Matt knew the rocks against the canyon wall were little shelter, and the smoldering fire was giving off smoke. He glanced at Bonnie, sleeping soundly with exhaustion as first light glowed on the rocks above and rain continued to drizzle from a dark sky.
The hoofbeats were drawing near, deep thuds on the muddy ground. The dog didn’t move but was listening intently.
Rising to stand with his Winchester cocked, Matt swallowed, his throat bone dry. If it was the dozen riders who had covered their faces with bandannas in the fury of their kill, his chances were pretty slim.
Somebody wanted this woman dead. And Matt would die right along with her. He had been a witness.
Coming around the distant corner along the rushing water were three riders on sorrel horses.
One was an old Apache wearing buckskins under his heavy leather coat. He had grey hair to his shoulders, a face square and weathered, and piercing brown eyes that searched the canyon as he held his rifle across the pommel.
With him was a cowhand in his fifties with an old Stetson, worn and marked with sweat. Wearing a slicker over his ranch clothes, he had a graying handlebar mustache and sat in the saddle like a man who was born to it. He didn’t have his rifle pulled as he leaned down to gaze at the grass. They were nearly a hundred feet away.
Keeping pace was a young hand in a slicker with his hat thrown back from the chin strap. His head of pale blond hair was fluffy and unkempt.
The Apache spotted the camp and reined up first. The three men sat in their saddles in silence, gazing at Matt. It was the Apache who was satisfied first and rode forward, the others following.
Matt lowered his rifle as they dismounted.
“Oh no,” the older cowhand said, tears in his eyes. He stood staring at the sleeping woman. “Is that Mrs. McClain? We thought she had been washed away in the creek.”
“You ride for the McClains?”
“Sure do. Me and young Todd here, and Single-Foot.”
“Single-Foot?”
“Well, he’s a real fast runner. Apache.”
“Chiricahua,” the Apache added.
The cowhand nodded. “He was a scout for the army when Will was in it, down in Arizona Territory, and they stuck together. Me, I’m Jasper Mickleson.”
“Matt Landry.”
Jasper hesitated, his eyes darkening. His mouth twisted down at one corner, and he appeared confused and angry. Yet as Matt stepped forward, they shook hands.
Jasper turned and gazed at the sleeping woman and spoke softly. “You know, Will was still grievin’ over his wife when he got this letter from Missouri. Next thing we knowed, he was gettin’ married again. Now she’s a widow right off.”
“I was out of range, but I saw them get run off the cliff by a dozen men with their faces covered. It was cold-blooded murder.”
Jasper pulled off his slicker in the shelter of the rocks, then sat back on his heels as Matt built up the fire and put the coffee on the burning chips and brush. The cowhand rubbed his chin and shook his head, his rough face grim.
“This ain’t easy country.”
“You got any idea who wanted them dead?”
“I ain’t sure, but the Target Cattle Company, run by King Driscoll, is trying to run roughshod over everyone. And Will had a real feud going with young Kerby Driscoll.”
“What about?”
“Somethin’ to do with the death of Will’s wife.”
“How did she die?”
Before the cowhand could answer, Bonnie stirred and opened her eyes, staring at the visitors. She rose on her elbow, drawing the blankets up around her.
“Mrs. McClain, we’re mighty glad you’re alive,” Jasper said, then introduced himself and the others.
Matt knelt to pour coffee for everyone as Bonnie slid closer to the fire, keeping her blankets around her. The men sat cross-legged to savor their coffee, except for Single-Foot, who stood aside to watch the canyon trail. Todd had removed his slicker, showing a slight body more skinny than not.
Bonnie spoke softly. “Will said they were Target riders.”
Jasper shrugged. “Maybe he was just guessing.”
“The one with the bullwhip, he was laughing when he hit Will across the face and drove us off the cliff. Then he shouted something. It sounded French.”
Jasper became so angry as he listened to her story of the deadly attack that he could not speak for a long while. Then he poured himself some more coffee and turned to her, his concern for her obvious.
“We got worried when you didn’t get to the ranch. We had a big supper planned for you and Will. Now, maybe you want to just go on back to Missouri. But if you want to claim title to that there ranch, we’ll back you all the way.”
She glanced at the silent Single-Foot and the smiling Todd. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away, holding a coffee cup in both hands as Matt filled it. “I have no reason to go back.”
“We’ll help you all we can,” Jasper told her.
