Lisa flashed a warm smile toward Matt and, quite unexpectedly, he felt a sudden attraction to her, something that he knew should be quickly suppressed. He also thought that he saw, just for an instant, a similar reaction from Lisa, but it passed so quickly that he couldn’t be sure.
“I’m glad he isn’t just stringing her along,” Lisa said.
“Hugh, on the ride out here, Ed was telling me about Tyrone DuPont and the Regulators. Tell me what you know about them.” Matt’s change of the subject was as much to get his mind off Lisa as it was for information.
Hugh shook his head slowly, not as if refusing to respond to Matt’s request, but rather to express his feelings for the man in question. “DuPont claims to have been a policeman once. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I do know that he was once a riverboat gambler. A while back he approached the Ranchers’ Association with the proposal that he could provide us with a private police force. There had been some horse thieving and cattle rustling, and the Ranchers’ Association took him up on it. I was the only one who voted against taking him on, and I was right. Instead of stopping it, it has gotten worse.”
“And the Ranchers’ Association has done nothing about it?”
“A few of us have tried, but Kennedy and O’Neil want to keep them on, so the Regulators are still an official police force for the association.”
“What about the law?”
“Garrett Kennedy and Sean O’Neil are the law, at least, for all intents and purposes. They own the
Straight Arrow Ranch, which is the biggest ranch in the Sweetwater Valley, and they contribute enough money to elect the town and county officials they want. They control the sheriff and the judge, and that gives the Regulators a façade of legality. Sheriff Clark has given Tyrone DuPont the title of first deputy, and every other member of the Regulators is a deputy.”
“Ed seemed to suggest that DuPont and his Regulators might be the ones who are actually doing the stealing.”
“It’s more than just a suggestion. I’m certain they are. And the most contemptible thing about it is their accusation that it is the smaller ranchers who are doing the rustling. They are enforcing a damnable law that makes rustlers out of anyone who rounds up a stray calf now and then. Just within the last six months two ranchers and their families have been forced to leave the valley.”
“What about Kennedy and O’Neil? Aren’t they aware of what’s going on?”
“Who do you think wound up with the two abandoned ranches?”
“Kennedy and O’Neil,” Matt said. It wasn’t a question. It was an answer.
“Yes, as no doubt I’m sure they will wind up with Harmon Philpot’s place. I’ll be honest with you, Matt, I’m not really sure what the situation is with them,” Hugh said.
“Colleen isn’t like that,” Lisa said quickly.
“Colleen?”
“Colleen is O’Neil’s daughter,” Hugh explained. “She’s twenty-two years old, and she has been out here less than a year, arriving shortly after her mother died. And, like Lisa says, she’s not like the rest of them.”
“Why doesn’t she leave them?”
“Well, O’Neil is her father, and I don’t think she’s quite ready to totally abandon him yet,” Lisa said. “But she is basically a very good person, and I think that one day she’ll get the courage to do what is right.”
“You say the smaller ranchers are losing cattle to the rustlers. What about Kennedy and O’Neil? Are they losing cattle as well?” Matt asked Hugh.
“They don’t seem to be losing any, but as to whether or not they are actually directly benefiting from the rustling, well, I’m not prepared to make that charge.”
“What do you mean by directly benefiting?”
“As I said, when the smaller ranchers give up and leave, somehow their property seems to be absorbed by the Straight Arrow Ranch.”
“The first thing I need to do is find out as much about Kennedy and O’Neil, and about DuPont and his Regulators, as I can,” Matt said.
“You might start with Art Walhausen,” Hugh suggested.
“Who is Art Walhausen?”
“He is the owner and publisher of the Red Desert Gazette.”
Matt continued his questioning. “Can he be trusted?”
“He has never done anything to make me think he can’t be. And he has written a couple of editorials challenging the need for a private police force.”
“And it cost him,” Lisa added
“Cost him, how?”
“A bunch of thugs broke into his newspaper office one night,” Hugh explained. “They broke his window and scattered his type around. He had to suspend publication for two weeks until he got everything put back together.”
“Do you think it was Regulators?”
“They denied it of course, but I know damn well they were the ones who did it. Who else would have a reason?”
“What about Kennedy and O’Neil? What did they say about it?”
“Oh, they insisted that they had nothing to do with it. They even replaced his window and paid for the damages.”
“But you don’t believe them,” Matt stated.
“I have no reason not to believe them.” Hugh paused for a moment before he continued. “But I don’t believe them,” he added with a wry smile.
* * *
Art Walhausen was shorter than average, bald-headed, and had gray eyes that seemed almost too large for his face. That illusion was even more pronounced because they were magnified by the glasses he wore.
He couldn’t remember when he didn’t want to be a newspaperman. As a boy he had “published” a newspaper for his neighbors on Water Street in Boston, Massachusetts. Of course, he had no printing press at the time, so he had laboriously printed by hand twenty copies of the “paper” that he’d called the Water Street News, then he hand delivered them to every house on both sides of the block. He had subsequently worked on such newspapers as the Boston Evening Transcript, Harpers Weekly, and the St. Louis Republican. The Red Desert Gazette was the first paper he had ever owned.
