Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “Good. Now, round up seventy-five horses, and let’s get out of here.”

  “Say Poke, I heard that these here horses is worth a hunnert dollars apiece,” Logan said. “How come we only been getting’ twenty-five dollars apiece for ’em?”

  “Because to us, twenty-five dollars apiece is all they are worth.”

  “Why is that?”

  “This here is the only horse ranch in the county. You want to take ’em in Medbury to sell, do you? Or maybe to Glen’s Ferry or King Hill?”

  “No. More’n likely the horses would be recognized there.”

  “Then don’t you think it would be better to sell them to someone who will give us twenty-five dollars a horse and not ask questions? Poke asked.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Logan said.

  “Maybe you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

  Out in the dark, Jason Prewitt crawled on his stomach until he reached Timmy.

  “Timmy! Timmy!” he said, whispering as he shook the body. He was afraid to speak any louder because he was afraid he would be heard.

  Helplessly, Prew lay in the dark and watched the rustlers round up the horses, then take them away.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said to himself. “That’s Poke Terrell.” Prew reached for his pistol, but his holster was empty. He had lost his gun somewhere in the dark.

  Not until they were gone did he get up. Favoring the wound in his shoulder, he found his horse, and rode back to the big house to report the robbery.

  Mrs. Wellington wasn’t going to like this. She wasn’t going to like it at all. The only reason there were nighthawks out at all was to prevent just such a thing from happening. At least, that’s what they were supposed to do. But they failed.

  The next day

  “I arranged for Timmy’s body to be sent back to Missouri where his family is. He’ll be goin’ out on tomorrow’s train,” Tyrone Canfield told Kitty. Tyrone Canfield had been foreman of Coventry on the Snake for eighteen years, long before Kitty had married Sir Thomas Wellington. Thomas died three years earlier, but, at Kitty’s request, Tyrone had stayed on as her ranch foreman.

  “What about Hank?” Kitty asked.

  “Hank, being raised in an orphanage and all, I done like you said,” Tyrone replied. “I made arrangements to bury him in the cemetery in town.”

  “Not in Potter’s Corner?”

  “No, ma’am, he’ll have him a spot right in the middle of the cemetery.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re a fine woman, Mrs. Wellington. You’ve always had a soft spot in your heart for orphans.”

  “Yes, I have,” Kitty said, without further explanation.

  “How is Prew?” Tyrone asked. “The doctor was just comin’ out when I left to go into town.”

  “The wound was in his shoulder and the doctor got the bullet out. He said Prew will be all right if the wound doesn’t fester,” Kitty said.

  “We lost another seventy-five horses,” Tyrone said with an expression of frustration in his voice. “Prew saw them this time, and he said he was sure that the leader of the bunch was Poke Terrell. I told that to the sheriff but he won’t do anything about it.”

  “Who is Poke Terrell? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of him,” Kitty said.

  “No, he is not the kind of person you would likely meet,” Tyrone said. “He is a scoundrel who hangs out in the Sand Spur Saloon. They say he used to belong to the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. If so, that doesn’t speak very well for him or the posse.”

  “Does Marshal Sparks know that Terrell is the one who has been stealing my horses?”

  “I told him that Prew said he saw him.”

  “Is the marshal going to arrest Terrell?”

  Tyrone shook his head. “No ma’am. For one thing, he says that an identification, made in the dark, wouldn’t hold up. To tell the truth, Mrs. Wellington, I think the marshal would like to do something about it, but it is just too overwhelming for him.”

  “If you ask me, the whole thing is just too overwhelming, not just for Marshal Sparks, but for all concerned,” another man said, coming into the room then. “I have told Kitty that the best thing she can do is sell all the horses off, now. In fact, I think she should sell the land too.”

  “Hello, Mr. Kincaid,” Tyrone said.

  “Tyrone,” Marcus Kincaid replied with a nod.

  “Sell the land to who, Marcus?” Kitty asked. “To you?”

  “If you would like to sell it to me, I would be happy to buy it,” Kincaid replied. “After all, it was my land long before it was ever yours.”

  “It was never your land,” Kitty said with the long suffering sigh of someone who had been through this argument many times before. “It was Tommy’s land, to do with as he saw fit, and he saw fit to leave it to me.”

  “He left the land to you after only one year of marriage,” Kincaid replied. “He was you husband for one year, he was my stepfather for twelve years.”

  “He was never your stepfather.”

  “He was my stepfather in all but name.”

  “I will admit that after he married your mother, he treated you as his own son, but he never adopted you. Anyway, why are you complaining? It isn’t as if he abandoned you. Even before he died, he divided all of his holdings in two, and gave you half.”

  “Yes, including all his money in England which he gave half to me, and half to you,” Kincaid said. “That would have been over half a million dollars for each of us. But the family back in England has prevented either one of us from collecting our rightful inheritance.”

  “Then your anger should be with those in England, not with me.”

  Kincaid held up his hand. “Kitty, Kitty, I don’t want to fight. We’re on the same side here. I just heard that you had another episode of rustling, and I came out to see how you are doing. And to be honest, I am also suggesting that you may have taken a bigger bite than you can swallow.”

