A Lone Star Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “Mo!” Dalton and Rebecca yelled at the same time. Dalton started toward his fallen friend, but Lovejoy called out to him.

  “Hold it right there, Sonny,” Lovejoy said. His pistol was back in his holster. “Your friend had his chance.”

  “He wasn’t just my friend,” Dalton said with tears streaming down his face. “He was my brother.”

  “Yeah? Well, then when you get to hell, you can tell him that Frank Lovejoy said hello. ’Cause now it’s your turn.”

  Rebecca stepped in front of Dalton and held her arms out, facing Lovejoy.

  “If you shoot him, you are going to have to shoot me first,” she said.

  “Well, hell, honey. Shootin’ you ain’t goin’ to be all that hard to do. It’s not like if I don’t shoot you, you are goin’ to warm my bed. You’ve already let me know how you feel. But me and your brother have some unfinished business, so either you step out of the way, or I’ll come through you to get to him.”

  Tom started toward Lovejoy, but Matt reached out toward him and pulled him back.

  “No, Tom, wait,” Matt said.

  “I’m not going to just stand here and watch him kill the woman I love,” Tom said with quiet anger.

  Matt reached down and snatched Tom’s pistol from its holster.

  “What are you doing?” Tom asked, angrily.

  “Let me take care of this,” Matt said. “I expect I’ve had more experience.”

  “I’m not going to tell you again, Becca. Get out of the way,” Lovejoy said.

  “Lovejoy!” Matt called.

  “Who the hell are you?” Lovejoy asked.

  “Let’s say I’m a friend to the boy,” Matt said. “And I was a friend to the man you killed.”

  “And so now, like the avenging angel, you want to take me on,” Lovejoy said. “Is that it?”

  “Something like that,” Matt said.

  Lovejoy didn’t call the move. Instead, just as he had done with Mo, he made a lightning draw. Only now, by the time Lovejoy’s pistol cleared the holster, Matt’s gun was already in his hand, and a little finger of flame erupted from the end of the barrel.

  Matt’s bullet hit Lovejoy in the heart, giving him just enough time before he died to register his shock over having been beaten in a gunfight by a simple cowboy.

  Lovejoy wasn’t the only one awestruck. Nearly everyone in the saloon had seen Lovejoy in action before. They were convinced that there was no one alive who could beat him, and yet they had just seen it done.

  Before the smoke cleared, Sheriff Hamilton Bell was pushing through the front door with pistol in hand. Seeing two men lying on the floor, one of them Lovejoy, he used the barrel of his pistol to push his hat back on his head.

  “What happened here?” he asked.

  Everyone began to talk and shout at once.

  “Hold it, hold it!” Bell said. “One at a time.” He pointed to Rebecca. “Becca, did you see this?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said in a small, choked voice.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Rebecca described the events in detail, then Bell looked over at Matt and Dalton.

  “What’s your name, Mister?”

  “Jensen. Matt Jensen.”

  “I’ll be damn. I’ve heard of you, Mr. Jensen. I reckon if there was anyone who could beat Lovejoy in a fair fight, it would be you. And I’ve never heard anything that would make me think any the worse of you, so I’m inclined to believe the young lady’s report. But just to keep things on the up and up, I’d like to hold a hearing tomorrow morning. Can I have your word that you will be there?”

  “I’ll be there,” Matt promised.

  During the entire conversation among the deputy, the witnesses, and the man who had actually shot Frank Lovejoy, Rebecca had been aware of Tom’s eyes on her. What did she see in those eyes? Hurt? Anger? Hate? For a moment she was confused by his reaction, then in a moment of clarity she knew exactly what it was.

  Frank Lovejoy had called her a whore, and being here, in this place, dressed as she was, interacting with the customers, how could it appear any other way? Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned her face away. How could this have happened? How? She saw Dalton standing over Mo’s body, looking down at him, and saw that, like her, he was crying. And she knew at that moment that she was responsible for Mo’s death!

