“Matt?” Jennie called, coming out onto the front porch. “Matt, where are you going?”
“I need to take care of some business,” Matt said.
“Dangerous business?”
Matt swung into the saddle, then looked down at Frewen. Frewen reached up his hand, and Matt took it.
“I would say God go with you,” Frewen said. “But I expect this is going to be more of the devil’s work than God’s.”
“I expect so,” Matt replied. He touched the brim of his hat and gave a slight head nod to Jennie, then he rode off.
“Oh,” Jennie said as Matt rode out through the gate. “I’m afraid he might be killed.”
“There will be some killing done,” Frewen said. “Of that, I’ve no doubt. But I have a feeling that Mr. Jensen will come through this just fine.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“I want a lookout posted in the loft of the barn at all times,” Morrison said. “And I want another one on top of the barn and the top of the machine shed. Also, get somebody up on top of the silo.”
Morrison was standing on the plaza at Thistledown, giving orders to Reed.
“Who the hell are you to be givin’ the orders here?” Reed asked. “I’m foreman of this ranch.”
“And I own it,” Teasdale said. “You will do what Mr. Morrison says.”
“All right, all right,” Reed said. He looked at Teasdale. “Just so long as you don’t back out on our deal after this is all over.”
“I assure you, once this is all over, all obligations and commitments I have made will be satisfied. Now in the meantime, we need to defend against this man Jensen. So please do whatever Mr. Morrison tells you to do.”
“What about the rifle pits? How are they coming?” Morrison asked.
“Why are you doin’ all this, anyhow?” Reed asked. “We ain’t gettin’ ready to fight off no army.”
“Oh but we are, friend, believe me we are,” Morrison said. “Matt Jensen is a one-man army.”
“You act like you are afraid of him,” Reed said.
“I am afraid of him. You would be too, if you had any sense. Look at the people you’ve sent against him. Kyle Houston? He was supposed to be faster than lightning. Carlos Silva? He could kill a man from a mile distant, they say. Jake Scarns? How far did he get? They had their try at him, but he killed all three of them. And that was before he killed Sam Logan and every member of the Yellow Kerchief Gang. You’re damn right, I’m afraid of him. Now, get busy and do what I told you to do.”
“All right, all right,” Reed said. “I’ll get the lookouts all posted like you said, and I’ll get men in the rifle pits. How about a cannon or two and maybe a Gatling gun? Would you like them as well?
“Damn right, if I thought we had some,” Morrison said.
“You keep talking about Jensen like this and you are going to scare everyone to death,” Teasdale said.
“I want everyone to be scared of him,” Morrison said.
“How good is he, anyway?”
“You have to ask? Six men have tried to kill him, and all six died.”
“Those could have all been flukes,” Teasdale said. “I mean you have the ranch laid out like a battlefield in the Franco-Prussian War. Only it isn’t the Prussians, it’s Matt Jensen. He is only one man.”
“What’s your point?” Morrison asked.
“My point is, when you have a good battle plan, and I think you have laid this out brilliantly; when you have the advantage of surprise, and we certainly have that; and when you have superior numbers and fire power, then it is simply a matter of execution.”
“Execution, yeah,” Morrison said. “But whose?”
It was mid-afternoon and the sun was midway down in the western sky. The men were suffering from the heat and they slapped at flies and gnats and squinted into the unrelenting glare of bright sunlight as they waited. The longer they waited, the more nervous and irritable they became.
“Where is he?” one of the men asked. “I thought Morrison said he was comin’.”
“Maybe he ain’t comin’ at all.”
“Hell, I’m not going to hang around here all day swattin’ flies and waving at gnats for nothin’.”
“You ain’ doin’ it for nothin’. You’re gettin’ a hundred dollars to hang around here all day. Don’t you think that’s worth swattin’ a few flies?”
“Yeah. And when you think about it, I’d rather swat flies than be gettin’ shot at. I don’t care if the son of a bitch comes or not.”
Matt knew that a long afternoon of waiting would just increase the tension. That was one of the reasons he hadn’t actually made his presence known. Right now he was on a hill about two hundred yards away from the big house, and he had been there since just after morning. He knew when it was lunchtime, because from where he was positioned, he could smell meat and potatoes cooking. His stomach growled in protest. All he had to satisfy his own hunger was a piece of jerky and a couple of swallows of water.
After his meager meal, Matt lay flat on his stomach, then looked through his binoculars at the activity below. He had known that he would find Teasdale and Reed and a few of his cowboys here, but he was a little surprised by how many there were.
That isn’t what surprised him the most, though. What surprised him the most was seeing Myron Morrison, Frewen’s trusted foreman, standing side by side with Teasdale and Reed, pointing to various places on the ranch.
“Why, you traitorous son of a bitch,” Matt said under his breath.
Then he smiled. Morrison was pointing out every defensive position to Teasdale, and in so doing, was pointing them out to Matt as well.
Though he was surprised at the number of defenders, he wasn’t surprised by the preparations they had made for him. If Morrison laid them out, they had to be good. Matt knew of Morrison’s military background.
Matt was able to make a careful survey of every defensive position that had been established. There were four rifle pits just inside the main gate, each pit containing two men, with each man in the pits having an overlapping field of fire. The overlapping field of fire meant that there was no way to approach from the front without coming under fire from more than one of the defenders.
