Massacre at Powder River

by William W. Johnstone

  “One more thing,” Teasdale said. “It can’t be known that I am the one putting out the reward. This can’t be traced back to me. If it is, it would ruin everything.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “No, you can’t put out the reward either. You are working for me. If it is traced back to you, that would be the same thing as tracing it to me.”

  “I didn’t mean I would take care of it by being the one to post the reward. All we have to do is have Sam Logan post the reward for us. That will not only keep it from coming back to you—Logan also knows people who know people, and that will get the word out.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Teasdale said. “Go see him, tell him what we need.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  From the Sussex Standard:

  War with Cattle Rustlers

  For the last month there has been a war conducted of good versus evil. The good resides in the person of Matt Jensen, a regulator hired by Mr. Moreton Frewen. The representative of evil is Sam Logan and the group of cattle rustlers who call themselves the Yellow Kerchief Gang.

  This paper is pleased to report that good seems to be triumphant over evil, for no less than six cattle rustlers have thus far been dispatched to the nether world that awaits those who ply their reprehensible occupation at the cost of lives and property of decent folk.

  That Matt Jensen’s one man war against the malevolent forces arrayed against our cattlemen and their brave young cowboys has been successful is evidenced by the reduced number of cows rustled since his arrival. Not one cow has been stolen. This newspaper says hurrah for the likes of Matt Jensen, and warns the evildoers that their days of iniquity in Johnson County are numbered.

  Sam Logan read the article, then handed it back to Reed. “All right, I read it,” he said with a growl. “Why did you show it to me? Do you think I have to read in the newspaper what a pain in the ass Jensen has been?”

  “I showed it to you because I want you to see how important it is that we get rid of the son of a bitch,” Reed said.

  “Yeah, well, we’ve tried three times. And it hasn’t worked any time, besides which my cousin got hisself kilt and so did Silva. Except I don’t give a shit about Silva, that back-shootin’ bastard. He’s good riddance as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Yes, well, now we have another plan,” Reed said.

  “What is that?”

  “We aren’t going to try and hire anyone in particular. We’re just goin’ to put out a five thousand dollar reward on his head. And we will pay it to anyone who kills him, no matter who it is.”

  “Yeah,” Logan said. “Yeah, that might work. Only thing is, how are you going to get the word out?” Logan picked up the newspaper. “It ain’t like you can put an ad in the newspaper. And you probably ain’t goin’ to be able to get anyone to print up posters on it either.”

  “I know. We thought maybe you could get the word out.”

  “Why me?”

  “Several reasons,” Reed replied. “Number one, your business is being hurt by Jensen more than Mr. Teasdale’s business is. You are the one he is after. And you have a network of contacts that will allow you to get the word out. Mr. Teasdale, on the other hand, can’t let it be known that he is behind the reward.”

  “All right,” Logan said. “I’ll put the word out. But I want a thousand dollars for doing it.”

  “Why would you want a thousand dollars? Hell, like I said, you are the one Jensen is looking for. I would think you would be happy to have Teasdale put up the money for a reward that might just save your life,” Reed said.

  Logan smiled. “Let’s just say it is my handling fee,” he said.

  “I don’t know if he will go along with it,” Reed said.

  “You can talk him into it.”

  “Why should I? It’s not my neck that’s on the line here. Jensen isn’t looking for me.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you like to have a handling fee?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Say, five hundred dollars? You get an extra thousand dollars for me to spread the word and handle the reward, and there’s five hundred dollars in it for you,” Logan said.

  Reed smiled. “I like the way you think, Sam Logan.”

  Jake Scarns was in the Buffalo Gals Saloon in Buffalo when he saw Moe Greer come into the bar. Scarns and Greer had spent some time together in the Colorado State Prison. When Greer saw Scarns, he stopped at the bar, bought a bottle and took it and two glasses over to the table where Scarns was sitting with one of the girls from the saloon.

  “Beat it,” Greer said to the bargirl.

  “Wait a minute, cowboy, you can’t just run me off like that. Scarns, are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

  “Yeah,” Scarns said. “What do you mean by running her off? I was enjoyin’ her company.”

  Greer gave the girl five dollars. “My pard ’n I have some talkin’ to do,” he said. “You can come back later.”

  The girl took the money with a big smile.

  “Well, honey, if you put that way, I’ll be glad to go,” she said. She ran her hand through Scarns’s hair. “When you are ready for me to come back, you just whistle.”

  “All right,” Scarns said.

  As the girl was leaving, Greer poured two glasses of whiskey and slid one over to Scarns.

  “What’s all this about?” Scarns asked.

  “Five thousand dollars,” Greer said.

  Scarns tossed the entire drink down, then he slid the glass out as Greer refilled it.

  “All right, I’m interested.”

  “Have you ever heard of a man named Matt Jensen?” Greer asked.

  “I saw him once, down in Colorado,” Scarns said.

  “Would you recognize him on sight?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Would he recognize you?”

  “No, I don’t see why he would. Like I said, I saw him once, but I never actually met him. What’s this about, Moe?”

  “Someone I know is willing to pay five thousand dollars to have Matt Jensen killed.”

