William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“What difference would it make to you what a jury might say?” Matt asked.

“What do you mean, what difference would it make? I wouldn’t want some jury to find me guilty for killing you.”

“That’s not anything you are going to have to worry about. All four of you will be dead, long before a jury trial.”

“Mister, have you gone plumb loco?” Scraggs asked.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Matt replied in an easy, unstressed voice. “Look at the way you are sitting. Scraggs, you are the only one who can get to your gun right now, so, like I said, I’ll kill you first. But, unfortunately for you, you are sitting down. A man who is standing, can draw and shoot a lot faster than someone who is sitting down. What’s your name?” he asked them sitting on the man sitting next to Scraggs.”

“Burnett,” the man replied.

“Burnett, I’ll kill you second. You are also sitting on the side of the table, so you could probably get your gun out almost as fast as Scraggs, but then you would have to bring your arm across to shoot at me, wouldn’t you? So that’s going to slow you down enough to give me time to kill you second. And you two, sitting behind the table?” Matt chuckled. “From the way you are sitting, it would take you two a week to draw and shoot. I can take as much time as I need to kill you two.”

“Mister, I don’t know who the hell you think—”

“Shut up, Burnett,” Scraggs said.

“Are you going to let him….”

“I said shut up,” Scraggs repeated. “Let’s get out of here.”

Matt took a step back, but bent his knees slightly to be ready for anything that might happen.

Scraggs held his hand up.

“Take it easy, Jensen,” Scraggs said. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’ but leavin’.”

“Yes, I think that is wise,” Matt said. “From what I hear, you aren’t very welcome in the saloon anyway. You frighten the other customers, and drive them away.”

“I’ve about had it with you, Mister,” Burnett said, pointing his finger, angrily at Matt.

“Burnett, I told you to shut up!” Scraggs said.

Burnett glared at Matt for a moment longer, then he went outside with the others.

As the men left the saloon, Matt walked back up to the bar and, with his left hand, retrieved his beer.

“Damn, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!” Charley said, his voice cracking with awe.

“Wait,” Matt said quietly.

“Wait on what?”

“You’ll see.”

At that moment the batwing doors swung open and Scraggs stepped back into the saloon. He already had his pistol in his hand, but before he could bring it to bear on Matt, he found himself staring into the big .44-caliber hole at the business end of Matt’s pistol.

“Hello, Scraggs,” Matt said easily.

Scraggs stood there for a second, his face registering the shock of seeing Matt with his pistol already drawn and pointed toward him.

Scraggs lowered his gun. “I, uh, just thought I’d,” Scraggs started, but he was unable to finish his sentence.

“Empty your gun, Scraggs,” Matt ordered.

“Look, why don’t I just…?”

“Empty your gun,” Matt said again. “Push out all the shells and let them fall to the floor.”

Scraggs made no move, and Matt cocked his pistol, the double click sounding dangerous.

“Empty your pistol,” Matt said again.

Glaring angrily at Matt, Scraggs punched all the shells out of the cylinder. They sounded exceptionally loud as the hit the floor, one at a time.

“Now, walk over to the stove and toss your gun in.”

“What good would that do you? I have another pistol,” Scraggs said.

“Just do it,” Matt said, making a small waving motion with the end of his pistol.

Scraggs continued to glare at Matt, but seeing Matt’s unwavering insistence, he walked to the middle of saloon floor, opened the door, and dropped the pistol inside.

“That’s a nice man,” Matt said. “Now, find somewhere else to be. We’re all tired of looking at you.”

“Mister, you don’t have an idea in hell what you have just done,” Scraggs said.

“Yeah, I do,” Matt said, and he kept his gaze fixed on Scraggs until the posse man left the saloon.

For a long moment after Scraggs left, it was deadly quiet in the saloon, as if no one would dare even breathe. Then Jenny walked over to the window and looked outside.

“They’re gone,” she said. “They are all goin’ toward the hotel.”

“Good riddance,” Charley said.

Charley’s comment seemed to open up the dam because now everyone started talking, describing in animated detail what they saw to everyone else who had seen the same thing.

“Gents,” Charley called out. “This round is on the house.”

With acclamations of appreciation, the other patrons rushed to the bar.

“What about Mr. Pemberton?” Jenny asked.

“Pemberton isn’t down here now.”

“No, but I’m sure the old gentleman would like a beer,” Jenny said. “Especially since Mr. Jensen just ran off the men who threw him out of his home.”

“Threw him out of his home?” Matt asked.

“He was livin’ at the Del Rey Hotel,” Charley explained, “but Sherman and his men took over the hotel. They threw Mr. Pemberton out, as well as the three old ladies, just so they could have the entire hotel for themselves. Pemberton didn’t have anywhere else to go, so he’s stayin’ in the room that Millie was usin’.”

“I think Millie would like that,” Jenny said.

“Yeah, I do too,” Charley said. He drew a mug of beer and handed it to Jenny. “Take it up to him, and tell him why.”

Matt visited with the other saloon patrons while he killed time until noon.

“Say, young fella, you’ve got the name Jensen,” one of the other patrons said. “Would you happen to know a man by the name of Smoke Jensen?”

Matt took a swallow of his beer and studied the questioner for a moment before he answered. Smoke Jensen was better known than Matt, and over the years, Smoke had made a lot of friends by doing the right thing, even when doing the right thing was hard, or unpopular.

But, like Matt, Smoke had also made a lot of enemies, probably even more enemies than Matt had made, primarily because Smoke was older and had been around a lot longer.

Matt lowered the beer and wiped some foam away from his lip. There was nothing in the tone of the questioner’s voice, or the expression on his face, to indicate that he might be an enemy.

“Yeah, I know Smoke Jensen,” he said. He didn’t offer any more information.

The man smiled and nodded. “Uh, huh. I thought so. Well, let me tell you this, son. Smoke Jensen is as fine a man as ever drew a breath, and if you are anything like him, then I’m damn pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The man offered his hand, and Matt took it. “Thanks,” he said. “I share your opinion of Smoke.” Looking over at the clock Matt saw that it was nearly noon. He finished his beer. “I have to be going,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed my visit.”

“That has to be either the most courageous, or the most foolish man I have ever met,” Charley said after Matt left. “And I swear I don’t know which it is.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“That’s him,” Scraggs said to Clay Sherman, pointing to Matt as he left the saloon. “That’s the son of a bitch that kilt Poke.”

Scraggs and Clay were standing at the front window in the lobby of the Del Rey Hotel.

Sherman stepped up closer to the window to look at the man Scraggs had pointed out.

“So, that’s the famous Matt Jensen, is it?” Sherman asked.

“Yeah. I don’t mind tellin’ you, Colonel. He worries me,” Scraggs said.

“He’s only one man,” Sherman said.