The Family Jensen (16 page)

Matt slept well that night, although it took him a while to doze off after Starwind’s visit. He kept thinking about the warmth of her mouth and her body.

The next morning he ate breakfast with Crazy Bear and Mala. When Matt asked where Starwind was, the Crow chief shook his head despairingly.

“She has ridden out again. I do not know where she goes. Most fathers would say they have no daughter were she to treat them with such disrespect.”

“You are not like most fathers,” Mala pointed out. “You are a powerful man, Crazy Bear. You don’t need to prove that power by punishing your children.”

Matt managed not to smile. He figured that Crazy Bear had probably won every argument he’d ever had…except the ones with his wife and daughter. In that respect he was no different than most of the men Matt had met. Smoke’s wife Sally could always get him to do what she wanted. The fact that Sally was nearly always right helped matters.

After breakfast, Matt saddled up Spirit and got ready to ride. Crazy Bear stood watching him and said, “Be careful, Matt Jensen. Reece Bannerman is a bad man, and some of the men who work for him are even worse.”

“Hired killers, I imagine,” Matt said.

Crazy Bear nodded gravely. “Yes. Men with cold eyes who care nothing for anyone but themselves.”

“I’ll be careful,” Matt said as he tightened the cinch on the saddle. “I’ve come up against hombres like that before, Crazy Bear, and I’m still alive and kickin’.” He slid his rifle into the boot. “If I can find Moon Fawn, I’ll bring her back here. If I need help, I’ll get word to you.”

Crazy Bear slapped Matt on the back with a huge paw, and the impact staggered Matt a little, as if he had been swatted by a real bear. “May the spirits watch over you, my friend,” the chief rumbled.

Matt swung up into the saddle and rode out of the village. He could feel numerous eyes watching him and knew that word had gotten around about him trying to find the missing Moon Fawn. He had the hopes of a lot of people riding with him.

Crazy Bear had told him how to get to Buffalo Flat. He crossed the first creek and swung south, riding down the valley between the two streams. He would bypass the Circle B, although it was possible he might run into some of Bannerman’s stock along the way, and where there were cows, there would likely be cowboys. Matt kept his eyes open. He didn’t want to be seen until he’d had a chance to change clothes and switch horses.

He approached the settlement at mid-morning. Smoke had been there a number of years earlier, not long after Buffalo Flat was founded. Matt paused on a hillside overlooking the settlement taking note of the big, well-established town so different from then. The main street ran for six blocks and was flanked by two more streets lined with businesses. The cross streets had businesses on them in the downtown area, and were crowded with residences beyond that.

He took a pair of field glasses out of his saddlebag and studied the town through them, locating a livery stable and a general store. He saw that he could approach the establishments on one of the less-traveled side streets, then cut into an alley that ran behind both businesses. That would be best, he decided, in case any of the men he’d clashed with the day before were in Buffalo Flat. He didn’t want to be spotted and recognized.

Ten minutes later, he led Spirit into the livery stable through the rear doors, which were open to allow circulation through the barn from the front doors. A stocky man in late middle age was forking some fresh straw into one of the stalls. He stopped and leaned on the pitchfork when he saw Matt come in.

“Howdy, mister,” he said. “That’s a fine-lookin’ sorrel you got there. Need to put him up here for a while?”

“That’s right,” Matt said. “And I’d like to rent another saddle horse, if you’ve got one.”

The hostler frowned. “Oh, I got one. Several good horses, in fact. But none any better than the one you already have. Pardon me for bein’ nosy, but why would you want to rent another horse?”

“We’ve come a far piece,” Matt explained, using the story he had thought up on his way into town. “I’m going to be around here for a while, so I thought it might be a good idea to let this big fella rest and use another mount.”

“Well, I reckon that makes sense,” the liveryman said. “Not that it’s any of my business anyway. Name’s Hoyt Dowler, by the way. Used to run Jason Garrard’s livery stable for him, but I saved up my money and finally bought a place of my own.”

Matt could tell the man was waiting for him to introduce himself. He could also tell that Dowler was the garrulous sort and might keep him there all day if he could, talking to him about anything and everything.

“Call me Matt,” he said curtly, not giving his last name and not allowing enough friendliness into his voice to encourage Dowler.

“All right, Matt,” Dowler said, evidently getting the message. “You passed the corral with the horses I have for rent out back as you came in. See any that struck your fancy?”

“There was a big, rangy dun that looked like a pretty good horse.”

