“I’ll be there,” Matt promised.
* * *
All eight men in the Regulators were wanted men. That fact was one of the inducements DuPont had used in recruiting them.
“This is the best way to avoid any paper that might be out on you,” he’d told each of them. “If you are the law, you won’t be coming after yourselves, will you?”
The Mason brothers were his first recruits. John and Lem were from Missouri and, for a while, they had ridden with Frank and Jesse James. After the James Gang broke up, John and Lem formed their own gang and with three others tried to hold up a stagecoach between New Madrid and Sikeston, Missouri. They hadn’t counted on six armed men inside the coach, in addition to the shotgun guard. Two of the gang members were killed outright and the third badly wounded. John and Lem Mason got away but without any money, then fled Missouri.
Asa Carter was originally from Ohio, but more recently he had been in the army at Fort Riley, Kansas. Three years ago he’d murdered his first sergeant, then deserted the army and changed his name from Private William Dudley to Asa Carter.
Walter Toone and Moe Greene had been cowboys down in Texas. One night they murdered the foreman when he was coming back from the bank with the monthly wages, stole the four hundred dollars he was carrying, and went on the run.
Luke McCoy was from Arizona. He had held up a stagecoach outside Flagstaff, got forty dollars and his name on a wanted list. Nobody had been hurt in the holdup.
Isaac Newton was DuPont’s final recruit. He was an unusual recruit in that he was a black man. He didn’t speak like any black man DuPont had ever known. As a matter of fact, DuPont knew very few men, black or white, who had as good a command of the English language as did Isaac Newton. His grammar was excellent, and his enunciation was clear and precise. At first DuPont passed it off as Newton being from Boston because he could believe that all Bostonians spoke in such a fashion.
But DuPont quickly learned that Newton was well educated.
“Why did you go to school?” DuPont asked. “I mean, you bein’ a man of color ’n all, there ain’t that many places you can work that you’d be needin’ schoolin’ for, is there?”
“I taught school,” Newton replied.
“Yes, well, I suppose the little colored children need schoolin’, too, ’n who would teach ’em, if not somebody else who’s colored?”
“Precisely,” Isaac agreed without further explanation.
* * *
After listening to Toone and Greene give their reports on Matt Jensen, DuPont said, “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. What I want to know is, what is he doing here?”
“I expect he’s just passin’ through,” Toone said.
“No, he ain’t just passin’ through,” Greene said. “Don’t you recall him a-sayin’ he was a-goin’ to be workin’ for Conway?”
“Yeah, but I think he was just sayin’ that so as to get our goat,” Toone replied.
“I need to know if he really is workin’ for Conway,” DuPont said.
“All right. We can go back inter town ’n find out for sure,” Toone suggested.
“No, I’d rather you not go back so soon. I’ll send someone else.”
“Who?” Toone asked.
The benign expression on DuPont’s face was replaced by an expression of irritation, almost of anger. “It ain’t none of your business who I plan to send,” he snapped back.
“No, I reckon it ain’t,” a cowed Toone replied. “I was just curious, is all.”
Rongis
Luke McCoy and Isaac Newton were sharing a table at the Wild Hog. Newton wasn’t the only black customer. There were at least three others. About one out of four of the valley cowboys were black, a couple of blacks worked for the wagon freighter, and one worked at the livery stable. The Wild Hog catered to them.
“A lawyer? Who are you kidding? I thought you said you was a schoolteacher,” McCoy said.
“I have taught school, that is true, but I am also an attorney.”
“I can believe maybe you was a schoolteacher oncet. I mean, teachin’ in your kind o’ schools, them students bein’ colored ’n all. But I cain’t hardly believe that you’re a lawyer.”
“I have a certificate proving that I have passed the bar,” Isaac said.
“Passed the bar?” McCoy laughed. “Yeah, I reckon you did pass the bar, seein’ as most bars I know won’t let no nig—”
“Don’t say it!” Isaac demanded, a pistol appearing quickly in his hand.
