William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Damn it! We missed!” Mole said.

Another bullet hit the rock, very close beside them.

“Come on, Cooter, let’s get the hell out of here!” Mole shouted. He started running for his own horse.

“Mole! Mole, come back here!” Cooter called, chasing after him.

Seeing the two men start to run, Matt tracked them with his rifle, firing at the second man. That man went down, but the one in the lead made it to his horse. He kicked his horse into motion and in just a few seconds was behind a rocky ledge, out of the line of fire.

“Don’t leave me, you bastard!” the one on the ground shouted. “Don’t you leave me!”

Matt approached the man on the ground, holding his weapon pointed toward him. Seeing him, the man sat up and threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” he cried out. “I’m shot. You can see that I’m bad shot.”

Matt picked up the rifle Cooter had been using, jacked all the bullets out of it—there were only three left—then threw the rifle over the edge of the hill so that it landed more than a hundred feet below.

“Mister, that rifle cost me sixty dollars!” Cooter complained.

“Give me your pistol,” Matt said, holding out his hand. “Butt first,” he added.

“You ain’t goin’ to throw it away too, are you?” Cooter asked as he complied with Matt’s request.

Matt stuck Cooter’s pistol down into his waistband.

“Your name is Cooter?” Matt asked.

Cooter looked surprised. “Yeah, it is. How do you know my name?”

“This is the second time you’ve tried to ambush me, Cooter,” Matt said. “I remember you from before, when you were with Logan. Then, you said Logan paid you. But Logan is dead, so who is paying you now?”

“You got to get me to the doctor,” Cooter said, without answering Matt’s question. “If this wound ain’t treated, I could wind up losin’ my leg.”

“Yes, I suppose you could,” Matt said laconically. Kneeling beside Cooter, he tore the trouser leg away and saw the entry wound. The bullet was still in the leg and the wound was still bleeding.

“Take off your belt,” Matt ordered.

“What do you mean, take off my belt?”

“You want to bleed to death?”

“No.”

“Take off your belt. I’m going to use it to make a tourniquet.”

Cooter took off his belt, and Matt looped it around the leg above the entry wound, then cinched it down tight.”

“Ouch, that hurts.”

“Does it?”

“Do you know what you’re a’ doin’? I ain’t never heard of nothin’ called a tourniquet.”

“It’ll keep you alive, and more than likely let you keep your leg,” Matt said.

“I need a doctor.”

“This will do for now,” Matt said.

“What do you mean, this will do for now? You ain’t no doctor.”

“Who paid you to ambush me?”

“Nobody. We just done it ’cause you kilt our friend a few days ago.”

“Mister, if Sam Logan was your friend, all I can say is, you have a piss poor choice of friends. Now I’m going to ask you again. Who paid you to ambush me?”

“Why the hell should I tell you that?”

Matt pulled his gun and put the barrel of his pistol to Cooter’ forehead.

“Because I will shoot you if you don’t.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Matt cocked his pistol. “When you get to hell, say hello to your friend, Logan, for me,” he said, matter-of-factly. His finger twitched on the trigger.

“No, wait!” Cooter screamed.

Matt eased the hammer down on his pistol.

“Who paid you?”

“You got to understand that if I tell you who paid me, he’ll kill me.”

Matt shook his head. “Cooter, have you ever heard the term, first things first?”

“No.”

“Well, let me tell you what it means. It means that you need to take care of the problem you’ve got now, before you start worrying about any problem you might have in the future. You are worried about someone killing you if you answer my question. But that is in the future. I am right here, right now,” Matt said. “And if you don’t tell me who paid you to ambush me, I am going to kill you, right here, and right now. Do you understand that?” Once again, Matt cocked the pistol.

“No, no!” Cooter shouted, crossing his arms over his face. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I’ll tell you.”

Cooter was quiet for a moment.”

“I’m listening.”

“It was Poke Terrell.”

“Now, that wasn’t all that hard, was it?” Matt asked. Once again he eased the hammer down on his pistol, and this time he put his pistol back in is holster. Then he walked over to Cooter’s horse and started to mount.

“Hey, wait a minute! What are you doin’? You’re takin’ my horse again, aren’t you?” Cooter asked. “This ain’t like the last time, when I had two good legs. I can’t do no walkin’ on this leg.”

“I’m going to use your horse to ride down and get mine,” Matt said. “You may recall that you and Mole tried to kill my horse. I’ll be back.”

When Matt rode down to retrieve his horse, he saw Spirit standing quietly behind the ridge he had run to when Cooter and Mole began shooting at him.

“Hey, Spirit,” Matt said, speaking soothingly to his horse. Matt looked around at the ridge, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re a smart horse,” he said quietly. “This was a good place to get out of the line of fire.”

Spirit whickered, and nodded his head.

“Yeah, I know, we do seem to be getting into a lot of trouble here, lately,” Matt said. “But I told you that when you signed on with me.”

Matt got off Cooter’s horse then mounted his own. He started back with Spirit, leading the animal he had borrowed.

Shortly after Matt had ridden away on Cooter’s horse, Cooter saw a pistol lying under a mesquite bush. At first he didn’t know how it got there, but when he picked it up, he recognized it. It was the one Logan had given Mole on the day they tried to ambush Matt Jensen the first time. Mole must have dropped it when he ran and, in his panic, didn’t even notice that it was gone. Of course, even if he had known it, he wouldn’t have come back for it.

“Well, Mole, you yellow livered coward,” Cooter said under his breath. “I thank you for leavin’ me a gun like this, even if you didn’t know you was doin’ it. Now, I’m going to take care Matt Jensen and go see Poke to collect my money, then I’m going to take care of you for runnin’ out on me like you done.”

Cooter picked up the pistol, checked the loads, then stuck it down his waistband behind his back.

“All I have to do now is wait on Mr. Jensen,” he said.

He waited.

“Damn! What if he don’t come back? There ain’t no way I can walk all the way back to town on this leg.”

He waited a few more minutes, then, when he was convinced that Matt Jensen wasn’t coming back, and just when he was about to panic, he heard the strike of hooves on rocks. Raising himself up, he saw Matt Jensen coming back, riding his own horse and leading Cooter’s horse.

“I was beginnin’ to think you had forgot me,” Cooter said.

“I thought about it,” Matt said. “Get mounted, we’re going into Medbury.”

Cooter mounted with some effort, his face grimaced with pain.

“I know damn well it’s not hurting you that much,” Matt said. “So you can quit the show, I’m not believing any of it.”

“That’s ’cause you ain’t got a bullet in your leg,” Cooter said.

Matt could have told Cooter that he had a knife slice on his side that was rib deep, but he said nothing.

Matt was correct in his belief that Cooter was faking more pain that he was actually feeling. Cooter was playing for time, waiting for the right opportunity, and when he saw Matt turn away from him, he was positive that the opportunity had presented itself. Reaching around behind, he pulled Mole’s pistol from his waistband, then he brought it around and aimed it at Matt’s back.