you hear? Butrum might be a little fella, but he ain’t the kind of man you want to piss off.”.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Meacham said.
Chapter Seventeen
Matt had a six-hour layover in Denver, which was plenty of time for him to take care of something he needed to do. After making certain that Spirit was taken off the train and secured in the depot stable, Matt went out front of the depot and caught a ride on one of the horse-drawn trolleys. He stepped off the trolley ten minutes later in front of the Federal Building. The office of the man he was looking for was on the second floor, and when Matt opened the door to the office, he was greeted by an officious-looking young man.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?”
“I would like to speak with Marshal Connors,” Matt said.
“May I tell the marshal who is calling, and the subject of the visit?”
“You don’t need all that, Simmons, I recognize the voice,” a loud, gruff voice called from behind the frosted- glass window of a door. The door was jerked open and Matt saw a giant of a man standing there.
“Matt Jensen, you reprobate, come on in here,” he said, greeting him effusively. “What brings you to Denver?”
“Hello, Charley. I have a favor to ask,” Matt said.
Connors chuckled. “Doesn’t everyone? But Lord knows, I owe you a favor or two.”
Matt had been dozing in his seat when he felt the train beginning to slow. The change in the train’s velocity caused him to wake up, and when he looked out the window, he saw nothing but rolling prairie and distant mountains.
“Ellendale,” the conductor called as he walked through the car. “We’re comin’ into Ellendale. Unless you’re going back with us, folks, you are all going to get off here because this is where the track ends.”
The conductor’s announcement galvanized all the passengers into action and, bracing themselves against the movement of the car, they began removing their personal belongings from the overhead rack.
After three days of travel, and having changed trains three times, Matt was now on the Northern Pacific, the final leg of his journey. He continued to stare through the window as the train slowed even more for its entry into the town of Ellendale. As had been the case in every town they had passed through, there were several people standing on the platform, not as potential passengers, nor even to meet arriving passengers, but just to be present for the most exciting event of the day, the arrival and departure of the train. The train lurched to a stop alongside the small depot, and everyone in the car prepared to disembark since, as the conductor had explained, this was the final stop.
Stepping down from the train, Matt walked forward to the stock car, where he waited as his horse was off- loaded. He walked up to it, then rubbed it behind the ears.
“I’ll bet you’ve been wondering what was going on,” he said. “Well, it’s over now. What do you say you and I take a long ride?”
A quick perusal of the county map inside the depot showed him that Fullerton was about twenty miles northeast of Ellendale.
“Just keep that low-lying range of hills to your right,” the stationmaster told him. “You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Matt said.
It was nearly noon when Matt saw a boy standing out behind a house, drawing water from a well. Matt’s canteen was low, and Spirit was thirsty, so he sloped down the hill and headed toward the compound, which consisted of a house, barn, what appeared to be a granary, and an outhouse.
Seeing him approach, the boy called over his shoulder.
“Pa! Pa! Stranger’s a’ comin’!”
So as not to appear hostile, Matt swung out of the saddle about thirty yards before approaching the yard. Then he led Spirit and walked the rest of the way, reaching the yard at about the same time a man came out onto the porch. The man had a rifle in his right hand, though at the moment, he was holding it low, by his knees.
“Good afternoon,” Matt said, touching the brim of his hat.
“Can I do something for you, mister?” the man on the porch asked. The boy, who was about twelve, moved around behind the well, obviously schooled by his father to be in position to get down behind the well if necessary.
“The name is Jensen, Matt Jensen,” Matt said. “I’m on my way to Fullerton and I saw the boy at the well. The truth is, my canteen is empty, and my horse is thirsty. I was wondering if I could trouble you for some water? I would be glad to pay you for it.”
“Pay for it, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t ride for Denbigh, do you? He owns just about everything you can see around here except for the hills. And if he had his way, he would own them too.”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t ride for Denbigh.”
“I didn’t think so. Not if you offered to pay for the water. Neither Denbigh, nor anybody who works for him, would pay for anything if they could get away with it. Help yourself to the water.”
“Thanks. And I’m serious about paying for it.”
