Dakota Ambush

by William W. Johnstone

  Three days later

  Matt had been dozing in his seat when he felt the train beginning to slow. The change in the train’s velocity caused him to wake up, and when he looked out the window, he saw nothing but rolling prairie and distant mountains.

  “Ellendale,” the conductor called as he walked through the car. “We’re comin’ into Ellendale. Unless you’re going back with us, folks, you are all going to get off here because this is where the track ends.”

  The conductor’s announcement galvanized all the passengers into action and, bracing themselves against the movement of the car, they began removing their personal belongings from the overhead rack.

  After three days of travel, and having changed trains three times, Matt was now on the Northern Pacific, the final leg of his journey. He continued to stare through the window as the train slowed even more for its entry into the town of Ellendale. As had been the case in every town they had passed through, there were several people standing on the platform, not as potential passengers, nor even to meet arriving passengers, but just to be present for the most exciting event of the day, the arrival and departure of the train. The train lurched to a stop alongside the small depot, and everyone in the car prepared to disembark since, as the conductor had explained, this was the final stop.

  Stepping down from the train, Matt walked forward to the stock car, where he waited as his horse was off-loaded. He walked up to it, then rubbed it behind the ears.

  “I’ll bet you’ve been wondering what was going on,” he said. “Well, it’s over now. What do you say you and I take a long ride?”

  A quick perusal of the county map inside the depot showed him that Fullerton was about twenty miles northeast of Ellendale.

  “Just keep that low-lying range of hills to your right,” the stationmaster told him. “You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said.

  It was nearly noon when Matt saw a boy standing out behind a house, drawing water from a well. Matt’s canteen was low, and Spirit was thirsty, so he sloped down the hill and headed toward the compound, which consisted of a house, barn, what appeared to be a granary, and an outhouse.

  Seeing him approach, the boy called over his shoulder.

  “Pa! Pa! Stranger’s a’ comin’!”

  So as not to appear hostile, Matt swung out of the saddle about thirty yards before approaching the yard. Then he led Spirit and walked the rest of the way, reaching the yard at about the same time a man came out onto the porch. The man had a rifle in his right hand, though at the moment, he was holding it low, by his knees.

  “Good afternoon,” Matt said, touching the brim of his hat.

  “Can I do something for you, mister?” the man on the porch asked. The boy, who was about twelve, moved around behind the well, obviously schooled by his father to be in position to get down behind the well if necessary.

  “The name is Jensen, Matt Jensen,” Matt said. “I’m on my way to Fullerton and I saw the boy at the well. The truth is, my canteen is empty, and my horse is thirsty. I was wondering if I could trouble you for some water? I would be glad to pay you for it.”

  “Pay for it, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t ride for Denbigh, do you? He owns just about everything you can see around here except for the hills. And if he had his way, he would own them too.”

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t ride for Denbigh.”

  “I didn’t think so. Not if you offered to pay for the water. Neither Denbigh, nor anybody who works for him, would pay for anything if they could get away with it. Help yourself to the water.”

  “Thanks. And I’m serious about paying for it.”

  “No need for that. The Lord put the water in the ground, doesn’t cost me anything to take it out, and it don’t seem to me that it would be Christian for me to charge for it. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Jensen. Matt Jensen.”

  “My name is Fowler, Edward B. Fowler, but most folks just call me E.B. That’s my boy, Green.”

  “Green?”

  “Back in Texas we had us a two-year drought before he was born,” E.B. said. “My wife took it real hard, thought maybe she wasn’t ever goin’ to see anything green again, so when the boy was born, we named him Green just so she could see green anytime she wanted.”

  E.B. laughed, and Matt laughed with him. He dipped the dipper into the bucket, then glanced up at E.B.

  “Sure, go ahead, take a drink,” E.B. invited. “I’ll wager it’ll be about the best-tasting water you ever put in your mouth.”

  Matt drank deeply and the water was cool and sweet. E.B. was right about the water. If it wasn’t the best water he had ever tasted, it was certainly equal to it. He began pouring it into his canteen and as he did so, Spirit started pawing at the ground.

