Massacre at Powder River

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you say Tyrone, Prew, Crack, Jake and the others at the ranch were your family?”

Kitty was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” she finally replied. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Besides, you don’t want to quit now. The army not only bought all your horses, they told you they would buy as many as you could provide.”

“Did you hear them say that it was the finest bunch of horses they had bought all year?” Kitty asked, proudly.

“Yes, I did hear that,” Matt said. “And now, without the pressure of paying off a loan, the money you got from selling your horses to the army, and the guarantee they gave you for future contracts, you could just enjoy your ranch and your horses.”

“Do you think you could?” Kitty asked.

“Do I think I could what?”

“Enjoy my ranch, my horses, and me?” Kitty said.

“Kitty, I—”

“No,” Kitty said, holding up her hand and interrupting Matt in mid-sentence. She smiled at him. “Don’t answer that, Matt. Let me keep my dream.”

“Let you keep your dream? Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so sure about that,” Matt said, smiling.

“What do you mean, you aren’t so sure?”

“Kitty, you have just proven to me that your dreams seem to have a way of coming true.”¹

And of course there was Jennie Churchill. In the years since Matt had become an adult, he had had his experiences with women—some, like Kitty Wellington, came close to winning his heart—but most were women who did nothing more than provide him with pleasurable interludes.

He knew that he could have such an interlude with Jennie—she had all but told him that. But though it might seem to some that Matt lived a life without parameters, facing death with equanimity, enjoying the pleasures of women when the opportunity presented itself, he was a man of strong moral character. And that moral character said that he would keep inviolate the sanctity of marriage. But he knew that wasn’t the only reason he would not have anything to do with Jennie. There was something about the boy, Winston Churchill, that reminded Matt of himself. And he would do nothing to tarnish the image the boy had of him.

The next morning Teasdale arrived at Frewen Castle. When Benjamin showed him in to the parlor, he saw Frewen, Clara, and Jennie all with worried looks on their faces.

“William, have you heard?” Frewen asked.

“Yes,” Teasdale said. “That’s why I have come to wait with you.”

“That is very nice of you,” Frewen said.

Teasdale went over to the sofa where Jennie was sitting. “Mrs. Churchill, I’m so sorry this has happened. And now I feel guilty about it.”

“Why should you feel guilty?” Jennie asked.

“Because I made a horse available for the boy,” Teasdale said. “And if hadn’t been out riding by himself, he would have never been abducted.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Jennie said. “I’ve never seen Winnie happier than he has been these last several days, riding all over creation. If you hadn’t given him a horse to ride, I’m sure Moreton would have.”

“Benjamin,” Clara called.

“Yes, madam?”

“Would you please bring tea for everyone?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benjamin said.

“I must say, you are taking this better than I would have thought,” Frewen said.

“Matt told me he would bring Winnie home safely,” Jennie said. “And I believe him.”

“Does he have any leads?”

“Only what the note said,” Frewen replied. Walking over to his desk, he picked the note up, then brought it to Teasdale who sat down to read it.

“It says they want him there by ten o’clock,” Teasdale said. “It’s probably about time for him to leave, don’t you think?”

Frewen chuckled. “He’s already there.”

“What?” Teasdale answered in surprise.

“He said he wanted to be there when they arrived, so he left in the middle of the night.”

“But isn’t that rather foolish of him?” Teasdale asked.

“Foolish? How?”