Dakota Ambush

Dusting a residue of flour from her hands, Sally walked over to a secretary/bookcase, opened the curved-glass door, and took out an envelope, which she handed to Matt.

Matt remove the letter from the envelope, then turned it slightly to catch the morning sunlight. The cursive letters were formed by neat and even strokes on the stationary.

“He sure has a neat hand, doesn’t he?” Matt said.

“He certainly does,” Sally agreed. “I taught school for seven years and never encountered anyone with such penmanship.”

Dear Mr. Matt Jensen,

I do hope you remember me, though as our paths crossed so long ago, I would not be at all surprised if you have forgotten the humble journalist whose investigative reporting once freed you from the unjust accusation of murder and robbery.

Although I intend this letter to be for Matt, I am addressing to Smoke, because whereas I know that Smoke Jensen can be reached at Surgarloaf Ranch, I do not know how to get in contact with Matt. I feel some degree of confidence that this will reach Smoke, and I ask, if you are still in contact with Matt Jensen, that you forward this missive to him.

Matt, I recall that you once promised to come to my aid should I ever require it. I require it now, though I am ever mindful of the fact that any obligation to me, if it had ever existed at all, would have been totally satisfied by your generous donation of money by which I was able to start a newspaper. I hasten to add, however, that it is not for me alone that I seek help, but rather for the people of the town of Fullerton, and the county of Dickey, in Dakota Territory. The hapless citizens of this fair community are sorely in need of justice, that commodity being denied us by the nefarious operations of an evil Englishman who, by stint of wealth and land holdings, holds us all in his grip. The person of whom I speak is Nigel Cordell Denbigh.

I have no wish to make a request that would be a disruptive imposition, but if you are available, and if you would be so inclined as to pay a visit to the offices of my newspaper, The Fullerton Defender, in Fullerton, Dakota Territory, I would be eternally grateful. I must tell you, though, that any help you might supply us would have to be gratis, for I can offer you nothing but the guarantee of good home-cooked meals prepared by my wife, Millie, an uncomfortable bed in our spare room, and the undying gratitude of a newspaper editor who is giving test to the adage “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Your friend,

John Bryce

When Matt finished the letter, he folded it, returned it to the envelope, then handed it to Sally.

“How long have you had the letter?” Matt asked.

“Just since yesterday,” Sally replied.

“That means it is still timely.”

“I would think so. Are you going to answer his request?”

“Yes, I’ll go. I would be honored to go. I’ll leave right away.”

“I don’t know the man, but if he is responsible for saving you from hanging, then I am glad you are going to help him,” Sally said.

“Now I need to ask a favor of you,” Matt said.

“Of course,” Sally said.

“I need a horse,” Matt said. “Spirit broke his leg and I had to put him down.”

“Oh, Matt,” Sally said, reaching her hand across the table to rest on his arm. “I know what Spirit meant to you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said. “He sort of carried on the spirit of the first Spirit, if you know what I mean. I’d like another horse that can do that as well, and seeing as I got Spirit One from Smoke, I think it would be really good if I could get Spirit Three from him as well. Of course, I intend to buy him, not take him as a gift the way I did the first one.”

“Smoke took Seven with him, but he left Drifter behind. You can have any horse but Drifter. Cal, take Matt out to the corral.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said. “Uh, Miss Sally, does that mean any horse?”

Reading the expression on the young man’s face, Matt knew what was troubling him.

“Cal, point out Drifter, also the horses you and Pearlie are riding. I’ll pick from the rest.”

A wide, relieved smile spread across Cal’s face. “Yes, sir, come on out. Smoke has some really great horses.”

After looking through the horses in the Sugar-loaf stable, Matt saw one that appealed to him. Examining the horse carefully, he saw a coat that glistened like burnished copper, though his long tail was somewhat lighter. The horse was just under seventeen-and-a-half hands at the withers, completely blemish free, and a model of conformation

“What do you think about that one?” Pearlie asked.

“Do you know the horse?” Matt asked. He rubbed the horse behind his ear, and the horse dipped his head in appreciation.

“I know him. He’s a good horse,” Pearlie said. “He can run like the wind and he’ll hold to a good trot all day without tiring.”

“What do you think, Spirit?” Matt asked. “You want to come with me?”

“You’re going to name him Spirit?”