Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “Anytime, Marshal,” Matt said.

  Matt turned back to the bar. The bar girl who was talking to him before had left when the sheriff approached. Now she came back to him, and though he was not looking for company, he smiled a welcome anyway.

  The bar girl picked up her drink then held it in front of her mouth so that when she spoke, nobody could see her lips moving. She spoke very quietly.

  “Be very careful when you leave the saloon, Mr. Jensen. Someone may be waiting for you.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said, covering his reply with the glass, just as the girl had.

  When Matt stepped out into the street a few minutes later, he checked the false front of the building across the street, and looked toward the watering trough for any place that might provide concealment for a gunman. He expected the trouble, if it came, to be in the form of someone shooting at him. He wasn’t prepared for and was surprised by two men with knives who suddenly jumped from the dark shadows between the buildings. It was only that innate sense that allowed him to perceive danger when there was no other sign that saved his live. Because of that sense, and his lightning quick reflexes, he was already moving out of the way of the attack even as the two men were starting it. The two assailants were dressed in black which, because of the darkness of the street, made it difficult for Matt to see them.

  The attackers made low swinging, vicious arcs with their knives, and had he not moved when he did, Matt would have been disemboweled. Despite the quickness of his reaction, however, one of attackers did connect, and the flashing blade opened a wound in his side.

  The other attacker moved in quickly to finish Matt off but Matt managed to slip to one side before sending a wicked right toward his attacker, hitting him in the side of the head and knocking him away. Almost immediately the other one moved in. Matt managed to avoid his thrust, then, before the attacker could draw his hand back, Matt grabbed him by arm and twisted it, causing the attacker to turn around. Matt pulled the attacker toward him, using him as a shield against another thrust by the first attacker.

  The first attacker’s knife plunged into the heart of the man Matt was holding. The first attacker realized with shock that he had not only just killed his friend, he was also now at a distinct disadvantage in this fight. Not willing to press his luck any further, he turned and ran off into the night.

  The knife wound caused Matt to lose a lot of blood, and feeling faint and nauseous, he dropped the man he was holding, then managed to find his way back into the Sand Spur. His sudden and unexpected entrance startled everyone into silence. He stood just inside the door, holding his hand over his side while blood spilled between his fingers. Despite his nausea and dizziness, Matt could see the expressions of shock on their faces. Even the piano player stopped playing and was now turned all the way around on his bench. Not one person was speaking, and it was so quiet that the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock and the quiet hiss of the burning lanterns.

  Matt walked over to the bar, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and put it down in front of the bartender.

  “Better make it a whiskey this time,” he said.

  Without so much as one word, the bartender responded quickly, putting the glass in front of Matt. He started to pull the bottle back, but Matt reached out and put his hand on the bartender’s arm.

  “Leave the bottle,” Matt demanded.

  The bartender left the bottle. “Mr. Jensen, you need to see a doctor with that wound.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Matt replied, his voice strained. He poured some whiskey into the glass and drank it. Then he opened his shirt, and poured a considerable amount of the whiskey from the bottle over his wound.

  The whiskey washed away some of the blood, exposing the wound which, originally was but a thin slice, had been opened up by the exertion of the fight.

  The bar girl who had warned Matt now came up to him, holding her petticoat in her hand. She tore it into two pieces, one of which she used to clean the wound, and the other to press over the wound.

  “Thanks,” Matt said.

  “Damn, Mister, who did this?” the bartender asked.

  “They didn’t leave their names,” Matt said as he closed the shirt over the wound.

  “They? You mean there was more than one?”

  “There’s only one now,” Matt said. “The other one is lying out in the street.”

  “Dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “I certainly intended for him to be.”

  Matt had saved enough whiskey for one more drink. He poured another glass, tossed it down, set the empty glass on the bar, then turned to address those in the saloon who, after halting all card games, conversation, and drinking at his entrance, continued to stare at the bleeding apparition who stood before them.

  “I’ll be going now,” he said with a strained voice. “I don’t want anyone to follow me. If I see anyone following me, I’ll kill them.”

  “Like I said, Mr. Jensen, you had better see a doctor,” the bartender repeated.

  “I thank you for your concern,” Matt said. “But I’ll be fine.”

  Matt looked at the bar girl who had warned him to be alert. He raised his hand to the brim of his hat.

  “Miss,” he said. “I’m obliged for your company and your conversation.”

  After that, Matt turned and walked away from the bar, growing more dizzy with each step. When he reached the batwing doors he had to reach out and grab the door frame to steady himself. Then, calling on every ounce of reserve strength, he took his hand down, leaving a bloody hand print behind as he stepped outside into the darkness.

  Matt mounted Spirit and started away from the saloon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Matt woke up he was lying in a strange bed. He felt some soreness in his side and putting his hand down, felt, not the petticoat he had pressed against the wound, but a well-constructed bandage that was wrapped all the way around his waist.