Walhausen was working on the copy for an ad for Dunnigan’s General Store when the tinkling bell on the front door told him that someone had just come in. Looking up, he saw a young man who appeared to be just over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He was wearing a pistol, the holster low and tied down on the right. Walhausen was perceptive enough to know that this was a man who knew how to use it, but he was also intuitive enough to know that his gun wouldn’t be misused.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?”
“I was told that you might be able to tell me a little about the Regulators.”
The expression on Walhausen’s face changed from one of benign curiosity to measured caution. “May I ask why you are interested? Are you, by chance, seeking a position with them? If so, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Matt chuckled. “Looking to join them?” He shook his head. “Mister, that’s the last thing I want. I plan to help Hugh Conway get his horses to market, and I understand that the Regulators might be of some concern. Hugh suggested that I talk to you about them.”
The expression on Walhausen’s face turned to one of relief. “You are working for Conway?”
“It’s more like I am working with him,” Matt replied. “Mrs. Conway is the sister of a friend of mine, and that friend asked if I would help them.” He extended his hand. “My name is Matt Jensen.”
“Matt Jensen? So it is true.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I heard how Matt Jensen had arranged a demonstration of Ed Sanders’s facility for fisticuffs upon Walter Toone and Moe Greene.”
Matt laughed. “Let’s say Ed got his licks in.”
“You really are here. I wanted to believe it. I just wasn’t prepared to accept the idea that someone like you would be inclined to visit our small town. But I can see how you might respond to the request of a friend. So you want to know about the Regulators, do you?”
“What can I tell you? Those rapacious scallywags who call themselves Regulators are the most loathsome dregs of society. And of course they are led by Tyrone DuPont, the biggest miscreant of them all. I remember him from St. Louis.”
“You knew DuPont in St. Louis?”
“I knew of him. I didn’t actually know him,” Walhausen said. “I was a newspaperman there, too, working for the St. Louis Republic.”
“Ed Sanders, the man who works for Hugh Conway, believes that the Regulators themselves may be doing some of the horse stealing that is going on,” Matt said. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“Not only possible, I think it is probable that they are stealing horses and rustling cattle, but I can’t print it because I have no proof. Kennedy and O’Neil would sue me in a heartbeat.”
“Kennedy and O’Neil. Yes, I would like to know about them, as well.”
“Garrett Kennedy and Sean O’Neil. I’ve done some research on them. Just a minute. Let me get my notes.” Walhausen opened a drawer to his desk, then pulled out a file and began looking through it. “Ah yes, here it is. They were bankers in New York, but it wasn’t the kind of bank you think of. You couldn’t write a check on the bank. You couldn’t deposit any money in the bank, nor could you borrow money from the bank.”
“What kind of bank was it?”
“Their bank bought up loans. It specialized in purchasing loans that were in distress. That gave them title to the equity, be it a small business or property, even a private house. Then, when the loan came due they would foreclose on it, taking over the property, then selling it for gain. It was enormously profitable, but they ruined a lot of innocent lives.”
Matt frowned. “Why did they give that up? Why did they come out here?”
“They made some powerful enemies in the Whyos Gang.”
“The what?”
“The Whyos Gang is an Irish gang operating in New York. They are pretty eclectic, counting in their number anyone from pickpockets to murderers. They emerged from what had been the Five Points Gang and pretty quickly either eliminated or absorbed a lot of other gangs.”
“And you believe that these two men, Kennedy and O’Neil, were once a part of that gang? Is that how they wound up owning a ranch here in Wyoming? When you think about it, that seems a little far-fetched.”
“It isn’t so far-fetched if you know their history. Kennedy and O’Neil had ambitions to take over the gang, and they got into a fight with the two of the gang members, Lyons and Driscoll, who had the same ambition. Lyons and Driscoll won the battle, and Kennedy and O’Neil were forced to flee.
“As a result of their banking operation, they had a great deal of money when they arrived, and they bought out four or five smaller ranchers, then put together their Straight Arrow Ranch. Let me show you my morgue.”
“Your morgue?” Matt replied in surprise.
Walhausen chuckled. “Nothing sinister. In the newspaper business, it’s what we call old back issues. I actually have two morgues, the regular morgue that consists of only past newspapers, and a special one that has stories of particular interest.
“The first one I will show you is about Tyrone DuPont. It appeared in the St. Louis Republican, where I once worked. I didn’t write it, and it’s just as well I didn’t, for if I had, and he had been able to make the connection, I would be at great risk now.
“I’ll get the St. Louis paper first, and while you’re reading the story, I’ll get the others.”
St. Louis Police Officer
Found Guilty of Fraud
Tyrone DuPont, a five-year member of the metropolitan police force, has been indicted on charges of bribery and conspiracy to commit bribery following an internal affairs investigation into a scheme where he accepted bribes to turn his back on crimes being committed by local citizens.
