Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  Matt jerked the reins of his horse hard to the right, toward a large rock that would give him protection from whoever was shooting at him. Spirit needed no urging, the horse answered so quickly that Matt wasn’t sure whether the horse was responding to his direction or reacting on his own.

  Once he was behind the rock he jumped from the saddle, then climbed up onto the rock to see who had taken the shot at him. When he saw Mole, he wasn’t surprised.

  Mole took a second shot at him, and Matt shot back. One shot was all it took.

  Matt walked back to look down at Mole’s body, then he sighed.

  “You just got yourself killed for nothing, Mole,” he said. “With Poke dead, just who did you think was going to pay you?”

  The next day, two grave diggers drove the undertaker’s wagon out to the edge of town to Boot Hill, then back into the part of the cemetery known as Potter’s Corner. There, the two men dug three graves, alongside the recent grave of Carlos Garcia, Mole having been brought in last evening. There was another recent grave in the cemetery, that of Sam Logan, but as Logan had not been without standing or funds when he died, he was spared Potter’s Corner and was buried in the main part of the cemetery.

  But, just as the town of Medbury had paid to bury Carlos Garcia, they were also footing the bill for Andrew “Poke” Terrell, John “Mole” Mueller, and Harold “Cooter” Cotter. The three men had been put into plain pine boxes and, once the graves were opened, they were lowered by a rope into the ground. Not one person, other than the grave diggers themselves, was there for the interment.

  Gene Welch, the undertaker and proprietor of the Eternal Rest Mortuary, had thought Millie would be buried in the same way. After all, she was a whore with no known relatives and the only thing that was known about her was that she had told one of the other soiled doves who worked at the Sand Spur that she was originally from Springfield, Illinois. All that changed, though, when Kitty came to town.

  “You will not put her in a pine box,” Kitty said, when she learned of Welch’s plans.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wellington, but the city is paying for her funeral, same as they done for Mr. Poke and Mr. Cooter. And with what the city pays, a pine box is all she gets,” Welch said.

  “I am paying for her funeral,” Kitty said. “I want to see the finest coffin you have.”

  A big smile spread across Welch’s face. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I got one here for you to look at that is as fine a coffin as you’ll find anywhere in the country. Why, you could bury the president of the United States in this coffin. It’s called the Heaven’s Cloud, and it’s all lined with silk, don’t you know. Why, I promise you, the young lady will be as comfortable lyin’ in that coffin as she would be sleepin’ in her own bed.”

  “Good. I want her in that coffin, and I want you to use all the artifice and skill at your command to see to it that she looks beautiful,” Kitty said. “Also when she is taken to the cemetery, you take her in the glass-sided hearse. I will provide a team of horses to pull the hearse.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Welch said. “Mrs. Wellington, if you don’t mind my askin’, why are you willin’ to go all out for this woman? She wasn’t anything but a whore.”

  “I do mind your asking,” Kitty replied. “You just do what you are paid to do, without asking questions. Otherwise I can hire Mr. Stallings from King Hill to conduct the funeral.”

  “No, no, you don’t have to go be doing that, now,” Welch said quickly. “There’s no need for you to go over to King Hill. I assure you, Mrs. Wellington, I can give the young lady as nice, if not a nicer, funeral than anything Paul Stallings can do.”

  “Have her ready tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be back with the team of horses then.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I have a fine team of draft horses.”

  “I will bring carriage horses,” Kitty said. “That is what you will use to draw the hearse.”

  “Yes, ma’am, if you say so. I’ll have her all ready, looking as pretty as a picture. What about a marker? Will you be wantin’ a marker?”

  “Yes, of course I want a marker.”

  “The problem is, as far I know there don’t nobody in town know her whole name. The only name anyone knows is Millie. And we don’t even know if that’s her real name or not, seein’ as whores often takes other names that aren’t their own. They do that to keep their family from findin’ out what they are doin’, don’t you know.”

  “I know her real name.”

  “You do? You know her real name, do you? Well that’s good. What is it?”

  “Her real name is Millicent McMurtry,” Kitty said. “I’ll write it down for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Millicent McMurtry. I’ll have that carved on her marker, along with a flower, or somethin’ real pretty.”

  “You do that,” Kitty said as she left the morturary.

  “Mrs. Wellington?” Welch called.

  At the call, Kitty stopped and turned around.

  “About callin’ Miss McMurtry a whore and all. I hope you didn’t take that personal.”

  “Oh? And tell me, Mr. Welch, why should I take it personal?”

  “You know, you bein’, uh, I mean what some folks say ’bout you one time, uh…”

  “Yes, Mr. Welch?” Kitty said, pointedly.

  “Uh, nothin’, I just, uh, like I say, I’ll have the—young lady—all ready in time for the funeral tomorrow.”

  “You do that,” Kitty said, as she walked out the front door of Welch’s funeral establishment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shortly after Matt woke up on the day of the funeral, there was a light knock on the door to his bedroom.

  “Yes?” he called.

  “Señor Yensen, it is Frederica,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Just a minute.”