  “Ha! You’re talking about Sam Logan, ain’t you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Hell, it’s been in the paper, how Sam Logan had a good thing going until this fella Jensen showed up.”

  “All right, yes, I am talking about Sam Logan,” Greer said. “So, are you interested?”

  Scarns got his whiskey glass refilled and tossed it down before he answered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “For five thousand dollars I’ll kill the son of a bitch in front of the county sheriff.”

  Two days after the meeting between Greer and Scarns, Matt was in The Lion and The Crown. He had just finished one beer and asked Harry for another when he saw, by the reflection of the mirror behind the glass shelf full of bottles, that someone was rising from a table behind him and pulling his gun.

  Instantly, Matt drew his own pistol and whirled toward the man. When that man saw how quickly Matt had drawn, he held his hands up, letting the pistol dangle from its trigger guard.

  “Who are you?” Matt asked.

  The man didn’t answer and Matt cocked his pistol, the double click of the sear engaging the cylinder making a loud sound in the now silent room. “I asked who you are.”

  “Scarns! Jake Scarns!” he said. “Don’t shoot, Jensen. Don’t shoot!”

  “Why the hell shouldn’t I?” Matt replied. “You were about to back-shoot me, weren’t you?”

  “My God, Mister, you’re not real, you know that? What does it take to kill you?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “How much are you getting paid?”

  Matt just took a chance on asking that question. It was something he suspected, but not anything he knew for sure.

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  “Looks like you’re going to have to give the money back.”

  “I ain’t got it. Nobody’s got it yet. It’s the reward for killin’ you. I ain’t goin’ to
be the only one tryin’.”

  “Who has put up the reward?”

  “You’re askin’ too damn many questions,” Scarns said.

  “Who else is coming after me?” Matt asked. “Are there others?”

  “Hell, with that much money on your head, there’s prob’ly a dozen or so. I don’t know who else.”

  “I tell you what,” Matt said. “For the time being, I’m going to park you in the jail.”

  “What do you mean? You ain’t got no authority to put me in jail. You ain’t carryin’ a badge.”

  “Yeah, I am,” Matt said. “I’m carrying a badge for the Union Pacific Railroad.”

  “Are you crazy? There ain’t no railroad up here.”

  “Have you ever ridden on a train?” Matt asked.

  “What? Yeah, of course I’ve been on a train. So what?”

  “If you’ve ever been on a train, that means you’ve used the railroad. And that’s all the authority I need. Let me have your gun.”

  “You know what I think?” Scarns asked. “I think you’re just sayin’ that. There ain’t no way your badge can mean anything just ’cause I’ve been on a train. You can’t take me to jail ’cause I ain’t done nothin’, and you got no authority over me.”

  “Give me your gun,” Matt repeated.

  “All right, if you say so.” Scarns smiled then, slowly, turned the pistol around so that the butt was pointing toward Matt.

  “But you be careful with your gun,” Scarns said. “I’ve done give up, and this here saloon is full of witnesses who’ll swear I was handin’ you my gun. You shoot me now, you’ll hang.”

  “All right, Scarns,” Matt said. He let the hammer down, then lowered his pistol. “I’m going to park you in jail, and that’s where you are going to stay until I find out who is paying you. And if there are any others after me, you are more than likely going to have company.”

  “You ain’t scarin’ me none, Jensen. I won’t be in jail long. I didn’t do nothin’. I might’ve wanted to, but I didn’t. And you can’t keep a man in jail for wantin’ to do somethin’.”

  Matt reached for Scarns’s gun, but Scarns suddenly executed a border roll. Matt wasn’t often caught by surprise, but this time he was, not only because Scarns had the audacity to try such a thing, but because he was so good at it.

  Because Matt had let the hammer down and his pistol and lowered it, he had to raise the gun back into line while at the same time cocking it. The quiet room was suddenly shattered with the roar of two pistols shooting at almost the same time. The others in the saloon were even more surprised than Matt had been, and though a few of them yelled and dove for cover, it was too late because the action had already begun. Gray gunsmoke billowed out from the two pistols, spreading into a cloud that momentarily obscured the results of the unexpected shoot-out. From their various positions around the saloon, everyone looked toward the bar where the action had taken place, waiting until the smoke cleared enough for them to see.

  Gradually the smoke began to roll away, and as it did, everyone could see Scarns still standing there with a broad smile on his face. He took one step toward Matt, then the smile left his face and his eyes glazed over. With a groan he pitched forward, his gun clattering to the floor.

  Matt was ready to fire again if need be, but a second shot wasn’t necessary. He stood in place for a moment, looking down at Scarns before he finally holstered his pistol.

  “Did you see that?” someone asked.

  His question wasn’t answered, because everyone in the saloon had seen it.

  There were shouts from outside, then the sound of people running. Several came into the saloon and stood under the rising cloud of gunsmoke to stare down at the dead man on the floor. One of those who ran into the saloon was Marshal Drew.

  “Marshal, it wasn’t Jensen’s fault,” Harry said quickly. “Ever’one in here will tell you that this fella on the floor, Scarns he said his name was, started it all.”

