Massacre at Powder River

by William W. Johnstone

  “I see.”

  “The only place there is honor is in poems and stories and such,” Logan continued. “Honor ain’t nothin’ real.”

  “Oh, but I believe it is, sir,” Winnie said.

  “Do you know anyone with honor?”

  “Oh, indeed I do, sir. Mr. Jensen is a man of honor and courage.”

  Logan chuckled. “Well, we will see just how much honor and courage Jensen has, won’t we? Do you think he will try to rescue you?”

  Winnie gasped. “That’s why you are holding me here, isn’t it? You are using me as bait.”

  “You’re a smart kid, ain’t you? But don’t worry. Once we draw him into the trap, we’ll let you go.”

  Logan left Winnie and went back to talk to the others.

  “Jensen will show up at the point tomorrow at ten o’clock. Only we are going to be there by nine—no, make it eight.”

  “Hell, that’s two hours early,” Poindexter said. “Why do we need to be there so early?”

  “In case he gets anxious and comes early, I want us to already be there,” Logan said.

  No one came to talk to Winnie for the rest of the day. He stayed over in the corner next to the fireplace and listened carefully to their conversation to see if there was anything he could learn that might be used to his advantage. He studied the layout of the shack in order to try and determine a way of escaping. There were only two windows high on the walls at each end, one over a double bunk bed, the other over the stove. The only other way out was the single door in the front of the building.

  That night Winnie accepted the offer of a bowl of cold beans.

  “Now, boy, let me tell you how this is going to work,” Logan said. “One of us is going to be awake all night long. We’ll be keeping an eye on you, so don’t get any idea about tryin’ to escape, because it ain’t goin’ to happen. You understand that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Winnie replied.

  When it got dark enough, the men lit a lantern and set it on the table so they could see to play cards. Winnie stretched out on the floor and went to sleep.

  He had no idea how long he had been asleep when he woke up. It was still dark and the lantern, though still burning, had been turned down very low so that the room, though illuminated, was barely so. The air was rent with the snoring of the sleeping men, and Winnie sat up to have a look around.

  Perhaps this was his opportunity to escape!

  Getting on his feet as quietly as he could, he started toward the door. That was when he saw someone sitting in a chair right beside the door.

  Winnie’s spirits fell when he saw that; then he remembered that Logan had told him that he was going to keep someone awake all night long so they could keep an eye on him. Winnie recognized him. It was Clayton, the cook.

  But as Winnie continued to stare at him for a long moment, he saw that Clayton didn’t seem to be moving.

  Winnie took a step toward him, walking as quietly as he could.

  Clayton had not noticed him, and Winnie felt a surge of hope and excitement when he realized that, like the others, Clayton was asleep!

  Moving quietly, and scarcely daring to breathe, Winnie crossed the floor and stepped up to the door. The problem now was whether or not he could open the door without it squeaking.

  Reaching up with a nervous hand, Winnie turned the door handle, then pulled it open.

  It didn’t make a sound.

  Stepping outside, Winnie pulled the door shut. If he was lucky, he could be a considerable distance away before anyone noticed that he was gone. Looking back toward the door to make certain Clayton didn’t notice his absence and suddenly jerk the door open, he stepped down from the porch.

  “Where are you goin’, boy?” a man’s voice asked.

  Gasping, and with his heart leaping to his throat, Winnie turned around to see Poindexter standing in front of him. Before he could react, Poindexter reached out to grab him.

  “Well, now,” Poindexter said. “It’s a good thing I came outside to take a piss, ain’t it? Otherwise you might have wandered off somewhere and got yourself lost. You don’t want to get lost up here, boy. There’s wolves and bears about.”

  Still holding him by the arm, Poindexter pushed Winnie back into the line shack.

  “Hey!” he shouted, his shout loud enough to wake everyone.

  “What?”

  “What are you shouting for?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I just thought you fellas might like to know that the boy here was escaping. Seems to me like we was supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

  “Clayton, you the one s’posed to be watchin’ him now, ain’t you?” Logan challenged.

  “I—I must have dozed off,” Clayton said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see the boy leave.”

  “If this was the army you’d be stood up against a post an’ shot for fallin’ asleep on guard duty,” Logan said.

  “I said I’m sorry. I don’t lie aroun’ all day like you boys. I cook, an’ that means I’m on my feet most of the day.”

  “All right, here is the way it is going to be,” Logan said. “If the boy escapes again, I’ll kill whoever is supposed to be watching out for him.” He looked at Winnie. “Did you hear that, boy? If you escape again, you will be responsible for someone getting killed. And then when we find you—and we will find you—I’ll kill you as well. Now, get back over in that corner and stay there.”

  Winnie complied with Logan’s order without comment.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  At the junction of Nine Mile Creek and the Powder River, Matt tied Spirit off so he couldn’t be seen. Then he climbed up onto a precipice that afforded him enough elevation to be able to see for a long way in either direction, or at least as far as he could see in the darkness. It was three A.M., and he had come in the middle of the night so he would be there far in advance of the time set by the note. It was his intention to see whoever Logan was going to send to meet him.

