William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“Yes, I do,” Kincaid said.

“Good, good,” Sherman said. “May I suggest that we go next door to the Palace Café and have our lunch? Afterward, we will come back to my office, reach some agreeable settlement as to terms, then sign a contract that authorizes us to come to your aid in seeking a just prosecution of the law.”

Chapter Twenty

For the ranchers and farmers who lived within a ten-mile radius of Medbury, Saturday was a big day. It was the day they came into town to get their business and shopping done, and just to visit with friends and neighbors. By mid-morning the town was crowded with people, horses, and conveyances. There was a parking yard near the livery, and it was filled with buckboards and wagons of all sizes and descriptions. The men tended to congregate in the feed and seed store or the leather goods store, while the women did their shopping at the mercantile and general stores. Children, excited over the prospect of getting their weekly prize of a piece of stick candy, ran up and down the boardwalks, laughing and playing.

It was into this atmosphere of happy commerce that Colonel Clay Sherman led his posse of Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers. They rode in, in military precision, a column of twos, eight rows deep, with Clay Sherman in the lead.

Their arrival captured the attention of nearly everyone, and people interrupted their weekly commerce in order to wonder at this strange parade through the center of their town.

“That’s Clay Sherman,” someone said, speaking quietly lest Sherman actually hear him.

“I know who it is,” another answered. “The question I got is, what in Sam Hill is he doin’ here?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. From all I’ve heard of him and his men, it means trouble of some sort.”

It was a magnificent looking body of men. All were wearing dark blue denim trousers and light gray shirts. All had shining brass stars pinned to their shirts. Sherman was dressed exactly as the other men, except that, on his collar, in metallic thread, was embroidered an eagle, the symbol of his rank as colonel.

One young boy was so excited by the sight that he dashed out into the street and ran alongside, shouting “Bang, bang, bang!” So disciplined were the riders that not one of the men looked at the boy, nor did they glance around when his mother ran out into the street after him.

“Joey! Joey! Come back here!”

Several of the men of the town, who standing alongside watching, laughed when the mother caught up with the boy and, grabbing him by the ear, pulled him back out of the street.

“That’ll teach you, Joey!” one man yelled.

“You better listen to your mama, boy!” another added.

When Clay Sherman and his riders reached the sheriff’s office, Sherman held up his hand and the men stopped.

“Dismount and stand by your horses,” Sherman ordered and, as one, the sixteen men swung down from the saddle. They stepped up to the front of their horse and held it by the halter. As Sherman went inside the sheriff’s office, several of the townspeople moved closer to the body of men.

“Hey!” someone called out to them. “What are you fellas doing here?”

Not one man answered.

“Are you chasin’ somebody?”

Like the first question, this one went unacknowledged.

“How come there won’t none of you answer?”

“They are like the army, George,” on of the other townspeople explained. “They are standin’ in formation, and that means they can’t talk or look around.”

“That don’t make no sense,” George said.

“That’s because you have never been in the army. I have, and I know what it’s like when you are standin’ in formation.”

“I just want to know what they are doin’ here,” George said. “I mean, ever’ one knows what these fellas are like. Whenever they get on somebody’s trail, there is most always shootin’.”

Like the others in town, Marshal Sparks had seen the posse arrive and he was now standing just inside his office, drinking coffee and looking through his front window as the riders halted in front of the building. He knew about the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse, and he knew about its leader. He watched Clay Sherman dismount, order his men to stand by their horses, then come in. One of the other men came in with him.

Sherman pushed the door open and looked around. Because Marshal Sparks was standing over to one side by the window, and because the door opened toward him, temporarily blocking him from view, Sherman didn’t see him when he first came in.

“Anyone in here?” Sherman called loudly.

“I’m over here,” Marshal Sparks said from the front window. In contrast to Sherman’s shout, Marshal Sparks response was so quiet as to be conversational.

“Marshal, I’m—”

“Clay Sherman,” Sparks interrupted. “I know who you are, Mr. Sherman.”

“If you know who I am, then you know that I am more properly addressed as Colonel Sherman.”

“What can I do for you, Colonel Sherman?” Sparks asked, emphasizing the word colonel to show a little irritation at being told how to address his arrogant visitor.

“Yes, well, it isn’t what you can do for me, Marshal. It is what I, and my men, are going to do for you.”

“You are going to do something for me? I don’t recall asking for any outside support in running my town.”

“We don’t always have to be asked. Often when there is a clear and unaddressed violation of the law, we will respond for the good of the whole,” Sherman replied.

“So, what brings you here?”

“Marshal Sparks, it has come to the attention of Governor Neil that you have been—let us say, lax—in your enforcement of a very important territorial law. We have been sent here to Owyhee County to enforce that law.”

“I don’t know of any law I’m not enforcing. What law would that be?” Marshal Sparks asked, surprised by the announcement.

“What law it is, is no longer of your concern,” Sherman said. “As you have not worried about it before, there is no need for you to worry about it now. Like I said, we will take care of it for you. But you need not worry too much about it. The fact that we will be enforcing this law will not reflect adversely on you. Also, we will not interfere with your normal performance of duty. You just go on about your normal business and pay no mind to us.”

“I should at least know what law you are talking about.”

“How many rooms does the hotel have?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sparks asked, unable to follow the abrupt change of subject.

“The hotel, Marshal. How many rooms does it have? I must find quarters for my men. I shall require nine rooms, eight for my men, they can double up, and one for myself.”

“Oh, that won’t be possible. The hotel only has ten rooms and at least four of them are permanently occupied.”

“Thank you,” Sherman replied.

“Marshal, I got a question I want to ask you,” the man who had come in with Sherman said. He had been silent until this moment.

“What is the question?” Marshal Sparks replied.

“How come it is, that you didn’t do anything about the man who murdered Poke Terrell?”

“Who are you?” Marshal Sparks asked.

“Marshal, this Lieutenant Luke Scraggs. He is my second in command,” Sherman said.

“Why didn’t anyone do anything about the man who murdered Poke Terrell?” Scraggs asked a second time.

“Mr. Scraggs,” Marshal Sparks started.

“It’s Lieutenant Scraggs,” Scraggs replied.

“We did do something about it, Scraggs,” Marshal Sparks said, purposely omitting the use of the word lieutenant. “The judge conducted a hearing and determined that the shooting that took Terrell’s life was justifiable. Matt Jensen was cleared of any wrongdoing. Everyone who was in the saloon at the time testified that Poke Terrell drew first. In fact, Terrell killed a young woman, and if he had not been killed himself, I have no doubt but that he would have been indicted by the hearing, tried, found guilty, and hung. Does that answer your question?”