  Oh, God help me, the thought. How did I get myself into such a mess?

  “Dalton, I’m sorry about Mo,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Mo was my best friend,” Dalton said.

  “I know he was, sweetheart. And, it’s my fault that he is dead. It is all my fault.”

  Rebecca was sure that Dalton was going to turn on her, and he had every right to do so. But he didn’t.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, it wasn’t your fault,” Dalton said. “It just—it just happened, that’s all.”

  “How did you find me? How did you know I was here?”

  Dalton shook his head. “I didn’t know you were here. We came here to buy a herd of special cattle, and when we came into the saloon, here you were.”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said. “Here I am.”

  “Come on, sis, we’re getting out of here,” Dalton said.

  “No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head.

  “Rebecca, I’m not taking no for an answer,” Dalton said, showing more maturity and strength than she had ever seen him exhibit before.

  “Dalton, I ...”

  “Clay and Dusty are here. So is Maria. You are coming with us,” Dalton said.

  Rebecca knew that Dalton was right, and she knew, too, that more than anything she wanted to leave this place, once and for all.

  She looked over at Tom again, but this time he looked away.

  The Dodge House

  Clay and the others, having finished dinner, were now sitting in the lobby near the big fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they continued the conversations they had started in the dining room. Dusty is the one who saw her first.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dusty said. Then, with a quick nod of his head to Maria and Sally, he apologized. “Excuse the language, ladies, but I never expected to see her here.”

  “Who?” Clay asked, turning in his seat to look toward the front door. He saw Tom, Dalton, Matt, and Rebecca coming in. He was so surprised to see Rebecca that he didn’t even notice, right away, that Mo wasn’t with them.

  “Rebecca!” Clay said, standing as she came toward them. The other men stood as well. That was when they noticed that Rebecca was crying. Dalton’s eyes were also red. Seeing both of them crying preempted what would normally have been a question as to what she was doing here in Dodge City.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s Mo,” Rebecca replied in a choked voice.

  “Mo?” Clay noticed then that Mo was not with them. “What about Mo? Where is he?”

  “Mo is dead, Clay,” Tom said. “He was killed by a man named Frank Lovejoy.”

  “Lovejoy? Wait, I’ve heard that name. He’s a big rancher up here, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Dusty said. “We had a run-in with him a couple of years ago, if you remember. He wasn’t going to let any Texas cows come into Dodge because of the Texas fever, even though there weren’t any cases that year.”

  “It wasn’t him, it was his son,” Rebecca said.

  “Well where is Lovejoy now? Has he been arrested?”

  “Better than that,” Dalton said. “He’s been killed. Matt killed him.”

  “Are you in trouble, Matt?” Smoke asked.

  “Not exactly,” Matt replied.

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “The sheriff does want to hold a hearing tomorrow. I promised him I would be there.”

  “It’s all right,” Dalton said. “Lovejoy drew first, and everyone in the saloon saw it.”

  “What happened?” Clay asked. “What I mean is, how did this fracas get started in the first place?”
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  “It was all my fault,” Rebecca said. “Lovejoy tried to force himself on me, Dalton pushed him away, and Lovejoy started demanding that Dalton draw his gun. When he saw what was happening, Mo came over and Lovejoy drew on him and shot him without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

  “Where is Mo, now?”

  “The undertaker called for him,” Tom said.

  “I expect I had better get my coat on, then go down there and make the arrangements,” Clay said.

  “Clay?” Rebecca said, calling to Clay as he started toward the stairs to go up to his room.

  Clay stopped and turned toward her.

  “I would like to go back home with you,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clay said. “I expect your Pa is going to be real pleased about that.”

  “Rebecca,” Maria said, going to her and embracing her. “Let me introduce you to a good friend.”

  Maria introduced Rebecca to Sally Jensen, and then to Smoke, Falcon, and Duff.

  As Dalton began to elaborate on the events of the night to Clay, Dusty, Smoke, Falcon, and Duff, Tom leaned up against the marble fireplace with his arms folded across his chest.