  Matt looked around at the room. Embossed metal tiles covered the ceiling, while twelve-inch crown molding separated the ceiling from the wall. The wall itself was covered with white wallpaper embossed with a pattern of flowers. The furniture, like the bed, was massive and elegant. This was not his room and he had no idea how he got here. The last thing Matt could remember was mounting Spirit and riding away from the saloon, intending to return to Coventry on the Snake.

  He tried to sit up, but winced with pain from the effort and had to stay still for a moment until the pain went away. After a moment, he tried again, and this time he was successful. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then realized for the first time that he was naked.

  At that very moment the door opened and Matt looked around, quickly, but unsuccessfully for his pistol.

  “What are you doing sitting up?” Kitty asked, coming into the room then. “You shouldn’t be getting up yet.”

  Frederica, who was carrying a tray, came into the room behind Kitty.

  “Lay back down,” Kitty ordered. “We’ve brought your lunch.”

  “This isn’t my room, but I must be at your house.”

  “Yes, this is my room. And of course you are at my house,” Kitty answered. “Where did you think you were?”

  Matt looked around the room and chuckled. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t in Heaven,” he said. “And when I heard someone coming through the door, I thought maybe it was St. Peter coming to tell me that there had been a mistake, and I was going to have to be on the next train out of here.”

  Kitty laughed. “I admit, this is much nicer than Captain Mumford’s Home for Wayward Boys and Girls,” she said, “but I wouldn’t exactly call it Heaven. Now, you lie back down like I said.”

  “How am I going to eat my lunch if I lie back down?”

  “I’m going to feed you,” Kitty said. “Frederica, if you would, please, put his lunch there, on the small table.”

  “Si, Señora,” Frederi
ca answered, setting the tray on the table. Matt saw a bowl of soup, a large chunk of freshly baked bread, and a coffeepot.

  “Thank you,” Matt said.

  “Señor,” Frederica acknowledged with a nod of her head.

  “Thank you, Frederica. I can handle it from here,” Kitty said.

  Frederica let herself out of the room and shut the door behind her.

  “How did I get here?” Matt asked.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “The last thing I remember is starting to ride away from the saloon.”

  Kitty dipped the spoon into the soup, then held it out for Matt. He hesitated.

  “It isn’t too hot,” Kitty said. “I let it cool a bit before we brought it up to you.”

  Matt took the spoonful, swallowed it, then nodded.

  “Oh,” he said. “That is good. That is very good.”

  “Thank you. It’s a duck soup that I made myself,” she said. “I even made the noodles.”

  Matt took another swallow and smacked his lips appreciatively. “It is very good,” he said again.

  He picked up the piece of bread and tore off a piece, then stuck it in his mouth. “Good bread too,” he said.

  “So the last thing you remember is riding away from the saloon?”

  “Yes. I don’t remember riding out here at all.”

  “Not surprising that you don’t remember riding out here, since you didn’t do that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you didn’t get very far,” Kitty said. “You got only as far as the school before you fell off your horse.”

  “I fell off my horse?” Matt said incredulously. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. That’s not possible.”

  “Don’t get your feelings all bruised. Maybe I worded that poorly. What I should have said is that you passed out from loss of blood, then you fell off your horse.”

  “All right, that explains that part of it. But if I didn’t ride out here, how did I get here?”

  “Millie brought you here.

  “Millie?”

  “She works in the saloon. It seems you made quite a good impression on her. Should I be jealous?”

  “Jealous?”

  “I’m teasing. Evidently, you were pretty badly hurt when you left the saloon, and Millie was worried about you, so she stepped outside to see how you were doing. You weren’t doing very well, you were weaving back and forth in the saddle as you rode away. Then, when she saw you fall from your horse, she ran down to you. She said that, at first, she was afraid you were dead. But when she saw you move, she went to get Mr. Gilmore. Mr. Gilmore rented a buckboard for her, and helped her get you onto it. She drove it out here by herself.”

  “Gilmore didn’t come with her?”

  Kitty laughed. “Are you serious? A whore comes to his house in the middle of the night, and you think his wife is going to let him go with her?”

  Matt laughed as well.

  “Well, I owe her my thanks. Not just for bringing me here, but for warning me I was in danger. Because of that, when I stepped out of the saloon last night, I was on my guard. Of course, I have to admit, I didn’t expect a knife attack.”

  “It wasn’t last night,” Kitty said.

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t last night, it was two nights ago. You were out all day yesterday, and all night last night.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m serious. You have slept, if you can call what you were doing sleeping rather than being unconscious, for two days and two nights.”

  “No wonder I’m so hungry,” Matt said.

  “Now, I don’t know if you actually like my soup, or if you just like it because you are hungry,” Kitty said.

  “Couldn’t it be both?”

  “I suppose it could.”

  “Katherine. Who undressed me?”

  “Millie and I both did. And we put on your bandage,” Kitty replied. She chuckled. “Are you embarrassed?”

