Dakota Ambush

“Why not? If you had stayed, you would be in jail with me right now,” Matt said. “What good would that do?”

“I guess you have a point. I couldn’t help you any if I were in there with you. At least, by being out here, if you can’t convince the judge that you are innocent, I’ll take matters into my own hands. I’ll get you out of here, no matter what I have to do.”

Matt was about to answer when he looked up to see the sheriff coming into the jailhouse, leading Montgomery. Montgomery was in shackles.

“What is it?” Matt asked. “What is going on?”

“You’re free to go,” the sheriff said as he opened the door to the cell. “Mr. Montgomery here will be taking your place.”

“Sheriff, I have to hand it to you for doing your job,” Matt said. “You’ve had a good three days of investigating.”

“It wasn’t me,” the sheriff said. “It was John Bryce.”

“Who?”

“John Bryce,” the sheriff repeated. “Mr. Bryce is a newspaper writer for the Swan Journal, and he has been doing some, he calls it, investigative journalism. Here, read this,” he said, handing Matt a newspaper.

An Innocent Man in Jail!

J. A. MONTGOMERY A CROOK SHOULD BE CALLED TO ACCOUNT

We are under obligation to report to the public in general and to Sheriff Daniels in particular, the criminal activities of J. A. Montgomery, who has set himself up in Swan as an assayer. Montgomery is no such thing. Although he has hanging on the wall of his office a degree from Colorado School of Mines, this newspaper is in receipt of a letter from that institution claiming that no such person as J. A. Montgomery graduated, nor was ever a student there.

Further investigation has disclosed that Montgomery is wanted by the sheriff of Madison County, Montana, where, also fraudulently passing himself off as an assayer, he murdered and robbed a prospector. The circumstances of that event are so similar to the recent event between J. A. Montgomery, his brother Clyde, and two cousins, Drake and Birch, and a recent visitor to our town, Matt Jensen, that this newspaper believes Mr. Jensen, who is currently incarcerated, is innocent.

Should Matt Jensen be any longer detained, it would be a gross miscarriage of justice. Subjecting the county to a trial to establish his innocence would be a waste of time and taxpayers’ money. The writer of this piece, John Bryce, is willing to stake his reputation upon the accuracy of this report, and urges Sheriff Daniels to act quickly to correct this error.

“After the paper come out, I sent a telegram to the sheriff of Madison County, Montana, and he answered that Montgomery was wanted for murder, just like the newspaper article said. Then I went over to talk to Montgomery and found that he was tryin’ to leave town.”

“So I am free to go?” Matt asked.

“Yes, sir, you are free as a bird.”

“Is this fella, John Bryce, in town?” Matt asked.

“Yes, sir, he’s over to the newspaper office right now,” Sheriff Daniels said.

“I think I’ll go look him up right now.”

“Do you own this paper?” Matt asked when he and Smoke found John Bryce hard at work in the newspaper office.

“Oh, heavens, no, it takes a lot of money to own and operate your own newspaper,” John said. “I just work here for Mr. Peabody as one of his journalists. Someday I expect to own my own paper, though,” he said.

Matt, who had had the ore returned to him, reached down into his canvas bag and pulled out four good-sized rocks. “Here,” Matt said, handing the rocks to the newspaper man. “Cash these in and you may have your paper sooner than you realize. And if there is ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“Bless you, Mr. Jensen,” John said, accepting the gold with a broad smile. “I’ll never forget you for this.”

Chapter Two

Fullerton, Dakota Territory, twelve years later

A brick had been thrown through the front window, and great jagged spears of the glass reached out from all corners of the frame. Two months earlier, John Bryce had paid a professional painter to come over from Bismarck to paint:

FULLERTON DEFENDER

John Bryce—Publisher

Millie Bryce—Office Manager

The letters were broad and black, outlined in white and gold. That sign, once a source of pride, was now no more than a few remaining letters on the remaining shards of glass.

LLE ON F DER

J y lisher

Not one letter of Millie’s name remained.

At the moment, John was standing just inside the office of the Fuller ton Defender, surveying the damage. The perpetrators had done more than just break his front window; they had also trashed the office. His arm was around his wife, and he held her close to him as she sobbed quietly. Type had been scattered about the room, newsprint had been ripped and spread around, the Washington Hand Press, which John used to put