McCoy blanched. “Yeah, look here, Isaac, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I mean, you been ridin’ with us for more ’n two months now, ’n there ain’t none of us took no notice a-tall that you was a colored man. I was just sayin’ that there ain’t hardly many bars I know will let you come in, is all. Yeah, the Wild Hog will, but they don’t care none iffen you’re colored or not, ’n they even got ’em a couple o’ colored girls that work here. But I bet you a dollar they wouldn’t let you in the Pair O’ Dice.”
Newton smiled, then slipped his pistol back into his holster. “Someday I may just take you up on that bet. But we came to town today to have a few drinks in the Wild Hog, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, that’s why we come to town all right,” McCoy said. “Oh, ’n to try ’n find out somethin’ about Jensen.”
“I almost made you pee in your pants, didn’t I?”
Seeing now that his life was in no real danger, McCoy laughed. “Yeah, you damn near did. But tell me, what do you mean you passed the bar?”
“That’s what you have to do in order to become a lawyer. You have to study for the law, then you have to pass a test that’s called the bar exam.”
McCoy was confused. “Bar? You mean like the Wild Hog? Why for would you have to take test in a bar in order to be a lawyer?”
Isaac shook his head. “It isn’t that kind of a bar. The term originated from the existence of an actual railing or bar in old courtrooms. The bar was in front of the judge’s bench, and when a case was being heard, only licensed lawyers could go inside the bar railing to approach the judge with their arguments.”
“I’ll be damned. That sure sounds like you know what you’re talkin’ about all right. But look here, how did you become a lawyer? I mean ain’t most of the schools set up so as coloreds can’t get into ’em?”
“I read for the law under Robert Morris, who was one of the first black lawyers in America.”
“Well then how come it is that you ain’t actual lawyerin’? I mean, how come it is that you’re ridin’ with the Regulators?”
Isaac shrugged. “The Regulators are supposed to be officers of the law, aren’t they?”
“Well, yeah, I reckon we’re officers of the law, leastwise, we’re s’sposed to be. Only, you’re a pretty smart man for all that you’re . . . uh . . . well, what I’m tryin’ to say is, you’re smart enough to know that we’re actual more outlaws than we is lawmen.”
Isaac chuckled. “Can you think of anyone else who might have a greater need for a lawyer than outlaws?”
McCoy chuckled, too. “No, now that I think about it, you got that right. There don’t nobody need lawyers any more ’n outlaws do. I ain’t all that sure that any of the other ’ns would let you be their lawyer. But I would let you be mine.”
“What makes you think I would want to represent any of the other Regulators?” Isaac smiled. “But I would represent you.”
As Isaac and Luke were talking, two of the bar girls approached, one black and one white. Both shared the common denominator of being attractive and seductively dressed.
The young black girl who called herself Fancy stepped up to Isaac, put her fingers on his cheek, and smiled up at him. “Here’s my good-lookin’ man. I ain’t seen you in a while. You ain’t been over in the Pair O’ Dice sniffin’ ’round them trashy white girls that works there now, have you?”
“That isn’t very likely, Fancy, as the proprietors of that establishment have made it abundantly clear that those of my partic
ular genus—that is to say, with my pigmentation and African heritage—are persona non grata within the confines of the Pair O’ Dice Saloon.”
“Oh, Lord, honey, I don’t have no idea what you just said, but you shore did say it pretty!” Fancy gushed.
“They don’t allow coloreds in that place,” Isaac explained.
“Well, yeah, I know that. Ever’one knows that. I just ain’t never heard it said that way before.”
“Do you want me to buy you a drink, or are you going to just stand here and engage in a meaningless dialogue?”
Fancy leaned into him and gave him a brief kiss. “I’d be proud to have you buy me a drink.”
“’N darlin’, I’d be mo’ ’n proud to be buyin’ one fo’ you, ’n that’s for sho’,” Isaac said, slipping into a heavy dialect.
Fancy laughed. “See there. You can talk normal if you want to.”
“Yes’sm, I sho’ can,” Isaac responded with a laugh.
