“I am glad you are so forgiving,” Jennie said. “When will you be leaving on this sojourn of yours, this quest to find the rustlers Moreton was talking about over the dinner table?”
“First thing tomorrow,” Matt replied.
“And you will be sleeping in the—I believe you called it a bunkhouse—tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then, before you go, perhaps you would like to come back inside for a drink.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother to anyone,” Matt said.
“Oh, you wouldn’t be a bother to anyone. That is, if you came to my room to have the drink. There would only be the two of us. And I assure you, we would be—quite alone,” she added, her voice now almost a purr.
Matt had been trying to tell himself that Jennie was just being flirtatious, but she was taking it into an area where he wasn’t comfortable. He needed to stop it now, before she got the notion that he was open to the idea.
“Mrs. Churchill, I do thank you for the kind invitation, but it wouldn’t be right. You are a married woman and —”
“Lord Randolph and I have an understanding,” Jennie said.
“Yes, ma’am, maybe you do, but I don’t. Like I said, you are a beautiful woman, Mrs. Churchill. In fact, you may be one of the—if not the—most beautiful women I have ever seen. If I let myself take advantage of you, a simple understanding between you and your husband wouldn’t be enough. Because then I would want you exclusively, you see, and if someone got in my way, I couldn’t promise you that I wouldn’t kill him. And that would include your husband.”
Matt had gone over the top with his declaration, but when he heard Jennie gasp, and saw the look of shock, and even a little fear, in her eyes, he knew that it had exactly the effect he wanted. She stepped back, opening a little distance.
“Mr. Jensen,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I was just being a bit flirtatious. It is a naughty pastime of mine. But you must know that I love my husband most dearly, and would never do anything to hurt him.”
“I’m sure of that,” Matt said. “That is why I wasn’t questioning you. I want to make it clear that I was referring to myself. I am not beyond letting a beautiful woman make me do things that I have no business doing.”
“Well in that case, perhaps I had better be somewhat more reserved around you,” Jennie said. “I, uh, am sorry if my conversation discomfited you in any measure. I’ll just bid you good night and be on my way.”
“Good night, Mrs. Churchill,” Matt said as she stepped back inside.
Matt waited until he heard the door shut behind him, then he looked out into the night and smiled.
Clara had seen her sister go out onto the porch, so she moved without fanfare to the front window so she could look outside. She knew that Jennie was an outrageous flirt, and had been even from the time when they were girls together in Paris. Among the sophisticates of Europe, Jennie could play these dangerous games, skate to the edge to entice, even madden men, then jump back from the abyss with no further damage done.
But this was America. And not only America, it was the West, and Clara knew that Jennie had never encountered men like Matt Jensen, strong and principled men with codes of honor, men who could not be trifled with. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her sister step away from him, then start back inside. She turned away quickly so she would not be discovered spying.
Chapter Fifteen
For the next week, Matt rode over the land that made up the Powder River Cattle Company. He covered not only the land that Frewen held deed to, but also the land that was considered open range where Frewen’s cattle sometimes roamed in search of fresh graze. A couple of times, he was challenged by some of Frewen’s cowboys. These were the ones who were staying in line shacks rather than the bunkhouse, so they had not met him. When he showed them the paybook Frewen had given him, they accepted him as one of them, so he was able to enjoy free roam of the range.
He came across the line shack that had been burned out, and paused for a moment to have a look around. He had read the account of those last hours as kept by Paul Graham, one of those killed. It was easy to see what happened here because the charred remains of the front part of the wagon were pushed into the burned-out house. The back part of the wagon, including the rear wheels, was still intact. He thought about the young cowboy, forced out of the line shack by the fire, only to be ruthlessly gunned down by the outlaws.
Later that same day, Matt happened upon two of Frewen’s cowboys. One was lying on the ground and the other was sitting beside him. The one on the ground had blood all over the front of his shirt.
“What happened here?” Matt asked, dismounting and hurrying to the side of the wounded cowboy.
“It was the Yellow Kerchief Gang,” the uninjured cowboy said. He was about sixteen, and the cowboy on the ground didn’t look any older. “They shot Burt, and took the cows we was watchin’. Burt’s hurt real bad.”
The young cowboy wiped tears from his eyes.
It only took one glance for Matt to see that Burt was more than badly hurt. Burt was dead. He confirmed it when he was unable to find a pulse.
Matt had seen both cowboys before, but he hadn’t learned everyone’s name yet. “I saw you back at the ranch, but I don’t know your name,” Matt said.
“My name’s Jeff. Jeffery R. Singleton. This here is Burt Rawlings,” he added, pointing to the cowboy on the ground.
“Well, Jeff, I’m sorry,” Matt said. “But your friend Burt is gone.”
Jeff was small, barely over five feet tall, and couldn’t have weighed over 120 pounds. He was young, but Matt was reasonably sure the boy wouldn’t be much bigger when he was full grown.
