Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  As it turned out, Matt had not made arrangements for the railroad cars when he came into town last week, so he and Kitty were here to finalize the arrangements and set the date that the twenty five cattle cars would arrive. But before they went to the depot, they stopped in front of a shop which had a sign boasting:

  ANNA COOKE

  Seamstress

  Latest Fashions Sewn Here.

  “You go on, I’m going to stop in here and talk to Anna for a few minutes,” she said.

  “I can wait out here for you,” Matt offered.

  Kitty chuckled. “You are sweet, Matt, but you don’t want to wait on me. These are women’s things, and if you knew anything about women, you would know that no matter what we might say, we never do anything in just a few minutes. I wouldn’t dream of dragging you along with me while I take care of them, so you go have a beer, play some cards or something. I’ll meet you at Railroad Café for lunch, then we’ll go to the depot.”

  “All right,” Matt agreed.

  Kitty smiled at Matt as he rode on up the street, then she stepped inside the dress shop.

  A small bell attached to the top of the door jangled as Kitty pushed it open and stepped inside.

  “I’ll be right with you,” a voice called from the back of the shop.

  “It’s all right, Anna, I’m in no particular hurry,” Kitty replied.

  A moment later a middle-aged, rather buxom woman stepped through a door that led to a back room. She was holding a piece of material in her hand, and there were a couple of pins sticking out of her mouth. She removed the pins and smiled with she saw Kitty.

  “Kitty,” she said, happily. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Hi, Anna.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a new dress for Chicago.”

  “Oh, my, Chicago,” Anna said. “How exciting. What kind of dress are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. I was hoping you might suggest something.”

  “Let’s start with the color,” Anna said. “That will give me an idea.”

  “All right.”

  “Black or brown?”

  “No, definitely not black or brown,” Kitty said, shaking her head.

  “Not black or brown. Good, that narrows it a bit. Let me make a few suggestions and see what you like. How about white and serene?

  “White and serene? That sounds too—virginal,” Kitty said.

  Anna laughed out loud. “You are awful, Kitty.”

  “Aren’t I?”

  “All right, how about blue and regal?”

  “Blue and regal might be all right if I were going to England to meet Tommy’s family. But I’m going to Chicago.”

  “Then might I suggest red and daring?”

  “Yes!” Kitty said. “Red and daring. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Hmm, now, I know why you are going to Chicago,” Anna said.

  “I’m going to sell horses.”

  “But you are going to meet someone there, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Kitty said. “Nobody except the army agent who will be buying the horses.”

  “Kitty, you aren’t telling me everything,” Anna said. “If you aren’t meeting someone there, then why would you want a dress that is red and daring?”

  Kitty smiled. “You didn’t ask me who I was going with,” she said.

  “Why, Kitty Wellington. You have a beau, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Kitty said. “The only thing is, he doesn’t know it yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  This was the first time Matt had been inside the Sand Spur since the fight with Poke Terrell and he wasn’t sure how he would be received. Any concerns he might have had were alleviated though when Charley, the bartender, smiled at him as he stepped up to the bar.

  “Matt, it’s good to see you again,” Charley said.

  “Hello, Charley,” Matt greeted.

  Without being asked, Charley drew Matt a beer. “I say it’s good to see you again, but then, right now, it is good to see anyone besides these polecats,” he said, indicating a table where four similarly dressed men were sitting. Matt also saw that all of them were wearing star badges pinned to their shirts.

  “They look like lawmen,” Matt said.

  “Ha. If you ask me, outlaws is what they are. Oh, they wear their stars, and they call themselves lawmen, but believe me, they are nothing but outlaws. And they scare away my regular customers.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I don’t know exactly, I’ve never counted ’em. But I think someone said there are seventeen of ’em. At least, that’s how many came into town. They call themselves the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse, and their leader is a fella by the name of Clay Sherman, only, he calls hisself Colonel Sherman. Have you ever heard of them?”

  Matt took a swallow of his beer as he studied the men.

  “Yeah, Marshal Sparks told me about them,” Matt said. “I think he said that Poke Terrell used to ride with them.”

  “Yes, I heard that too,” Charley said. “Oh, damn, you don’t think they’ve come here after you to, uh…,” he started to ask, then he interrupted his comment in midsentence.

  “You can finish the question,” Matt said. “It won’t bother me.”

  “No, I mean, well, they got here yesterday and that’s near ’bout all the folks in town has been talkin’ about. And ever’ one is wonderin’ why they come here. Some of ’em has been wonderin’ if, maybe, they come here because of Poke Terrell. I mean him bein’ one of their own and all.”

  “You are saying they may have come here to square things for Terrell?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah, sort of like that, I reckon,” Charley said. “Of course, there don’t nobody who is in the posse that actually knows you, I don’t reckon. At least, not on sight. I mean they looked up when you come in, but didn’t none of ’em give any sign of recognizin’ you. So I don’t figure you’re in any particular danger for now. And for sure, there ain’t nobody in town goin’ to be pointin’ you out to them. But if I was you, I’d sort of stay out of sight until they’re gone. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Well now, that’s going to be a problem, Charley,” Matt said.