“The first thing is to arrest the men that did this.”
Jasper shrugged. “We got no proof.”
“I told you. Will knew they were from Target.”
“Driscoll has a lot of men at Target. Do you remember anything else?”
“No. It happened so fast.”
Jasper sipped his coffee. “Well, I think Matt here will tell you that even if it was Target riders, you got to prove which ones, or you got to prove Driscoll sent ’em.”
She looked up through her tears. “Are you saying they’ll get away free?”
“Well, Ma’am,” Jasper said, “I’m sayin’ what we got ain’t enough.”
“Is he right, Matt?”
“Just about.”
She wiped away her angry tears and brushed her long glistening hair from her face. Daylight began to fill the canyon. The clouds thinned, and there were patches of blue sky. They had beans with the rest of the hardtack for breakfast.
The dog wouldn’t take food from anyone, and Jasper just shook his head. “Blackie’d rather steal it. And he’ll steal your boot, or your gloves, or anything you turn your back on if he thinks it’s important to you.”
“He’s pretty smart,” Matt said.
“He could have the makin’s of a good cow-dog. But he’s already been trained to steal, and Blackie has too much fun at it. He likes gettin’ the best of you.”
“I’d like to buy ’im,” Matt said.
Jasper grunted. “You’d be loco. He can’t be trained no more. Look, nobody rewards him for stealin’ like that thief must have been doin’, but Blackie keeps on sneakin’ stuff. You’d think he’d get tired of not gettin’ paid off.”
“I’d still like to have him.”
“It’s up to Mrs. McClain.”
“Matt saved my life,” she said. “He can have anything.”
“Don’t matter,” said Todd, playing with Matt’s spyglass. “That dog’s gonna do what he wants.”
Later, some distance from the camp, Matt rubbed down his roan as Jasper, Todd, and Single-Foot saddled their sorrels. Bonnie was back at the fire, still wrapped in her blankets, and the dog was off in the grass, watching. The morning sun was sprinkling through, but it was cold and damp.
“You comin’ to the ranch with us?” Jasper asked Matt.
“No, I got to go into town. That’s where I was headed when I heard the shootin’. There a doctor in Wrangler?”
“No, there ain’t. The town’s hardly a year old. You know they moved the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho out of here and opened the range in ‘77. But the Target Cattle Company sneaked in late in ‘76, six months after Custer got killed. They took over most of the grass between here and the Little Powder River, some hundred miles east of here, before the rest of us could move in.”
“Is there a doctor at Fort McKinney?”
“Might be a surgeon down there, but I ain’t sure and it’s a two- or three-day ride. We mostly use the barber in town. He had some medical training in the Civil War. But she seems okay now,” he said, indicating Bonnie.
“Keep an eye on her.”
Jasper nodded. “You know, one of the few around here who can talk French is Kid Monet, a gunman who works for Driscoll and mostly hangs out at the saloon. Now maybe it was him, and maybe it wasn’t. Could be they was all just funnin’ and tryin’ to scare ’em, and maybe they didn’t mean to run ’em off the cliff. But Will McClain’s dead just the same.”
“It’s called reckless disregard of human life.”
“That’s them all right.”
“But even if the riders worked for the Driscolls, it doesn’t mean the family knew what they were doin’,” Matt reasoned.
“You ever in the army, Matt?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Then you know who’s got responsibility.”
“From what I heard of Mr. Driscoll, he wouldn’t allow that kind of murder.”
“You ever met him?”
“No.”
“Then let me give you a little information. He has a lot of gunmen just like Monet. And he hired Big-Nose George Pollard, an outlaw who used to have a gang around here before we moved in. Then there’s Red Oliver, he lives in Pollard’s old place. And as for Kerby Driscoll, he ain’t no angel.”
“Reckon I’ll see for myself.”
“Look here, Matt, we’ve all heard the rumor you’re comin’ here to marry Adriane Driscoll. When Mrs. McClain finds out, she won’t be thinkin’ so kindly of you.”
“What about the law in wrangler?” Matt asked as he set the blanket on his roan.
“Well, there ain’t no real law in Pease County, not yet anyhow. The governor says we ain’t got enough folks to organize. But we elected a mayor, and he appointed a town sheriff named Gordon. Gordon’s always fawnin’ over the Driscolls. Always says we don’t never have no evidence against Pollard or Target and how he can’t do nothin’ outside of town.”