  “Yeah,” Marshal Drew said with a resigned sigh.

  “They have all been like that. Matt, you are a good man, I’ll attest to that. But I swear, the grim reaper must just hover over you.”

  “Another one?” Teasdale said. “Are you telling me that Jensen killed another one?”

  “Yeah, someone who was trying to collect the reward,” Reed said.

  “How do you know he was trying to collect the reward?”

  “Because he said it out loud, and everyone in the saloon heard him,” Reed said.

  “My God, that’s not good,” Teasdale said, growing pale.

  “He didn’t say who offered the reward,” Reed said. “And of course he wouldn’t know anyway, because he thought the reward would be coming from Sam Logan. And anyone else who might try and collect is going to think the same thing.”

  “Yes,” Teasdale said. “Yes, I suppose that is right, isn’t it?”

  “And, look at it this way,” Reed said. “Jensen isn’t dead, that’s true, but you aren’t out any money yet, either. And you won’t be until someone actually gets the job done.”

  “That leaves a question hanging though, doesn’t it?” Teasdale said.

  “What question is that?”

  “Is there nobody that can kill that bloody bastard?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  In the town of Curtis Wells, about twenty miles east of Sussex, Pete Carter, Tim Hodge, and Ben Decker were in the Back Lot Saloon.

  “Five thousand dollars,” Carter said. “That’s how much the reward is to take care of Jensen.”

  “Five thousand dollars? We was only going to get a hunnert dollars apiece,” Hodge complained. “Who’s givin’ this reward, anyway?”

  “From what I hear, it is Sam Logan.”

  “Sam Logan? He don’t have that much money,” Decker said.

  “How do you know he don’t? He’s been runnin’ a pretty good operation in Johnson County for near ’bout a year, now. Hell, there ain’t no tellin’ how much money he’s got,” Carter said.

  “What I’m wonderin’ is why he would be willin’ to give out so much money as a reward for killin’ Jensen, when he was only goin’ to give us a hunnert dollars apiece,” Hodge said.

  “Well, think about it,” Carter said. “From what I hear, Jensen is playing hell with Logan’s operation. He’s already killed half a dozen of his men, and if you had somethin’ good goin’, and there was a chance that some son of a bitch was goin’ to mess it up for you, wouldn’t you want to get rid of him?”

  “Yeah, I guess, but, it don’t seem fair that he would be offering all that money to someone else, and not to us.”

  “Who said it ain’t to us?” Carter asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a reward,” Carter said. “It will be paid to anyone takes care of Jensen. All we got to do is get to him first, and the money is ours.”

  “How do we do that?” Decker asked. “We already run into him once, and it didn’t work out all that well, if you remember.”

  “No, we didn’t run into him. He ran into us,” Carter said. “This time we will do it different.”

  Matt was having his lunch at The Lion and The Crown when he saw Carter, Hodge, and Decker come into the saloon. He recognized them right away and wondered what they were doing there. Then when they started toward him, he knew that their presence was no mere accident.

  “Well, Mr. Jensen, it looks like we meet again,” Carter said.

  “I didn’t think you boys would show up in Sussex,” Matt said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” Carter said.

  “Tell me, Jensen,” Decker said. “Did you really think you could steal our guns and get away with it?”

  “I didn’t steal them, I just held on to them for a while. If you want them back, all you have to do is go see Marshal Drew.”

  “Nah, we don’t want them back,” Hodge said. “We got us new guns.”

  “Do you, now?”

  Matt took a swallow of his beer,
then put the mug on the table. He dropped his hands in his lap.

  “You boys do seem to have something on your mind,” Matt said. “And I’m just betting it would be the reward money.”

  Carter smiled. “You know about the reward, do you?”

  “Yes. Evidently a couple of men have already tried for it.”

  “Yeah? Where are they now?”

  “Oh, the town gave them choice lots down in the cemetery.”

  “We’ve talked enough, Carter,” Hodge said. “I say let’s just go ahead and kill him now.”

  “You’re goin’ to do it, are you Hodge?” Carter asked.

  “Yeah, I’m going to do it,” Hodge answered. “He don’t look all that tough to me. Last time he was standin’ behind us, if you remember. This time we are face to face, and I say let’s do it, get our money, and be done with it.”

  Hodge moved his hand down to hover just over his own gun. “What about it, Mr. big-shot gunfighter? You want to settle this now?”

  By now, all the rest of the conversation in The Lion and The Crown had ceased, and everyone turned to see if this was going to progress any further.

  “That’s pretty brave of you—what did your friend call you? Hodge?”

  “Yeah, the name is Hodge, Tim Hodge. What about it, Mr. Matt Jensen, Mr. big-time gun fighter? I’m gettin’ pretty tired of jawin’. I say that you either go for your gun now, or get plumb on out of the county with your tail tucked down between your legs.”

  “You are challenging me to a gunfight, are you, Mr. Hodge?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. I’m challenging you to a gunfight.”

  “That’s not really fair now, is it?” Matt said. “I mean with me sitting down, and you standing up. It’s sort of hard to make a quick draw from a sitting position. Are you going to allow me to stand up first?”