Matt Jensen stood with his arms folded across his chest as he watched the activity on the platform. Pogue Willis, unarmed, meek, and unchallenging, was here also, sitting on a bench under the watchful eyes of one of Sheriff Allen’s deputies. As it happened, both Matt and Willis would be taking the same train south from Fort Collins, though when Matt reached Denver, he would transfer to a train heading east, while Willis and the deputy would continue on with the train heading south, toward New Mexico Territory. The deputy would stay with Willis until they reached the state line. At that point, Willis would be released and the deputy would come back.

Although Matt was disappointed by the outcome of the trial, he realized that technically the jury had come in with the correct verdict. No matter the provocation, Lee didn’t have to draw his gun. That meant that in the final analysis, it was his own fault. Matt just wished that he could have arrived a few minutes earlier. He was sure that if he had been there, none of this would have happened.

“Mr. Jensen?”

Turning, Matt saw the bar girl Willis had been beating.

“Yes, uh, Miss Simpson, isn’t it?” Matt replied.

The girl smiled and, even with the bruises, the smile softened her features. It was obvious that, before the dissipation of her profession had taken its toll, Juanita Simpson had been an attractive woman.

“Here, folks was callin’ me miss all durin’ the trial, and now you’re callin’ me miss, too. Don’t hardly nobody ever call me miss no more,” she said. “Not what with me bein’ a bar girl an’ all. Most folks call me much worse. You can call me Juanita if you want to.”

“I’d be pleased to call you Juanita.”

“You was a friend of Mr. Marcus, wasn’t you?” Juanita said. “I seen that you and him talked some right there at the end, just before he died.”

“Yes, we were friends,” Matt said.

“You was friends, and now he is dead. And it was all my fault him gettin’ killed all ’cause of the way he took up for me like he done.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Juanita. Not at all,” Matt said. “Don’t be blaming yourself for it. The person to blame is that little pipsqueak over there.” Matt pointed to Pogue Willis.”

“He don’t look very scary now, does he?” Juanita said.

“No, not at all.”

Juanita walked over to the bench where Willis was sitting.

“Mr. Willis, there’s somethin’ I owe you,” she said.

“Yeah? What is that?” Willis asked.

Suddenly and totally without warning, Juanita swung her hand around, putting all her weight into it. With her doubled up fist, she hit Willis on the cheek just under his eye, hitting him with enough force to send him tumbling off the bench.

“Why, you bitch, I’m going to—”

“Do nothing, except sit back down on the bench and shut up,” the deputy said.

The others at the depot, having seen what happened, laughed.

“Hey, Willis, you ain’t much of a man without a gun, are you?” someone called.

Glaring, Willis sat still and stared down at the ground between his feet.

Juanita turned and walked away from him.

“Good for you, miss,” someone said, and a few others joined in with their own positive comments.

Matt chuckled when Juanita returned.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Juanita smiled. “I feel a lot better,” she said. “Oh! Do you think I was wrong?”

“No, Juanita, I think you were very right,” Matt said. “To be honest, I’ve been standing here wishing I could do it myself. But it’s even better coming from you.”

Juanita laughed. “I hope Mr. Marcus is lookin’ down from heaven and saw it.”

“I’ll just bet he is,” Matt said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Juanita said. She stepped back into the depot, then came back out a moment later, holding a package. “I made this for you while you are on the train,” Juanita said as she handed the package to him. “I know I’m nothin’ but a bar girl, but I’m also a pretty good cook. And I’m just particular good at bakin’ cookies. This here is my mother’s recipe. I made a batch of ’em for you.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you,” Matt said. “I don’t know what I did to cause you to want to make cookies for me, but I appreciate it.”

“Like I said, you was Mr. Marcus’s friend,” Juanita said. “And you treated me real nice durin’ the trial and all.”

In the distance, they heard a train whistle.

“Eastbound!” the station manager shouted, coming out onto the platform. “This here train is for Eagle, Sherwood, Wolcott, Allentown, Minturn, Rock Creek, Wheeler, Pano, Denver, and all points east, north, and south.”

