Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  Frederica came into the dining room with a cup of coffee which she handed to Kitty.

  “Uhmm, thanks, Frederica,” she added. “Does Maria know I am up?”

  “Si, Señora.”

  “Did you sleep well?” Matt asked, as Kitty took her first swallow of coffee.

  “Yes, I slept like a log,” Kitty lied.

  “Señora, Maria has breakfast ready. I can serve you and Señor Yensen now if you want,” Frederica said, returning to the dining room.

  “Yes, thank you, Frederica,” Kitty replied.

  “Are you ready for Chicago?” Matt asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Kitty answered. “Not just because I will be able to sell the horses, but because I’ve never been to a city that big. Actually, I’ve never been to any big city. Oh, Matt, can we stay for a few days to just visit?”

  “When do you have to pay off the loan?”

  “I have to pay the bank by the fourth of July.”

  “That’s not for two more weeks,” Matt said. “Sure, we can spend some time in Chicago.”

  Jake and Crack drove the wagon up to the five-acre field, then stopped.

  “Where are the damn horses?” Jake asked. “Hell, last night they filled the field. Now I don’t see a damn one.”

  “They’re prob’ly all gathered around the creek. We just can’t see them because they’re below the rise,” Crack said.

  Jake stood up in the wagon, put his fingers to his mouth, and let out a loud, piercing whistle.

  He got no response.

  “Even if they were below the rise, I should be able to see ’em by standin’ up here on the wagon seat like this.”

  “Drive on up there, Crack,” Jake said.

  Crack slapped the reins against the back of the team and the wagon lurched forward. When they reached the crest of the rise, they not only saw that all the horses were, indeed, gone, they saw why they were gone.

  “The damn fence fell down,” Crack said.

  “Fell down hell. Look at it. It was took down,” Jake said.

  Matt and Kitty were still at their breakfast and making plans for the trip to Chicago when Tyrone Canfield stepped into the dining room.

  “Good morning, Tyrone,” Kitty greeted, smiling at her foreman. “Have the men recovered from the party last night? I hope they had as good a time as I did.”

  Kitty’s smile left when she saw the expression on Tyrone’s face.

  “Tyrone, what is it?” she asked. “What is wrong?”

  “They’re gone, Mrs. Wellington,” Tyrone said.

  “Who’s gone?” she asked. “Good heavens, are you talking about the men? Where have they gone?”

  “No not the men,” Tyrone said. “The horses we put together to ship to Chicago. They are what is gone. Ever’ last damn one of them.”

  “But that can’t possibly be,” Kitty said. “Five hundred horses? Not even the rustlers ever took that many.”

  “Five hundred and twenty-three to be exact. When Jake and Crack went out to take some hay to ’em this mornin’, there weren’t none of them there. At first, I thought maybe they might have found a break in the fence, and just wandered back out into the field. But I went down to have a closer look at the field. The fence at the south end of the field? The one we put up yesterday? It hadn’t just been broke through by the horses. The fence had been taken down.”

  “Tyrone, I noticed Asa riding out this morning,” Matt said. “Is he the one who discovered it?”

  “No,” Tyrone answered. “Well, the thing is, I don’t know if Asa saw that the horses was gone or not. Even if he had, he prob’ly wouldn’t of told us. I fired Asa this morning.”

  “You fired him?” Kitty said.

  “Yes, ma’am. You remember, Mrs. Wellington, you give me the authority to hire and fire. Asa needed firin’.” Tyrone gave no explanation as to why he fired him.

  “You are right,” Kitty said. “I did give you the authority, so I won’t question it now. If you fired him, I’m sure you had a good reason.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

  “Tyrone, is it possible that Asa might have taken the fence down, then run the horses back out onto the range in anger over being fired?” Matt asked.

  “I wish that was it, Matt, then all we would have to do is round ’em up again,” Tyrone replied. “But the truth is, he rode off no more than a couple of minutes before Jake and Crack did. He wouldn’t have had time to take the fence down and run off all the horses before Jake and Crack got there. No, sir, these horses was stole.”

  “Rustlers?” Kitty said in a distressed voice. “I thought with Poke Terrell gone, that we were through with rustlers.” She sighed, then sunk back in her chair. “Oh, Matt, what am I going to do?” she asked. “That was more than half of my saddle horses. I don’t have enough left to meet the terms of the army contract.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Wellington,” Tyrone said, contritely. “I should have put some night riders out. But there hadn’t been nothin’ happen for more than a month now, and what with Poke Terrell dead, well, like you, I just sort of figured that we wouldn’t be havin’ no more trouble.”

  “No, no, Tyrone, you mustn’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. If I had thought we needed night riders, I would have asked you to put them out.”

  “But you shouldn’t have had to ask me, Mrs. Wellington, that’s the point,” Tyrone said. “I’m the foreman, it’s my job to look after things like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it, either one of you,” Matt said. “I’ll find the horses and we’ll get them back.”

  “How are you going to find them?” Kitty asked with a sense of defeat. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had horses stolen and we’ve never been able to get them back before.”