  “So you are willing to come to my rescue, right, Marcus?”

  “In a matter of speaking. Just think about it, Kitty. If you sold everything to me, just the land mind you, I’m not interested in the house, you can keep the house, why, you would have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” Kincaid chuckled. “That would show the Wellingtons back in England that neither one of us need them.”

  “And you would do what? Get rid of the horses and raise cattle?”

  “You have to admit, that raising cattle is a lot more practical,” Kincaid said.

  “I appreciate the offer, Marcus, I really do,” Kitty said. “But raising horses was a dream that Tommy and I had together. If I don’t follow through with it, I would feel as if I had let him down.”

  “I’ve only got one more thing to say,” Kincaid said. “I happen to know that you have a considerable loan against this place. I am sure that you know that if you can’t pay off the loan, you are going to be faced with losing everything. And I’ll tell you the truth, Kitty, I don’t see any way on earth you are going to be able to pay that loan.”

  “I have no intention of defaulting on the loan. I will pay it.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll pay it,” Kitty said.

  “By July fourth? That is when your loan is due, isn’t it? July fourth?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s just over a month from now.”

  “What if I am a few days late with my payment? It isn’t going to make that much difference,” Kitty said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Think about it, Marcus. The bank wants the money I owe them. They don’t want the ranch. Anyway there’s no problem. I have a contract to sell some horses in Chicago. Once I deliver those horses I will have more than enough money to pay off the loan, and I’ll have the property, and the horses, free and clear.”

  “You have a contract to sell horses in Chicago?”

  “Yes.”

  “But even so, how many horses can you sell
in Chicago?”

  “My contract calls for five hundred.”

  “Five hundred? That’s a lot of horses. Who would buy five hundred horses?”

  “The U.S. Army,” Kitty replied with a satisfied smile. “So you see, Marcus, there is no problem. I will get the bank paid off.”

  “In time?”

  “Yes, in time. That is, assuming I have no problems in getting the horses to Chicago.”

  “Ahh, well, therein is the rub. Kitty, I don’t want to be the naysayer here, but just what makes you think you are going to be able to get your horses to Chicago? You haven’t even been able to protect them when they are on your own property.”

  Kitty walked over to a table and picked up a copy of The Boise Statesman. “Did you read this article?” she asked, showing the paper to Kincaid, and pointing to the article in question.

  “About the shootout over in Wyoming? Yes, I read it. What about it?”

  “Read the last sentence,” Kitty said. “The one that says Matt Jensen is a friend of what is right, and a foe of those who would visit their evil deeds upon innocent people.”

  Kincaid read the sentence, then he laughed out loud.

  “What is so funny?” Kitty asked.

  “Do you really think Matt Jensen, this—hero—will come to your rescue, wearing shining armor and riding on a white horse?” Kincaid asked.

  “Well, not the shining armor, and maybe not even the white horse. But yes, I really think he will come to help me.”

  “What makes you think that he save the day?”

  “Because he is Matt Jensen,” Kitty replied.

  Marcus Kincaid left the house then, laughing out loud at Kitty’s innocent naïveté about someone she had only read about in the newspaper.

  Chapter Six

  Coventry Manor

  George Gilmore was a small man, five feet three inches tall, and weighing but 120 pounds. What he lacked in size, though, he made up for in intelligence, having graduated from Washington University in St. Louis with full academic honors. After graduation he read for the law, and was now a practicing attorney in Medbury, Idaho.

  At the moment he was standing in the entry hall at Coventry Manor, having been summoned by Kitty Wellington. As he waited there, he studied the colorful banners that hung over the hall, including the Union Jack of Great Britain, the Stars and Stripes of the United States, and the Wellington family crest.

  Gilmore was a little nervous about the visit because he had recently represented the plaintiff in a lawsuit against Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington won the lawsuit, so he hoped she hadn’t sent for him to give vent to her anger. Mrs. Wellington was a very important woman in Owyhee County, and someone in his position could not afford to make such a powerful enemy.

  “Mr. Gilmore,” Mrs. Wellington said, smiling sweetly when she came to greet him. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Gilmore was a little taken aback by the smile. It seemed genuine. He relaxed a little.

  “Yes, well, you said you had need of my services. I must confess to being a little surprised.”

  “Why surprised?”

  “I thought you might be angry with me.”

  “Because you represented the other party in a lawsuit against me? Don’t be silly. I know that’s what lawyers do. I also know that you are an honest and trustworthy man. You could have bent the facts in the case, but you did not.”

  “That wouldn’t have been ethical,” Gilmore said.

  “Exactly,” Kitty said. “And right now I need someone who is both ethical and discrete. Can you be both?”

  “As long as the two requirements aren’t contradictory,” Gilmore replied.

  Kitty laughed. “Good, good, that is exactly the answer an honest man would give. Now I know I have the right man.”

  “What is the task, Mrs. Wellington?”

  Kitty picked up a folded copy of The Boise Statesman from the hall table. “Have you read this paper?”

  Gilmore glanced at it, then he looked up. “Yes, it has a very nice article about you.”

