Snake River Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “Scraggs, damn it!” Sherman shouted as soon as he stepped into the saloon. “What the hell happened?”

  Sherman’s voice was so loud and angry that it brought everything to a halt, the laughter and conversation, and even the piano music. Everyone in the saloon stared at Sherman in curiosity.

  “What are you talking about, Colonel?” Scraggs asked, clearly confused by the outburst.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Sherman replied, still shouting at the top of his voice. He pointed toward the hotel. “They are down there now, just sitting in the lobby of the hotel.”

  “Who is down there?” Scraggs asked. He still had no idea what was bothering Sherman.

  “You know who is down there. I’m talking about Garrison, Edwards, Reid, and Kennison. They are in the lobby. All four of them, just sitting there as plain as you please.”

  “What? What the hell did they come back for?” Scraggs asked. “They got no business bein’ back here. They was supposed to stay with the herd until tomorrow. Don’t worry, Colonel, I’ll take care of it.” Scraggs started toward the door.

  “How are you going to take care of them?” Sherman asked.

  “What do you mean, how am I going to take care of them? I’m going to send their asses back into the field.”

  “You can’t do that,” Sherman said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, you dumb son of a bitch! They are dead! All four of them are dead!” Sherman screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As soon as Matt and Prew returned from town, Matt mounted Spirit, then rode out to the rifle pits. Tyrone and all the ranch hands except for Crack were gathered around one of the pits, drinking coffee. The fire for the coffee was down in one of the pits so it didn’t show.

  “Good idea to keep the fire down there,” Matt said. “Now, you boys know what to do, right? As soon as you see the rocket, get down into your pits. Do you all have rifles?”

  “Ever’ one of us,” Tyrone answered.

  “Where are you going to be, Matt?” Jake asked.

  “I’m going up with Crack. After they pass us by, I’m going to come down behind them.”

  “That’s goin’ to be dangerous, isn’t it? I mean if you are behind them, you are likely to be in our line of fire,” Tyrone said.

  Matt took out a cigar. “I’m going to be smoking this cigar,” he said. “I’ll be the only one with a glow. Don’t shoot at the glow.”

  “Don’t shoot at the glow,” Tyrone repeated, and the others laughed.

  “Are you sure they’re coming tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Matt said. “Prew and I left them a calling card.”

  “A calling card?”

  Prew laughed out loud. “Wait till I tell you what we did,” he said. “You think we were taking the bodies into the undertaker? Hah! We didn’t do that. No, sir. Not by a long shot did we do that.”

  As Matt rode away to join Crack up on the bluff, he heard Prew telling the others the story of how they had taken the bodies into town, then carried them, one at a time, into the hotel lobby.

  At the Sand Spur, there were only three customers beside the members of the Peace Officers’ Posse and they had withdrawn into a back corner of the room as Sherman vented his anger with his men. Charley had signaled for the two girls, Jenny and Suzie, to come behind the bar with him, and they stood there watching in stunned silence.

  Charley had reached under the bar and wrapped his hand around a double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun. He hadn’t shown the gun to anyone, and didn’t intend to, except as a last resort.

  “Charley, what’s going on? I’m scared,” Jenny said.

  “Shh. Hush, girl,” Charley said soothingly. “It’s best we just stay out of this for now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Scraggs said. “Who the hell would bring four dead bodies into the hotel and just set them there?”

  “Well, I’m just guessing, Scraggs, but I would guess it was the same one who killed them. It was Jensen, you idiot!” Sherman shouted angrily.

  “No, they was four of them left guardin’ the horses. There ain’t no way Jensen could’a kilt all four of ’em,” Scraggs said.

  “Funny you would say that, Scraggs, seeing as how he braced four of you in the saloon,” Sherman said.

  “No now, that wasn’t no way near the same thing and you know it,” Scraggs said. “We was all four of us sittin’ down so as not to be able to get to our guns. Garrison and the others was out in the open.”

  “Whether you were in the open, or sitting down, it doesn’t make any difference,” Sherman said. “The man is a devil.”

  “Wonder what happened to the horses?”

  “I’m sure he took them back. But we’re going to go after them.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Marshal Sparks said. He had just come into the saloon and was now standing by the front door.

  “What do you mean, no we aren’t?”

  “If you go after those horses again, you will be stealing them, not confiscating them,” Marshal Sparks said. He held up a piece of paper. “This is the herd management law you were talking about,” he said. “Without a specific order to the contrary, there is nothing to prevent Kitty Wellington from raising horses on her ranch. And if you actually took horses from her, you are guilty of rustling.”

  Inexplicably, Sherman smiled, then he clapped his hands. “Very good, Marshal,” he said. “You found a law book. But my authority comes from the territorial capitol at Boise,” Sherman said. “Which means my authority is greater than yours. So I’m ordering you now, to get out of our way and let us do our duty.”

  “And I’m ordering you out of my town,” Marshal Sparks said. “I want you and all your men, out of the hotel now. And that includes the four dead men that are in the lobby. If you leave them here, they’re going be buried in the Potter’s Corner.”

  “I don’t take orders from a town marshal,” Sherman said, spewing the words in derision. “Get out of the way, Marshal,” Sherman said.