Matt put on the saddle and cinched up his roan.
“There’s a move to change it from Pease to Johnson County.”
“They’re always doin’ somethin’ we don’t need. What we really need around here is a U.S. Marshal. Now Pollard, he went down to Texas for another herd, and he should be back soon. And the only place Target can put more cattle is on McClain’s or Oliver’s or some of the others.”
“You might need an injunction. Got a judge here?”
“Yeah, a circuit judge, Abnauther. He’s got his office in Wrangler.”
Matt dropped the stirrup. “You might need him.”
“We can’t prove nothin’, but Target rolled over a half dozen homesteaders like they was prairie dogs.”
“Meaning?”
“They was all found dead.”
Matt swung his saddlebags behind the cantle, then tied down his bedroll and possibles. “Anyone ever prove who done it?”
“Nope, and listen here, Matt, I know if you marry Miss Driscoll, you’ll be ridin’ for the brand, but afore you step in that cow puddle, you’d better be knowin’ what’s there. Watch your step, will you?”
Matt shrugged. “Thanks.”
Matt turned around to discover the dog had disappeared, perhaps back to Will’s grave or just looking for another home. Matt was disappointed.
“Hey, Matt,” said Todd. “Can I have another look through your spyglass? Looks like an eagle’s up there on the ridge.”
Matt nodded and reached in his saddlebags. The spyglass was gone. Irritated, he went back to the camp, looked around, then retraced his steps.
“Where the devil is it?”
‘‘I figure Blackie’s gettin’ a good view of the country about now,” Jasper said with a grin.
Matt straightened. “You ain’t serious.”
“I told you, that dog will steal anything you make a fuss over. And Todd was playin’ with it, so Blackie just figured it was somethin’ important. And that’s just what he likes.”
“Yeah,” Todd said. “He ran off with my harmonica, and I got it back, but I ain’t played it since, I can tell you that. And he stole Jasper’s pipe once.”
“Wait’ll I get my hands on him,” Matt said.
Jasper shook his head. “He’s long gone.”
Bonnie left the campfire and came slowly over to them, blankets still around her as she limped on the rough terrain. She was looking prettier and prettier, her large eyes fixed on Matt as she drew the blankets tighter in the morning chill.
“Thank you, Matt Landry.”
Then she stepped forward and came up to him close as she ran her fingers up his chest, sending shivers down his back. She stood on her tiptoes, blankets falling away as she leaned against him and slid her hand around his neck to pull his head down. He was so startled, he couldn’t breathe.
Then she planted a honey-sweet kiss on his rough mouth. He felt his knees give way, and his heart was rattling in his chest. He nearly fell backwards as she drew away, still with the soft smile on her lovely face.
Matt was shattered. His stolen kisses with Adriane had been romantic enough. But this kiss had brought a surge of color to his face. Sweat covered him.
“God sent you to help us,” she whispered.
“Don’t lift me too high. It’s a long way down.”
Matt glanced at the frowning Jasper, who was picking up the blankets to wrap around her once more. It was obvious the cowhand didn’t trust Matt, and at this moment Matt couldn’t blame him. And Bonnie would hate him when she learned he was to marry a Driscoll.
Matt left them and headed for Wrangler, but on the way he reined up. Blackie was on the rocks ahead, the spyglass clamped in his mouth, tail wagging, rear end in the air as he rested his jaw on his front paws.
“Blast you, give me that.”
Blackie’s tail flipped up and down. Matt didn’t ride forward but waited, his hand on his lariat. He didn’t want to hurt the dog, but he wanted the treasured spyglass.
Blackie set the glass down and sat back, head sideways, watching Matt. Then he barked. Matt allowed his roan to move forward slowly, then reined up within twenty feet.
“You’d better stay right where you are, fella.”
The dog barked again, then spun and ran off through the rocks, vanishing.
Matt rode over, bent down to retrieve the glass, then straightened in the saddle. “You can come back now.”
But the dog never returned.
Matt tried calling and whistling—nothing.
Annoyed, Matt turned his roan toward Wrangler and forced himself to think of Adriane. It had been months since he had seen her. He was anxious to forget these accusations against Target and to prove to himself Adriane’s father was an honorable man. As soon as he was cleaned up, he would be on his way.