“I reckon that’s your train,” Juanita said.

“Yes.”

“If you wanted to stay here a couple days, maybe I could—uh—well if you wanted to stay here a couple of days, you could—what I mean is…” she said, not completing her thought.

“I appreciate the invitation, Juanita,” Matt said. “But I made a promise to Lee that I intend to keep.”

“Yes, sir, and you are the kind that keeps his promises,” Juanita said. “Mr. Marcus was lucky to have a friend like you.”

The train pulled into the station then, arriving with a rush of steam, a rattle of connectors, and the squeal of steel on steel as the brakes were applied.

The station manager walked out to the engine and held a sheaf of papers up to the engineer, who took them. The engineer filled his pipe as the engine sat at rest, venting steam from the pressure-relief valve.

Arriving baggage was taken from the baggage car while departing baggage was loaded. The conductor stood on the platform, self-assured in his importance, as the arriving passengers stepped down. He pulled out his pocket watch and examined it, then put it back.

“All aboard!” he shouted.

With last-minute good-byes, the outgoing passengers began loading onto the train. Matt watched as the deputy and Willis climbed onto the first car behind the baggage car. Matt boarded the next car behind the one that the deputy and Willis had taken, then took his seat for the start of what was going to be a very long trip.

Matt watched the other passengers settle in—a drummer with his wares, an older couple, two young cowboys, and a young woman with a baby. When the young woman tried to put her grip in the overhead rack, one of the cowboys came to her aid, saluted her with a touch to the brim of his hat, then took his seat beside his friend.

Matt heard the whistle of the train; then the train started, causing a series of jerks to be distributed down through the line of cars as the slack was taken from the couplers. As the train pulled out of the station, he looked through the window toward Juanita, who, like many of the others, was still standing on the platform. He waved at her and, with a quick and grateful smile, she waved back.

For a moment, Matt wondered what there was about Juanita that generated in him a feeling of warmth for her; then he realized that it was because she reminded him of Tamara.

The train began gathering speed and, as it did so, Matt leaned his head back on the seat, closed his eyes, and remembered Tamara. Both he and Tamara had been orphans at the Home for Wayward Boys and Girls. It was run by a man named Mumford, an exceptionally evil man who insisted that all call him Captain, though he had no military experience, and all the children of the home were victims of his cruelty. Unwilling to take any more of it, Matt ran away from the home when he was twelve years old. Tamara, who was fourteen, ran away from the home with him.

Matt wasn’t sure exactly what time it was when he left.* He knew it was late at night because everyone was asleep and he could hear the snores and rhythmic breathing of the others. It was getting colder outside, and he had no overcoat, so he decided to take the blanket off his bed.

He walked down to the hall and stood just outside the girls’ dormitory. When Tamara didn’t show up, he was about to leave without her, but suddenly she was there.

“When I saw you with the blanket, I thought that might be a pretty good idea,” she whispered. “So I went back to get mine.”

“All right, let’s go, but keep quiet,” Matt said.

Once outside, they looked back toward the building that housed the Home for Wayward Boys and Girls. For a moment, he almost went back in. It wasn’t much, but it was the only home he’d had for the last three years. For some of the residents, it was the only home they had ever known.

“Are you sure you want to go with me?” Matt asked. “I mean, when you think about it, the Home kept us warm in the winter, gave us a place to sleep, and provided meals.”

“Such as they were,” Tamara said.

“We are giving up a safe haven for the unknown,” Matt said.

“Who are you trying to talk out of going? Me or you?” Tamara asked.

“I don’t know,” Matt answered honestly. “Both of us, I guess.”

The moon was full and bright, and it lit the path for them. A cool night breeze caused Matt to shiver, though in truth he didn’t know if his trembling was entirely from the cold, or from nervousness over his uncertain future. He pulled the blanket around himself, then began walking.