  He watched Rebecca as she conversed easily with Maria and the others, trying to get out of his mind the thought of that beautiful body pressed up against his.

  And how many others, since she came up here?

  Back Trail Ranch, Ford County, Kansas

  “Boss? Boss?” Doyle was in Seth Lovejoy’s bedroom, shaking him awake.

  Lovejoy woke up, and startled to see Doyle in his bedroom, sat up quickly.

  “What the hell? What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  “Sorry, Boss, but I got some bad news for you.”

  “Bad news? What kind of bad news?”

  “Maybe you better come outside. We’ve got him lyin’ on your front porch.”

  “You’ve got who lying on my front porch?”

  “Frank, Mr. Lovejoy. He got hisself shot tonight. He’s dead.”

  Still in his nightgown, Lovejoy pulled on his boots, then put on his coat and hurried out onto the front porch. Frank was lying on the porch. Someone had folded his arms across his chest.

  “The undertaker wanted him, but we figured you’d rather see him first,” Doyle said.

  “What happened?” Seth asked in a choked voice.

  “It was some cowboy by the name of Matt Jensen,” Doyle said. “Ain’t none of us ever seen him before. He drawed on Frank and kilt him when Frank wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Where is Jensen now?”

  “I don’t know exactly where he is now, but tomorrow mornin’, Sheriff Bell is holdin’ a hearing, and this fella Jensen promised the sheriff that he will be there then.”

  “I want you to make sure that we have that hearing packed with people who will tell the same story you just told me.”

  “Yes, sir, well, ever’one who was sittin’ at the table with us will tell that story,” Doyle said. “We’ve done discussed it.”

  “What about anyone else in the saloon?”

  Doyle cleared his throat. “Well, sir, here’s the thing. It could be that the others didn’t see it exactly like we seen it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Seth Lovejoy said. “We need to make sure that our story is told. Morrell?”

  “Yeah, Boss?”

  “I want you to go back in town, and take at least ten men with you. You’ll find all the building materials you need at my building and lumber store. I want you to build something for me, tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, tonight. It has to be finished before the hearing starts tomorrow.”

  “All right, what do you want built?”

  “I’ll tell you when you have your men together,” Lovejoy said.

  The Dodge House

  “I know you are planning on starting the drive tomorrow,” Matt said. “So you can go ahead if you want to. If I get through this hearing all right, I’ll catch up with you.”

  “We won’t be going tomorrow because we need to see to burying Mo. Also, I need to send a telegram to Big Ben to tell him what happened. But, what do you mean if you get through the hearing all right?” Clay asked. “You said the sheriff believed you, didn’t you? And didn’t all the others in the saloon back you up?”

  “Yes,” Matt said.

  “Don’t worry, Matt. We aren’t going to leave until this is resolved.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When the town of Dodge City awakened the next morning, they were startled to see a fully erected hangman’s gallows out on Front Street, right in front of Lovejoy’s Building and Lumber Company. There was also a professionally painted sign, sitting on an A-frame in front of the gallows.

  PUBLIC

  HANGING

  ON THESE GALLOWS

  OF MATT JENSEN

  THE MAN WHO KILLED

  MY SON

  FRANK LOVEJOY

  “Look at that!” Dusty said he and everyone else from the cattle drive came out of the hotel the next morning. “I thought this wasn’t supposed to be anything but a hearing. Looks like they are ready to hang him.”

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Tom said.

  “What do you mean? If the town has already built a gallows, they mean to hang him,” Dusty said.

  Tom pointed to the sign on the store behind the gallows.

  D ODGE CITY BUILDING AND LUMBER

  Seth Lovejoy, Proprietor

  “I expect Mr. Lovejoy had that built in front of his own property in order to make the others in town think that Matt is guilty.”