  Marshal Sparks started toward his gun, but that was a fatal mistake. At least three of the Posse already had their guns drawn, and all three of them fired. Jenny and Suzie screamed as Sparks went down.

  “Let’s go,” Sherman ordered.

  “What are we going to do with the marshal?” Scraggs asked.

  Sherman looked down at him.

  “Leave him,” Sherman said. “Let the town bury him their Potter’s Corner.” He laughed, a brusque laughter from hell. “Soon there will be more people lyin’ in Potter’s Corner than in the regular cemetery. And I intend to see that there are a few more that wind up in there tonight.”

  Crack and Matt were both on top of the bluff, waiting for Sherman and his posse to come try and reclaim the herd. It was dark, and looking back toward the north was a strain on the eyes, and made it difficult to stay alert. Matt and Crack were taking turns keeping watch. For the moment it was Crack’s time to be looking.

  He had been staring, unceasingly, to the north for at least the last half hour. And when he did spot them, and made the announcement, he did so in a voice that was as calm as if he was pointing out a cloud formation.

  “Here they come,” Crack said.

  Matt had been sitting on a rock, sucking on the soft under part of a grass stem when Crack spoke.

  “Are you sure?” Matt asked, standing up and moving to the edge of the bluff to look north. “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s ’cause they just rode down into a little draw,” Crack said. “They’ll come out in a second, and you’ll be able to see ’em.”

  “Yeah, I can hear them now,” Matt said. He stared in the same direction for a moment longer, then saw them emerge.

  “Get your rocket ready, but don’t light it until I tell you,” Matt said.

  “Matt, it looks like there’s at least a dozen of ’em. And we only have four men down there.”

  “It will be all right,” Matt said. “Sherm
an doesn’t know we only have four men and, believe me, when they start shooting from the rifle pits, Sherman will think he’s facing an army.”

  Crack chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I forgot about the rifle pits.”

  “They are getting closer,” Matt said. He struck a match and, shielding the light from view, lit his cigar. Then, with his cigar lit, he swung into the saddle and rode out to the edge of the bluff and looked down. The posse had passed by now, but they were still a good mile away from Tyrone and the others.

  “All right, send up the rocket,” Matt said.

  Crack lit the fuse to the rocket. It sputtered for a moment, and then raced up into the sky, leaving a long, glowing golden trail streaming out behind it. Even as he heard the hiss of the rocket’s ascent, Matt slapped his legs against Spirit’s side and started down the trail to the valley floor below.

  “Tyrone, there goes the rocket!” Prew said.

  “All right, you and Clem get over there in the other pit. Jake, you stay here with me.”

  “Come on, Clem,” Prew said as he started across the field.

  “Prew!” Tyrone called.

  Prew stopped and looked back.

  “Remember, Matt is going to be out there, smoking a cigar. Don’t shoot at the glow.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to shoot at the glow,” Prew said. “But I tell you the truth, you couldn’t get me out there for a thousand dollars. I mean, even if we don’t shoot at him, there’s goin’ to be bullets flyin’ around.”

  “There’s goin’ to be bullets flyin’ around ever’ where,” Tyrone said. “So hurry on over there, and remember to keep your head down.”

  “Halt!” Sherman said, holding his hand up. “Hold it up here for a moment!”

  Sherman had twelve riders with him and they all stopped on his order. “Pull your pistols and be ready,” he said. “Spread out. We’ll go in abreast.”

  “What if we see someone?” Scraggs asked.

  “If you see anyone, kill them,” Sherman said.

  “Even before they shoot at us? You’re always wantin’ them to shoot at us first.”

  “They killed Garrison, Edwards, Reid, and Kennison, didn’t they? That means they have already shot at us.”

  “Yeah, I guess you are right.”

  “We’ll go in at a gallop,” Sherman said. He laughed. “It’ll be a regular cavalry charge. I’d like to see how a bunch of cowboys are going to be able to handle a cavalry charge.”

  Sherman moved slightly out front, then looked back at his men, and waited until they were spread out twelve abreast. Then, he turned back toward the field and brought his hand down sharply.

  The posse thundered across the field.

  When Matt saw the posse begin its cavalry charge, he urged Spirit into a ground eating gallop, quickly catching up to them. He rode in between the two riders at the left end of the line, and as it happened, one of them had been sitting at the table with Scraggs when he confronted them.

  “Hey!” Matt called. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s Jensen!” one of them called, and both of them turned their pistols toward Matt.

  Matt hauled back on Spirit and the horse came to an almost immediate stop, just as the two men fired. Both men fell from their saddles, having shot each other.

  Hearing the gunshots, but not realizing what happened, Sherman ordered the others to open fire. The fire of the attacking posse was immediately returned by the Coventry riders who were shooting from the rifle pits. Bright muzzle flashes from pistols and rifles lit up the night as the battle was joined. Although the posse had superior numbers to the Coventry riders, the advantage was to the latter. The rifle pits not only gave them cover, it also gave them concealment, whereas Sherman’s men were riding in the open, without cover, and concealed only somewhat by the darkness.