The Home for Wayward Boys and Girls was three blocks from Muddy Creek and while that had not been a conscious goal, Matt quickly found himself on the bank of the creek, looking down at the water. That’s when he saw the boat.

“There,” he said excitedly, pointing to the boat. “That’s our way out of here!”

“We’re going to steal a boat?” Tamara asked.

“Nah, we’re not stealing it,” Matt said. “We’re just borrowing it. You keep a watch out while I untie it.”

Scrambling down the creek bank, Matt started untying the boat. That was when he heard the dogs barking.

“Tamara!” he called up the embankment. “Tamara, what is it?”

“Someone’s coming,” Tamara called down.

“Come on, hurry!”

“No!” Tamara said. You go ahead. I’ll lead them away from the water.”

“Tamara, no, come on!” Matt said. “Hurry, we have to go now!”

“You go on!” Tamara called.

Matt saw Tamara turn and run away from the top of the bank.

“Help!” Tamara called. “Help me!”

“What are you doing out here, girl?” a man’s voice asked.

“I don’t know,” Tamara answered. “I think I must have been walking in my sleep, I just woke up out here. I’m lost and frightened. Please, help me get back to the Home.”

By distracting the man, Tamara had given Matt the opportunity to get away and Matt took advantage of it. Wandering around in the mountains, he very nearly died of starvation and hypothermia until he was found, nearly frozen, by Smoke Jensen. Not yet widely known, Smoke was well on his way to becoming one of the West’s most enduring legends.

Smoke not only saved Matt’s life, he took in a boy with potential and began schooling him in such things as horsemanship, marksmanship with a rifle or handgun, the quick draw, how to fight with knife or fist, hunting, tracking, and how to survive in the woods, mountains, or desert.

But most of all, Smoke instilled in the boy the knowledge of right and wrong, a sense of justice and fair play, and an awareness of when to use his skills as a gunman—and when not to. Having started as a boy, Matt had graduated as a man who, like Smoke, was well on his way to becoming a legend in his own right.

It was six years after he and Tamara parted on the bank of that river before Matt saw her again.

“You don’t recognize me, do you, Matt?”

Matt stared at her. It couldn’t be. This woman looked ten to fifteen years older than he was, not a mere two years older.

“My God,” he said with an expulsion of breath. “Tamara?”

“I wondered when you were going to recognize me,” Tamara replied. “Have I changed that much? I recognized you right away.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that—well, I never expected to see you—here.”

“You mean you didn’t expect to see me whorin’,” Tamara replied.

Matt didn’t answer.

Tamara got out of bed and padded, naked, over to a chair where she had put her clothes the night before.

“What did you expect would happen to the girls at the Home?” she asked as she began dressing. “Mumford had us on the line by the time we were fifteen.” She looked up at him, and he saw tears sliding down her face. “I told you that. You do remember, don’t you, Matt, that I told you that?”

Matt nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I remember. I tried to take you with me.”

Tamara’s expression softened, and she nodded.

“I know you did, honey. But I guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think I would have gotten away that night,” Matt said. “You led them away from me and the boat.”

“I know I did. And don’t think that I didn’t think about it a lot of times. I thought sure you had died up in the mountains, and I figured that if you had, it would have been my fault.”

“As you can see, I didn’t die,” he said. “And even if I had, it would not have been your fault. Like I said, I thank you for helping me out that night.”

Suddenly, there was the tinkling sound of broken glass as something whizzed through the window, followed by a solid “thock,” like the sound of a hammer hitting a nail.

Tamara pitched forward, even as a mist of blood was spraying out from the back of her head.

“No!” Matt shouted in a loud, grief-stricken voice.

Matt had avenged Tamara’s death, but he had never forgotten her, and even now, many years later, he continued to think of her.

Had Matt loved Tamara? He had thought about that many times over the years. He knew that he had not been “in love with” Tamara, at least not in the classic sense. But she was a part of his youth, and he could not deny that he had loved her, any more than he could deny his own heritage.