“Nah,” Poole shouted back. “I don’t see nothin’.”
“Hell, if he’s goin’ to get here at ten o’clock, you ought to see him by now. No doubt he’ll be followin’ the river. Look again.”
“I did look again,” Poole said. “I ain’t seen ’im.”
“Damn,” Greer said in a conversational voice to Bragg. “What if he don’t come?”
“I don’t know. We’ll kill the boy, I reckon.”
“Yeah, I guess so. You’d think he would come, though.”
“Really? Think about this. He has to know that if he comes here, he’s comin’ to get hisself kilt. Now let me ask you. Would you do that? Would you trade your life for the boy’s life?”
“Hell no,” Greer said. “But Jensen is different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know, different how. Just different. What time is it?”
Bragg took out his pocketwatch and looked at it. “It’s ten o’clock,” he said.
“And I’m right on time,” Matt said, stepping out of the tree line.
“What? What the hell?” Bragg said. “Greer!”
“Yeah, I see him,” Greer said.
Matt was standing not more than thirty feet away from Greer and Bragg. And while the two Yellow Kerchief Gang men had their pistols in their holsters, Matt had his gun in his hand, leveled at them.
“Where did you come from?” Greer said.
“It ain’t a question of where, it’s a question of when,” Bragg said. “You didn’t just get here, did you?”
“Your friend is smarter than he looks,” Matt said. “I got here early. Very early. Call Poole down.”
“Poole?” Greer called.
“Yeah?” Poole’s voice floated back down.
“Come down here.”
“What for? I ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“He’s already here,” Greer said.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean he is already here, standing right in front of us. Come on down.”
Matt moved a bit deeper into the tree line and watched as Poole stepped out to the edge of the flat rock where Matt had spent the last several hours. Poole had his pistol in his hand, and he was looking down toward Greer and Bragg.
“What do you mean he’s standing in front of you? I don’t see him,” Poole said.
Matt stepped out of the tree line so Poole could see him. “I’m right here,” Matt said. “Why don’t you come on down and join the party?”
“The hell I will!” Poole said. Raising his pistol he aimed and fired at Matt. The bullet clipped a few pine needles off a branch that was but an inch away from Matt.
When he saw that Poole was about to shoot at him, Matt raised his own pistol and fired simultaneously. Matt saw the puff of dust and a little mist of blood where his bullet hit the middle of Poole’s chest. Poole dropped his pistol, staggered a few steps forward, then pitched off the rock, doing a half turn on the way down so that he landed flat on his back.
Bragg made the calculation that with Matt’s attention diverted by Poole, he wouldn’t be able to respond quickly enough if he drew on him. The calculation was wrong. Even as he was drawing his gun, Matt turned toward him with his pistol blazing.
If Greer had given a thought to drawing on Matt, he abandoned it quickly and put his arms up in the air.
“I ain’t goin’ for my gun! I ain’t goin’ for my gun!” he shouted.
Having heard the shooting, Logan, Poindexter, and Clayton came out of the cabin. Logan and Poindexter had pistols in their hands, Clayton was holding a double-barrel shotgun.
“What the hell was that shootin’ about?” Logan asked. “I told them I wanted them to bring him here.”
“Logan, look!” Poindexter said. “Someone is comin’ up the path.”
“There’s only two of ’em,” Logan said. “Wait, that’s Greer. Ha! Lookie there, boys! Greer’s got the drop on ’im! Good man, Greer, good man!” Logan shouted.
As the two riders approached the house, Matt was riding in front with his hands in the air. Greer was behind him, holding a pistol.
“What happened?” Logan asked. “Where’s Poole and Bragg?”
Suddenly Greer turned his horse and bolted.
“Shoot ’im! It’s a trick!” Greer shouted. “I ain’t got no bullets in this gun!”
Clayton raised his shotgun, but before he could fire, Matt drew his pistol and shot, taking Clayton first because he believed the shotgun presented the most danger.
Before Matt could turn his pistol on Logan and Poindexter, they darted back into the cabin and slammed the door.
“We’ve got the boy in here!” Logan called. “And if you don’t throw down your gun and put your hands up, we’re goin’ to ...”
“Logan! Where’s the boy?” Matt heard Poindexter shout. “He ain’t here!”
“What do you mean he ain’t here? We just left him.”
Matt smiled. “Good boy, Winnie!” he called. “Wherever you are, just stay there until I tell you to come out.”
“You was supposed to watch him!” Matt heard one of them say.
A full-sized man couldn’t have done it, and probably not even a small man. But Winnie had gone into the fireplace, then climbed up into the chimney. It had originally been his intention to escape through the chimney, but except for the very base of it, the chimney was much too narrow. Winnie had his feet on one side and his hands on the other, wedged in position and hanging on for dear life.
“What the hell! Where is he?” Logan shouted in anger and frustration.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Poindexter replied.
“Logan,” Winnie heard Matt call. “Do you remember what you did to four of Frewen’s cowboys? Do you remember when you set fire to the shack and burned them out?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Logan replied.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Matt said. “Because I’m about to give you a taste of your own medicine. I’m going to set fire to the cabin. You can either come out, or you can stay in there and burn to death. And frankly, I hope you stay in there.”