The alleged scheme worked like this: DuPont would find violations of laws and ordnances, then, for a price, promise the perpetrator no information that would lead to a charge would be turned in. The payments to DuPont were always in the form of cash so as not to have any evidence of his malfeasance. DuPont allegedly made over two thousand dollars in payoffs.
Chief of Police Arthur Bruce criticized the behavior detailed in the indictment as “disgraceful,” asserting that it amounts to an abuse of authority. “The most important thing any police officer strives for in their career is earning the trust and confidence of the people they serve,” Chief Bruce went on to say.
In order to prevent the adverse publicity that would befall the St. Louis Police Department in a trial, DuPont has agreed to a plea bargain where he will be stripped of all police powers and removed from the force.
By the time Matt finished the article, Walhausen had returned from the morgue file, bringing ten newspapers back with him.
“I see where he was kicked off the force,” Matt mentioned. “Is that why he left St. Louis?”
“Not immediately. For a while he became a gambler on riverboats headed for New Orleans, and from all that I heard, he was doing quite well. But I lost track of him until he showed up here.”
“What did he think about seeing you here?”
Walhausen smiled and shook his head. “As far as I know, he hasn’t given me a second thought. I was not a well-known journalist while I was in St. Louis and, as I told you, we had never met, so I’m sure he had never even heard of me.”
Matt had more questions. “How many Regulators are there?”
“As of now, at least to the point I have been able to keep up with it, there are eight. Nine, counting DuPont.”
“What about Angus Shardeen? Is he part of the Regulators?”
“You know Shardeen?”
“I know of Shardeen, but I’ve never met him.”
“That little tour-de-force demonstration he gave in the Wild Hog is indicative of his position as the puissance of the Regulators,” Walhausen said.
Matt laughed out loud. “I have no idea what you just said, but I’m going to take it to mean that yes, Shardeen is part of the Regulators.”
“He is indeed.”
“What about Sheriff Clark? Have you told him about your suspicions?”
“I don’t need to tell him. He knows all about it,” Walhausen said.
“Are you saying that Clark is behind this? That he is actually a part of it?”
“No, I’m not saying that, exactly. He isn’t involved with Kennedy and O’Neil, nor even directly involved with the Regulators, for all that he has deputized DuPont. I think Clark is basically an honest man, but he is a weak man who lacks the initiative and the backing to challenge the Regulators.”
“And yet he is the one who made them all deputies.”
“I suppose that’s true, but I’m convinced that when he did it, he truly believed that they would be helping him, and that it would be for the good of the town and county. Now things have gotten out of hand, and he is too frightened to oppose them.”
“I think I’ll pay the good sheriff a little visit,” Matt said.
“Go easy on him, Mr. Jensen. As I said, I believe Sheriff Clark is an honest man—just in well over his head.”
Matt’s only reply was a nod before he left the newspaper office.
Chapter Nine
Sheriff Davey Clark was about five feet nine, a slender man with gray hair and a gray, bushy moustache. Matt figured he was in his late sixties, maybe even a little older.
“You’re Matt Jensen, aren’t you?” Clark said when Matt stepped into the sheriff’s office.
“I am.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Jensen?”
“Is it true you have deputized the Regulators?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Jensen, I am supposed to police over ten thousand square miles. I can’t do it by myself, and the county won’t
authorize the funds to pay for but one deputy. I’ve appointed DuPont as my deputy, and he has come up with a group of men who have volunteered to be deputies without pay. That means I don’t have to come up with money the country doesn’t have, because the Regulators work for nothing.”
Matt shook his head. “No, they don’t work for nothing, Sheriff, and you know that.”
“If they round up a stray horse or cow now and then, it’s nothing ranchers haven’t always done.”
“And if the horse or cow isn’t exactly a stray?”
“It’s called taxes,” Clark said.
“Taxes? My friend Hugh Conway is on the verge of losing his ranch to the roundup of the stray horses he has in his own pasture. And you call that taxes?” Matt emphasized the word stray to make a point.
Clark closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was quiet for a long moment.
“Jensen, I am seventy-one years old. There is no way I can actually deal with this. My term will be up at the end of this year and, believe me, I will not be seeking reelection. My primary goal is to live until then, and I don’t think going up against Tyrone DuPont is a good way of doing that.”
“Let me ask you this, Sheriff. Will you get in my way if I deal with it?”
“You’re one man. How would you deal with it?”
“Leave that up to me. I do have a favor to ask of you, though.”
Clark frowned. “What sort of favor?”
“Make me a deputy.”
“What good would that do? I’ve got too many deputies now. That’s the problem.”
“No, you have the wrong deputies, and that is the problem. Deputize me, and let me take care of it.”
“I don’t have any money to pay you.”
“I’ll do it as a public service.”
“Jensen, I know about you. I’ve heard all about you. I know that you are exceptionally good with a gun, and it would be good to have you on my side. But if DuPont starts giving me any trouble over this, I’m going to count on you standing between him and me.”
Die with the Outlaws Page 6