  “No, I reckon not. It’s not like I’ve never been seen by a woman before.”

  Kitty laughed out loud. “Then we are even, Matt. It’s not like Millie nor I have never seen a naked man before.”

  “Where is Millie?”

  “She had to go back into town yesterday. She said next time you come into town, be sure to drop in to the Sand Spur and say hello.”

  “I’ll do that,” Matt said. Again, he looked around the room. “I’m sorry I put you out of your room.”

  “You didn’t put me out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I spent both nights right here, with you,” Kitty said.

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t worry, Matt, I haven’t been compromised.” She laughed, heartily. “As if someone like me could be compromised. But you have been drifting in and out of it so much that I thought you needed someone to keep watch over you. Although you are welcome to share my room, and my bed, for as long as you want, you could probably go back to your own room now if you feel up to it.”

  “I appreciate the doctoring, and I appreciate you watching over me,” Matt said. “But it would probably be better if I went back to my own room.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Matt. It was delightful to feel you in bed beside me, the truth is, right now you are all I have to protect my investment, so keeping you healthy is more important than anything else,” Kitty said. “I don’t have a choice. I have to watch over you.”

  Matt felt up to getting out of bed later that afternoon and Kitty said he could move to his room, but she insisted that he stay in bed at least one more day. To keep peace, Matt agreed to do so, and he did not get up, dress, and come downstairs until noon on the following day. He had eaten nothing but soup for the last two days so when he came downstairs, even though he was in the parlor, he smelled something cooking.

  The aroma, which was very enticing, promised a meal that was a little more substantial than soup, so his mood improved considerably.

  “Smells good down here,” Matt said.

  “I had Frederica tell Maria to put a roast beef on this morning,” Kitty said, explaining the aroma. “I thought you might be ready for some solid food.”

  “I’m more than ready,” Matt said. “Truth is, I believe I could eat it whether it was cooked or not.”

  Kitty laughed, but her laughter was interrupted by someone banging the front door knocker.

  “Wait here, I’ll go see who it is,” Kitty offered and, nodding, Matt walked over to have a seat in the rocking chair.

  A moment later, Kitty came back into the parlor with Marcus Kincaid trailing behind her.

  Matt stood up.

  “No, no, don’t get up on my account,” Kincaid said, holding his hand out. “I heard about your—uh—trouble the other night. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of you tearing something open.”

  “I’m fine,” Matt said without further elaboration.

  “I must say, you are the talk of the town,” Kincaid said. “I mean, here, two knife-wielding ruffians tried to rob you, and you not only survived, you managed to kill Garcia.”

  “Garcia?”

  “Carlos Garcia. He works down at the—that is, he did work down at the depot in the feeder lot. The other one who attacked you had to be Lopez. They were a couple of Mexicans who worked together and roomed together down at Mama Sanchez’s boardinghouse.

  Anyway, the next day, Marshal Sparks went down to the feeder lot to talk to Lopez, but Lopez was gone, and his boss said he hasn’t been seen since it happened.”

  “They weren’t trying to rob me,” Matt said.

  “Of course they were trying to rob you. What other reason would they have for attacking you like that?”

  “They were trying to kill me,” Matt said. “They came out of the dark with their knives and they attacked me without a word. If they had been trying to rob me, they would have asked me for money.”

  “Why would they be trying to kill you? Do you know them?”
r />   “They tried to kill me because someone paid them.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Why was I attacked in American Falls? Why were Gilmore and I attacked on the way out here that first day? When you add that all together, it can only mean that someone wants me dead.”

  “As I understood it from the report Gilmore gave, you weren’t actually attacked while you were on the way out here. Gilmore said that you saw someone on the lip of the canyon wall, then you stopped, then you went up to confront them. That’s when you killed Sam Logan.”

  “Who shot at me first,” Matt said.

  “There’s only your word for that, isn’t there?”

  “Kincaid, if you’ve got something stuck in your craw, spit it out,” Matt said.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not disputing your claim. I’m just repeating what Mr. Gilmore said in the report he filed. And it does point out how difficult the marshal’s job is in enforcing the law when there are no eyewitnesses.”

  “There were two eyewitnesses.”

  “Yes, Mole and Cooter. Perhaps I should have said, eyewitnesses who were would be willing to give testimony.”

  “Have they told the marshal a different story?”

  “They told the marshal that it all happened so fast they didn’t know what happened.”

  “Don’t you think if they could convince the marshal that I was at fault, they would do so?”

  “I suppose. I do wonder, though, why someone might be trying to kill you. Do you have any idea who that someone might be?”

  “Yeah I got a very good idea who wants me dead. It’s Poke Terrell.”

  “Ah, you’ve been listening to Prewitt, haven’t you? Prewitt thinks he saw Poke Terrell the night the rustlers stole Kitty’s horses. But there are eyewitnesses in the Mud Hole who will claim that they were playing cards with Poke the night the robbery happened.”