If Matt Jensen actually did set fire to the cabin, Winnie knew that he would be trapped in here. Should he call out?
No, he decided. Right now Matt Jensen had the advantage over Logan and Poindexter. But if Logan and Poindexter had him, his advantage would be lost. If he surrendered now, he would not be killed in a fire, but Matt Jensen would certainly be killed. And after they killed Matt, Winnie was fairly certain he would be killed as well. On the other hand, Jensen might yet be able to save both of them.
Winnie decided to stay where he was.
Outside the cabin, Matt began gathering up some dead limbs and dry pine needles. When he got them together, he piled them up on the front porch, then struck a match to them. The dry pine needles flamed up as quickly as if they had been soaked in coal oil. The dried wood of the cabin caught easily, and within less than a minute the fire was leaping up to the porch roof.
“You’d better make up your minds pretty quick!” Matt called. “This whole thing will burn down in just a couple of minutes. Come out slow, with no guns and your hands up!”
Suddenly the front door opened and Logan and Poindexter came out, not slow and unarmed as Matt had demanded, but running, shouting and firing their pistols. Matt took both of them down with two quick shots.
“Winnie!” he called. “Winnie! Are you here, hiding somewhere? It’s all right, they’re dead!”
Matt heard coughing, and looking toward the front door he saw Winnie running through it, waving his arms to keep the smoke away.
“Winnie!” Matt shouted, and he darted through the flames that were already licking at the front porch, scooped Winnie up, then ran back out into the open area with him.
“Winnie, are you all right? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in there!”
“I’m all right,” Winnie said, coughing a few more times.
Winnie was cov
ered with black soot from head to toe.
“What the hell? Are you sure? How did you get so black?”
“I hid in the chimney of the fireplace,” Winnie said.
“Like Santa Claus?” Matt teased.
“Mama has told me that in America Father Christmas comes down the chimney, but I have seen drawings of Santa Claus and from what I saw in the chimney, I don’t think that is true.”
Matt laughed, then wrapped his arms around Winnie and pulled him to him. That was when he saw Greer raising a rifle, aiming at them.
“Get down!” Matt shouted, shoving Winnie forcefully to the ground. Matt dropped to one knee just as Greer fired, and he heard the bullet snap as it popped just over his head. Matt returned fire and Greer fell back.
A couple of hours later, after stopping at the river to allow Winnie to clean up and also to retrieve his journal, the two of them rode through the front gate of Frewen Castle.
“Winnie!” Jennie screamed in joy, running from the porch with her arms outstretched. “Winnie, oh, thank God you are safe!”
“And thank Mr. Jensen,” Winnie said.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jennie was in the kitchen with Clara and the cook, supervising a very special welcome-home dinner for Winnie: his favorite roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. Winnie was sitting on the front porch with Frewen and Matt. Matt had been invited for the welcome-home dinner.
“I don’t know what happened to Tudor Monarch,” Matt said. “I didn’t see him when we left.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about him,” Frewen said. “Horses are pretty smart. He hasn’t turned up here, but I expect he has gone back to Thistledown. I’m surprised though, that William hasn’t said anything about it.”
“Uncle, that reminds me,” Winnie said. “I overheard a strange thing while I was being held captive.”
“What is that?”
“One of the outlaws, Mr. Poindexter, made a strange comment. He said, ‘You’ve heard Teasdale talking haven’t you? Always so prim and proper.’ And he said it in a way that led me to believe that it wasn’t just something that had overheard, but something that occurred in an actual conversation with Sir William. And then, after he said that, Mr. Logan struck him in the face. When Mr. Poindexter asked him why he hit him, Mr. Logan said, ‘Because you’ve got a big mouth, Poindexter.’
“Later, Mr. Logan asked me if I had overheard them, and though I had, I pretended as I had not because it seemed important to him that I not have heard. I found that very strange.”
“Winnie, what are you suggesting?” Frewen asked. “Are you suggesting that Sir William was in league with Sam Logan? That is impossible. He is my closest friend. He is a fellow Englishman.”
“So was Guy Fawkes,” Matt said.
“You know of Guy Fawkes?” Frewen said. “I am impressed. But it isn’t the same thing.”
“I think it is,” Matt said. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but since Winnie brought it up, I’ll mention it now. When Greer, Bragg, and Poole arrived to meet me, they were talking about the five thousand dollar reward that was put out on me.”
“Yes, well it has been no secret that there was a reward posted for you,” Frewen said. “Everyone knows about that.”
“Yes, and everyone, including me, assumed that the reward had been posted by Sam Logan. But that isn’t true. It was posted by William Teasdale.”
“Oh, my God,” Frewen said. Putting his elbow on his knee, he bent his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have seen this,” he said. “William and his repeated offers to buy me out—at much less than the ranch is worth—is all part of the pattern, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. And I’m glad you understand,” Matt said. “I was afraid I might not be able to convince you.”
“No, I’m convinced,” Frewen said, shaking his head. “And what Winnie said makes sense now, as well. Logan would not have wanted him to overhear something that would implicate William.”