A grin wreathed Dowler’s weathered face. “You got a fine eye for horseflesh, youngster. Most folks’d look at that dun and not want it ’cause it’s ugly, and it’s got a mean cast to its eye. Well, it is mean, and it is ugly, but that son of a gun can run all day.”

Matt loosened the cinches on Spirit’s saddle. “I’ll get my tack on him, then.”

“Why don’t you let me do that?” Dowler suggested. “I’ll switch the saddle for you, then put the sorrel in a stall and see that he’s got plenty of grain and water. When do you want the dun ready to ride?”

“I have to go down the street to the store, but I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”

Dowler nodded. “The dun’ll be ready,” he promised.

Matt left the barn through the rear doors. Dowler would likely wonder about that, but Matt couldn’t very well explain his actions to the man. He didn’t know what connection there was, if any, between Dowler and Reece Bannerman.

The back door into the general store was locked, so Matt had to go along the narrow passage between buildings to the street, step up onto the porch, and enter the store through the front door. He saw a couple women standing in one of the aisles, looking through some bolts of cloth, and stepped to the side so he could move down another aisle to the rear of the store, where a clerk stood behind a counter.

Along the way he picked up a pair of dark brown whipcord trousers, a fringed buckskin jacket, and a broad-brimmed, flat-crowned brown hat. He could wear his own butternut shirt with the jacket over it.

“That do you?” the clerk asked as Matt put the clothes on the counter.

“Reckon so.”

“Nice duds,” the clerk said. He stuck the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he picked up a stub of pencil and added up the prices on a ragged piece of butcher paper. “That’ll be eleven dollars and twenty-five cents.”

Matt opened his poke and counted out the money. “Got a back room where I can change?” he asked.

“You bet.” The clerk swept the bills and coins across the counter. “Follow me.”

When Matt came out of the back room a few minutes later, he had donned the new trousers and, different from normal, had tucked the legs inside his high-topped boots. He wore the buckskin jacket and the brown Stetson, and carried his old trousers wrapped around the hat he’d been wearing. When he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror near the counter, he knew he looked considerably different than he had the day before during the shootout with the men who’d been chasing Starwind.

“I’m obliged,” he said with a nod to the clerk. When he left the store, he walked right past the women who were still looking through the bolts of cloth. He was aware that they studied him pretty thoroughly, and he grinned as he heard a faint giggle behind him. Sounded like he met with their approval.

Hoyt Dowler seemed not to recognize him at first when he walked back into the livery stable, through the double doors in the front, then said, “Oh, you’re the fella who brought in that sorrel a little while ago. Matt, ain’t it? I got your saddle on that dun. He’s ready to go.”

“Thanks,” Matt said. He gave the man a ten-dollar gold piece and the trouser-wrapped hat. “That enough to take care of the bill for a few days, including hanging on to this gear for me?”

“Sure is. You’ll be around town?”

“I don’t really know. I heard they might be hiring out at the Circle B. Thought I might try to get me a job.”

“Circle B, eh?” Dowler’s eyes dropped to the well-worn walnut grips of the .44 holstered on Matt’s right hip. He didn’t sound quite as friendly as before as he went on, “Yeah, I reckon Bannerman might hire you.”

“You have a problem with Reece Bannerman?”

“No, no problem,” Dowler said, a little wary. “It’s just that he’s the biggest cattleman in these parts…and he knows it. If you get a job out there, you’ll come back for your sorrel and your gear?”

“Yeah, in a few days. Soon as I get the chance.”

Dowler nodded. “I’ll take good care of him until then. Nothin’ I like better than takin’ care of a good horse. Lemme fetch that dun.”

He led out the mouse-colored horse, which had a dark stripe down the center of its back. The dun gave him a baleful stare but didn’t shy away as he mounted up.

“So long, Mr. Dowler,” Matt said as he turned the horse toward the doors. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He rode out of the barn and paused in the street. Under other circumstances, it would have been nice to take a look around Buffalo Flat and see what the town had to offer. It was getting on toward the middle of the day, and Matt would have liked to find a café and have a good meal.

But he couldn’t forget there was a seven-year-old girl out there somewhere, probably mighty scared and uncertain about what was going to happen to her. It was a strong possibility that Reece Bannerman had her and Matt knew he had to find out the truth, one way or another. He knew if Crazy Bear’s granddaughter remained missing long enough, it was bound to lead to trouble between the Crow and the white settlers who had moved into the valley. An Indian war would mean blood and suffering.

So Matt turned his back on Buffalo Flat and rode north, toward the Circle B. He didn’t know what he would find there…and he wasn’t sure what to hope for.

