William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Stay here until I get back,” Matt said, crawling over the seat into the back of the buckboard, then stepping into the saddle.

“What is it? Where are you going?”

“There is someone up on the lip of the canyon who seems more than a little interested in us,” Matt replied. “I plan to go up and see what he wants.”

“Oh, my,” Gilmore said. “You know, I never realized that we might actually be in danger, just by riding out to Coventry. I—I don’t even have a gun.”

“You won’t be in any danger as long as you stay behind this promontory,” Matt said, as he rode away.

Matt didn’t have to ride too far back before he found a small creek coming down from the top of the canyon wall. The creek bed was much larger than the creek itself, apparently the result of spring runoffs. Any question he may have had as to whether the creek bed would lead all the way up to the top was answered when he saw the track of three horses. Fresh droppings on the trail told him that the pass had been used within the last hour or so.

Matt urged Spirit into a trot and, rather quickly, he reached the top. Dismounting, he tied Spirit off to a low growing juniper, then, pulling his pistol and walking quietly, he started out across the relatively flat top.

“Are you sure you seen ’em? I don’t think there’s anybody down there at all.”

“I told you, they are around there behind that point. Soon as the buckboard comes into view, start shootin’.”

“I need another drink.”

“You don’t need nothin’ of the sort. Just do what I tell you.”

“Who is this fella we’re supposed to be shootin’ at, anyway?”

“His name is Matt Jensen.”

“Matt Jensen? Are you loco? I don’t know much, but I’ve heard of Matt Jensen, and I know he’s someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“You took the money, now just do what I told you to do. Keep lookin’.”

“Are you boys looking for me?” Matt asked, stepping up behind them.

“What the hell?” Cooter shouted. “Where did you come from?”

“Stand up,” Matt ordered.

The three men did as they were directed.

“Now, this is what I want you to do. I want you to toss your guns over the edge.”

“Mister, I ain’t tossin’ my gun over the edge of this here canyon for nobody,” Logan said.

Matt fired at him and a little mist of red flew up from his earlobe. Crying out in pain, he slapped his hand up to his ear, then pulled away a palm full of blood.

“You son of a bitch! You shot my ear off!” he shouted in fear and anger.

“I didn’t shoot it off, I just shredded your ear lobe some,” Matt said. “If you want me to shoot your ear off, I’ll do it. Now, toss your gun over like I said.”

The man with the bleeding ear tossed his gun over and the other two followed suit.

“Now your boots,” Matt said.

“Whoa, hold it now. Have you seen the kind of rock that is around here?” Logan asked. “Some of it is as sharp as a razor. You go walkin’ barefoot on that, you’re goin’ to cut your feet to pieces.”

“Then you’ll have to walk real slow and careful, won’t you?” Matt said. “That’ll give my friend and me time to get through the canyon without worryin’ about someone trying to kill us. Throw your boots over, like I said.”

Grumbling, the three men sat down and pulled off their boots, then dropped them over the edge. They stood up again.

“I’ll tie your horses off down at the bottom of the canyon,” Matt said.

“The hell you will!”

Logan produced another pistol from somewhere, and he fired at Matt, the bullet coming so close that Matt not only heard the pop as it passed his ear, he felt the concussion of air.

Matt returned fire, hitting Logan in the chest. Logan dropped his pistol and put his hands over the wound as blood poured through his fingers. His eyes rolled up, and he fell back.

The other two would-be assailants looked down at him.

“Either one of you two have another pistol?” Matt asked.

“I ain’t got one.”

“Me neither.”

“Hell, can’t neither one of us afford a second pistol.”

“Who was this man?” Matt asked, pointing to the one on the ground.

“His name was Logan. Sam Logan,” one of the men answered.

“Logan?” Matt remembered Gilmore telling him that Logan had been with Madison and Jernigan.

“That’s what he told us his name was.”

“Do you men work for Poke Terrell?”

“Poke Terrell? No, there don’t none of us work for Poke Terrell. Don’t none of us work for nobody except odd jobs from time to time,” the more talkative of the two men said. “That’s how we wound up with Logan.”

“What’s your name?” Matt asked.

“Folks call me Cooter.”

“Well, Cooter, if you aren’t working for Poke Terrell, what were you doing up here, waiting to ambush me?”

Cooter pointed to the body. “Like I said, we take odd jobs from time to time. Logan, he give us ten dollars apiece to come up here with him,” he said.

“Did he work for Poke?”

“He didn’t say,” Cooter said. “He never give us no reason for comin’ up here to shoot you. All he done was give us ten dollars.”

“And you agreed to kill someone for ten dollars? You consider killing somebody an odd job, do you?” Matt asked.

“He made it seem like it wasn’t goin’ to be all that hard to do.”

Matt raised his pistol and aimed it at Cooter. “It’s not much of a man who would agree to kill someone for ten dollars,” he said. “The world would be better off if I just killed you now.”

“No!” Cooter said, putting his hands out in front as if he could ward off the bullets. “No, don’t shoot!”

“Oh, damn, I just peed in my pants,” Mole said.

With a sigh, Matt lowered his pistol. “Like I told you, I’ll leave your horses at the bottom,” he said. “Being barefoot, it will take you a while to get there, but if you are careful, you can make it without cutting your feet up too bad. But hear this.” He raised his pistol again and waved it back and forth pointing at all of them. “If I ever seen any one of you again, I will kill you.”

“You ain’t never goin’ to see me no more, Mister. I can promise you that,” Cooter said.

Ten minutes later, Matt returned to the buckboard, leading the three horses.

The buckboard was empty.

“Mr. Gilmore?” Matt called out in some concern. “Mr. Gilmore, are you here?”

“I’m here,” a muffled voice answered and Matt saw the lawyer crawling out from a fissure in the side of the promontory.

Matt laughed. “It looks like you found a good hiding place there, Mr. Gilmore,” he said. “I didn’t even see you.”

“I heard shooting,” Gilmore said. “I didn’t know—that is, I wasn’t sure what was happening.”

“It was probably a good idea for you to hide,” Matt said. He found a scrub bush growing out of the side of the promontory, and he tied the three horses off, then he tied Spirit to the back of the buckboard.

“How much farther is it?” he asked climbing back into the buckboard and picking up the reins.”

“Not far,” Gilmore said. “We should be there in time for dinner.”

About half an hour later, Matt and Gilmore approached an arched gate. The pillars were made of stone and the overhead arch that connected the pillars was made of steel. The words COVENTRY MANOR in ironwork, were worked into the arch. On the left stone pillar was a coat of arms. The escutcheon was in quarters, and in the first and fourth quarters was a golden lion rampant on a red background. In the second and third quarters was the cross of St. George.

As they passed through the gate, they drove up a long, crushed white gravel drive which led to a three-story edifice of stone, brick, and mortar. The house spread out for at least one hundred fifty feet. The house had a castellated top, with towers at each of the four corners, plus an additional tower over the main entrance to the house. Pennants flew from the top of each of the corner towers; an American flag flew from the top of the central tower.