  Matt looked around at his horse, then back toward E.B. “Do you have a watering trough somewhere?”

  “Just inside the corral fence,” E.B. said. “Your horse can drink all he wants.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said. “And you were right about the water. It is very good.”

  “Would you like me to lead your horse to the water, Mr. Jensen?” Green asked.

  “Why, thank you, Green, I’m sure Spirit would appreciate that.”

  “Spirit?”

  “That’s my horse’s name.”

  “Come along, Spirit,” Green said, taking the reins. Spirit looked at Matt.

  “It’s all right, you can go with him,” Matt said.

  Spirit followed the boy easily.

  “That’s a good-looking horse,” E.B. said. “Well trained too.”

  “He’s not trained,” Matt said. “He’s just smart.”

  E.B. chuckled. “I hear you,” he said.

  “E.B., who are you talking to?” a woman asked, coming out onto the porch then. The woman was younger than Matt would have imagined E.B.’s wife to be, and very attractive, though rather tired looking. She was wearing a white apron over a dark gray dress, and though most of her hair was covered by an unattractive bonnet, Matt could see by the tendrils that hung from the bonnet that her hair was a rich, chestnut color. She was holding a long-handled wooden spoon in her right hand, while with her left arm she was cradling a large wooden bowl.

  “Sue, this gentleman is Matt Jensen. He stopped by for water.”

  “Mrs. Fowler,” Matt said with a slight nod of his head. He touched the brim of his hat in a salute.

  “Why don’t you invite him for dinner, E.B.?” Sue said. “It’s about ready.”

  “Of course. Won’t you stay for dinner, Mr. Jensen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I certainly would not want to intrude on your family,” Matt said.

  “It’s not an intrusion,” Sue Fowler said. “We get company so rarely here that your presence would be most welcome.”

  Matt smiled. “The thought of a home-cooked meal does beat eating jerky,” he said.

  “If you want, I’ll have Green take the saddle off your horse and let him loose in the corral,” E.B. said. “No doubt he needs a break too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Green, unsaddle Mr. Jensen’s horse and put some fresh hay out,” E.B. called over to his son. “If we’re going to feed Mr. Jensen, we may as well feed his horse as well.”

  “All right, Pa,” Green called back.

  “Better let me unsaddle him,” Matt said. “Spirit is still new, and I don’t know but what he might get spooked if someone else took the saddle off.”

  Matt walked out to the corral and removed the saddle. Spirit dipped his head a few times, then trotted once around the corral before coming back to the trough where Green had put fresh hay.

  When Matt returned to the house, Green was pouring warm water into a basin. The boy handed Matt a bar of soap and a washcloth.

  “Ma says you have to wash up, before you can eat,” he said.

  “Green!” Sue called from inside. “I said no such thing! I said he could wash u
p, not that he had to.”

  “You always tell me I have to wash up,” Green replied.

  “That’s different.”

  “What’s different about it? Don’t adults get dirty too?”

  Matt chuckled. “We do indeed,” he said. “I think I have to wash up.”

  A few minutes later, Matt was sitting at a table that featured fried chicken, canned string beans, mashed potatoes, gravy, and biscuits.

  “Oh, my,” Matt said as he looked over the food. “And to think I almost turned this down.”

  Green reached for a drumstick, but Sue glared at him and he pulled his hand back.

  “Not before your father says grace,” she said.

  Green bowed his head, as did Matt, while E.B. blessed the meal.

  “Bless this food to our use, and ourselves to your service, amen.”

  “Amen,” Sue and Green said.

  “Out here, we don’t get to church all that often,” E.B. said after the blessing. “I reckon blessing the meal is about as close to churchifying as we can get.”

  “We used to go into Fullerton ever’ Sunday just to go to church,” Sue said. “It’s a Baptist church. We were Methodists before we came up here, but it’s the only church in town, so that’s where we go. At least, that’s where we used to go. We don’t go anywhere now.”