  “What’s goin’ to be a problem?”

  “I’ve never been one to be on the safe side,” Matt said. He took another swallow of his beer. “As a matter of fact, I think it might be a good idea if I went over there and introduced myself to them.”

  “What? Matt, what in the hell are you talkin’ about? Why would you want to do a dumb fool stunt like that?” Charley asked.

  “It doesn’t hurt to be friendly now, does it?”

  Matt set his beer down on the bar, then walked over to the table.

  “Good morning, gents,” he said.

  The four men who had been engaged in a private conversation glanced toward him for just an instant, but no one returned his greeting. They went back to their private conversation.

  “Not very friendly, are you?” Matt said.

  He still did not get an answer.

  “I was going to try and do this in a friendly way, but for some reason you boys don’t seem to be very friendly, so I’ll just come out and say it. Move.”

  Finally one of them turned toward him. “What did you say, Mister?”

  “I said move,” Matt repeated. “You boys have my table. I don’t like it when someone else takes my table.”

  There weren’t many other customers in the saloon at the moment, but hearing Matt challenge the four posse members got their attention. All conversation stopped as everyone looked on with shocked surprise at the drama that was beginning to play out before them.

  “Your table?” one of the four men replied.

  “Yes. So I would appreciate it if you would move.”

  The four men looked surprised, then they all began to laugh.

  “Your table,” one of them repeated, and the laughter continued.

 
“Yes,” Matt said again.

  “All right, Mister, you’ve given us a good laugh. Now, if you know what is good for you, you will go away and not bother us anymore. There are plenty of other empty tables here.”

  “Yeah, I see that,” Matt said, pointedly looking around the room. “But I don’t want any of those tables. You see, this is my personal table, and this is the one I want.”

  “Now just what the hell makes you think this is your—personal—table?” the talkative one asked. He dragged out the word “personal.”

  “What’s your name, Mister?” Matt asked.

  “My name is Luke Scraggs. Lieutenant Luke Scraggs of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse.”

  “Lieutenant Luke Scraggs of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse,” Matt repeated. “Well now, that’s just really impressive. But I’ll tell you why I think this is my table, Scraggs. You see, this used to be Poke Terrell’s table. I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of Poke Terrell, haven’t you? I hear he used to ride with you.”

  “Yeah, he did,” Scraggs said. “As a matter of fact, he was a good friend of mine.”

  “Was he now? Well then, you should be particularly interested in why I consider this to be my table. You see, it used to be Terrell’s table, but I killed him. Now, that makes this my table.”

  “You are the one who killed him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re Matt Jensen?” Scraggs asked, angrily.

  “Oh, good, you already know who I am. That means I don’t have introduce myself. Also, it’s good to get this out in the open, don’t you think? Because I don’t like surprises.”

  “What do you mean by surprises?” Scraggs asked.

  “What I mean is, if any of you have a bone to pick with me, I don’t want you sneaking around to shoot me in the back.”

  “Mister, if we had a bone to pick with you, we wouldn’t have to shoot you in the back. You may have noticed, there are four of us here and only one of you,” Scraggs said.

  “Gentlemen, Mr. Scraggs seems to be doing all the talking,” Matt said. “Is he talking for all of you?”

  “Yeah,” one of the other men said. “Whatever Lieutenant Scraggs says, we all say.”

  “That’s good to know,” Matt said. “Because if any of you do start anything now, the lieutenant, here, will be the first one to die.”

  “Mister, we was just sittin’ over here, mindin’ our own business when you come over and started on us,” the second speaker said. “So if somethin’ was to happen, and we was to kill you now, there wouldn’t be no jury anywhere that would say it is our fault.”

  “What difference would it make to you what a jury might say?” Matt asked.

  “What do you mean, what difference would it make? I wouldn’t want some jury to find me guilty for killing you.”

  “That’s not anything you are going to have to worry about. All four of you will be dead, long before a jury trial.”

  “Mister, have you gone plumb loco?” Scraggs asked.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Matt replied in an easy, unstressed voice. “Look at the way you are sitting. Scraggs, you are the only one who can get to your gun right now, so, like I said, I’ll kill you first. But, unfortunately for you, you are sitting down. A man who is standing, can draw and shoot a lot faster than someone who is sitting down. What’s your name?” he asked them sitting on the man sitting next to Scraggs.”

  “Burnett,” the man replied.

  “Burnett, I’ll kill you second. You are also sitting on the side of the table, so you could probably get your gun out almost as fast as Scraggs, but then you would have to bring your arm across to shoot at me, wouldn’t you? So that’s going to slow you down enough to give me time to kill you second. And you two, sitting behind the table?” Matt chuckled. “From the way you are sitting, it would take you two a week to draw and shoot. I can take as much time as I need to kill you two.”

  “Mister, I don’t know who the hell you think—”

  “Shut up, Burnett,” Scraggs said.

  “Are you going to let him….”

  “I said shut up,” Scraggs repeated. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Matt took a step back, but bent his knees slightly to be ready for anything that might happen.