  “It also has an article about Matt Jensen,” Kitty said. “The task I am assigning you, Mr. Gilmore, is to find Matt Jensen. Once you learn where he is, I want you to contact him and tell him that an old friend needs help, and ask him to meet you in American Falls. Once you meet him, bring him to me.”

  “You tell me to bring him to you, but I can only bring him if he is willing to come,” Gilmore said. “I have heard of Matt Jensen. I get the feeling that he is not a man who can be coerced into doing something he doesn’t want to do.”

  “I will give you a personal letter to carry from me to him. Once you show him the letter, he will come,” Kitty said, confidently.

  “All right, I’ll contact him, and I’ll carry your letter to him,” Gilmore replied. “But I’m curious. Why do you want me to meet him in American Falls? Why not meet him in Medbury?”

  “I want to keep the meeting secret,” Kitty replied. “I think we can better do that in American Falls. Besides if, after you meet him, he doesn’t want to get involved, he won’t have come so far. That is, assuming he is still in Green River.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Mr. Gilmore, I especially do not want Poke Terrell to find out about this. If Prew is right, if Mr. Terrell is the one behind the rustling of my horses, he might try and stop Matt from coming.”

  “Matt? You are on a first name basis with Matt Jensen?”

  “I was once,” Kitty said.

  “Well, in that case, maybe he will come,” Gilmore said. “And don’t worry, I will be extremely guarded in my mission.”

  Cattleman’s Bank and Loan, two days later

  “You sent for me, Joel?” Marcus Kincaid asked.

  “Yes,” Matthews said. He slid a letter across the desk, and Marcus picked it up.

  “What is this?”

  “This is a letter from Kitty Wellington. I thought it might give you comfort to know that the loan will be repaid and you will recoup your investment, as well as the interest due. It’s addressed to me but, under the circumstances, you being the one who now owns the loan, it is really your letter.”

  Dear Mr. Matthews:

  As you know, within the last two weeks, Coventry on the Snake has been the victim of the foulest rustling, resulting in the loss of more than one hundred and fifty head of fine horses, worth a total of fifteen thousand dollars.

  I fear that you may be worrying about whether I will be able to retire the loan your bank so generously advanced, so I undertake the writing of this letter to ease any worries you may have on that score. I have recently signed a contract to deliver enough horses to the U.S. Army to allow me to easily discharge the debt I owe the bank. In order to help me accomplish this, I am calling upon Matt Jensen, an old friend, to help me, and I am sending my agent to American Falls to meet with him.

  I’m sure you can understand that, for the time being, I would prefer that the details of my contact with Mr. Jensen be kept in the strictest confidence.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Katherine Wellington

  Coventry on the Snake

  “Yes, I heard she had signed a contract to sell enough horses to pay off the loan,” Marcus said. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

  “I thought you might appreciate that, knowing that the money will be repaid, in full, and with interest.”

  “Yes, that’s very—comforting.” He set the word comforting apart from the rest of the sentence.

  “As the bullfighters say, it is the moment of truth for all bankers, when the loans are repaid in full,” Matthews said. “Perhaps after the successful conclusion of this project, you would be interested in purchasing more loans.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Mountain Home, Idaho

  When Sam Logan, Al Madison, and Ken Jernigan first stepped into the Cow Palace Saloon, they didn’t see the person they were looking for.

  “You sure this is the place?” Madison asked.

&nbs
p; “Yeah, I’m sure,” Logan answered.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “How many saloons are there in Mountain Home named Cow Palace?” Logan asked.

  “There’s only one saloon in Mountain Home,” Jernigan said.

  “And it is named Cow Palace,” Logan said.

  “So, if this is the right place, how come Poke ain’t here?”

  “There he is,” Logan said.

  “Where?”

  “Back there in the corner, sitting with his back to us.”

  “Why is sittin’ like that? We damn near didn’t see him,” Jernigan said.

  “Maybe that’s why he’s sittin’ like that,” Logan answered. “Maybe he don’t want to be seen.”

  Logan led them to the back of the saloon to the table where the man they were to meet was sitting.

  “Did you see anyone else from Medbury outside?” Poke asked.

  “No,” Logan answered. “Poke, why we meetin’ here, ’stead of in the Sand Spur?”

  “It’s better to meet here,” Poke said without further explanation.

  Matt Jensen was in Southeastern Idaho, riding north and sloping down a long slant from the Sublett Mountain range. The green covered mountains loomed up behind him, a long impressive range that ran south, all the way down to the Utah border. The Subletts were interspersed here and there with canyons and draws which made the mountain range look much larger than it actually was.

  Matt was following a little dry wash that was, appropriately called Rock Creek, because only during the spring run offs did it have water. Now, as in most of the year, Rock Creek had only rocks. He had not been worried though, because he knew that soon he would come upon the Snake River, and now that confidence was rewarded. Ahead of him he spotted a narrow, snaking band of green, cutting across the amber desert floor. This, he knew, was the Snake River.

  “You thirsty, Spirit?” he asked. He reached down to pat the second horse to bear the name. “Well, I am too, but to tell you the truth, I’m thirstier for something that tastes a little better than water.”