* * *
“You was wantin’ to know somethin’ ’bout some o’ the men that rides with the Regulators?” Cheatum asked as Matt came into the Pair O’ Dice and stepped up to the bar.
“Yes, why do you ask? Do you have some information for me?”
“I don’t actual have nothin’ new ’bout ’em, but I seen two of ’em come a-ridin’ into town not more ’n half an hour ago. I expect you can find ’em over in the Wild Hog.”
“Well, I appreciate your tip, Mr. Cheatum, but it looks like you just lost the sale of a beer. I’ll be stepping across the street for one. How will I know them?”
The bartender chuckled. “It won’t be hard. One of ’em is a colored fella.”
When Matt stepped into the Wild Hog a few minutes later, he saw a white man and a black man sitting together at a table near the grandfather clock on the wall farthest from the bar. Although at least three other blacks were in the room, only one was wearing a pistol and sitting with a white man. Matt was sure they were the two men that Cheatum had told him about.
Matt also made a quick perusal of the saloon, satisfying himself that none of the drinkers would pose a problem. From all he could tell, only cowboys and drifters were there, and less than half were wearing guns. A couple of the cowboys were wearing their guns low and kicked out, gunfighter style, but he could tell at a glance that it was all for show. He was certain they had never used them for anything other than target practice, and probably were not very successful at that.
The bartender stood at the end of the bar, wiping the used glasses with his stained apron, then setting them among the unused glasses. When he saw Matt step up to the bar, he moved down toward him.
“Do you see those two men?” Matt asked, pointing to the two who had caught his attention when he came in.
“Yeah, I see ’em,” the bartender answered suspiciously. “What about ’em?”
“I want to buy a second round of whatever it is they’re drinking,” Matt said. “And I’ll have a beer.”
“You want to take their drinks to them?”
Matt saw a young black girl standing nearby, and he crooked his finger toward her. “What’s your name?” he asked when she stepped in front of him.
“My name is Fancy.”
The bartender put three drinks on the bar—two beers and a whiskey.
Matt picked up one of the beers, then handed the girl a dollar. “Fancy, I would like for you to take these two drinks over to the two men sitting at that table. And tell them that I bought them. My name is Matt Jensen.”
“Yes, sir,” Fancy said with a broad smile.
Matt turned his back to the bar and watched as Fancy took the two drinks over.
* * *
“What’s this? We didn’t order no drinks,” McCoy said.
Fancy nodded her head in Matt’s direction. “That gentleman standing by the bar bought them. He said to bring them to you.”
McCoy looked toward the man Fancy had pointed out. “I don’t know him. Isaac, do you have any idea who that man is?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Isaac replied.
“I know who he is,” Fancy said.
“Who is it?” McCoy asked.
“His name is Matt Jensen,” she said, enjoying being the purveyor of information.
“Matt Jensen?” Isaac asked. “I wonder what he wants with us.”
“Hell, it don’t matter none what he wants with us. He’s the one DuPont wanted us to find out about. Tell ’im to come over,” McCoy said to Fancy.
“I don’t know,” Isaac said. “This seems more than a mere coincidence.”
“You worry too much,” McCoy said.
Chapter Ten
“They said for you to go on over ’n see ’em,” Fancy said to Matt when she returned after delivering the drinks.
“Thank you.”
As he approached the table, Matt was aware that the scrutiny he was under was considerably more than mere curiosity. “May I join you two?”
McCoy pushed out a chair with his foot. “Have a seat,” he invited.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit over here,” Matt said, choosing the chair that would put his back to the wall rather than the offered chair, which would put his back to the room.
“Careful feller, ain’t you, Mr. Matt Jensen?”
“I try to be,” Matt replied. “And more properly I would be addressed as Deputy, rather than Mister, but I won’t make a point of it.”
“Deputy? Deputy what?” McCoy asked.
“Why, I’m a deputy sheriff, of course, just as you two are. You are both deputies, aren’t you? With the Regulators?”
“Yeah. Are you a-sayin’ that you’re plannin’ on joinin’ up with the Regulators?” McCoy asked.
