William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

It had been many years since Matt last saw Katherine—he never knew her last name as nobody was permitted to use last names in the orphanage—but he recognized her immediately.

It was her eyes, big, blue, and flecked with gold, that he recognized first. They hadn’t changed. Appraising her as they drove up, Matt decided that she had grown up well. She was a very pretty woman.

Kitty Wellington was standing in the curved driveway, an entrance that seemed much more suited for an elegant and liveried carriage than an ordinary buckboard, pulled by a team of rented horses.

“Welcome to Coventry,” Kitty said as Matt pulled back on the reins to stop the team.

“Mrs. Wellington,” he said.

“Oh, please, Matt,” Kitty said. “Can’t we refer to each other as we remember?”

“All right,” Matt said with a big smile. “Only I remember you as Katherine, not Kitty.”

“Then, by all means, call me Katherine. I started calling myself Kitty as a way of totally separating myself from the orphanage. When I left I never wanted to think of it again. Although as I think back on it, I remember some people with great fondness—Eddie, Tamara, and of course, you. Eddie and Tamara are both dead now,” she said with a wilting tone. Then she smiled, and brightened. “But you and I are still alive. We have done well, Matt. And when you get right down to it, I think doing well is the best way possible to put that period of our lives in its proper perspective.”

“I agree,” Matt said. He looked around at the house and grounds. “I must say though, Katherine, that when it comes to doing well, you seem to have excelled far above my meager accomplishments.”

Kitty laughed. “Please, come in. I’ve had the cook prepare something special, just in your honor.”

Matt and Gilmore followed Kitty up the huge, curved stone steps, across the wide flagstone porch, through the massive carved and leaded glass double front doors, and into the house. The front doors opened onto a long, wide hallway. There were suits of armor standing on both sides of the hallway, while flags and tapestries hung from above.

On one wall, lit by flanking lanterns, was a huge painting of a young man in the uniform of a British colonel.

“Tommy was really proud of this painting,” Kitty said.

“Tommy?”

Kitty chuckled. “He asked that I call him that. He considered it an endearment. And he was a dear man, so I did so, willingly.”

“How long were you married?”

“Just over a year,” Kitty said. “He was considerably older than I, but it didn’t seem to matter.”

From the hallway they passed through the library. There was an open door at the rear of the library and, looking through that door, Matt saw what appeared to be an office. Even as he glanced toward it, Kitty confirmed what it was.

“My office,” she said.

Next door was a formal parlor with bright blue covering, from which French doors opened onto another patio that overlooked the lawn. From the formal parlor, Kitty led Matt and Gilmore into the dining room. The dining room had polished oak wainscoting, while the top half of the wall was covered in gold linen. The table was very long, and illuminated by three crystal chandeliers that hung above it in equidistant spacing. Although it looked as if it could easily seat forty diners, there were, at the moment, only three place settings of exquisite china, rimmed with a band of dark blue and edged with gold. In the middle of each plate was a crest, exactly like the crest that was on the stone pillar of the entrance gate. The dining plates had been placed on gold chargers. Sparkling crystal and shining silver completed the setting.

Matt started to sit at one of the side chairs, but Kitty demurred. “No,” she said, pointing to the chair on the end. “You sit here, at the head of the table.”

“I wouldn’t feel good about that. This is your house,” Matt said.

“A woman should never occupy the head of the table, and I never do, even when I eat alone,” she said. “Please, do me the honor.”

“Very well,” Matt agreed, holding the side chair out for Kitty, before taking his seat at the head of the table.

Kitty picked up a small bell and rang it.

“Yes, ma’am?” a young woman said, stepping through a door.

“You may serve,” Kitty said.

The first thing that was brought out of the kitchen was a glistening ham. It was set it in front of Matt.

“I thought you might enjoy carving,” Kitty said. “As you did that day, so long ago.”

Matt picked up the carving knife and fork, then smiled as he sliced into the ham.

“You are talking about the ham the ladies of the Methodist Church gave us,” he said.

“Yes. I’m glad you remember.”

“There are some things you never forget,” Matt said, as he lay a generous piece of ham on Kitty’s plate.

Bruneau Canyon

When Cooter and Mole reached the bottom of the canyon, they went right to the river where they sat on the bank and stuck their feet into the water.

“Damn, this hurts more’n it did when we was walkin’,” Mole said.

“Quit your bitchin’, Mole,” Cooter said. “The water is what’s makin’ it hurt now, but after a minute you’ll feel better.”

“Logan said this was goin’ to be easy,” Mole said. “Now he’s lyin’ up there dead, and we near ’bout walked our feet off.”

“What are you complainin’ about?” Cooter asked. “At least you’re still alive. And we still got the ten dollars Logan give us.”

“Cooter, when you looked Logan’s pockets, did he have anything else on him?” Mole asked.

“I told you, all he had was ten dollars, same as us.”

“The way I figure it, that ten dollars he had should belong to both of us,” Mole said.

“It does. Only I can’t give it to you now.”

“Why not?”

“What do you want me to do? Tear the bill into two pieces?”

“Oh, no, I reckon not.”

“Soon as we get into town I’ll get change and we can divide the money up.”

“Yeah,” Mole said, smiling broadly. “Hey, you know what I’m goin’ to do? I’m goin’ to get myself a real café supper, a bottle of whiskey I don’t have to share, and a woman with that five dollars. That’ll still leave me the ten dollars I got in the first place.”

“Nine dollars and fifty cents,” Cooter said. “Don’t forget, we put our money together to buy a bottle of whiskey.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still enough to do ever’ thing I said and have some money left over,” Mole said.

Cooter pulled his feet out of the water and rubbed them for a moment. “I don’t know about you, but I intend to find my boots and pistol, then go back into town. I don’t plan to be out here after dark.”

“Hey, I reckon this pistol Logan loaned to me is mine, now,” Mole said.

“You might as well keep his horse too, seein’ as you got to turn the one you’re ridin’ back into the livery.”

“You don’t mind if I take the horse?” Mole asked.

“No, I got one, you don’t.”

“That’s real good of you, Cooter.”

Chapter Eleven

“And what did you say your name was?” Poke asked the man who was standing nervously before him, rolling his hat in his hands.

“My real name is Cotter,” the man said. “But folks has always called me Cooter.”

“Cooter?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, Cooter, how do you know that Sam Logan is dead.”

“’Cause I seen him get hisself that way,” Cooter said. “This feller Jensen, he had us all dead to rights. Made us throw our guns and our shoes over the edge of the canyon. Only Logan, he didn’t throw all his guns down. Turned out he had him another’n, and what he done is, he drawed that gun against Matt Jensen. That was about as big a mistake as you could make, ’cause Jensen shot him down, dead.”