“Miss Langtry is a singer, actress, and lecturer of no small renown,” Frewen said. She is performing at theaters all over America.”
“There is no theater in Sussex,” Clara said pointedly.
“My dear, you know that Miss Langtry and I are old friends of long standing,” Frewen said. “It does not seem that unusual to me that she would call upon us if she found herself in the area.”
“In the area? And just what area would that be, Moreton? Clara said. “The closest railroad is in Medicine Bow and that is two hundred miles away. The stagecoach from Medicine Bow only arrives three times per week, and it is a very long and difficult journey.”
Clara was a beautiful woman, dainty, blonde, with her hair worn in the close ringlet fashion of the day. Despite her American heritage, Clara had grown up in Paris, and was often a guest of Napoleon III. Clara and her even more beautiful sister Jennie had been the toast of Paris society. That she would be jealous of Lily Langtry, a much older and not nearly as attractive a woman, seemed ludicrous to all who knew the couple. And indeed, those who knew Clara well knew, also, that she wasn’t really jealous, but used this merely as a means of keeping Moreton Frewen wary of any dalliances.
“I only call on her in town because you seem to find her company so objectionable,” Frewen said. “And I have no wish to upset you.”
“Invite her out for dinner,” Clara suggested.
“What? But I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I don’t like her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be civil around her. And I would much rather have her come here for a visit than to have you go into town, alone, to visit her. Somehow, that seems so very sordid.”
Frewen smiled. “Very well, I shall invite her,” he said.
Spirit kicked up sheets of silver spray as he splashed through the stream. Matt would have paused to give his horse an opportunity to drink if he wanted to, but Spirit gave no indication that he was thirsty.
Once across the stream, Matt turned back around to pay attention to where he was going. For some time now, he had been aware that two men were dogging him, riding parallel with him, and for the most part staying out of sight.
He was pretty sure they were some of Moreton Frewen’s men, because he had been on Powder River Cattle Company land for some time now. He had picked them up the moment they started shadowing him.
Matt rode on for a couple more miles, all the while keeping his eye on them until finally he decided to do something about it. He waited until the trail led in between two parallel rows of hills. Once into the defile, he cut off the trail and, using the ridge line to conceal his movement, rode ahead about two hundred yards. He went over to the gully his two tails were using, dismounted, then pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard and climbed onto a rocky ledge to wait for them. He jacked a round into the chamber.
Matt watched and waited. He saw them come around a bend in the gully and knew that not only had they not seen him, they hadn’t even missed him. He waited until they were right on him, then he suddenly stood up.
“Hold it!” he shouted.
“What the hell?” one of the riders yelled. He had to fight to stay on his horse, for the horse had been so startled that it reared. The other rider started for his gun.
“Don’t do it!” Matt said, raising his rifle to his shoulder.
“Johnny, keep your hand away from your gun!” the first rider said, just now regaining control of his horse. “There didn’t nobody say nothin’ ’bout shootin’ anybody.”
“How did you get here on Powder River Cattle Company land?” Johnny asked.
“You ought to know,” Matt replied. “You’ve been dogging my tail for the last two miles.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Johnny,” Matt said. “That makes me mad.”
“What do we do now, Ian?” Johnny asked.
“All right, Mister, we’ve been dogging you,” Ian admitted.
“Why?”
“Because you are on Powder River Cattle Company land, that’s why.”
“That’s good to know, seeing as I intend to be there,” Matt said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m just here to pay the ranch a friendly visit, is all,” Matt said.
Ian shook his head. “Huh, uh,” he said. “We ain’t friendly and we don’t like visitors.”
“Shouldn’t you let Mr. Frewen decide that?”
“Our job is to keep people away from him, keep ’em for botherin’ him so he don’t have to decide whether or not to see saddle bums like you,” Johnny said.
“Saddle bum?” Matt held out his arm and examined his newly bought shirt. “Now you are hurting my feelings. And here I thought I had gone and gotten all dressed up to meet Mr. Frewen.”
“What do you want to meet him for? He ain’t hirin’ nobody,” Ian said.
“He’s already hired me,” Matt said.
“Hired you to do what?” Ian asked.
“Well, now, I’m afraid I can’t answer that question,” Matt said. “He sent me a letter, but he didn’t say what he wanted me to do.”
“Mr. Frewen sent you a letter?” Ian asked.
“He did.”
“You got that letter with you?”
“I do.”
“Let me see it,” Ian said.
“Now, Ian, that sounds like a demand,” Matt said. “And if you stop and think about it, seeing as how I am pointing a gun at you, you really aren’t in position to make any demands, are you?”
Ian and Johnny exchanged glances.
“No, sir,” Ian said, sheepishly. “Now that you mention it, I don’t reckon I am.”
“All right, since you’ve taken that attitude, I’ll let you see it,” Matt said. He took the letter from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ian.
“But I’m going to take it as a real unfriendly act if something happens to that letter while it’s in your hands,” Matt said.
“He didn’t say nothin’ to us about hirin’ someone,” Ian said, before he started to read the letter.
“Does he tell you all his business?” Matt asked.
“No. But since we’re supposed to keep strangers off the property, you would think we would have heard something, don’t you?”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Matt said.
“Holy shit!” Ian said looking up from the letter at Matt. “Are you Matt Jensen?”
“I am.”
“Let me see it,” Johnny said.
Ian handed the letter to Johnny, and Johnny took a moment to read it.
“Looks like the boss’s writin’,” Johnny said.
“It is real,” Matt said. He held his hand out. “Could I have my letter back, please?”
Johnny returned the letter. “What do you think we ought to do, Ian?” he asked.
“What do you mean, what should we do? Are you crazy? Didn’t you read the letter? This is Matt Jensen, for God’s sake.”
“I’ll tell you what to do. Take me to him,” Matt said. “I don’t want to get jumped by anyone else. They may not be as intelligent as you two are, and I might wind up having to kill them.”
“All right, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Ian said. “We’ll take you.”
Back at the house, Frewen got up from his chair, crossed the room and planted a kiss on the lips of his beautiful wife.
“My dear,” he said. “Don’t you know that my life started when I met you? Compared to that lucky day when you agreed to become my wife, nothing from my past—no dalliance, no adventure, no accomplishment of any kind—could ever be of any import.”
Clara smiled. “You do have a way of smoothing my feathers, don’t you, Moreton?”
Frewen returned her smile. “Lord, I certainly hope so,” he said.
Moreton Frewen’s “gentleman’s gentleman” stepped into the drawing room.
“Sir Moreton, there is a gentleman by the name of Matt Jensen to see you.”