William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Why was I attacked in American Falls? Why were Gilmore and I attacked on the way out here that first day? When you add that all together, it can only mean that someone wants me dead.”

“As I understood it from the report Gilmore gave, you weren’t actually attacked while you were on the way out here. Gilmore said that you saw someone on the lip of the canyon wall, then you stopped, then you went up to confront them. That’s when you killed Sam Logan.”

“Who shot at me first,” Matt said.

“There’s only your word for that, isn’t there?”

“Kincaid, if you’ve got something stuck in your craw, spit it out,” Matt said.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not disputing your claim. I’m just repeating what Mr. Gilmore said in the report he filed. And it does point out how difficult the marshal’s job is in enforcing the law when there are no eyewitnesses.”

“There were two eyewitnesses.”

“Yes, Mole and Cooter. Perhaps I should have said, eyewitnesses who were would be willing to give testimony.”

“Have they told the marshal a different story?”

“They told the marshal that it all happened so fast they didn’t know what happened.”

“Don’t you think if they could convince the marshal that I was at fault, they would do so?”

“I suppose. I do wonder, though, why someone might be trying to kill you. Do you have any idea who that someone might be?”

“Yeah I got a very good idea who wants me dead. It’s Poke Terrell.”

“Ah, you’ve been listening to Prewitt, haven’t you? Prewitt thinks he saw Poke Terrell the night the rustlers stole Kitty’s horses. But there are eyewitnesses in the Mud Hole who will claim that they were playing cards with Poke the night the robbery happened.”

“That’s funny,” Matt said. “According to what I hear about Terrell, he never plays cards with anyone but himself. Who were the three who were playing cards with him on the night Prew was shot, and his two friends were killed?”

“Sam Logan, Al Madison, and Ken Jernigan.”

Matt laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?”

“All three of those men tried to kill me.”

“And all three of them are dead, which means their testimony can no longer be challenged,” Marcus said.

“So, as you can see, your assertion that Poke Terrell is trying to kill you would never be sustained in a court.”

“Are you actually saying that I can’t prove in court that Terrell is trying to kill me?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Kincaid replied. “You can bring charges if you want to, but it will go nowhere. You have no collaborative testimony.”

Matt laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Marcus asked. “What do you find so funny?”

“Kincaid, you don’t understand, do you?” Matt asked.

“What is it I don’t understand?”

“I don’t need any collaborative testimony. I don’t have to prove it in court.”

“Then you are right, I don’t understand. Why don’t you have to prove it in court?”

“Because I only have to prove to me. In this case I am the court, I am the judge, I am the jury, and when the time comes, I will be the executioner.”

“Oh, my,” Marcus replied, obviously unnerved by Matt’s declaration. “If you don’t mind, I would like to give you a word of advice, Mr. Jensen.”

“By all means, feel free to do so,” Matt invited.

“I, uh, would be careful about making threats toward Poke if I were you. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would take such threats easily.”

“I’m not making threats, Kincaid,” Matt said. “I’m simply stating fact.”

“Oh, what is that I smell?” Marcus asked, breaking off the conversation. “It smells divine.”

“I told Frederica to have Maria prepare a pot roast for lunch,” Kitty said. “You are welcome to stay.”

“Why, thank you, Kitty. I just believe I will accept your kind invitation,” Marcus said.

Because the roast beef was too large for two people, or even three, considering the unexpected arrival of Marcus Kincaid, Kitty invited Tyrone Canfield to dine with them.

“Oh, Matt, I’ve got those numbers for you,” Tyrone said as they were eating, “I meant to give them to you as soon as I came in, but this meal is so good that it plumb slipped my mind.”

“What numbers are you talking about, Tyrone?” Marcus asked.

Tyrone looked over at Marcus, but didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced back toward Kitty.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marcus said. “I seem to have stepped into something that isn’t any of my business.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I reckon that’s about it,” Tyrone said. “I figure if Mrs. Wellington wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Kitty said. “He’s talking about horses, Marcus. The horses we’ll be shipping to Chicago next week.”

“That’s the contract you were telling me about earlier?” Marcus asked. “The army contract?”

“Yes. Matt will going into town tomorrow to arrange for railroad cars.”

“Twenty horses per car,” Matt said.

“You can get a lot more than that in a car,” Kincaid said. “Heck, when I ship cattle, I can get fifty to a car.”

“I’m not shipping cattle,” Kitty said, resolutely. “I’m shipping purebred horses, and if you put any more than twenty in a single car the chances are likely that some might be hurt. In fact, they might be hurt so badly that you would have to put them down.”

“Even so, you should be able to at least double the number per car,” Kincaid said. “I’m just looking out for you, Kitty. The cars are going to cost you at least one hundred dollars per car.”

“I figure it’s going to take a minimum of twenty-five cars,” Kitty said. “That would be with twenty head per car. Now, suppose I doubled the number of horses in each car, and suppose a minimum of two horses per car are hurt. In fact, I would say that the number is too low. I could wind up with a many as three or four, or even five horses hurt, per car. I could be looking at four thousand dollars in losses. On the other hand, if I go along with the idea of limiting it to just twenty horses per car, it will cost me no more than twenty-five hundred dollars in railroad fees, which in the long run could be much cheaper. Also, we will more than likely transfer every horse without injury, and despite the money consideration, there is something to be said for the welfare of the horses.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Marcus said. He lifted his wineglass in toast. “To my beautiful stepmother and all her horses.”

“I’m not your stepmother,” Kitty said, speaking the words in the flat monotone that suggested she had discussed this very subject with him dozens of times before now.

“Very well, then,” Kincaid said, lifting his glass a second time. “To your horses.”

The others lifted their glasses to the toast.

“What time are you going in tomorrow?” Kincaid asked, conversationally.

“I’m going to help Tyrone and Prew select the horses that will be shipped, then put them in a separate field before I start into town. I’d say about mid-morning. Why do you ask?”

“I have some business in town tomorrow as well,” Kincaid said. “Perhaps you would like to have lunch with me.”

“Maybe I will,” Matt agreed.

“Good, I shall look forward to it,” Kincaid said. Pushing the plate away, he stood up. “Kitty, I must be going back into town,” he said. “I know it is poor manners to leave immediately after having eaten, but I really must get back, and you can’t blame me for staying through lunch. It was delicious.”

“You are welcome anytime, Marcus,” Kitty said.