William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

Matt reached the top step of the porch, then he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Kitty asked. “Do you not feel up to going?”

“No, it isn’t that,” Matt said. He laughed, a low, almost self-deprecating laugh. “It’s just that, well, I don’t have my pistol with me, and this will the first time I’ve gone anywhere without my gun for almost longer than I can remember.”

“Poke Terrell is dead,” Kitty said. “His sorry carcass is lying under six feet of dirt in an unmarked grave in the back corner of the Medbury cemetery. Why do you need your gun now?”

Matt shrugged. “No reason, I guess,” he said. “It’s just that I feel naked without it.”

“Honey, I’ve seen you naked,” Kitty said. “And believe me, you aren’t naked.”

Matt laughed hard at the ribald comment.

There were some in town who thought it unnecessary to have a funeral for a whore—in fact, a few thought it was almost sacrilegious to do so. But the Episcopal priest, Father Walt Pyron, believed that everyone deserved a Christian burial, so when Kitty asked him if he would perform the service, he agreed without hesitation.

Surprisingly, the church was full, and whether the people had come out of a sense of piety and genuine compassion for the young fallen woman, or merely out of curiosity, Kitty didn’t know, nor, did she care. She was just pleased that they were here. Kitty, Matt, Tyrone, Charley, the bartender, Amos, the piano player, and Jenny and the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur had seats on the very front row. The other seats were on a first come, first seated basis and, within moments after the church’s red doors were open, the pews were filled. The spillovers lined the walls on each side, or stood at the rear, crowding even out into the narthex. In addition there were more people outside, waiting for the service to end so they could accompany the funeral cortege to the graveyard.

Father Pyron had come out of the study during the organist’s prelude, and now sat quietly in his chair on the sacristy until the music ended.

Someone coughed.

Through an open window came the incongruous sound of a sudden burst of laughter, and, at a nod from Father Pyron, one of the ushers closed the window.

Pryon stepped up to the ambo.

“I know that there are some, perhaps even present in this congregation, who would take issue with me conducting funeral rites for someone like Millicent McMurtry,” he began, “and yes, the young woman whose life we are met here to celebrate, was a prostitute. But I am told by those who knew her best that prostitution was not a profession she chose because of any prurient nature, or unholy desire for lucre. Instead, like many a young woman who has found herself thrust into the world with not one person to provide for her, Millie turned to the only means she believed was available to provide sustenance.

“That this was the only avenue open to her is the shortcoming of us all, for we, as a society, failed Millie, as we have failed all young women in similar circumstances.

“But know this. The fact that Millie was a soiled dove does not mean she is a lost soul. We are told in the Book of Matthew that a harlot, who is good at heart, will be welcome into the Kingdom of God. And those who knew Millie, know that she was, truly, a woman with a heart of gold, a child of God. It is my belief that Millie is in heaven today.”

Matt, Tyrone, Prew, Charley the bartender, Amos, the piano player, and a cowboy from the Lazy J, identified by the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur as Millie’s “favorite,” acted as pall bearers. At the conclusion of the service, they carried Millie’s coffin out of the church and loaded it into the back of the hearse. Then, Gene Welch, who was wearing a top hat, tails, and striped pants, snapped the reins against the team of Percherons, and the horses moved forward in a stately manner.

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was at the north end of town, near the Union Pacific railroad track, and the cemetery was a quarter of a mile south of the town. That meant the funeral cortege had to traverse the entire distance right through the middle of town. The hearse led the way. Next came a green, three-seated touring wagon in which rode all the pall bearers except for Matt, who was in the surrey with Kitty, following. Behind Kitty’s surrey was a spring wagon carrying the three remaining girls who worked at the Sand Spur. The three soiled doves were weeping; their tears and Kitty’s were the only tears being shed in the entire funeral party.

There was no particular order after that, and surreys, traps, buckboards, and spring wagons fell in line. There were also riders on horseback, as well as many pedestrians.

The funeral procession moved solemnly through the town, with more people in the parade than there were standing on either side of the road watching. Many of those watching paid a moment of respect as the cortege passed them by, some by doffing their hats, some by bowing their heads, and some by crossing themselves.

When the cortege reached the cemetery, the coffin was taken from the hearse and everyone crowded around it. At the open grave, Father Pyron read from the Book of Common Prayer.

“Most merciful Father, who has been pleased to take unto thyself the soul of thy servant Millicent McMurtry; Grant to us who are still in our pilgrimage, and who walk as yet by faith, that having served thee with constancy on earth, we may be joined hereafter with thy blessed saints in glory everlasting; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

At a nod from Father Pyron, the six pall bearers, with ropes looped around Millie’s coffin, lowered it gently into the open grave. Then, withdrawing the rope, Pyron invited Kitty and the other girls who worked at the Sand Spur to drop a handful of dirt onto the coffin.

As the dirt fell upon the coffin, Pyron gave the final prayer.

“For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence to take out of this world the soul of our deceased sister, we therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.”

Chapter Nineteen

From the Medbury Advocate:

Funeral for a Fallen Woman .

ENTIRE TOWN TURNS OUT.

Not since the funeral of Sir Thomas Wellington, have so many townspeople witnessed the interment of one of its citizens. Millicent McMurty was a woman of the line, a soiled dove who plied her avocation in the Sand Spur Saloon. It was, in fact, while practicing the oldest profession, that the young woman was shot down.

On the day in question, Matt Jensen, a man known by few locals, but with a reputation that is respected by many, entered the Sand Spur lacking fifteen minutes of the stroke of noon. As Mr. Jensen entered the saloon, he was carrying over his shoulder the corpse of Harold Cotter, known by many as a barfly and ne’r do well who went by the sobriquet of “Cooter.”

Jensen deposited Cotter’s body on the table in front of Poke Terrell, a man just recently arrived in Medbury, but one who had already established his presence by virtue of his frightening demeanor and disposition, as well as the knowledge that he once rode with the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. Jensen accused Terrell of having sent Cotter to kill him. Terrell denied the accusation, and a fight ensued.