  “They’ve never stolen this many before,” Matt said. “This time they took over five hundred horses. That’s going to be a lot harder for them handle.”

  “But there is no telling where the horses are now,” Kitty said.

  “It doesn’t matter where they are now. I’ll get them back,” Matt insisted.

  “Matt, I know you are just trying to make me feel better. But I don’t see how you are going to find them.”

  “I know you have some wonderful horses, Kitty. But they can’t fly, can they?”

  “Fly? No, of course not.”

  “Since they can’t fly, they are going to have to go over the ground and that means they will leave a trail,” Matt said. “And there are five hundred of them, which means the trail is going to be as easy to read as if the rustlers left arrows painted on the ground.”

  “Yes,” Kitty said, brightening a little. “Yes, I guess that is right, isn’t it?”

  “They can’t have that big of a lead on me, and with five hundred horses to drive, it’s going to slow them down. I don’t think it’ll take more than a couple of hours for me to find them.”

  “What are you going to do when you do find them?” Kitty asked.

  “I’ll bring them back.”

  “You can’t drive five hundred horses all by yourself,” Tyrone said. “We’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Matt said. “Get the men ready. Once I find the horses, I’ll need them. But for now I don’t want you to come with me. Too many men along with me will make it harder to track.”

  “What if there are people watching over the horses when you find them?”

  “They won’t be watching over them long,” Matt said.

  “Sure they will. If they’ve gone to all the trouble of stealin’ ’em, they aren’t goin’ to just leave ’em somewhere without watchin’ over ’em,” Tyrone said. Then, he suddenly realized what Matt was implying.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh, I see what you mean. But, in that case, I would think you would want some help.”

  Matt shook his head. “Tyrone, this is what I do,” he said. “I don’t want to get you or any of your men killed, and I don’t want to be worrying about you and the men because that might take my mind off wha
t I’m doing and get me killed. Do you understand?”

  Tyrone nodded. “Yeah, I reckon I do,” he said.

  “Good. You just have the men ready to come bring the horses back, once I have recovered them.”

  “All right, Matt, whatever you say,” Tyrone said resolutely.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Back in Medbury, Clay Sherman stepped into Marshal Spark’s office. Sparks had parts of a kerosene lantern spread out on his desk and was busy trimming the wick. He looked up as Sherman came in.

  “What can I do for you, Colonel?” he asked.

  “No doubt Mrs. Wellington is going to come see you sometime today, reporting that some of her horses have been rustled.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I took five hundred horses from her during the night. It was the horses she had ready to sell to the army.”

  “What the hell, Sherman?” Marshal Sparks replied angrily. “You steal five hundred horses, then you have the audacity to come to my office and tell me about it? What is this, a challenge?”

  “Take it easy,” Sherman replied, holding out his hand. “I didn’t steal the horses. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t steal them? Didn’t you just tell me that you took five hundred horses from Kitty Wellington in the middle of the night?”

  “I did.”

  “What is that, other than stealing?”

  “Legal confiscation,” Sherman replied.

  “What?”

  Sherman pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Marshal Sparks.

  “Kitty Wellington was, and is, in violation of the herd management law. If you will read this, you will see that it is a violation to raise anything but cattle in this herd management district, unless you have specific authorization from the territory and county herd management council. Kitty Wellington has no such authorization. Therefore, I confiscated the horses on behalf of the territory of Idaho.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Wellington never even heard of that law,” Marshal Sparks said. “Nor have I heard of it.”

  “It is obvious you haven’t heard of it, Marshal,” Sherman said. “If you had, you would have done your duty and prevented her from raising horses in cattle country.”

  “I wouldn’t have arrested her,” Sparks said. “I would just have told her about the law so she could get a permit. I can’t imagine the county or the territory, for that matter, withholding the permit.”

  “It’s too late for the permit,” Sherman said. “The law has been violated, the penalty must be paid.”

  “Where are the horses now?” Marshal Sparks asked.

  “That’s really none of your concern, Marshal,” Sherman said. “Let’s just say that the horses are somewhere safe.”

  “Sherman…”

  “Colonel Sherman,” Sherman said.

  Marshal Sparks glared at Sherman for a moment. “Sherman,” he repeated. “I may not have known about the herd law, but I do know that before you can confiscate anything, you have to have a court order, and you have to serve it. I’m just guessing, mind you, but I don’t believe you served Kitty Wellington a court order. Not in the middle of the night, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, well, here is the thing, Marshal,” Sherman said. “My authority differs from yours. Your jurisdiction is limited to Medbury. Mine, on the other hand, extends throughout the entire territory of Idaho. I can issue my own court order and warrants.”

  “As city marshal of Medbury, I am also a deputy sheriff for the county of Owyhee, which means I have jurisdiction throughout the county,” Sparks said. “And I don’t believe, for one moment, that you have the authority to serve a court order in this county, much less issue such an order.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference whether you believe it or not, Marshal. I have already exercised my authority and I came here to tell you about it, only as a matter of courtesy. If Kitty Wellington, or her hired gun, Matt Jensen, comes to report that their horses are stolen, you might tell them that. Oh, and tell Matt Jensen that if he tries to recover the horses, or opposes me, or any of my men, we will be within our legal right to kill him.”