* * *
Waiting for him at Target in the large mansion with a few plush furnishings and a young pretty, black woman for a maid, was Adriane Driscoll. She was in her chambers admiring herself in the ornate wall mirror just shipped in from St. Louis. She twisted and turned in the blue-velvet dress. Light came through the lace curtains.
“What do you think, Lenny?”
“You sure look grand, Miss Adriane.”
“Enough for a governor’s lady?”
“You think Mr. Landry will be governor?”
“I know he will. I’ll see to it.”
Adriane smiled. Her light brown hair was the color of her eyes. Her oval face with rounded cheekbones turned rosy at her thoughts. She had a fine education, a wealthy father, new clothes, and Matt Landry. Nothing could stop her now.
Dancing down the winding staircase to the parlor with sparse, but expensive furniture, she found her father in front of the fireplace with his pipe and a book. He was a heavyset man with thick brows, an irregular nose, a big jaw, and pockmarks; yet he was a handsome man.
“Adriane, I can’t believe you’re up so early.”
“Father, I just wish the rest of our furniture would arrive. I so need the piano.”
“Don’t worry. This will be a showplace, like I promised.”
“But Wrangler’s so small, and you have most of the valley. Who are we going to impress?”
“There’ll be plenty of town when we get the railroad up from Casper. We’ll take over the whole county. And this Matt Landry, he’d better be the man you say he is. I don’t want any trouble from him.”
“He’ll be fine,” she said, kissing his cheek, “and he’ll do anything I ask. He’s wild about me.”
“He’s got those brothers, all lawmen.”
“But they are a long way from here and will not be invited to the wedding if I can help it. Now, I want to give a big dance so I can announce our engagement. And we’ll invite Governor Hoyt. He’s really behind Matt, especially after he learned that Matt studied law under John Kingman, over in Laramie.”
“What about you, honey? Women are voting in this territory and sitting on juries. And some have filed for homesteads. Why not governor?”
“You’re teasing me. Matt will be governor. And he won’t stop there.”
“That why you fell in love with him?”
“No, of course not.”
“This is your father you’re talking to.”
She laughed and sat on the edge of his chair to kiss him again. Then she sobered. “Matt studied law, but he talks like a cowhand. I want you to work with him on his speech. Make him talk like you.”
“We’ll see. Right now, I’m looking forward to a lot of grandchildren.”
She frowned. “Having babies ruins your figure. And they take all your time. When Matt is governor, I’ll be giving teas, and as hostess at parties I’ll want to dress with elegance. I just don’t want to look like some matron before I’m forty.”
“Does Matt know how you feel about that?”
“Of course not. Now tell me, where is Kerby?”
“Your brother’s in town, drinking and gambling as usual.”
She straightened. “Don’t let Kerby ruin things for me. He already forced us out of Tennessee and Ohio, where we were doing so well. If the people in this valley knew what he had done, we’d have to move on again. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Nobody’s going to find out.”
“What if he does it again?”
“You and I are the only ones who know what he did. And I’ve had a good talk with him.”
“What if he already has done it again?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know, Father. Just a feeling.”
* * *
While the Driscolls talked quietly, Matt Landry was heading into Wrangler across the open, rolling grasslands dotted with yellow flowers. A dark green creek crossed the trail near the town’s eastern entrance. To the west were the black, wooded humps he knew to be the Bighorn Mountains. Some of the peaks were crested with snow.
Matt belonged out here in the saddle. Frustrated with the politicians and fed up with never getting a straight answer, he preferred being among men like Jasper Mickleson, who could look you straight in the eye.
Matt arrived at Wrangler late in the afternoon, riding in from the north entrance and crossing the wide wooden bridge over the busy creek.
It was a small, quiet town with false fronts on the one saloon to his right and the express office to his left, which advertised the stage and banking. The livery and smithy were behind the express office. Past the saloon, he saw the barbershop, then the town sheriff’s office and jail, followed by a small building with a sign reading DISTRICT COURT OFFICE. Past the express office, there was a small two-story hotel followed by two stores. Homes were small and unpretentious. He guessed maybe a hundred people lived in town.
Matt stopped at the barbershop, a square building with closed fences in the back, probably for bathing. The sign read BARBER, DOCTOR, DENTIST AND UNDERTAKER. Matt went inside and found Tuck, the barber, to be a short man with a thick grey mustache, no hair on his head, and round friendly eyes. There were no customers in the neat shop.
Matt told him about the attack and Bonnie McClain.