  Quickly, Matt pulled on his pants, and put on a shirt. Then, with his shirt tucked into his trousers, he opened the door. Frederica was standing there, holding a cloth garment bag.

  “Señora Wellington asks if you would please wear this for the funeral,” Frederica said, handing him the garment bag.

  “Thank you,” Matt said, taking the bag from her. Closing the door, he took the bag over to his bed, unbuttoned it, and looked inside.

  “All right, Katherine,” he said under his breath. “If you want me to wear this, I will.”

  “Oh, my,” Kitty said when Matt came down into the parlor a short while later. “You look good in Tommy’s suit. In fact, you look more than good, you look positively handsome.”

  “Frederica had to let the jacket out some for me to wear,” Matt said, holding out his arms and looking down at himself. He was wearing a black suit, gray silk vest, and black string tie, the clothes having belonged to Sir Thomas Wellington.

  “Yes, in the shoulders,” Kitty said. “She told me.” Kitty smiled. “In fact, I think her exact words were that you were a very strong man.”

  “Yeah, well, I have to tell you, Katherine, I don’t feel all that strong right now. That fight with Poke took quite a bit out of me,” Matt said, touching his side, gingerly.

  “Are you sure you feel up to going?” Kitty asked. “I mean with your side, and all.”

  “My side is bothering me, some, I will admit,” Matt said. “But I would go to Millie’s funeral if I had to hold my guts in with my own hands.”

  Kitty chuckled. “Oh, my, how—descriptive—of you. But, hopefully that’s not going to happen.”

  “Did you know Millie from somewhere before here?” Matt asked.

  “Yes and no,” Kitty said.

  When Matt looked confused, Kitty continued.

  “I never met Millie before the night she brought you out here. But I knew her, because I’ve known dozens of girls just like her. And, of course, as you know, I was just like her myself, once. I know it might be hard for you to understand why I have this feeling of connection to her but—”

  “No,” Matt said, interrupting her
and shaking his head. “It isn’t at all hard for me to understand.”

  There was a light tapping on the door of the parlor then, and looking toward it Matt and Kitty saw Tyrone Canfield standing just outside the parlor in the hall. Like Matt, Tyrone was wearing a suit, though even as he stood there, he tugged at the collar, giving evidence of his discomfort in such apparel.

  “I have the team ready for the hearse,” Tyrone said. “I chose a couple of black Percheron mares.”

  “Good choice,” Kitty said. “Go ahead and take them on into town to Mr. Welch. Matt and I will follow in the surrey.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tyrone said. “Prew has hitched up the surrey and brought it around, but if you don’t mind, he’d like to ride into town with me.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Tyrone said. “We’ll see you in town,” he added as he started toward the front door.

  Kitty watched Tyrone leave, then she turned back to Matt. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  “I’m ready,” Matt replied, trying to hide the wince as he rose from the chair.

  “Maybe I’d better drive,” Kitty offered, noticing the wince as he stood.

  “Yeah, that might not be a bad idea,” Matt agreed.

  The surrey was parked in the curved driveway, sitting right in front of the great, stone steps. It was a very attractive vehicle, polished black lacquer with yellow wheels, red leather seats, and a black leather top. And, adding to the overall attractiveness was the fact that it was being pulled by a team of very handsome, matching white Arabians.

  Matt reached the top step of the porch, then he stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Kitty asked. “Do you not feel up to going?”

  “No, it isn’t that,” Matt said. He laughed, a low, almost self-deprecating laugh. “It’s just that, well, I don’t have my pistol with me, and this will the first time I’ve gone anywhere without my gun for almost longer than I can remember.”

  “Poke Terrell is dead,” Kitty said. “His sorry carcass is lying under six feet of dirt in an unmarked grave in the back corner of the Medbury cemetery. Why do you need your gun now?”

  Matt shrugged. “No reason, I guess,” he said. “It’s just that I feel naked without it.”

  “Honey, I’ve seen you naked,” Kitty said. “And believe me, you aren’t naked.”

  Matt laughed hard at the ribald comment.

  There were some in town who thought it unnecessary to have a funeral for a whore—in fact, a few thought it was almost sacrilegious to do so. But the Episcopal priest, Father Walt Pyron, believed that everyone deserved a Christian burial, so when Kitty asked him if he would perform the service, he agreed without hesitation.

  Surprisingly, the church was full, and whether the people had come out of a sense of piety and genuine compassion for the young fallen woman, or merely out of curiosity, Kitty didn’t know, nor, did she care. She was just pleased that they were here. Kitty, Matt, Tyrone, Charley, the bartender, Amos, the piano player, and Jenny and the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur had seats on the very front row. The other seats were on a first come, first seated basis and, within moments after the church’s red doors were open, the pews were filled. The spillovers lined the walls on each side, or stood at the rear, crowding even out into the narthex. In addition there were more people outside, waiting for the service to end so they could accompany the funeral cortege to the graveyard.

  Father Pyron had come out of the study during the organist’s prelude, and now sat quietly in his chair on the sacristy until the music ended.

  Someone coughed.

  Through an open window came the incongruous sound of a sudden burst of laughter, and, at a nod from Father Pyron, one of the ushers closed the window.