  The bullets were flying as thick as if someone had struck a hornet’s nest, and four more posse men went down. Within less than a minute, the number of men riding with Sherman had been degraded by half.

  “We’ll all be killed!” Scraggs screamed in terror, and he turned his horse away from the charge.

  “Scaggs! You cowardly son of a bitch, come back here!” Sherman shouted. In his anger, he shot Scraggs.

  Now there were only six left, counting Sherman himself. But at that moment, Sherman made the same decision Scraggs had made a moment earlier. If they stayed here, they were all going to be killed.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he shouted, wheeling his horse around.

  The others broke off the attack, then turned and chased after their leader.

  Matt watched them gallop away and, for a moment, contemplated going after them. But they no longer represented a threat to the horses or to the ranch, so Matt let them go, deciding instead to check with Tyrone to see how the men had done during the brief but ferocious gun battle. He rode in slowly, puffing on the cigar to keep the tip bright, hoping they would remember not to shoot at the glow.

  Evidently it was working because all the shooting stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was the slow but steady clop of Spirit’s hooves as Matt rode toward them.

  “Tyrone, it’s me,” Matt called, when he got close enough for them to hear him.

  “Yeah, we didn’t figure the cigar was floating in by itself,” Tyrone’s voice called back from the dark. “Come on in, Matt.”

  Matt crossed the last few yards, then saw Tyrone standing alongside the pit. Tyrone was the only one standing, and for a moment, Matt was concerned.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “They’re fine,” Tyrone said. “I told them to stay in the pits until we were sure.”

  Matt chuckled. “Yes, that was probably a pretty good idea. Anyone hurt?”

  “Nobody was hit,” Tyrone said. “How did we do against the posse?”

  “Pretty good, I think,” Matt said. “There were a lot fewer of them who left, than came.”

  The sun was just coming up when Sherman and what remained of his posse returned to Medbury. Most of the town was still asleep, though two men were loading a freight wagon, and Mr. Dunnigan was sweeping the front porch of his store.

  Sherman stopped in front of the marshal’s office.

  “Why are we stopping here, Colonel?” Burnett asked.

  “It’s our duty,” Sherman said. “The marshal is dead, someone has to be the law for these people.”

  Burnett chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah I see what you mean.”

  “Burnett, take Burke and Walker with you. Go down to the café and bring breakfast back for us,” Sherman ordered.

  “Uh, I don’t have enough money to buy breakfast for all of us,” Burnett said.

  “You’re the law. You don’t need any money.”

  “What if they don’t go along with that?” Burnett asked.

  “You’ve got a gun, don’t you?”

  Burnett chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got a gun.”

  The men were just finishing their breakfast when Marcus Kincaid came into the office.

  “Kincaid,” Sherman said. “What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t supposed to be seen together.”

  “Sherman, what are you doing?” Kincaid asked. “I was just told that you killed Marshal Sparks yesterday.”

  Sherman cut open a biscuit, then lay a piece of bacon on it. He closed the biscuit and took a bite.

  “Well, did you?” Kincaid asked, his voice high pitched and agitated because Sherman hadn’t answered him.

  “Did I what?”

  “Are you deaf, man? I asked if you killed the marshal?”

  “Yeah, I did. Now, I’m the marshal,” he said with a wave of his hand, and the others with him laughed.

  “This has gotten out of hand,” Kincaid said. “Our deal is off. Do you hear me? Our deal is off. Nothing is worth this. I’ve changed my mind, let Kitty sell her horses. In fact, I own the loan contract to her ranch and I’m going to give it her.”

  “Huh u
h, it isn’t that easy, Kincaid,” Sherman said. “I’ve already lost too many good men for you to back out now. You hired me for this little adventure. We’re not pulling out.”

  “Oh, yes you are. You are fired. Do you understand that? I want you and all of your men to leave, now!”

  “I expect Matt Jensen will be bringing in Kitty Wellington’s horses today. When she does, I intend to be here, waiting for him.”

  “Why? I told you, our deal is off. I’m not paying you one more cent.”

  “Do you have any idea how many of my men Jensen has killed?”

  “I don’t care how many of your men Jensen has killed,” Kincaid said. “I told you that I want you to leave, and I mean now. If you don’t, I will contact the sheriff in Silver City.”

  “Will you now?” Sherman asked.

  “Oh, yes, I most definitely will do that,” Kincaid said.

  Sherman pulled his pistol from his holster and, without another word, shot Marcus Kincaid.

  “What?” Marcus gasped, shocked and disbelieving. He staggered back a few steps, then collapsed.

  Burke walked over to look down at him.

  Sherman took a swallow of his coffee. “Is he dead?” he asked, giving the question no more emotion than if he had just asked if it was raining.

  “Yeah, he’s dead,” Burke said. “What will we do with him?”

  “Drag him out in the street and leave him there,” Sherman said. “Someone will come along and take care of it.”

  “Damn, Colonel, ain’t this the fella that’s supposed to be payin’ us? How we goin’ to get paid now?” Burke asked.

  “Five hundred horses at one hundred dollars each, is fifty thousand dollars,” Sherman said. “You think that’s pay enough?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars? Wow. I didn’t know there was that much money in the whole world.”