“Well, I ain’t no real doctor, but if they send for me, I’ll see what I can do.”
“You treat any gunshot wounds last night?”
“I’m always treatin’ gunshot wounds. There was some shootin’ in The Lucky Lady around midnight last night. Two men were shot, but they’re all right.”
“Who were they?”
“Listen to me, stranger. You have questions, you talk to the sheriff.”
“I’ll do that.”
“But if you need a shave and a bath, I got it.”
“Heat up some water. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
Matt was annoyed and left the barber’s to go back to the street. He left his roan at the railing in front of the jail and found the boardwalk to be creaky with grass growing up through the cracks. There were only a few men on the street and no sign of women or children.
Entering the jail, he found the town sheriff seated at his desk to the right. Two empty cells were in the back of the single room. On the left was an iron stove, table and chairs. The two large windows in front had sliding wooden shutters on the inside. On each side wall there was a small narrow opening about two inches high and six inches wide, designed as rifle slots.
The town sheriff was a short man with a big belly and protruding eyes, wearing a dirty brown vest and pushing his hat back as he put his hand on his desk to study Matt.
“What do you want, mister?”
“There was trouble out of town about twenty miles northwest of here. Some masked riders forced a wagon off a canyon rim. The McClain family.”
“That so? All killed, were they?”
“McClain died. The woman survived.”
The sheriff frowned. “Well, now.”
“So are you going out to have a look?”
“What for?”
Matt stood with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, his skin tight in rising anger. “To see if you can figure who done it. Before he died, McClain said it was Target riders.”
“He was loco.”
“His wife said one of them was talking French.”
“Lots of men around here from the South. They talk French. McClain had somethin’ against young Kerby Driscoll, that’s all. Blamed him for all his troubles.”
“I heard he blamed him for his wife’s death.”
“Don’t know nothin’ about that. And if you’re smart, you won’t ask no questions, neither.”
“What are you goin’ to do about McClain’s murder?”
“Listen here, stranger, I don’t figure I got no say outside this here town. And I don’t need you comin’ around to tell me how to do my job. So you just get out of here.”
“The doc told me he treated a couple gunshot wounds last night.”
“They were shot in the saloon.”
“Now that’s in your jurisdiction. Who were they?”
“Listen, mister, you’re tryin’ my patience.”
Matt was so angry sweat was dripping down his back. He unhooked his thumbs, his hands dangling at his sides as he glared at the man. Then he turned and started for the door.
“Who are you anyhow?” the sheriff demanded.
“Matt Landry.”
“Hey now, hold on there.”
Matt paused, turning but still grim. “What for?”
“I didn’t know who you was. No, sir. But I know your name, and that’s for sure, yes sir. Mr. Driscoll, he allowed as how you was comin’ to see him. And I’d be right proud to take you out there.”
“I’ll find it.”
“Well now, it’s near evenin’, so you’ll need a room. I’ll put in a good word for you at the hotel. And I can get you fixed up at the livery. And if you need any credit at the store, I can arrange it.”
“Don’t need any help.”
The sheriff was red-faced, anxious. “I didn’t know who you was, Mr. Landry. You got to know, this is a tough job, and I thought you was some trouble-maker, that’s all.”
“So who were the men shot up last night?”
“Well, there was Kid Monet and Sid Crutz. Seems they were drinking too much, and they were trying to do a fast draw and their guns went off, that’s all. But they’re all right, and they went on home.”
“Was it witnessed?”
“Why sure. The saloon was full of Target riders.”
“And these two, they work for Driscoll?”
“That’s right.”
“And how did the first Mrs. McClain die?”
“Well, it was a sorry thing. They found her at the bottom of the canyon. Some man had ravished and beaten her to death. The McClains had hardly been here a month. Weren’t nothin’ I could do. Why do you want to know?”
Matt shrugged and went outside, shutting the door behind him. Back at the barber’s, Matt had a shave inside and a hot bath in the small backyard. The tub sat out back on a wooden platform, and the surrounding fence was over six feet high.
He had put on a clean blue, double-breasted shirt and was just strapping on his Colt when a red-headed man in ranch clothes walked out the back door. He was a short scrawny man in his fifties, his pink face round and clean shaven, his nose flat as if he had been in many fights.
“Hey, you. You got my water dirty.”
Matt frowned. “I paid for that bath.”
“Well, I’m gonna bury you in it, and you can bet on it.”