“I thought one of them might have been Sam Logan,” Prew said. “But then since Logan works for Poke, it might be I was just thinkin’ it might be him.”
“He don’t work for Poke any more,” Tyrone said.
“He don’t?”
“Nope,” Tyrone said. “Matt killed him.”
“The hell you say,” Prew replied with a wide grin. “When? Where?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Matt said. “Up on the top of Bruneau Canyon.”
“Damn. What was he doin’ up there?”
“He was trying to kill Mr. Gilmore and me,” Matt said.
Prew laughed. “Good for you. You know what? I think gettin’ you to come help her is ’bout the smartest thing Miz Wellington has ever done.”
Chapter Thirteen
“How long have you been here, Tyrone?” Matt asked when the two men returned to his office.
“Well, I worked for Sir Thomas for fifteen years before he and Mrs. Wellington were married. They were married for a year before he died, and I’ve been with Mrs. Wellington for the last three, so, all told I’ve been here nineteen years.”
“So you were here when Marcus Kincaid was living on the place?”
“Oh, yes, I was here, all right. I was here when he and his mama come to live here. He was just a sprout then. No more than twelve or thirteen, I would say.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Well, his mama, Miz Mary, now she was about as fine a woman as you’d ever want to meet.”
“I’m asking about Marcus Kincaid.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you like him?”
“Matt, you have to understand my position here.
I’m the foreman, he was family. It was never my place to like or dislike him.”
“Perhaps. But I’m not family. So you can tell me what your honest opinion of him is.”
“He was a handful as a boy. Always gettin’ into some kind of trouble. I think he broke her heart so many times that it’s a wonder she didn’t die before she did. But Sir Thomas, he never gave up on him. No matter what kind of scrape Kincaid would get hisself in, Sir Thomas was always there to take care of it for him.”
“What kind of scrapes did he get in?”
“Once when they were all supposed to be in church, Kincaid snuck out and took Mr. Ebersole’s surrey that was parked out front, drove it like a bat out of hell, and wound up wreckin’ it and breaking the leg of one of horses. The horse had to be put down. But Sir Thomas bought Ebersole a new surrey and a new team. Then another time, Kincaid burned down the girls’ toilet at school. It was all kid stuff, you understand, but it was mean kid stuff.”
“I’m more interested in him as a man than as a kid. What do you think of him now?”
“I think he is a low-down, conniving, sorry example of a man,” Tyrone said. “I know for a fact, that before he died, Sir Thomas split all his holdings in half. He gave half of it to Kincaid, even though Kincaid wasn’t his. And he told Kincaid that the other half he was goin’ to leave to Mrs. Wellington. ’Course, he was still alive at the time, I don’t think he had any idea he would be leavin’ it to her so soon.”
“But Kincaid wasn’t satisfied with that?”
Tyrone shook his head. “No, sir, he wasn’t satisfied at all. That’s why he took Mrs. Wellington to court to try and protest it. He called Mrs. Wellington, uh, he called her a, uh—”
“A whore?”
“Yeah, he called her a whore. I didn’t want to come right out an’ say the word, ’cause to tell the truth, I don’t care what she was before she an’ Sir Thomas got married. I know she was a good wife to him, and she’s been a good woman ever since he died. She’s treated ever’ man that works here decent.”
“Kincaid lost the lawsuit,” Matt said.
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“How has he been since that time?”
Tyrone stroked his jaw for a moment, then he cocked his head before he responded. “Well, sir, to tell you the truth, it’s surprisin’ the hell out of me, but he’s been right decent about it. As far as I know, he hasn’t tried nothin’ else.”
“How well do you know Poke Terrell?”
“I don’t know ’im at all. He just come here a couple of months ago. I’ve seen him in the Sand Spur a couple of times, but he’s not very friendly. He never talks to anyone, he just sits at his table and plays solitaire.”
