William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“I haven’t served any such notice,” Marshal Sparks said.

“Then if notice has not been served, and Sherman really did take the horses, he stole them,” Gilmore said. “That means you can arrest him and the entire posse.”

“Yeah, I guess I could, couldn’t I?” Marshal Sparks replied without enthusiasm. “Or, maybe I can just show him the error of his ways. Mr. Gilmore, would you copy that law out on a piece of paper for me so I can show it to Sherman.”

“I’ll be glad to do it for you, Marshal, but what will that accomplish?” Gilmore asked. “If Sherman knows about the part of the law that he showed you, the part he used as justification to steal Mrs. Wellington’s horses, then you can bet that he knows about this part of the law.”

“Yes,” Sparks said. “But at least this way, he will realize that I know about this part of the law as well.”

It was mid-afternoon by the time Matt and the other riders from Coventry on the Snake managed to retrieve the horses and put them back in the field where they were being held, pending the shipment to Chicago. As soon as all the horses were recovered, Tyrone detailed some of the men to repair the fence the Auxiliary Peace Officers had destroyed when they took the horses.

“I don’t understand,” Kitty said. “I thought Poke Terrell was behind all this. But he’s dead and the rustling continues.”

“Do you remember in the café yesterday, when I pointed out the head of the Auxiliary Peace Officers to you? I told you he was going to be trouble.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“The four men I killed were wearing the uniforms and badges of the Auxiliary Peace Officers.”

Kitty gasped. “Oh, Matt. Have I gotten you in trouble with the law?” She asked. “If I have, I will never be able to forgive myself.”

“If so, it won’t be the first time I’ve come close to the line,” Matt said. “But don’t worry about it. