Dakota Ambush

by William W. Johnstone

  “Let’s go,” Jimmy said.

  “Go where?”

  “Back into town. Mr. Jensen told me to keep him informed about things. I believe this is something he will want to hear about.”

  When Matt went in to work at the newspaper office that morning, he was greeted effusively by both John and Millie Bryce.

  “How are you feeling?” John asked.

  “Fully recovered,” Matt replied.

  “Good, good, you would be surprised at how many people have stopped by to ask about you,” John said. “You got here just in time. I’m doing another editorial about Denbigh. And I’m going to send this one straight to the governor.”

  “Have you sent any of your previous articles to the governor?” Matt asked.

  Millie laughed.

  “What are you laughing about?” Matt asked.

  “He has sent every article he has ever written about Denbigh to the governor.”

  “And the governor has never responded?”

  “Not yet,” John said.

  “Not yet, he says,” Millie said. “My husband is the eternal optimist.”

  “Mr. Jensen! Mr. Bryce!” Jimmy shouted as he and Kenny rushed in through the front door at that moment. “It was awful! You should’ve seen it!”

  “What?” John asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Meacham killed Mr. Fowler,” Jimmy said.

  “Oh, my God!” Millie said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Me and Kenny—uh, Kenny and I,” he corrected, “seen the whole thing.”

  “What happened?” Matt asked.

  Jimmy told the story of the encounter he and Kenny had witnessed on the road next to Brewer’s Pond. Whenever there was a break in the narrative, Kenny would jump in with his own observations.

  “And you say that E.B. killed Slater?” John asked.

  “Yes, sir, he pulled his shotgun out from under his seat and shot Slater, then Meacham shot him,” Jimmy said.

  “It’s going to be another case of justifiable homicide, isn’t it?” Millie asked. “The sheriff isn’t going to do a thing about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Three days later, a joint funeral was held for E.B. Fowler, Curly Dobbins, and Slim Toomey. Reverend Landers offered to do a separate funeral service for E.B., but Sue said that the three men had died on the same day, fighting the same evil, and she thought E.B. would be proud to be buried with Dobbins and Toomey.

  Every farmer and rancher in the valley came into Fullerton for the funeral, and there were so many that the church could not hold them all. As a result, the funeral was held outside on the church grounds. After the funeral and the interment, everyone returned to the church grounds, where they had dinner and expressed their condolences, not only to Sue and Green for their loss, but also to the McCanns for the loss of their friends and the loss of their house.

  Marshal Tipton was present for the funeral and the meal, but he was growing uncomfortable at the repeated demands that he do something.

  “I can’t do anything about it and you know it,” Tipton said. “It happened outside of town. I have no authority to make any arrests outside the city limits. Besides, from what the two boys said, Fowler fired first, which means even if I did have the authority to act, I couldn’t do anything.”

  “What about Curly and Slim? They didn’t fire first. They were defending McCann’s house,” John said.

  “It’s the same thing. McCann’s ranch is outside of the town limits. There is nothing I can do. That’s the sheriff’s responsibility, not mine,” Tipton said.

  The Fowler Ranch

  “You’re sure there’s nobody here?” Wilson asked.

  “Nobody here,” Carver answered. “They all went into town for the funeral.”

  “Burn it.”

  Carver put his fingers to his mouth, then let out a piercing whistle. Getting the attention of the two men down by the house, he waved at them. They waved back, then lit a couple of torches and threw them onto the shake roof. Within moments, the Fowler house was on fire.

  The same thing was happening at the Byrd, Donovan, Killian, Jennings, and Putnam houses so that, by two o’clock that afternoon, while all the valley farmers and ranchers were in town, their houses had been burned, or were being burned, to the ground.

  Meacham carried the report back to Denbigh.

  “Excellent,” Denbigh said. “Excellent work.”

  “M’lord!” Tolliver said. “Are you saying that every house of every farmer and rancher in the entire valley has been burned?”

  “Indeed Mr. Tolliver. Upon my orders,” Denbigh replied.

  “But why, sir? Why would you do such a horrible thing?” Tolliver asked, aghast.

  “Careful, Tolliver, remember your place!” Denbigh chastised sternly.

  “But m’lord,” Tolliver started, only to be interrupted by Denbigh’s raised finger.

  “Tolliver,” Denbigh said, purposely calling him only by his last name. “Your family has been in service to my family for over one hundred years. I would think that such a long relationship would have inculcated some loyalty. I am not used to, nor will I accept, having my actions criticized, or even questioned, by an inferior.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Tolliver said, lowering his head in submission.

  “However, because of that long relationship, I will share my reasoning with you. It is not necessary that I share it, you understand, but I shall do so nevertheless.

  “It is my intention to build a great fiefdom, incorporating all the small ranches and farms in the valley. In exchange for rebuilding all the houses, I will demand title to the land. They can continue to live there, but all of them will be working for me.”

  “You would make serfs of them?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But, m’lord, there is no serfdom society in America.”

  “Maybe it is time we established one,” Denbigh said. “After all, it works very well in England. Why wouldn’t it work here? And if you think about it, I am really doing all these people a favor. They would be much better off serving me—no more worry about crop failures or cattle dying. You do see that, don’t you, Mr. Tolliver?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Tolliver said quietly.

  Fullerton

  Dennis Donovan was helping some of the women clean up from the dinner after the funeral. He had just put a box of dishes into the back of his buckboard when he saw someone that he recognized as a Denbigh rider approaching. He went out to meet him.

  “What are you doing here?” Donovan asked angrily. “Did you come to gloat over killing three of our men, and burning Ian McCann’s house down?”

  “No. I need to talk to Matt Jensen.”

  “What do you need to talk to him for?”

  “Please, it’s important.”

  Donovan thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “All right, come on, I’ll take you to him.”

  Matt, John Bryce, Curt Jennings, and several others, including both the mayor and Marshal Tipton, were still engaged in conversation, still trying to decide the best way to handle Denbigh, when Donovan came up to them with his visitor in tow.

  “Matt, this here fella wants to talk to you,” Donovan said. “But you better watch out because, though I don’t know his name, I do know that he rides for Denbigh.”

  “Rode for Denbigh, not anymore,” the man said. “Mr. Jensen, my name is Caleb Jenkins. I don’t know whether or not you remember me, we met on the night that you, uh, that is, on the night that Butrum got hisself kilt.”

  Matt thought of the three cowboys who had braced him that night, and he remembered that one of them was named Caleb.

  “I remember you,” Matt said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I, uh …” Caleb looked around at all the other men, then swallowed nervously. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said.

  “How about you just come out and say it?” John suggested.

  Caleb held up his hands, palms out, a
s if pushing himself away from the others. “I want you to know, I want you all to know, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” he said. “And when I heard what all Meacham and the others done, what Denbigh had them do, well, I just couldn’t take it no more. I decided I needed to get out of there, but before I leave, I figure I owe it to all of you to tell you what happened.”

  “Get on with it, Jenkins,” Donovan said. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

  “Your house has been burned down. That’s what happened,” Caleb said.

  “What? You son of a bitch!”

  “I didn’t have nothin’to do with it, Itold you that!” Caleb said, stepping back away from Donovan.

  “Let him talk, Dennis. I have a feeling there is more,” John said.

  Caleb cleared his throat, then nodded. “Yes, sir. There is more,” he said. “There’s lot’s more.”

  “What else is there?”

  “It ain’t only this feller’s house that’s been burned,” Caleb said.

  “Who else’s house did they burn?” Byrd asked.

  “They burned your house too,” Caleb said.

  “Mine? How do you know my house was burned? You don’t even know who I am, do you?”

  “No, sir,” Caleb replied, “but it don’t matter none that I don’t know your name. I know your house was burned ’cause all of ’em was.”

  “What?” John gasped. “Are you saying all the houses were burned?”

  Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s what I’m sayin’ all right. Denbigh know’d that all of you would be in town for the funeral, so he told Meacham to take some men and burn down every house in the valley. So, that’s just exactly what Meacham done.”

  The news spread quickly around the grounds, and men began to shout and curse as the women began to weep.

  “The sheriff will for sure have to act now,” Dr. Purvis said.

  “No, he won’t. You know Hightower as well as I do, and you know that that cowardly son of a bitch will find some reason not to do anything,” Jennings said.

  “Well I’m not going to stand around palavering about it,” Killian said. “I’m going to go out and check my house.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Matt said.

  “What do you mean, don’t do that? Don’t you understand? It’s my house.”

  “I know that it is your house, and I know that all of you are probably anxious to go check on your homes, but I’m going to ask you to trust me for awhile,” Matt said. “I want you to stay in town, find someplace for your wives and children to be for the night.”

  “What do you mean, stay in town for the night?” Jennings asked. “How do we know you are not in cahoots with Denbigh? He burned our houses while we were in town. Who knows what he might do next?”

  “Jennings, do you really think Matt is in an alliance with Denbigh?”

  “I don’t know,” Jennings replied. “I don’t know anything about him.”

  “Have you seen Butrum around lately?”

  “Butrum? No, he’s dead, he …” Jennings paused in mid-sentence, then looked at Matt for a long moment. “Wait a minute. You are the one who killed him, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right, he is the one who killed him,” John said, answering for Matt.

  “All right, maybe you aren’t in cahoots with Denbigh. But why do you say we should stay in town tonight?” Jennings asked.

  “Because I think it is time we did something about Denbigh once and for all,” Matt said. “I want everyonetomeetmeinfrontofMaPerkins’ Boarding House in an hour.”

  “Uh-huh, and what do you have in mind? Are you going to plead our case to the sheriff?”

  “No,” Matt said. “We aren’t going to need the sheriff for this. We’re going to take care of it ourselves.”

  “What do you mean, take care of it ourselves?” Killian asked.

  “Just what it sounds like,” Matt said. “For those of you who are willing to do it, we are going to take the fight to Denbigh.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Donovan said. “Yes, sir, taking the fight to that son of a bitch is what we should have done a long time ago.”

  “Ma Perkins’ Boarding House, one hour from now,” Matt said. “Now, you had better find someplace for the women and children to spend the night.”

  “Let me have your attention for a moment!” Reverend Landers called out. “If any of you are unable to find shelter for the night, you are welcome to stay in the church!”

  “Thanks, Parson,” someone called back.

  “John, come with me,” Matt said as he started walking quickly away from the church grounds. Behind them, all the men had scattered to gather their families and to find shelter for them for the night.

  “Matt, I’m all for this taking care of it ourselves,” John said as they walked briskly. “But I can’t help but wonder what happens afterward. There have been vigilante groups before in the Dakota Territory, and the governor has not looked upon them all that favorably. As a matter of fact, he hanged the leader of a vigilante group just six months ago.”

  “We won’t be vigilantes,” Matt said.

  “What will we be?”

  “We’ll be the posse of a United States deputy marshal.”

  “How?”

  Matt took a star from his shirt pocket, showed it to John, then returned it. “I didn’t know exactly what I was getting into by coming up here,” he said. “So when I came through Denver, I stopped to see a U.S. marshal friend of mine and got myself deputized.”

  One hour later, Matt stood on the front porch of the boarding house looking out over those who had answered his call. Lucy had Mrs. Black make a lot of coffee, and now she and Millie Bryce were passing out coffee to the men who were gathered on her front lawn. Kenny protested giving the coffee away free, suggesting that he could make a lot of money selling it, but he backed down when Lucy explained that, in this small way, they were making their own contribution to the fight.

  “Gentlemen, I trust that all of you have found a place of shelter for the night,” Matt said. “I want you to get a good night’s sleep, because tomorrow morning we are going out to Prestonshire to arrest Denbigh, Meacham, Wilson, Carver, and anyone else who we find that was involved in killing Curly and Slim and in burning the houses.”

  “What do you mean we are going to arrest them?” Byrd said. “How are we going to do that? Not even Tipton can do that.”

  “That’s because Tipton is a city marshal,” Matt said. “And we—that is, all of you who will raise your right hand to be deputized—will be deputy U.S. marshals. Our authority has no boundaries.”

  “Deputy U.S. marshals. Who are we going to get to deputize us?”

  Once again, Matt took the star from his pocket, but this time he didn’t return it. This time he pinned it onto his shirt.

  “Raise your right hands,” he said. “Repeat after me. I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute all lawful orders given me by the deputy U.S. marshal in charge of this posse.”

  The men repeated the oath.

  “We will meet here again tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” Matt said.

  Present at the meeting, but not participating, was Marshal Tipton. When the meeting broke up, he stepped up onto the porch to talk to Matt.

  “Are you really a U.S. marshal?” he asked.

  “I’m a deputy marshal.”

  “Why didn’t you come tell me that as soon as you came into town?”

  “I believed that it was to my advantage to keep it secret until necessary for me to show the badge.”

  “You have no intention of arresting Denbigh, do you? You plan to take your army out there and kill him, don’t you?”

  “That is not true, Tipton. I have every intention of arresting him.”

  “What if he won’t let himself be arrested?”

  Matt raised the coffee cup to his lips, then took a swallow before he replied.

  “Then it may be that I will have to kill him,” Matt said. “Eith
er way, he has collected his last toll, burned his last house, and killed his last man.”

  Chapter Thirty

  When Tolliver heard the pull bell ring late at night, he got out of bed, put on his housecoat, lit a candle, then walked through the house to the front door. Opening the door, he was surprised to see Marshal Tipton.

  “Marshal Tipton? Isn’t it a little late to be calling, sir? Lord Denbigh has already retired for the night.”

  “Wake him up, Tolliver, this is important,” Tip-ton said.

  “I don’t know, sir. He can be quite irritable when disturbed after he has gone to bed.”

  “Better to be irritated than dead, isn’t it? Wake him up,” Tipton demanded.

  “Very well, sir. Come with me. You can wait in the parlor.”

  Tolliver led Tipton into the parlor, where he lit a candelabrum to provide some light. Then he left the parlor to go to Denbigh’s bedroom. He tapped lightly on the door.

  “Yes,” Denbigh said from inside. “I heard the door pull. What is it, Mr. Tolliver?”

  “Marshal Tipton is here to see you, sir,” Tolliver said. “He said that it is a matter of some importance.”

  Tipton was sitting in a leather chair staring at the points of light atop each candle when Denbigh came in.

  “Mr. Tipton, I trust that you have a very good reason for disturbing me in my slumber?” Denbigh said, the tone of his voice displaying his displeasure.

  “Is saving your life important enough?” Tipton replied.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you burn all the houses in the valley today?”

  “Are you going to try and claim some jurisdiction over that now?” Denbigh asked.

  “No. But the ranchers and farmers whose houses you burned are planning on coming out here after you tomorrow.”

  “Let them come,” Denbigh said. “They will be nothing but a disorganized mob. My men will dispatch them quite easily.”

  “They aren’t disorganized,” Tipton said. “They are being led by Matt Jensen.”

  “Jensen is leading them?” At that news, Denbigh showed a little more concern.