“Three men come up on me,” Lewis said. “It was them that give this here note to me, tellin’ me that if I didn’t deliver it, they was goin’ to shoot me. As soon as they let me go, I hightailed it out of there. They said give it to Mr. Frewen, but I figured maybe it would be better if you done it.”
“Thanks a lot,” Morrison said, sarcastically.
“I mean, you don’t mind bein’ the one to show it to ’im, do you? Bein’ as you are foreman and all.”
“All right,” Morrison said. “I’ll take the note to him.”
Morrison walked from the bunkhouse across the yard to the huge log edifice. When he pulled the doorbell chain, Benjamin answered.
“Yes, Mr. Morrison?” Benjamin asked in his stiff, upper tone British voice.
“I have a note here that Mr. Frewen needs to see.”
“Lord Moreton is in the drawing room at the moment; if you would like, I can deliver the note to him,” Benjamin said.
“I’d like nothing more in this world than for you to give this note to him,” Morrison said. “But I don’t think it is something you are going to want to do.”
“Oh, heavens,” Benjamin said. “Very good, sir. If you would come this way?”
Frewen was in the drawing room looking at the latest figures that he was preparing to send to his business partners back in England. The figures were not good. The Powder River Cattle Company was operating at a severe deficit.
“Lord Moreton?” Benjamin called from just outside the door to the drawing room.
“Whatever it is, Benjamin, let it wait, please,” Frewen said. “I need to get this report ready to go. Though God knows I wish I didn’t have to.”
“Mr. Frewen, I expect you had better take time for this,” Morrison called in through the door. “It’s pretty important.”
“All right,” Frewen said. He pushed the book of numbers to one side, then turned toward his foreman. “What is it? What do you have for me?”
Morrison handed the note to Frewen. “Donnie Lewis brought it in a few minutes ago. He said that he ran across three men and they gave it to him.”
With an anxious feeling, Frewen unfolded the note.
“God in Heaven,” Frewen said. “Do you think anyone would actually be so low as to kill a boy?”
“Yeah, I think they would,” Morrison said.
Frewen read the note again, then let out a loud sigh of frustration. “I don’t understand. Why do they want Mr. Jensen to come to Nine Mile Creek?”
“It’s pretty obvious,” Morrison said. “They want him there so they can kill him.”
“Oh, my!” Frewen said. “Then I am being asked to choose between the life of my nephew and the life of Mr. Jensen.”
“Yes, sir, I’d say that’s about it,” Morrison said.
Frewen leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I don’t know where to go with this,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-four
When Matt went into the parlor of Frewen Castle, he saw Jennie crying and Carla trying to comfort her. Morrison was standing near the fireplace while Frewen was sitting in a big leather chair with his head leaning forward, his forehead resting on his fist.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.
Frewen held the note out toward Matt.
“Read this,” he said.
As Matt took the piece of paper from Frewen, he looked over at the crying women, and wondering what it was about, he read the note.
After he read it, he handed it back.
“What do you make of that?” Frewen asked.
“We don’t have any choice, Mr. Frewen,” Matt said. “I have to go.”
Matt walked over to where Jennie and Clara were sitting together on a leather sofa. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I will find Winnie for you.”
“Oh, Matt,” Jennie said. Standing, she embraced him, pulling him hard against her. Matt could feel her tears against his cheeks. “Please, Matt, please bring Winston back safely to me.”
“I will,” Matt said. “I promise you, I will.”
“Matt, you do know that they are using the boy for bait, don’t you? They are setting you up to be killed.”