  Pryon stepped up to the ambo.

  “I know that there are some, perhaps even present in this congregation, who would take issue with me conducting funeral rites for someone like Millicent McMurtry,” he began, “and yes, the young woman whose life we are met here to celebrate, was a prostitute. But I am told by those who knew her best that prostitution was not a profession she chose because of any prurient nature, or unholy desire for lucre. Instead, like many a young woman who has found herself thrust into the world with not one person to provide for her, Millie turned to the only means she believed was available to provide sustenance.

  “That this was the only avenue open to her is the shortcoming of us all, for we, as a society, failed Millie, as we have failed all young women in similar circumstances.

  “But know this. The fact that Millie was a soiled dove does not mean she is a lost soul. We are told in the Book of Matthew that a harlot, who is good at heart, will be welcome into the Kingdom of God. And those who knew Millie, know that she was, truly, a woman with a heart of gold, a child of God. It is my belief that Millie is in heaven today.”

  Matt, Tyrone, Prew, Charley the bartender, Amos, the piano player, and a cowboy from the Lazy J, identified by the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur as Millie’s “favorite,” acted as pall bearers. At the conclusion of the service, they carried Millie’s coffin out of the church and loaded it into the back of the hearse. Then, Gene Welch, who was wearing a top hat, tails, and striped pants, snapped the reins against the team of Percherons, and the horses moved forward in a stately manner.

  St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was at the north end of town, near the Union Pacific railroad track, and the cemetery was a quarter of a mile south of the town. That meant the funeral cortege had to traverse the entire distance right through the middle of town. The hearse led the way. Next came a green, three-seated touring wagon in which rode all the pall bearers except for Matt, who was in the surrey with Kitty, following. Behind Kitty’s surrey was a spring wagon carrying the three remaining girls who worked at the Sand Spur. The three soiled doves were weeping; their tears and Kitty’s were the only tears being shed in the entire funeral party.

  There was no particular order after that, and surreys, traps, buckboards, and spring wagons fell in line. There were also riders on horseback, as well as many pedestrians.

  The funeral procession moved solemnly through the town, with more people in the parade than there were standing on either side of the road watching. Many of those watching paid a moment of respect as the cortege passed them by, some by doffing their hats, some by bowing their heads, and some by crossing themselves.

  When the cortege reached the cemetery, the coffin was taken from the hearse and everyone crowded around it. At the open grave, Father Pyron read from the Book of Common Prayer.

  “Most merciful Father, who has been pleased to take unto thyself the soul of thy servant Millicent McMurtry; Grant to us who are still in our pilgrimage, and who walk as yet by faith, that having served thee with constancy on earth, we may be joined hereafter with thy blessed saints in glory everlasting; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  At a nod from Father Pyron, the six pall bearers, with ropes looped around Millie’s coffin, lowered it gently into the open grave. Then, withdrawing the rope, Pyron invited Kitty and the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur to drop a handful of dirt onto the coffin.

  As the dirt fell upon the coffin, Pyron gave the final prayer.

  “For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence to take out of this world the soul of our deceased sister, we therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the Medbury Advocate:

  Funeral for a Fallen Woman.

  ENTIRE TOWN TURNS OU
T.

  Not since the funeral of Sir Thomas Wellington, have so many townspeople witnessed the interment of one of its citizens. Millicent McMurty was a woman of the line, a soiled dove who plied her avocation in the Sand Spur Saloon. It was, in fact, while practicing the oldest profession, that the young woman was shot down.

  On the day in question, Matt Jensen, a man known by few locals, but with a reputation that is respected by many, entered the Sand Spur lacking fifteen minutes of the stroke of noon. As Mr. Jensen entered the saloon, he was carrying over his shoulder the corpse of Harold Cotter, known by many as a barfly and ne’r do well who went by the sobriquet of “Cooter.”

  Jensen deposited Cotter’s body on the table in front of Poke Terrell, a man just recently arrived in Medbury, but one who had already established his presence by virtue of his frightening demeanor and disposition, as well as the knowledge that he once rode with the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. Jensen accused Terrell of having sent Cotter to kill him. Terrell denied the accusation, and a fight ensued.

  It is said by those who bore witness to the events described herein, that it was a fight to behold. Two powerful men engaged in a desperate struggle for supremacy. Jensen, according to all eyewitness accounts, got the better of Terrell, then he retired to the bar to have a drink. Miss McMurtry, as per her profession, stepped up to Mr. Jensen in order to provide a calming effect. It was then that Terrell raised up from the floor and shot at Jensen. Unfortunately, he missed and hit Miss McMurtry, killing her almost instantly.

  At the same time Terrell was shooting at Jensen, Jensen, with a dexterity and quickness that is rarely seen, pulled his own revolver and discharged it, his ball striking Terrell with devastating effect. All who bore witness testified in the hearing that followed, that Matt Jensen was completely blameless in the incident. The fault lay with Poke Terrell who, had he not been dispatched at the scene, would no doubt have been tried, convicted, and hung for the murder of Miss McMurtry.