He forded the easternmost of the two creeks—Badger Creek, Starwind had called it—and continued working his way up the valley. He began seeing quite a few cattle, and when he rode closer to them, he saw the Circle B brand burned into their hides. He was on Bannerman range, all right.

The sudden sound of a shot made him rein in. The gun had gone off somewhere nearby, but hadn’t come too close to him. As he looked around, searching for the origin of the shot, three riders emerged from a stand of timber to his right and galloped toward him.

They charged straight at him but he didn’t turn and run. Not wanting to give them an excuse to come after him, he stood his ground, sitting calmly in the saddle as he watched them approach. He held the reins with his left hand, and his right rested lightly on his thigh, not far from the butt of his Colt.

The men spread out and rode up in front of him, reining in so there were about five yards between each of them. It was a smart move. If things came to gunplay he’d have a hard time downing all of them before they could get lead in him.

Matt didn’t intend to let that happen. He smiled faintly and nodded to the men. “Howdy,” he said. “I reckon one of you fired that shot I heard a minute ago?”

“That was a warning shot, mister,” the man in the middle said. He was stocky, with a thick black mustache drooping over his mouth. “This is Circle B range, and people don’t ride here unless they’re invited.”

Matt glanced at the other two. The one to his right was tall and skinny, with hair like straw sticking out from under a battered gray hat. The man had an ugly grin on his face. The one to Matt’s left was stoic and dark-complected, wearing a cowhide vest and a black hat. He was so bland-looking, the sort of man you’d glance at once and then forget, Matt figured he might be the most dangerous of the three.

“Sorry if I’m intruding,” he said. “I’m not looking for trouble. I was passing through Buffalo Flat, heard about your ranch, and thought you might be hiring.”

“It ain’t
my
ranch,” the spokesman said. “It belongs to Mr. Reece Bannerman. My name’s Jud Talley, and I’m the foreman.”

“Matt West,” Matt introduced himself, picking the name out of his memory. Smoke had called himself Buck West when he visited the same valley years ago. Matt had already taken the name Jensen; he figured he might as well adopt part of Smoke’s old alias, too.

“You don’t look like a cowhand, West,” Talley said.

“I’ve punched cows,” Matt replied with a shrug, “but I’ve done other things, too.”

“What sort of things?”

“Rode shotgun on a stage line out of Lordsburg, scouted some for the Army down in Arizona Territory, panned for gold over in Idaho. Some other jobs here and there.”

“Are you any good with that gun?”

“Good enough,” Matt said.

The straw-haired gent on the right spoke up. “That’s big talk!” he said. “You want to prove it, mister?”

Talley snapped, “Take it easy, Hennessy.”

The man leveled his left arm at Matt. “I don’t like the way he looks at me, like he thinks he’s better’n me! Lemme kill him, Jud. Lemme plug the son of a bitch!”

Matt saw what was going on. Hennessy was trying to goad him into a fight. If he drew on Hennessy, then the third man would kill him. A man couldn’t beat the odds if he fell into a trap like that.

The trick was to not fall for it. Instead, Matt smiled again and said, “If you reach for your gun, Hennessy, I’m gonna kill this hombre over here on my left first thing. I’m betting you’re slow enough that I can ventilate him and still have plenty of time to put lead in you.”

Hennessy went slack-jawed with surprise. Talley’s face darkened with anger. The third man’s expression remained unreadable, except for a tiny sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Hennessy’s right, you’re full of big talk!” Talley said. “What’s to stop me from killin’ you while you’re takin’ care of these other two?”

“Not a thing, if
you’re
fast enough,” Matt said. “But I’ve got a hunch that I can blast you out of the saddle, too, before I cross the divide.”

“Jud, we cain’t let him talk to us like that,” Hennessy protested. “We just cain’t!”

The third man finally said something. “Hennessy, shut your mouth, you damn yokel. This hombre didn’t ride out here by mistake, and he’s not the sort of man you want to trifle with.” The man moved his horse slightly closer. “My name’s Lew Torrance, West. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Matt nodded. “Reckon I have.”

“You’re not looking for a regular cowhand’s job, are you?”

“Not particularly.”

“You must’ve heard that Bannerman’s looking for fighting men.”

Matt shrugged. It was fine with him if Torrance believed that, although it wasn’t true.

“Come on to headquarters with us,” Torrance invited. “You can talk to the boss. No guarantees that he’ll hire you, though.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said.

Talley burst out, “Wait just a damn minute here! I’m still the ramrod of this crew.”

