Although I am losing cattle at a rate that is unsustainable, it isn’t just the loss of cattle that has me concerned. In the last month I have had six of my men murdered by this gang. I, and some of my neighbors, have approached the local constabularies in a plea that something be done, but the problem is clearly bigger than anything the law can handle.
It is my hope that the enclosed draft will be sufficient to hire you to investigate the cause of my cattle loss, and if possible to put a stop to it, and to bring justice to these murderers.
Sincerely,
Moreton Frewen
Matt looked back into the envelope and saw a second piece of paper. When he removed the paper, he saw that it was, indeed, a bank draft, drawn on the Stock Growers’ National Bank in Cheyenne. When he looked at the amount the draft was drawn for, he blinked in surprise. It was for five thousand dollars.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jensen,” I.C. Whipple said, as he examined the draft. Whipple was the founder and president of the Stock Growers’ National Bank. “We will indeed honor the draft. However ...”
“However?” Matt asked.
“I have received a telegram from Mr. Frewen. He asks that I have you sign a certificate of acceptance before I release the funds.”
“Do you have the certificate?”
“We do. I had it made up as soon as we received the telegram.”
“Let me see it,” Matt said.
Whipple pulled open the middle drawer on his desk, and took out a document, then he slid it across the desk for Matt to read.
Know all men by these presents, and with my signature here unto affixed, I give oath that I will, to the best of my ability, and within the parameters of law and morality, perform the services requested by Moreton Frewen, and secured by these funds.
“Do you know this man, Moreton Frewen?” Matt asked.
“I do.”
“In your opinion, is this document on the up and up?”
“It would be my belief that it is, sir,” Whipple said.
Matt nodded, then signed the document. After that, he endorsed the bank draft, and Whipple personally counted out the money.
“That is a great deal of money for one man to be carrying, Mr. Jensen,” Whipple said. “If you would like, I would be glad to open an account for you in our bank.”
“Thank you,” Matt said. “But I’ll keep the money with me.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“You could give me one more bit of information if you would,” Matt said.
“Certainly, if I can.”
“Where will I find Moreton Frewen?”
“His ranch is very near the town of Sussex,” Whipple said. “That is right in the middle of Johnson County. It is quite some distance from here, two hundred and fifty miles or so. And as there is no railroad that goes in that direction, you will have to go by stagecoach.”
“I have a horse,” Matt said. “I can make it up in about three days. You wouldn’t have a map, would you?”
“There’s one in my office,” Whipple said. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Matt followed Whipple into his office, where the banker pointed out the town of Sussex.
“It is a very small town,” he said. “But if you follow the stagecoach road north until you reach the Powder River, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Matt said.
Leaving the bank, Matt walked down to the telegraph office.
MORETON FREWEN—SUSSEX, WYOMING
HAVE THIS DAY CASHED THE DRAFT YOU SENT ME STOP WILL ARRIVE IN SUSSEX WITHIN THE WEEK TO ASSUME MY DUTIES STOP
MATT JENSEN
From the telegraph office, Matt went to the gun store. There, he bought three boxes of .44 pistol ammunition and two boxes of .44-40 shells for his Winchester.
Chapter Seven
“He is staying in the Western Hotel, in Room 206,” Carl Maynard said. Maynard was a teller at the Stock Growers’ bank, and he was talking to Pogue Cassidy. There couldn’t have been a more unlikely duo than the two men. Maynard was a small man, clean-shaven and nearly bald. He was wearing wire-rim glasses. Cassidy was a big man with red hair and a bushy red beard.
“How do you know what room he’s stayin’ in?” Cassidy asked. He scratched at his beard.
He had to fill out a form before Mr. Whipple gave him the money, and that’s what he put for his address.”
“You say he has the five thousand dollars on him?”
“Yes. Mr. Whipple offered to open an account for him, but he said he wanted the five thousand dollars in cash. That would be two thousand for you, and three thousand for me,” Maynard said.
Cassidy chuckled. “Here, now, you bein’ a banker and all, how come is it that you don’t know how to cipher? What do you mean, three thousand dollars for you?”
“I am the one who brought you this opportunity,” Maynard said. “I should be adequately compensated for it.”
“Are you plannin’ on goin’ into this feller’s room with me tonight to take the money?”
“What?” Maynard replied with a gasp. “Certainly not! That’s not the type of thing I would ever do.”
“I see. You don’t want to rob anyone with a gun, but you got no problem robbin’ with a fountain pen. Is that about it?”
“No, that’s not it, at all,” Maynard said. “It is just that, in a proposal like this, everyone brings their own contribution to the table. My contribution was in finding the opportunity. Your contribution is in actually doing the deed.”
“Yeah, well I’m tellin’ you now, I ain’t goin’ to do it by myself. I’m goin’ to have to have someone to help me, and we’re goin’ to have to pay him at least a thousand dollars. So I make it two thousand for you, two thousand for me, and one thousand for whoever I get to help me.”
“All right,” Maynard acquiesced. “But I heard him tell Mr. Whipple that he would be leaving tomorrow. So if you are going to do anything, you will have to do it tonight.”
There was nobody else with Cassidy. He had told Maynard that just so he could reverse the split and take the three thousand dollars for himself. But as he stood at the bar that night, drinking whiskey to get up his courage to do what had to be done, he asked himself why there needed to be any split at all. He was the one taking the risk.
Then, as he continued to think about it, he realized there was something that Maynard hadn’t considered. Once he did the job, Cassidy would have all the money in his hand, and the only way Maynard would ever see a cent of it would be if Cassidy took the money to him.
Cassidy glanced up at the clock. It was five minutes until midnight. If he was going to do this, now was as good a time as any. He tossed down his last drink, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then started toward the saloon door. He had no intention of splitting the money with Maynard. Once he got the money, he intended to leave town. That would serve Maynard right for trying to cheat him in the first place.
The night clerk at the hotel was reading a book when Cassidy went into the hotel. The clerk put the book down and smiled up at Cassidy. “Yes, sir,” he said. “You need a room?”
“I’ve already got a room,” Cassidy said. “A friend of mine said I could stay with him tonight. He’s in Room 206.”