“Well, if Prew can’t be any more definite with his identification than he was with me, the marshal is right, Prew’s testimony wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“I got no reason not to believe Prew,” Tyrone said. “He’s seen Terrell more times that I have, so I figure he probably did recognize him. But it ain’t just the stealin’ horses that makes Poke Terrell a low-down in my book. In my book, anyone who would belong to the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse is about as low down as a fella can get. Why, there ain’t no tellin’ how many he kilt when he was ridin’ with the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse.”
“Yes, I heard about them. They are a wandering group of deputies?”
“Deputies my ass,” Tyrone said. “They’re a bunch of plundering murderers, if you ask me.”
Some of the other riders started coming back in then and Tyrone excused himself.
“I have to set out the night riders,” he said.
“Go ahead, don’t let me stop you,” Matt said. “Thank you for the visit and the information.”
“How is Prew doing?” Kitty asked when Matt returned to the house.
“He’s doing fine,” Matt said.
“Was he any help?”
“Yes, I found his information useful. After talking to Prew, I’m convinced that Poke Terrell is the one behind the rustling, but you have to ask yourself, why is he taking only a few head at a time?”
“Maybe that’s all he can handle.”
“I don’t think so. This ranch is perfect for stealing a two or three hundred head or more. Even driving livestock, you are less than a day from Utah, Nevada, or Oregon. You could go to any one of those states, or you could divide the herd into three easily managed groups and go off in three different directions.”
“I guess you are right. I hadn’t even thought about that,” Kitty said.
“I’m sure Poke Terrell has thought about it. No, there has to be another reason why he just picking at you, rather than making one grand haul.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“It could be that he is just trying to cause enough trouble to keep you from being able to meet your loan payment.”
“Why would he do that? He has no interest in the ranch.”
“No, but Marcus Kincaid does.”
“Matt, are you suggesting that Marcus is behind this?”
“Let me ask you this. If you go into default, is there any way Kincaid could take over Coventry?”
“I don’t know, I’m not sure,” Kitty said. “I suppose if the ranch fails and the bank forecloses, he could move in. But if the bank puts the ranch up for auction, there are people who have more money than Marcus, and who would love to have Coventry. I think they would simply outbid him. Besides, Marcus has another plan now.”
“Oh? What plan would that be?”
“When he was out here this morning he began to pay court to me.”
“I hope you set him straight.”
“Why, Matt, could it be that you are jealous?” Kitty said.
Matt coughed, nervously, and Kitty laughed.
“I’m teasing, Matt.”
“Oh. You mean he didn’t come courting this morning.”
“No, I’m not teasing about that. I’m teasing about you being jealous.”
“I don’t know that I would call it jealous,” Matt said. “But I would be concerned.”
Kitty put her hand on Matt’s cheek. “Matt, my old friend, you have nothing to be concerned about.”
Medbury, the next morning
From the patio behind his rather large house, Marcus Kincaid could enjoy a panoramic view of the Soldier Mountains, which rose prominently some twenty miles to the north. However, because of the trick of light and dry air, the mountains, on which individual trees were visible, appeared to be within easy walking distance.
Kincaid was sitting at a small table, on the patio, having his breakfast. He had the same breakfast every morning: a soft boiled egg served in a silver egg cup, half a grapefruit, one slice of toast, two slices of crisp bacon, and coffee.
He was just beginning to eat his grapefruit when he heard his maid, Rosa, say, “Señor Kincaid is outside on the Patio, Señor.”
Looking up, Kincaid saw Poke Terrell coming toward him.
“I thought I told you never to come to my house,” Kinkaid said as he spread butter on his toast. “No one is supposed to know that you are working for me, remember?”
“This man Jensen is going to be trouble,” Poke said.
“How much trouble can one man be?”
“He’s already killed Madison, Jernigan, and Logan. They were three of my best men.”
“If they were your best, you either need to raise your standards, or I’m going to have to lower your expectations.”
“What do you mean, lower my expectations?”
