William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Where is Logan’s body?”

“As far as I know, it’s still a’ lyin’ up on top of Bruneau Canyon,” Cooter said. “What with no horses, and no boots neither, me and Mole wasn’t able to bring him back home.”

“What were you doing up on top of Bruneau Canyon?” Terrell asked.

Cooter’s eyes widened. “Why, don’t you know? I figured we was up there, workin’ for you. I mean Logan never told us that, but that’s what I figured. That’s what Jensen figured too, only I didn’t tell Jensen nothin’ except that Logan give us ten dollars apiece to—uh—take care of Jensen and the other feller that was with him.”

“What do you think he meant by ‘take care of’?”

“Take care of. You know. Kill him.”

“And you were willing to kill Jensen for ten dollars?”

“That’s all the money Logan give us,” Cooter answered. “Only thing is,” he started, then he let the sentence hang.

“The only thing is what?”

“Well, sir, he said he’d give us ten dollars apiece once we got the job done, only he got hisself kilt, so we never got no ten dollars.”

Cooter did get the ten dollars. In fact, he not only got the ten dollars, he was the one who rifled through Logan’s body and he got the rest of the money as well, keeping it all for himself. The fact that he didn’t share the money with Mole was what enabled him to be so generous with Logan’s horse.

Instinctively, Poke realized that Cooter had taken the money, if not for himself, at least for the two of them. He stared accusingly at Cooter until Cooter, guiltily, cut his eyes down.

“Why should I give you ten dollars?” Poke asked. “If you didn’t have sense enough to collect the money before you started, that’s your problem. Besides, if I understand the deal you had with Logan, it was that you was bein’ paid ten dollars to kill Matt Jensen. Is Matt Jensen dead?”

“No, sir, he ain’t dead.”

“Then what makes you think you should get any money?”

“I thought maybe you would give me some money for bringin’ you the news that Logan is dead.”

“If Logan never showed up again, I’d have a pretty good idea that he dead, don’t you think?”

“I reckon so,” Cooter said, dejectedly. He brightened as he got an idea. “Maybe you got somethin’ me and my friends could do to make a little money.”

“Why should I hire you?” Poke asked. “You had one simple job to do, and you couldn’t do it.”

“You ever seen Matt Jensen?” Cooter asked.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, killin’ him ain’t a simple job, I can tell you that right now.”

“Be on your way,” Poke said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “And don’t speak to anyone else about this until I figure out what to do.”

“Don’t worry, there ain’t neither one of us goin’ to say nothin’ about it,” Cooter promised.

“Stay where I can get hold of you,” Poke said. “If I can find some way to use you, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Terrell. We’ll be ready whenever you need us,” Cooter said.

Poke said nothing, but he repeated the dismissive wave of his hand.

A bottle of whiskey sat on his table, and he pulled the cork from the bottle, then poured himself a glass.

“Damn you, Jensen, you’ve got more lives than a cat,” he said as he raised the glass to his lips.

Coventry Manor was a huge house with two parlors, a formal dining room, a big kitchen, with servants’ quarters just off the kitchen, two parlors, a library, an office, and, as Matt had just learned, ten bedrooms.

“Tyrone has his own room attached to the bunkhouse. The wranglers all sleep in the bunkhouse, there are servants’ quarters downstairs, and these ten bedrooms up here,” Kitty said. “I sleep up here and I must confess that it sometimes gets lonely, when I’m up here, all by myself,” she said, pointedly.

“So, that brings us to where you are going to sleep,” Kitty said. “Of course, now that you are here, maybe it won’t be quite as lonely as it has been.”

“I can see how it might be a bit overwhelming sleeping in a place this big,” Matt said, not quite sure how to respond to Kitty’s inference.

“Go ahead, choose your bedroom. You can have—any—bedroom you want,” she said, setting apart and emphasizing the word “any.”

Although Kitty didn’t come right out and say so, Matt knew that the offer of any bedroom he wanted inferred her bedroom and her bed. Matt did not respond to it, acting as if he did not understand the implied invitation.

Kitty was a beautiful woman, and Matt was a healthy man. If it had been any other woman, any other situation, he would have taken her up on it in a heartbeat. With any other woman, they could enjoy each other, taking and giving no more than necessary. But Kitty wasn’t any other woman, and if he accepted her invitation to his bed, she would expect more than a pleasurable interlude. And she would have a right to expect more. After all, she was someone who had shared a part of his childhood, a connection that was important to him. But Matt knew that he could not give her what she really wanted.

“I’ll take this bedroom,” Matt said, selecting one that he knew was not hers.

There was a momentary expression of disappointment on Kitty’s face, though she recovered so quickly that Matt wasn’t entirely certain he had even seen it. She smiled at him.

“You’ve made an excellent choice,” she said. “When the Duke of Warwick visited us, this was the room he selected.”

“Will sleeping in this room make me a duke?” he teased.

“Matt, as far as I am concerned, you were a duke when I first met you back in the orphanage,” Kitty replied.

Matt went in to look over the room that would be his while he was here. It was quite large, and though Matt had stayed in some rather impressive hotel rooms from time to time, he had never spent the night anywhere in a room that was more elegant than this. The room had a huge, four-poster bed, a dresser, a chifferobe, and a desk. Matt chuckled softly. He didn’t have enough clothes with him to fill one small drawer, let alone all the space that was available to him.

After breakfast the next morning, Kitty invited Matt to take a ride with her.

The barn where Spirit had been boarded for the night was unlike any barn Matt had ever seen. It was very big, with extremely generous size stalls. There was fresh water and feed at each stall, and the barn was kept so clean and fresh smelling that it was more like a hotel than a barn.

“Ha!” Matt said as he began to saddle Spirit. “I’ll bet you’ve never seen anyplace like this, before.”

Spirit whickered.

“Oh no you don’t,” Matt said with a little chuckle. “Don’t go getting used to living like this. Trust me, Spirit, you won’t be seeing another barn like this one.”

With Spirit saddled, Matt led him outside. He had been there only a few minutes when Kitty rode out.

“What do you think of my horse?” Kitty asked, taking in her horse with a wave of her hand.

“I would say you are particularly well mounted,” Matt replied.

Kitty laughed. “You would say that, no matter what, just because you are nice.”

“No,” Matt replied. “I mean it. He is just what you look for in a good-bodied horse. He has long, sloping shoulders, short, strong back, long underline, and a long, rather level croup.”

Kitty clapped her hands. “My,” she said. “You do know horses. Where did you learn?”

“I learned from a man named Smoke Jensen.”

“Jensen. Your last name is Jensen,” Kitty said. “Of course, we never knew each others last name in the orphanage. Is Smoke Jensen family?”

“You might say that,” Matt said. “You will remember that I ran away from the orphanage?”