“What are you going to do now, Uncle Moreton?” Winnie asked.
“I must confront him,” Frewen said. “He must not be allowed to think that he can get away with it.”
“There is no need for you to do that,” Matt said.
“I don’t agree. He must be confronted,” Frewen said.
“Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t need to be confronted. I’m just saying you don’t need to do it. I’m going to.”
Frewen held up his hand. “That isn’t necessary, Matt. You stopped the Yellow Kerchief gang, you stopped the rustling. You have fully lived up to your bargain, and earned every cent I paid you.”
“This one is for me,” Matt said. “William Teasdale put a five thousand dollar reward out for me. I take something like that very personal, so I will be calling on him, personally.”
At the side of the house, but back behind the porch where he couldn’t be seen, Myron Morrison stood in the shadows, listening to the conversation. When he had heard all he needed to hear, he went to the stable, saddled his horse, and started to ride away.
“Hey, Mr. Morrison, where you going?” Ian called out to him. “If you’re going into town, wait a minute and me ’n Johnny will ride in with you.”
“I’m not going to town,” Morrison said. “I’ve got something to take care of.”
Johnny came out of the bunkhouse then, still wiping away the residue of shaving cream. “Where’s Morrison goin’?” he asked.
“I don’t know, he just said that he had somethin’ to take care of.”
“Ah, he ain’t no fun anyway,” Johnny said. “Ain’t it good that Jensen found the boy and brought him back safe?”
“Yeah, but that ain’t all he did. He took out the whole Yellow Kerchief gang, all by hisself.”
“Damn, you remember when me ’n you tried to stand him up when he was first comin’ in?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah,” Ian answered. “I’m sure glad we didn’t try nothin’.”
“We woulda been dumb to try.”
“Dumb and dead,” Ian said. “But if you recall, Johnny, you had a notion there, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Johnny admitted sheepishly. “I had a notion.”
Once he reached Thistledown, Morrison rode through the gate unchallenged. Then, dismounting, he walked up to the front door and pulled the bell cord. Teasdale himself answered the door.
“You took quite a risk, coming here like this, didn’t you?” Teasdale asked. “I thought we were going to keep our meetings secret.”
“I suppose I did, but it is a risk that needs to be taken,” Morrison said. “We need to talk. I suppose you know that Sam Logan is dead.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Teasdale responded with a gasp of surprise.
“And he isn’t the only one who is dead. Jensen wiped out Logan’s entire gang. Every one of them.”
“I’ll be damned,” Teasdale said. “Who is this man? Is there no way to stop him?”
“You had better hope there is,” Morrison said.
“Why, what do you mean?”
“He knows about you.”
“He knows what about me?”
“He knows everything about you. He knows that you were the one backing Logan. He also knows that you are the one who put the reward out on him.”
“Bloody hell,” Teasdale said. “How does he know that?”
“He overheard some of Logan’s men talking. Now he’s coming for you,” Morrison said.
“What?” This time Teasdale’s gasp was a ragged expression of terror. “What do you mean? Coming where? When?”
“Today.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Teasdale said.
“No, you don’t. That won’t do you a bit of good. He would just come after you.”
“My God, my God, what can I do, what can I do?” Teasdale asked, now verging on the edge of raw panic.
“How many cowboys do you have working for you?”
“Twenty-two,” Williams said.
/> “How many of them do you trust? I mean absolutely trust?”
“I—I don’t know. I’d have to find out from Reed.”
“I’d say no more than ten,” Reed said when the same question was put to him.
“Do you know which ten?” Morrison asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Send the others away,” Morrison said. “The rest of us will establish a defensive position, and when Jensen shows up, we will take care of him once and for all.”
“What about Frewen?” Teasdale asked.
“Without Jensen, Frewen is weak. My guess is, once Jensen is dead, and he knows he is dead, he will be anxious to sell out.”
“Good.”
“Just don’t forget the arrangement we have,” Morrison said. “One quarter of his ranch comes to me.”
“I made the deal and I’m sticking with it,” Teasdale said. “One quarter to you, and one quarter to Reed.”
“You got ’ny ideas about how to set up this defensive position you were talkin’ about?” Reed asked.
“I was a major during the war,” Teasdale said. “I have set many defensive positions.”
“Yeah, well, I was in the war too,” Reed said.
“There’s a difference,” Morrison said.
“What’s the difference?”
“My side won.”
Before Matt left the bunkhouse, he loaded his rifle, then his pistol, plus three extra cylinders. With seven rounds in his rifle and a total of twenty-four accessible rounds for his pistol, he was ready to take on whatever Teasdale might have ready for him.
As he was tightening the cinch on Spirit, Frewen came out of the house to talk to him.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” Frewen asked. “I could ask Mr. Morrison to get some men together to go with you.”
“They would just get in the way,” Matt said. “And I don’t want to get any more of your men killed. You’ve lost enough.”
“That’s the truth,” Frewen said. “Besides which, I don’t know where Mr. Morrison is. Some of the boys tell me he rode into town, which I think is quite strange. It is not like him to just disappear, especially at a time as critical as this.”
Massacre at Powder River Page 22