  Everyone from the upcoming cattle drive, Clay, Maria, Dusty, Tom, Dalton, Smoke, Sally, Falcon and Duff were present for the hearing, which was held in the Ford County Courthouse, Judge Anthony Blanton presiding. There was no jury, as this was an inquest only, but the gallery was filled with both witnesses and the curious. And because this was an inquest only, there were no lawyers for the defense. There was, however, a prosecuting attorney who was representing the State of Kansas, and he handled the interrogation.

  The first person to testify was Sheriff Bell. Bell testified what had been reported to him by many of the eyewitnesses in the saloon.

  “Sheriff Bell,” the prosecutor said. “Several weeks ago there was a shooting incident in which Frank Lovejoy killed two men. Do you recall that incident?”

  “Yes, of course I recall it,” Sheriff Bell said.

  “Why is it that Frank Lovejoy wasn’t put in jail for that shooting?”

  “Because there were enough witnesses who testified that it was a fair fight,” Sheriff Bell said.

  “In fact, it was more than fair, wasn’t it?” the prosecutor continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it not true, Sheriff, that Lovejoy allowed the two men to hold the pistols in their hand, telling them they could shoot as soon as they saw him start his own draw?”

  “That is true.”

  “And what was the result of that experiment?”

  “Lovejoy killed both of them.”

  “That being the case, is it reasonable to assume that in a fair fight, another skilled gunman, even someone as skilled as Mr. Matt Jensen obviously is, could beat Lovejoy? And not only beat him, but shoot him before he could even get off one shot?”

  “It doesn’t seem reasonable, I admit,” Sheriff Bell said. “But that is exactly what all the witnesses have reported.”

  “Not all the witnesses, as we shall soon see,” the prosecutor said. “Witness is dismissed, Your Honor.”

  Rebecca was the next person to testify. She explained that she was Dalton’s sister, and that while she and Dalton were involved in a family discussion, Frank Lovejoy interfered. She then told how Lovejoy had challenged Dalton to a gunfight, and then killed Moses Coffey when he tried to come to the boy’s defense. He again threatened to kill Dalton, but Matt Jensen had stepped up.

  “Frank Lovejoy drew first,” Rebecca said. “But Mr. Jensen was faster.”


  Tom, and Dalton also testified in Matt’s defense. Their testimonies mirrored Rebecca’s, as did those of at least three other witnesses who had no connection to either party, other than being saloon patrons at the time.

  Then Tom Whitman was called to testify. His testimony mirrored that of everyone else, but before he was excused, he asked the judge for permission to make an observation for publici juris.

  Judge Blanton and the prosecutor both, blinked in surprise at Tom’s use of the Latin term.

  “Are you a lawyer, Mr. Whitman?” the judge asked.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “But you wish to make a comment for the public right?”

  “For the public’s right to know, yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well, what comment would you make?”

  “Your Honor, with regard to Mr. Lovejoy shooting the two men who were already holding their weapons in their hands, I submit to the court, that rather than being fair with them, Lovejoy, in effect, murdered them.”

  There were immediate shouts and cries from the court.

  “He done it! I seen it myself!” one man yelled. “Them two fellas already had their guns in their hands!”

  “Were you a witness to that shooting, Mr. Whitman?” the prosecutor asked.

  “No, Your Honor, I was not.”

  “Then how can you testify publici juris on something you know nothing about?”

  “I said I did not witness the shooting. I didn’t say I didn’t know anything about it. But if what everyone who did see it says is true, if Lovejoy told those men not to draw until they saw him start his draw, then I know that it was nothing short of murder.”

  Again there was a loud outbreak of protests and shouts of surprise from the gallery, and Judge Blanton had to still them with his gavel.

  “May I explain?” Tom asked.

  “Please do.”

  “In 1863, a man named Sigmund Exner began a series of experiments with something he calls ‘reaction time.’ Simply put, reaction time is how long it takes a person from the time their brain tells their muscles to do something, until they actually do it. And in something like drawing your pistol upon response to stimuli, that reaction time constitutes the longest period of time of the maneuver. He told the two men to draw when they saw him start his draw.” Tom emphasized that point.