“Not this part of it,” Torrance drawled. He inclined his head in the direction of the ranch headquarters. “Come on, West.”

Matt rode past Talley and Hennessy and fell in alongside Torrance. He watched the other two men from the corner of his eye as he passed them. He didn’t think they would make a try for him, but he was ready if they did.

He didn’t much cotton to the idea of having Talley and Hennessy behind him, but he caught the warning look and the slight shake of the head that Torrance gave the men. Torrance was telling them to lay off, at least until they reached headquarters.

“You know anybody that I might know?” Torrance asked as they rode along. From the sound of the question, he was just making idle conversation, but Matt suspected there was more to it than that.

“I’ve crossed trails a time or two with Smoke Jensen,” Matt said. No lie there.

Torrance grunted. “Jensen, eh? The two of you friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” True again, because Smoke and Matt were much closer than just friends. They were as close as brothers. “You know him?”

“Never met the man,” Torrance replied blandly. “I’ve heard of him, of course. Supposed to be mighty fast on the draw.”

“That’s what I’ve heard, too.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Torrance’s mouth. “Maybe one day we’ll find out who’s faster, eh?”

“Could be.”

“What about Frank Morgan?”

“The one they call The Drifter?” Matt asked.

“Yeah.”

“Never met him, never even seen him.”

“I did, once,” Torrance said. “We were on opposite sides of a little dustup in Kansas. I rode away from it alive. Some of the boys I was with didn’t.”

“It’s a hard life,” Matt said.

“But when you don’t know anything else, it’s tough to get away from it.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed with a world-weary air that belied his youth. To a certain extent, it was a pose, but he was also beginning to understand the truth of it.

Torrance fell silent. If he had been trying to get a feel for Matt, evidently he was satisfied. About half an hour later, they came to the ranch headquarters.

Set on a long bench of land between the creek and a rugged bluff, the headquarters of the Circle B gave ample evidence the spread was a successful one. The sprawling, two-story, whitewashed house was the centerpiece, but it was surrounded by a couple barns, a series of corrals, a long, low bunkhouse, small cabins for the married hands, a smokehouse, a blacksmith shop, and several storage buildings. Pines grew close around the ranch house, and the contrast between the dark green needles and the whitewashed walls was striking. There were covered verandahs on three sides of the house.

Matt saw quite a few men moving around the ranch, mostly from the bunkhouse to the barns and back again, or from the barns to the corrals. Bannerman had a pretty big crew working for him. Most of them would be regular cowhands, but some would be like Torrance, recruited for his skill with a gun, not because he could handle a rope and a branding iron. If Bannerman was intent on grabbing more and more range for himself, he would need more men who could shoot. Matt was counting on that.

There was one similarity between the Circle B ranch and the Crow Indian village. Several dogs bounded out, barking loudly, as the men rode up. The commotion was bound to draw the attention of anyone in the house, so Matt wasn’t surprised when the front door opened and a man stepped out onto the porch.

From the man’s staight-backed, arrogant stance, Matt knew he was looking at Reece Bannerman.

The cattleman was around fifty. He was only medium height, but at first glance he appeared bigger because of the leashed power in his muscular body. He had big hands, and the calluses and knobby knuckles showed that he had done plenty of physical work in his life. His jaw thrust out defiantly. He had lost most of his hair except for a sandy fringe around his ears and the back of his head. He wore boots, a pair of canvas trousers, and a brown vest over a white shirt.

“Who’s this, Jud?” Bannerman’s voice lashed out like the crack of a whip.

“We found him ridin’ on Circle B range south of here, boss,” Talley replied. “Says his name’s Matt West. Claims he’s lookin’ for a job.”

Bannerman glared at Matt. “When I need to hire cowhands, West, I go looking for them. I don’t give jobs to any grub-line rider who comes along.”

“I wasn’t exactly looking for that kind of job, Mr. Bannerman,” Matt said. “I hear that you’re looking for men who don’t mind a little trouble.”

The rancher’s gaze moved over to Torrance. “What about it, Lew? You know this hombre?”

“Never heard of him,” Torrance answered. “But I like the way he carries himself.”

Bannerman made a curt, dismissive gesture. “You can’t tell anything by that. You have to see a man in action to really know what he can do. Hennessy!”

The tall, straw-haired puncher had brought his horse up next to Matt’s. As Bannerman barked out his name, Hennessy left his saddle in a sudden diving tackle that sent him crashing into Matt. Taken by surprise, Matt toppled off the dun and fell heavily to the ground in front of the porch, landing with Hennessy on top of him slamming bony fists into his face.