  Matt had learned his tracking skills from the legendry Smoke Jensen, and had learned so well that it was said of him that he could track a fish through water. However, it required no particular skill to track the herd of horses the rustlers had taken. Even a novice could have followed the wide band they left, not only tracks, but also their droppings.

  But it was the latter, the horse droppings that provided additional, vital information. This information was something that only someone with Matt’s remarkable skills and specialized education would be able to ascertain. The droppings of the range horses were filled with the Kentucky Blue Grass that Kitty had imported for her pasture land. But here and there could be found droppings that contained only Fescue hay. The hay droppings stood out from the others as if they had little signs attached to them, and those horses, Matt knew, belonged to the rustlers.

  It was difficult to ascertain just how many rustlers there were, though Matt was sure there were fourteen or fifteen of them, and maybe more. Then, when they crossed Mill Creek, many of the rustlers turned away, leaving only four that he could still account for. He was glad to see that none of the range horses had turned away, because if the herd had been split, it would make the recovery a lot more difficult.

  As he continued to trail the rustlers and the herd, he could tell by a close observation of the droppings that he had nearly caught up with them. The droppings he was seeing now were less than half an hour old.

  When he approached a long, low lying ridge, he dismounted before he reached the top. Then, with a word for Spirit to remain in place, he crawled to the top to look over to the other side. There, in a natural bowl, he saw the horses. The herd was contained on one side by Blue Creek, and on the other three sides by the natural walls of a dead end canyon. Four mounted men were keeping watch over the horses.

  Matt returned to Spirit, mounted, then pulled his pistol. Slapping his legs against the side of his horse, he rode up the ridge, then down the other side, his cocked his pistol raised.

  “Hold it right there!” he shouted at the four riders.

  “What the hell?” one of the men shouted. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Matt Jensen! Shoot ’im down!” another called. Matt recognized the one who identified him as being one of the four he had confronted in the Sand Spur.

  The four riders pulled their pistols then and opened fire. Matt returned fire and one of the men dropped from his saddle and skidded across hard ground. All hell broke loose as muzzle flashes and drifting gun smoke filled the air, while the crashes of gun fire rolled back from the canyon walls.

  Matt was in command of the situation as he rode down the hill, well positioned to pick out his targets. The rustlers, having been surprised by his sudden and unexpected appearance were mounted on horses that were rearing and caracoling about nervously as flying lead whistled through the air and whined off stone.

  Matt picked out another rider and shot him from the saddle.

  “Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch!” one of the two remaining outlaws shouted in panic.

  Matt fired two more times, and the last two riders fell. Then it was quiet, with the final round of shooting but faint echoes returning distant hills. A little cloud of acrid bitter gun smoke assailed his nostrils as Matt dismounted, then walked out among the fallen rustlers, moving cautiously, his pistol at the ready. He need not have been cautious in his approach. None of the rustlers were left alive.

  The entire battle had taken less than a minute.

  George Gilmore was bent over some papers on his desk when Marshal Sparks stepped into his office. He looked up in surprise.

  “Marshal, Sparks,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Marshal Sparks said. “Maybe nothing. But something is going on that I don’t feel right about.”

&
nbsp; “What is it?”

  “Are you aware that the Clay Sherman and his so-called Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse are in town?”

  “Who isn’t aware?” Gilmore replied. “That’s all anyone in town has been talking about ever since they arrived, wondering why they are here.”

  “I think I know why. Have you ever heard of something called the herd management law?” Marshal Sparks asked.

  Gilmore shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “This is why they are here,” Sparks said, showing Gilmore the paper Sherman had given him. “According to Sherman, they are here to enforce the herd management law.”

  Gilmore perused the document for a moment, then handed it back to the sheriff. “Enforce it in what way?” he asked.

  “Last night Sherman and his men visited Kitty Wellington’s ranch and took five hundred head of her horses. Confiscated the horses is how Sherman put it. He confiscated the horses on behalf of the territory of Idaho, because, he claims, by running horses, she was in violation of the herd management law. Though why he confiscated exactly five hundred, rather than serving a notice that he was confiscating the entire herd, I don’t know.”

  “I know,” Gilmore said.

  “Then I wish you would tell me.”

  “Five hundred head is the number of horses Mrs. Wellington is contracted to furnish the army. He took those horses to prevent her from fulfilling that contract.”

  “Damn! You’re right,” Sparks said. “That is exactly why they took five hundred head.”

  “Did Sherman have a court order to confiscate the horses?”

  “I asked him that same question,” Sheriff Sparks replied. “He says that he doesn’t need a court order. He said he has the authority to issue his own court order.”

  Gilmore shook his head. “He’s lying,” he said. “Not even a federal marshal could confiscate an entire herd of horses on his own initiative.”

  “What about this herd management law? Would he be able to use it to get a court order that would allow him to confiscate Kitty Wellington’s horses?”