William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Yes, Captain Mumford,” Matt said.

“You’re awfully small for twelve years old.”

“I’m not twelve,” Matt said.

Mumford slapped Matt in the face, not hard enough to knock him down, or even bring blood, but hard enough that it stung.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not twelve,” Matt repeated.

Mumford slapped him again. “You don’t learn very well,” he said. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. What did you say?”

“I said I’m not twelve—Captain Mumford,” Matt said, getting the last part out just before Mumford slapped him again.

Mumford smiled. “Well, maybe you aren’t so dumb after all. Not twelve, huh? How old are you?”

“I’m ten, Captain Mumford.”

“Ten, huh? Well, you are a big enough boy for ten. I’m sure I can find something for you to do. Connor!” he called loudly.

An older boy came into the office from the back of the house.

“Yes, Captain Mumford?”

“Here is a new boy,” Mumford said. “His name is Matthew. Take him into the back and,” Mumford paused, “break him in.”

Matt awakened in the middle of the night and for just a second or two, he could almost imagine that he was back in the Wayward Home for Boys and Girls.

Despite what Captain Mumford had told him, he did have a last name. At that time, his last name was Cavanaugh. He was ten years old, and he had already killed the first man—killing one of the outlaws who had killed his parents and his sister.

He escaped from the Home a few years later, and was found in the mountains, half frozen to death. The man who found him was Smoke Jensen, and the legendary mountain man not only saved Matt’s life, he raised him, and taught him how to ride, shoot, and track. But mostly, he taught Matt how to be a man and a grateful Matt took Smoke Jensen’s last name to honor his friend and mentor.

Then he used every skill Smoke taught him to track down, and bring to justice, the men who had killed his entire family.

Now, several years later, he lay in bed, in the hotel room in American Falls, Idaho, separated from the reality of his dream by both time and distance, until finally sleep overtook him.

The rest of the night was deep and dreamless.

Chapter Nine

Medbury, Idaho

Poke Terrell woke up with a ravenous hunger and a raging need to urinate. The whore still asleep beside him had the bedcover askew, exposing one of her breasts. One leg dangled over the edge of the bed and she was snoring loudly as a bit of spittle drooled from her vibrating lips. She didn’t wake up when Poke crawled over her to get out of bed and get dressed.

The whore was not one of the women who worked at the Sand Spur, nor even at Flat Nose Sue’s. She did business out of a very small, one-room house called a crib. Poke walked through the alley to the Sand Spur, which was about two blocks from the whore’s crib.

He used the toilet behind the Sand Spur, holding his breath against the terrible odor. As he started into the saloon, he saw someone lying in the alley behind the building. At first he thought he might be dead, then he saw him move, and knew that it was just a saloon patron sleeping off last night’s drunk.

Once inside, Poke took a seat at his table. The main room of the Sand Spur saloon was big, with exposed rafters below the high, peaked ceiling. Although there were several tables in the saloon, most of them were empty as it was still fairly early in the morning and there were only a few patrons at this hour. A couple of all-night customers for the whores came down the stairs, looking a little sheepish at being seen by the few who were in the saloon. A few minutes later the two girls came downstairs, laughing uninhibitedly. There were several large jars of pickled eggs and pig’s feet on the bar, and the two women walked over to the bar, then stuck their hands down inside the jars to pull out a couple of pickled eggs each for their breakfast.

The Sand Spur was one of two saloons in town. The other saloon was called the Mud Hole, and it catered to a lower class clientele, serving cheaper whiskey and beer in an establishment that no amenities of any kind. It was behind the livery, whereas the Sand Spur had the more choice location, at the end of Meridian Street, right next to the Union Pacific track.

Poke had ordered breakfast and it was just being brought to his table as the morning train rolled in. With its whistle blowing and its bell clanging, the heavy engine caused the saloon to shake. As a result of the shaking, the bottles of whiskey that were lined up behind the bar began to rattle when they banged together. It sounded, and felt, as if the train was about to come right through the building, but the arrival and departure of the daily trains, both freight and passenger, was such a routine event that no one in the saloon paid any attention to them.

After a few minutes of sitting in the station, the train blew its whistle then moved on. Shortly after the train left the station, Sam Logan stepped into the saloon. Seeing Poke, he walked back to his table. Yesterday, Poke had sent Logan, Madison, and Jernigan to American Falls to deal with the Matt Jensen issue.

Poke didn’t interrupt his breakfast and he took a bite of biscuit as Logan approached his table.

“Well, you are back I see. Any trouble?”

“Yeah, we had trouble. We had a lot of trouble,” Logan said.

“What kind of trouble?” Poke looked toward the door, expecting to see someone else. “Where are the others? Where are Madison and Jernigan?”

“That’s the trouble. Madison and Jernigan? They’re dead, Poke.”

“Dead? Are you sure?”

“Damn right, I’m sure. I seen both of ’em lyin’ out on the floor of the Red Horse Saloon back in American Falls. And they was both of ’em deader ’n a door nail.”

“How did that happen? There were three of you. Matt Jensen is only one man. How hard could it be for three of you to take care of one man?”

“Yeah, well, Madison had his own way of doing things, only it didn’t work out quite like he planned.”

“What happened?”

“Matt Jensen is what happened. You ever run into him, Poke? Or heard tale of him?”

“I’ve heard of him, I’ve never run into him,” Poke replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well let me tell you somethin’ about him that maybe you don’t know. Matt Jensen is faster’n greased lightnin’ I believe he’s got to be about the fastest man with a gun there is—I mean the way he shot ’em both.”

“So, you did see it?” Kincaid asked. “By that, I mean you were a witness to it?”

“Yeah, I seen it. I had left the saloon a minute earlier but I come back and was standin’ just outside the door, watchin’ it when it happened, so yeah, I seen it all right.”

“What do you mean you were standing just outside the door watchin’? I sent all three of you over to take care of him. If you were there with them, and they are both dead, how is it that you are not?”

“I ain’t dead, ’cause I ain’t a fool, that’s why. You can’t blame me. Like I told you, it’s all Madison’s fault,” Logan said. “Madison, what he wanted to do, was brace Jensen head on. He figured, what with Jernigan up in the balcony and all, that he’d have an edge.”

“Why did Madison want to do such a fool thing as that?”

“Why? Because he wanted to become a big shot, that’s why,” Logan answered.

“Even so, that sounds like a pretty good plan, what with Jernigan bein’ up in the balcony and all. So, what happened?”

“Somehow or the other, and I don’t know how, Jensen figured out what was goin’ on. And once he figured it out Madison didn’t have the edge no more. Jensen shot Jernigan first, then after that, he still had time to shoot Madison before he could even get his gun out. The next thing you know, Jensen was standin’ there holdin’ a smokin’ gun, and Madison and Jernigan was both of ’em layin’ dead on the floor. It was all over before you could even blink your eyes.”