  “Yes, well, we can’t do it now, Sue, and you know it. It costs us two dollars to go into town and another two dollars to come back home. We can’t afford to go to church anymore.”

  For a long moment, Matt had been aware of Green staring at the pistol strapped to his side, so when Green asked the question, Matt wasn’t surprised.

  “Mr. Jensen, why do you wear a gun?” Green asked.

  “Green! What sort of question is that to ask a guest?” Sue scolded.

  “I just wondered why he was wearin’ a gun is all,” Green said. “Pa don’t wear no gun. And Mr. Byrd and Mr. McCann, they don’t wear a gun neither. Mr. Tanner used to wear a gun, but he got killed by Mr. Butrum, who is the same one we saw kill those two cowboys, remember?”

  “It’s not something I want to remember,” Sue replied.

  “But you do remember it, Ma. How could you forget it? We seen him shoot down them two cowboys.”

  “Hush now,” Sue said. “I told you it wasn’t something I want to remember. It’s not something I want to talk about either.”

  “I was just wonderin’ why Mr. Jensen is wearin’ a gun, is all.”

  “Mr. Jensen is a traveling man,” E.B. said. “I expect it’s some comfort to wear a gun when you travel.”

  “Are you a good shot?” Green asked Matt.

  “Tolerable,” Matt answered.

  “I’d sure like to see you shoot it sometime.”

  “Green, that’s enough. Mr. Jensen didn’t come here to be pestered by the likes of you,” E.B. said.

  “I didn’t mean to be pesterin’ you, Mr. Jensen,” Green said by way of apology.

  “I don’t feel pestered, Green,” Matt said. “And your pa is right. I’m wearing a gun because I travel a lot, and that means I take most of my possessions with me. My gun is one of my possessions, and the easiest way to take it with me is to wear it.”

  “There now. Are you satisfied?” E.B. asked his son.

  “Yes, sir,” Green answered contritely.

  “Good. Perhaps we can eat the rest of our meal in peace,” Sue said.

  They talked during the meal. E.B. and his wife were originally from Texas. “After I come back from the war, well, the Yankees was comin’ down with a pretty heavy hand, and even heavier taxes. It finally got to where I couldn’t take it anymore. Then I read that there was good land for home-steading if you was willing to come up here to the Dakota Territory. So, we decided to sell everything we had and come up here.”

  “We decided?” Sue asked.

  “Now, Sue, you know very well that if you had said you didn’t want to come, that we would have never left Texas.”

  Sue reached across the table to lay her hand on E.B.’s hand. “I knew that you wanted to come,” she said softly. “And wherever you go, that’s where I’ll be.

  Matt ate with great relish. When he finished, he pushed back from the table and rubbed his stomach appreciatively.

  “Mrs. Fowler, I cannot remember when I had a better meal. You are a wonderful cook.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Jensen. Thank you very much.”

  Matt stood. “I need to be going on, but I do wish you would let me pay for this wonderful meal.”

  “Nonsense, what sort of hostess would I be if I charged my guests?”

  “Then I will sing your praises, not only as a gracious hostess, but a wonderful cook,” Matt said. “Mr. Fowler—”

  “E.B., please.”

  “E.B., it has been a pleasure and I hope to meet you again sometime soon.”

  “Well, if you stay in these parts for a while, I’m sure we will meet again,” E.B. said. “Will you be staying here for a while? Uh, not that it is any of my business,” he added quickly.

  “I’m not sure how long I will be here,” Matt said. “But I would like to ask you something. You mentioned a man by the name of Denbigh. Who is he?” Matt remembered that Denbigh was the name mentioned in John Bryce’s letter.

  “He is an Englishman, Lord Nigel Cordell Denbigh,” E.B. said.

  “Lord Denbigh? I thought there were no titles in America.”

  “There aren’t. But he makes anyone who works for him call him Lord. And if you want to do business with him, you also call him Lord.”

  “When I first rode up, you asked if I rode for Denbigh. What made you think that?”

  “I’m sorry I accused you. Just a little spooked, I guess.”