  Scraggs held his hand up.

  “Take it easy, Jensen,” Scraggs said. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’ but leavin’.”

  “Yes, I think that is wise,” Matt said. “From what I hear, you aren’t very welcome in the saloon anyway. You frighten the other customers, and drive them away.”

  “I’ve about had it with you, Mister,” Burnett said, pointing his finger, angrily at Matt.

  “Burnett, I told you to shut up!” Scraggs said.

  Burnett glared at Matt for a moment longer, then he went outside with the others.

  As the men left the saloon, Matt walked back up to the bar and, with his left hand, retrieved his beer.

  “Damn, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!” Charley said, his voice cracking with awe.

  “Wait,” Matt said quietly.

  “Wait on what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  At that moment the batwing doors swung open and Scraggs stepped back into the saloon. He already had his pistol in his hand, but before he could bring it to bear on Matt, he found himself staring into the big .44-caliber hole at the business end of Matt’s pistol.

  “Hello, Scraggs,” Matt said easily.

  Scraggs stood there for a second, his face registering the shock of seeing Matt with his pistol already drawn and pointed toward him.

  Scraggs lowered his gun. “I, uh, just thought I’d,” Scraggs started, but he was unable to finish his sentence.

  “Empty your gun, Scraggs,” Matt ordered.

  “Look, why don’t I just…?”

  “Empty your gun,” Matt said again. “Push out all the shells and let them fall to the floor.”

  Scraggs made no move, and Matt cocked his pistol, the double click sounding dangerous.

  “Empty your pistol,” Matt said again.

  Glaring angrily at Matt, Scraggs punched all the shells out of the cylinder. They sounded exceptionally loud as the hit the floor, one at a time.

  “Now, walk over to the stove and toss your gun in.”

  “What good would that do you? I have another pistol,” Scraggs said.

  “Just do it,” Matt said, making a small waving motion with the end of his pistol.

  Scraggs continued to glare at Matt, but seeing Matt’s unwavering insistence, he walked to the middle of saloon floor, opened the door, and dropped the pistol inside.

  “That’s a nice man,” Matt said. “Now, find somewhere else to be. We’re all tired of looking at you.”

  “Mister, you don’t have an idea in hell what you have just done,” Scraggs said.

  “Yeah, I do,” Matt said, and he kept his gaze fixed on Scraggs until the posse man left the saloon.

  For a long moment after Scraggs left, it was deadly quiet in the saloon, as if no one would dare even breathe. Then Jenny walked over to the window and looked outside.

  “They’re gone,” she said. “They are all goin’ toward the hotel.”

  “Good riddance,” Charley said.

  Charley’s comment seemed to open up the dam because now everyone started talking, describing in animated detail what they saw to everyone else who had seen the same thing.

  “Gents,” Charley called out. “This round is on the house.”

  With acclamations of appreciation, the other patrons rushed to the bar.

  “What about Mr. Pemberton?” Jenny asked.

  “Pemberton isn’t down here now.”

  “No, but I’m sure the old gentleman would like a beer,” Jenny said. “Especially since Mr. Jensen just ran off the men who threw him out of his home.”

  “Threw him out of his home?” Matt asked.

  “He was livin’ at the Del Rey Hotel,” Charley explained, “but
Sherman and his men took over the hotel. They threw Mr. Pemberton out, as well as the three old ladies, just so they could have the entire hotel for themselves. Pemberton didn’t have anywhere else to go, so he’s stayin’ in the room that Millie was usin’.”

  “I think Millie would like that,” Jenny said.

  “Yeah, I do too,” Charley said. He drew a mug of beer and handed it to Jenny. “Take it up to him, and tell him why.”

  Matt visited with the other saloon patrons while he killed time until noon.

  “Say, young fella, you’ve got the name Jensen,” one of the other patrons said. “Would you happen to know a man by the name of Smoke Jensen?”

  Matt took a swallow of his beer and studied the questioner for a moment before he answered. Smoke Jensen was better known than Matt, and over the years, Smoke had made a lot of friends by doing the right thing, even when doing the right thing was hard, or unpopular.

  But, like Matt, Smoke had also made a lot of enemies, probably even more enemies than Matt had made, primarily because Smoke was older and had been around a lot longer.

  Matt lowered the beer and wiped some foam away from his lip. There was nothing in the tone of the questioner’s voice, or the expression on his face, to indicate that he might be an enemy.

  “Yeah, I know Smoke Jensen,” he said. He didn’t offer any more information.

  The man smiled and nodded. “Uh, huh. I thought so. Well, let me tell you this, son. Smoke Jensen is as fine a man as ever drew a breath, and if you are anything like him, then I’m damn pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  The man offered his hand, and Matt took it. “Thanks,” he said. “I share your opinion of Smoke.” Looking over at the clock Matt saw that it was nearly noon. He finished his beer. “I have to be going,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed my visit.”

  “That has to be either the most courageous, or the most foolish man I have ever met,” Charley said after Matt left. “And I swear I don’t know which it is.”