“Right now, you are keeping all the money you get from selling the horses you steal, right?”
“That was the deal. You said you didn’t want anything out of it,” Poke said.
Kincaid held up his finger. “Wrong, I do want something out of it. I want Kitty to default on her loan. I expect you to live up to our agreement. You see to it that Kitty Wellington is unable to make enough money to pay off her mortgage. That’s all you have to do.”
“Suppose she does go broke and can’t pay off the bank. The bank will just put the ranch up for sale and it will go to the highest bidder. What if somebody outbids you?”
“You let me worry about that,” Kincaid said. “You just keep up the pressure.”
“Yeah, well, that’s another thing. With them watchin’ the horses as close as they are now, I’m not sure I can steal any more horses.”
“You don’t have to steal any more horses, all you have to do is keep her from getting any of them to market.”
“That’s not good for me. I’ve been taking my cut from the money I get from selling the horses.”
“I’ve given you seven hundred and fifty dollars. How much have you made from the horses?” Kincaid asked.
“So far I’ve took a hunnert and fifty horses, I lost twenty-two of ’em during the drive down into Utah, and I only got twenty dollars a head for what was left. That mean’s I’ve got just a little over twenty-four hunnert dollars.”
“I’ll give you twenty five hundred dollars in addition to what we’ve already agreed upon,” Kincaid said. “All I need you to do is keep the pressure on.”
“I’m going to have to hire some more men,” Poke said. “So I’ll need a little extra for that.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars, plus what you have already made, should be more than enough to take care of that. At least for now.”
“All right. For now,” Poke said.
“Don’t come to my house anymore.”
“How am I going to get the twenty-five hundred dollars you just promised?”
“I’ll have the money delivered to you by special courier,” Kincaid said.
Poke nodded, then turned and walked away.
After breakfast, Kincaid went back into his office and took a paper from his desk. The paper was the mortgage agreement that now made him the holder of Kitty Wellington’s loan. If she defaulted on the loan to the bank, the bank would put the ranch up for sale, take its money, plus interest, from the proceeds, and give the rest to Kitty.
But there was no legal requirement for him to do that. The terms of the loan were very specific. If Kitty couldn’t make the payment, the ranch would become the property of Marcus Kincaid. There would be no extension of the loan, and there would be no auction.
Chapter Fourteen
When Matt went into town that evening, he had dinner at a restaurant called the Railroad Café. It was dark by the time he finished dinner and walked down the street to the Sand Spur. This was his first visit to the most popular of the local watering places. Inside the saloon, the bartender was standing at the end of the bar, wiping the used glasses with his stained apron, then setting them among the unused glasses. When he saw Matt step up to the bar, he moved down toward him.
“I’ll have a beer,” Matt said.
The bartender set the beer in front of him with shaking hands, and even though this was Matt’s first time in the Sand Spur, he knew he had been recognized.
Clutching the beer in his left hand—he always left his right hand free when he went in to a new place—Matt turned his back to the bar and looked out over the room. A bar girl sidled up to him. She was heavily painted and showed the dissipation of her profession. There was no humor or life left in her eyes.
“Mister, are you looking for good time?” she asked.
Matt wasn’t interested, but he felt a sense of compassion for the girl, perhaps heightened by hearing the story Kitty told of her own experiences.
“How much?” he asked.
The girl smiled at the prospect. “Two dollars,” she said.
Matt pulled two dollars from his pocket and gave it to her. “Suppose I give you two dollars and you let me buy you a drinki?” he asked. “Would you be interested in that?”
“Gee, Mister, thanks,” the girl said, sticking the money down into the top of her dress. “Charley, I’ll have a sarsaparilla.”
“Coming right up,” Charley said.
“Is that all you want?” Matt asked.
“I can’t drink whiskey all day long, I’d be a helpless drunk,” the girl said.
Matt chuckled. “I see your point,” he said.