“I didn’t get your names,” Matt said without responding to the question.
“My name is McCoy. Luke McCoy. This here feller is Isaac Newton.”
“Isaac Newton? Seems to me like I’ve heard that name before,” Matt said.
“Are you an educated man, Mr. Jensen?” Isaac asked.
Matt had had some formal education before he left Kansas with his parents on that fateful wagon trip west, but he had been only ten years old at the time. He’d received virtually no education while he was in the orphanage, and his subsequent education had been a result of a self-study program.
“I don’t have much of a formal education,” Matt replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Your reaction to my name, Isaac Newton, suggested that perhaps you were educated. Sir Isaac Newton was a renowned physicist. I would say that I was named after him, but the fact that we share the same name is strictly a coincidence. I’m quite sure that my mother had never heard of him.”
Matt chuckled. “Now that you mention it, I have heard of Newton. He invented gravity, didn’t he?”
Isaac chuckled. “He didn’t invent it. It was already here and has been since the dawn of existence. He did quantify it, though.”
Matt was intrigued by Isaac. “You are quite a man of words, Mr. Newton.”
“He’s a lawyer too,” McCoy said. “Leastwise, he says he’s a lawyer. I can’t hardly picture no colored man as a lawyer, though.”
“Evidently not many can,” Isaac replied. “That is the problem.”
“If you are a lawyer, why are you with the Regulators?” Matt asked.
“I asked him that selfsame thing,” McCoy said.
“Why? Do you want to join the Regulators?” Isaac asked, leaving Matt’s question unanswered.
“What makes you think I would want to join the Regulators?”
“Why, you said it your ownself,” McCoy said. “You said you was a deputy, just like we are.”
“I’m not exactly just like you are,” Matt explained. “My deputy duties won’t have anything to do with the Regulators.”
“Is it true that you’ll be workin’ for Hugh Conway?” McCoy asked.
“You do get right to the point, don’t you?”
“Well, is it true or ain’t it?”
“I will be working with Mr. Conway, yes,” Matt said.
“I thought you said you was goin’ to be a deputy sheriff. How is it you’re goin’ to be a deputy ’n also workin’ for Conway?”
“Oh, my working with Mr. Conway will be part of my duty as a deputy sheriff. Apparently he has been having to deal with a lot of horse stealing, and he fears he may wind up losing so many horses that he will be unable to get enough to market to enable him to pay the note on his ranch.”
“So, what does he want you to help him do? Steal some horses, maybe?” McCoy asked. “Hell, ain’t that what the Regulators is for?”
Matt laughed. “So you are confessing that, are you?”
“Confessin’ what?” McCoy asked, clearly confused by Matt’s reply.
Unexpectedly, Isaac laughed as well. “It looks like he got you on that one, Luke.”
“What do you mean? What is it he got me on?”
“Never mind,” Matt said. “Tell me about Tyrone DuPont.”
“He’s our boss,” McCoy said.
“I knew that already. What else can you tell me about him?”
“Well he’s—”
Isaac interrupted McCoy with a raised hand. “I must say, Deputy Jensen, that I’m a little uncomfortable with the tone of this conversation.”
“Well, it’s just that I’m new in town, and now that I’m a deputy, I’m trying to get the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“I’m sure you will be able to learn much more by observation than by interrogation,” Isaac said.
“You may be right,” Matt agreed. He finished his beer then stood up. “Gentlemen, thank, you for inviting me to join you. Try to stay out of trouble while you are in town.”
Isaac and McCoy watched Matt as he pushed through the batwing doors and stepped outside.
“He’s kind of a strange ’un, ain’t he?” McCoy said.
“He may be trouble for DuPont and the Regulators,” Isaac observed.
“Ha! How can he be? He don’t seem to me like he’s all that smart.”
“He don’t seem smart?” Isaac asked.
“You seen it, too, didn’t you?”
Isaac chuckled at his private joke. “Yes, I seen it, too.”
Die with the Outlaws Page 7