  “Have you had any run-ins with him?”

  “Not directly,” E.B. said.

  “Except for what happened when you joined Mr. McCann and the others to try and force your way through the tollgate,” Sue said. “Frank Tanner was killed.”

  “Like I said, that wasn’t a direct run-in with Denbigh. That was a run-in with some of his men.”

  “It’s the same thing,” Sue said. “And after all, his collecting a toll is why we don’t go to church anymore,” Sue said.

  “You said something a moment ago about it costing you two dollars to go to town and another two dollars to come back,” Matt said. “Is that what you were talking about? A toll?”

  “In order to go into town you have to take the Ellendale Road and it goes right through the middle of Denbigh’s property,” E.B. said. “He has men positioned there to charge you a toll.”

  “It isn’t his road,” Sue said. “Ellendale Highway is a public road, laid out by the Territory of Dakota. Mr. Bryce wrote about it in his paper. He said the road was constructed by the Territory of Dakota as a public thoroughfare to which people should have clear and unfettered access. I guess we should be thankful to him that he doesn’t charge a toll for the young people who have to go into town to go to school. If he did, that would be two dollars per day, and we couldn’t afford it.”

  “Oh, yes, Denbigh is a very compassionate man,” Sue said sarcastically.

  “I’m not takin’ up for him, Sue. I’m just sayin’ we should be thankful he doesn’t charge the kids who are going to school.”

  “We don’t need to be thankful to him for anything,” Sue replied resolutely.

  “If the road is public, Denbigh has no right to charge anyone a toll, even if the road does run through his property. Why doesn’t the sheriff do something about it?” Matt asked.

  “The sheriff is down in Ellendale, and he doesn’t pay that much attention to what goes on in Fullerton. Fact is, he doesn’t pay that much attention to anything that goes on in the whole valley. Denbigh pretty much has Elm Valley all staked out for his ownself. In fact, he not only controls the valley, he just about controls the whole county.”

  “How can he do that? Doesn’t Fullerton have a mayor, city council, or marshal?”

&nb
sp; “Mayor Felker is a businessman and so are all the people who are on the city council, and Denbigh bein’ their biggest customer, they don’t want to do anything that would piss him off.”

  “E.B., mind your language!” Sue said sharply.

  “Sorry, Sue, but that’s the way it is, and you know it. Like I said, the sheriff don’t pay no attention to what goes on up here, and Marshal Tipton isn’t goin’ to do anything unless he has the backin’ of the mayor and the city council. What we need is someone with a little gumption.”

  “Like the newspaperman,” Sue said.

  “Yes, but all he has done is write articles about it. We need more than words. Words don’t mean anything to someone like Butrum.”

  “Butrum? Who is Butrum?” Matt asked.

  “Ollie Butrum is the one who killed Frank Tanner, and the two cowboys that Green was talking about a moment ago,” E.B. said. “He is a paid killer for Denbigh. He is the ugliest, most dried-up little runt you ever saw in your life. In the real world, he would be someone you wouldn’t give a second look to. But this isn’t the real world, and Butrum has everyone terrified.”

  “We seen him kill the two cowboys,” Green said.

  “Green is right,” E.B. said. “We went into town for supplies and were unwilling witnesses to it. Two young men challenged Butrum and he killed them both.”

  “He’s real fast,” Green said. “He’s the fastest I’ve ever seen.”

  Despite himself, E.B. chuckled. “And you have seen so many,” he said.

  “He must be pretty good if he took on two at the same time,” Matt suggested.

  “There is nothing good about that evil little man,” Sue said, hissing the words in a way that showed her revulsion of the man.

  “Have you ever shot anybody with your gun?” Green asked.

  “Green!” Sue scolded sharply.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Fowler,” Matt said. “Young boys are curious about such things, I know that.”

  “So have you?”

  “It’s not something you ever want to do,” Matt replied, being as non-specific as he could.

  “But you have shot somebody, I’ll bet.”

  “That’s enough, Green,” Sue said. “We’ll have no more talk about shooting people.”