The bartender put the glass in front of the girl and for the next few minutes, Matt and the girl had a pleasant conversation. As she relaxed, her features softened, and Matt realized that, at one time, she was probably a very pretty girl. During the conversation, Matt saw the bartender go to a table over on the side and, as he was picking up an empty glass, speak to the man at the table. The man glanced up at Matt, though the glance was so fleeting that few would have caught it.
At the rear of the saloon the piano player, who wore a small, round, derby hat and kept his sleeves up with garter belts, was pounding out a rendition of “Buffalo Gals,” though the music was practically lost amidst the noise of a dozen or more conversations.
The man the bartender spoke to got up and walked over to the bar, carrying his beer with him. It wasn’t until then that Matt saw the star on his shirt.
“Mr. Jensen, I’m Marshal Bill Sparks. Welcome to Medbury.”
“Thank you,” Matt said.
“I can’t help but wonder what you are doing in our little town, though.”
“I’m visiting a friend.”
“Word I got is that you’ve come to hire out your gun to Mrs. Wellington.”
“I don’t hire out my gun, Marshal,” Matt said. “And, like I told you, I’m here to visit a friend.”
“Very well, Mr. Jensen, I’ve got no call to dispute you. But I do know that Mrs. Wellington has accused Poke Terrell of horse stealing, and she seems a little put out that I’ve done nothing about it.”
“Why haven’t you done anything about it?” Matt asked.
“What am I supposed to do? There is only Prewitt’s word that Poke Terrell was one of the rustlers. And he saw Poke, if that is who he saw, in the dark. On the other hand, Poke had three witnesses who swore that they were with him that night, and he wasn’t anywhere close to Coventry on the Snake.”
“And I’m sure that his witnesses are all first-class citizens,” Matt said. “Like Poke Terrell.”
Marshal Sparks chuckled. “Well, you’ve sized that up pretty well,” he said. “But I ho
pe you can see that, legally, my hands are tied.”
“Mine aren’t,” Matt said.
“What does that mean?”
“That means I don’t have to prove Poke’s guilt in a court of law. I only have to be convinced of it myself.”
“I see. By the way, I assume you know that Poke Terrell used to ride with Clay Sherman and the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse.”
“So I’ve heard,” Matt said.
“Of course ‘used to’ may not be the correct term,” Marshal Sparks said.
“You mean he is still with the Posse?”
“According to Tate, he’s the telegrapher down at the depot, Poke has exchanged a few telegrams with Sherman since he arrived.”
“What did the telegrams say?”
Marshal Sparks shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Tate ain’t allowed to divulge what’s in the telegrams. Truth to tell, he probably wasn’t even supposed to tell me that Poke and Sherman been sending them back and forth to each other. But I figure Tate thinks it’s something I should know, otherwise he would never have mentioned it.”
“I think your assumption is probably right,” Matt said.
“But my point is, Mr. Jensen, that if Poke Terrell is still with the Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse, he’s not somebody you want to take too lightly. I would be a bit cautious around him, if I were you.”
“That sounds like good advice,” Matt said. He lifted his beer. “May I buy you a beer, Marshal?”
“Thanks, maybe later,” Marshal Sparks said. “Right now I need to make my rounds.”
Matt looked around the saloon. “Oh, before you leave, Marshal, could you point out Poke Terrell to me?”
“Do you think I’d be talking about him like this if was in here now?” Marshal Sparks asked. He pointed toward a table near the stove. Though every other table in the saloon was full, this particular table was conspicuously empty. “When he is in here, which is most of the time, by the way, he sits at that table over there and plays solitaire.”
“Solitaire?”
“Yeah, he’s too damn mean to get anyone to play with him. And, get this, Jensen, this will tell you what kind of man he is. When he plays solitaire, he cheats. Can you imagine that? A man who cheats at cards, even when he’s playing himself.” Sparks laughed, then started toward the door. “Like I said, I need to make my rounds. I’ll collect on that beer later.”
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