  From here, he could see back down the Powder River and up the small creek, both streams reflecting silver in the moonlight. Sitting down, he leaned back against a Ponderosa pine and waited. Overhead, the wind stirred the pine needles and moved the branches in a quiet whisper. It was a pleasant sound, and the air was soft and cool; and if his mission had not been critical, one that could mean life or death for a young boy, he could enjoy this moment.

  From the time Matt left what he now thought of as his “apprenticeship” with Smoke Jensen, he had never settled down in any one place. He knew that Smoke enjoyed his ranch, loved his wife Sally, and was comfortable as a stable businessman.

  Matt had been tempted a few times to follow his mentor’s example and find a good woman with whom he could settle down. The closest any woman had ever come to filling that role was Kitty Wellington. Kitty had been one of the other orphans in the Soda Creek Home for Wayward Boys and Girls. A few years ago he had heard from her. A widow, she had inherited a horse ranch from her husband, and when she got into trouble, she sent for Matt. Sitting here now in the middle of the night, listening to the whisper of the wind in the trees, gave him the opportunity to think of his time with her.

  The wind whispered as it came off the sails, and the sun created a million dancing diamonds on the surface of Lake Michigan. Matt and Kitty were seated on the afterdeck of the yacht, eating the meal the chef of the yacht had prepared for them. The yacht was about a mile off shore and from there, they had a great view of the city of Chicago. A passenger train was racing south along the lake shore.

  “Where do you think that train is going?” Kitty asked.

  “I don’t know,” Matt answered. “New Orleans, maybe?”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you like to go to New Orleans?”

  “Some day, perhaps,” Matt said. “But not today. I’m enjoying where I am right now.”

  “So am I,” Kitty said. “I have had such a wonderful time in Chicago that I don’t even want to go back. I hate to say this, but I could almost be
convinced to sell the ranch.”

  “And do what?” Matt asked.

  “The same thing you do,” Kitty said. “Just wander around.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, Kitty, you don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t you say Tyrone, Prew, Crack, Jake and the others at the ranch were your family?”

  Kitty was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” she finally replied. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Besides, you don’t want to quit now. The army not only bought all your horses, they told you they would buy as many as you could provide.”

  “Did you hear them say that it was the finest bunch of horses they had bought all year?” Kitty asked, proudly.

  “Yes, I did hear that,” Matt said. “And now, without the pressure of paying off a loan, the money you got from selling your horses to the army, and the guarantee they gave you for future contracts, you could just enjoy your ranch and your horses.”

  “Do you think you could?” Kitty asked.

  “Do I think I could what?”

  “Enjoy my ranch, my horses, and me?” Kitty said.

  “Kitty, I—”

  “No,” Kitty said, holding up her hand and interrupting Matt in mid-sentence. She smiled at him. “Don’t answer that, Matt. Let me keep my dream.”

  “Let you keep your dream? Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so sure about that,” Matt said, smiling.

  “What do you mean, you aren’t so sure?”

  “Kitty, you have just proven to me that your dreams seem to have a way of coming true.”1

  And of course there was Jennie Churchill. In the years since Matt had become an adult, he had had his experiences with women—some, like Kitty Wellington, came close to winning his heart—but most were women who did nothing more than provide him with pleasurable interludes.

  He knew that he could have such an interlude with Jennie—she had all but told him that. But though it might seem to some that Matt lived a life without parameters, facing death with equanimity, enjoying the pleasures of women when the opportunity presented itself, he was a man of strong moral character. And that moral character said that he would keep inviolate the sanctity of marriage. But he knew that wasn’t the only reason he would not have anything to do with Jennie. There was something about the boy, Winston Churchill, that reminded Matt of himself. And he would do nothing to tarnish the image the boy had of him.

  The next morning Teasdale arrived at Frewen Castle. When Benjamin showed him in to the parlor, he saw Frewen, Clara, and Jennie all with worried looks on their faces.

  “William, have you heard?” Frewen asked.

  “Yes,” Teasdale said. “That’s why I have come to wait with you.”

  “That is very nice of you,” Frewen said.

  Teasdale went over to the sofa where Jennie was sitting. “Mrs. Churchill, I’m so sorry this has happened. And now I feel guilty about it.”

  “Why should you feel guilty?” Jennie asked.

  “Because I made a horse available for the boy,” Teasdale said. “And if hadn’t been out riding by himself, he would have never been abducted.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Jennie said. “I’ve never seen Winnie happier than he has been these last several days, riding all over creation. If you hadn’t given him a horse to ride, I’m sure Moreton would have.”

  “Benjamin,” Clara called.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “Would you please bring tea for everyone?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Benjamin said.

  “I must say, you are taking this better than I would have thought,” Frewen said.

  “Matt told me he would bring Winnie home safely,” Jennie said. “And I believe him.”

  “Does he have any leads?”

  “Only what the note said,” Frewen replied. Walking over to his desk, he picked the note up, then brought it to Teasdale who sat down to read it.