In addition to the rifle pits, Matt picked five more strategic positions. There was a man on the roof of the machine shed, one on top of the barn, and another one in the hayloft. There was also a man on top of the silo.
Morrison and Reed didn’t appear to have any specific defensive positions, but were free to move about as needed. Teasdale went back into the house and would probably stay there when the shooting started. He didn’t know whether Mrs. Teasdale was in the house or not, but he assumed that she was, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Morrison’s military acumen was apparent in the way he had deployed the defenses. He could stop an army in its tracks.
Matt smiled. But he wasn’t an army, he was one man. And he was pretty sure that one man, sneaking through the cracks, could get through. At least, he was gambling on that.
As the sun dipped lower in the west, Matt decided to try and improve his position. There was another protected spot off to his left, a little ridge line that protruded, like a finger, pointing right at the big house. The end of the finger was a hundred yards closer to the house than he was now, and from there Matt would be able to see more clearly what was going on. But if he was going to do it he would have to do it now, before it got too dark to see. Reaching that vantage point, however, meant he would have to cross an exposed area that was about fifty yards wide.
Matt moved back down off the rock and walked over to his horse. Since he had gotten into position, his horse had enjoyed a fairly relaxed afternoon cropping grass, drinking water, and depositing horse apples. Matt figured Spirit should be well rested now, and that was good, because he was going to call upon him to run the gauntlet.
“You ready, Spirit?” Matt asked, patting the horse on its neck. “I hope so, because when we go, you’re going to have to give m
e all you’ve got.”
Gripping his pistol, Matt put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself up. But he didn’t get in the saddle. Instead, he remained bent over, hidden behind his horse. Once he had his balance and a good hold, he urged the animal across the open area. Spirit broke out into the clearing at a full gallop.
“Here he comes!” someone shouted.
“What do you mean? That’s just a horse, there ain’t nobody ridin’ it!”
“The hell there ain’t! There the son of a bitch is, hangin’ on to the other side!” someone else yelled.
Knowing now that he had been spotted, Matt raised up and fired just across the saddle.
The men in the rifle pits, the one on the roof of the machine shed, and the one on top of the silo began shooting, but Spirit was at full gallop, and Matt was mostly out of sight. Also his appearance had been sudden and unexpected, so no one was shooting accurately. Even after Matt had made it all the way across and was completely out of their line of fire, they kept up their shooting until, finally, Morrison shouted at them to stop.
“Stop, stop! What the hell are you shooting at? Cease fire! Quit shooting! You’re just wasting ammunition!”
The firing fell silent.
“Where’d he go?”
“Was he hit?”
“Does anyone see him?”
“How about everyone just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open!” Morrison ordered.
Matt was in a good, secure position now. No one could take a shot at him without exposing themselves, and he was close enough to observe everything. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to improve his position until after it got dark. But with the sun already a blood-red disk low on the western horizon, darkness wasn’t too far away.
Before it was too dark to see, Matt made a careful examination of the big house. Once, he saw Teasdale peering anxiously through the downstairs window.
It was about an hour after dark when Matt got an unexpected break. A few of Teasdale’s men who had spent the day searching the range for him were now coming back. Not realizing there were riding into any danger, they continued on into the compound without identifying themselves. The men who were nearest the front gate were already so nervous that they were jumping at every shadow. They had completely forgotten about those who were out on the range and were totally surprised to see a large body of men ride up on them.
“Son of a bitch! Look at that!” one of the men shouted. “What the hell? Nobody said nothin’ about Jensen havin’ a whole army with him!”
A rifle shot rang out from one of the pits, and it was returned by the approaching horsemen, who thought they were being fired at by Matt Jensen. Their return shot was answered by another and by another still, until soon the entire valley was alive with the lightning of muzzle flashes, and the thunder of rifle and pistol fire.
Matt realized at once what was happening, and he decided to take advantage of the opportunity that had just presented itself. As the guns banged and crashed around him, he sneaked out of his hiding position. He mounted, then rode north for a couple hundred yards, out of the line of fire. He had no intention of getting shot accidentally when none of them had been able to shoot him by design.
From his new position, the thump and rattle of gunfire was much quieter, but still ongoing. Matt looked back toward the battle and could see the flashes of light from each gunshot.
The first thing he had to do was get down to the house unobserved and without risking a stray bullet, and that was easier said than done. As the shooting continued, Matt began to make a wide circle, staying at least a quarter of a mile from the big house until finally he was around behind it. Just as he got into position, the men recognized that they had been shooting at each other, and with curses and shouts, the firing finally stopped.
“How many have been hit?” someone shouted.
“Parker’s been kilt!”
“Damn!”
“Smitty is dead too.”
A further inventory turned up four killed and two wounded.
“Son of bitch, we done this to ourselves,” someone shouted in frustration. “You know damn well Jensen is out there somewhere laughin’ his ass off at us.”
“Where did he go?” one of those who had been out looking for Matt asked.
“Last time we seen him, he was just to the end of that ridge yonder, but I’ll bet you he ain’t there no more.”
“Then where is he?”
“You want my thinkin’? He left. He seen there was too many of us.”
“I wouldn’t take no bets on that,” another said. “I got me a strong feelin’ he’s still out there, just waitin’ to see more dumb things we can do.”
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.
Massacre at Powder River Page 23