  “It says they want him there by ten o’clock,” Teasdale said. “It’s probably about time for him to leave, don’t you think?”

  Frewen chuckled. “He’s already there.”

  “What?” Teasdale answered in surprise.

  “He said he wanted to be there when they arrived, so he left in the middle of the night.”

  “But isn’t that rather foolish of him?” Teasdale asked.

  “Foolish? How?”

  “They asked him to be there at ten o’clock, not in the middle of the night. Aren’t you afraid that if they feel they have been double-crossed that they might do harm to the boy?”

  “I don’t feel that way at all,” Frewen said. “I think they wanted him there at ten o’clock because they planned to ambush him. This whole thing was merely to set a trap for Mr. Jensen. I’m sure you have heard that someone has posted a five thousand dollar reward, payable to anyone who can kill him.”

  “Yes, the story is all over the valley,” Teasdale said. “And from what I understand, there have already been several who have tried, unsuccessfully, to collect the reward.”

  “To their sorrow,” Frewen said. “So far six men have tried, and six men have died.”

  Benjamin returned with the tea and for the next few moments the four sat around the parlor, sipping their tea in silence.

  “Tell me truthfully, Moreton,” Teasdale said. “Considering everything that has happened, are you not having second thoughts about this ranching venture of yours?”

  “I will confess that this entire enterprise has been much more difficult than I ever would have imagined, and I have tried to explain this to my backers. If the spring rains fail, grazing on the upper range is nonexistent. We’ve had two bitter winters. And when we do manage to get our cattle through the winter and drought, the herd has to be driven for five hundred miles before they can be shipped to Chicago. And then, on top of all that, I’ve had my herd decimated by this despicable Sam Logan character.”

  “There is a way that you can avoid all this,” Teasdale said. “My offer to buy you out still goes.”

  “I appreciate that, William, I really do,” Frewen said. “But there is no way I am going to turn my back on this now. I just can’t face the humiliation.”

  “Humiliation? Moreton, you have had six of your cowboys killed, you have had nearly a third of your herd stolen, and now your nephew is in great peril. Humiliation is the absolute last thing that you should worry about.”

  “Maybe humiliation was a bit too strong a word,” Frewen said. “I suppose the word I should use is pride. I have too much pride to quit now.”

  “Moreton, I’m sure you are familiar with the saying: ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’”

  “More specifically, Proverbs sixteen, verse eighteen, ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,’” Frewen said. “Yes, I have considered that, believe me.”

  “I have to hand it to you, Moreton, to stick it out the way you have.”

  “I’ve been lucky to have a friend like you, William,” Frewen said. “Not only because I need a reminder of England now and then, but also because you have faced the same hardships I have, and you have stood up to them better. You are not only a friend, you are an inspiration.”

  Teasdale cleared his throat. “Yes, well, uh, I suppose I had better get back to Thistledown. I just wanted to come over and let you know that I am thinking about you and the boy. Please feel free to call upon me if there is anything you need.”

  “Thank you,” Frewen said.

  Teasdale went back to the ladies, and bowing before each of them, lifted their hands to his lips.

  “You are a very brave woman, Lady Churchill,” Teasdale said. “I do hope everything turns out well for you.”

  “Thank you, Sir William.”

  As Teasdale drove the buggy back to his ranch, he considered what Frewen had told him about Matt Jensen going to Nine Mile Creek in the middle of the night. He had not anticipated anything like that, and he was sure that Logan hadn’t, either. This would
be a change in plans. Could Logan deal with it?

  Surely he could. Jensen was only one man. One man against six.

  Teasdale brightened as he thought about that, and he hurried the horse into a trot. He needed to get back to Thistledown to plan the next move after they got rid of Jensen.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was a little before nine o’clock in the morning when Matt heard them coming. Lying flat on the rock and sliding back so as not to be seen, he watched them approach.

  “Poole, you get up there and keep a lookout. When you see him comin’, give us a signal.”

  The one called Poole started up the side of the bluff and Matt knew that he would be coming to this very rock, so he slipped down from the rock and started down, so that as Poole was climbing up, Matt was climbing down.

  “Hey, Greer?” Poole called back.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s the reward on killin’ Jensen?”

  “Logan says Teasdale has offered five thousand dollars to anyone who can kill Jensen.”

  “Does that go for us, too?”

  “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  “Ha! And what do we get from him for each cow we steal? Five dollars? We’d have to steal a thousand cows to make that kind of money. He must really want him dead.”

  “Yeah. So tell me, are we goin’ to shoot the son of a bitch here? Or are we goin’ take him back to the cabin?”

  “Logan wants us to bring him back to the cabin,” Greer said.

  “Yeah, you know why he wants us to bring him back. That’s because if we take him into Logan before we kill him, it would be a six-way split. But if we kill him here, it will only be a three-way split.”

  “You want Logan mad at you, do you? I don’t know about you, but Logan ain’t the kind of man I want to cross. He said bring him back to the cabin, and that’s just exactly what we’re goin’ to do.”

  “Hey, Poole,” Bragg called up. “Do you see him comin’?”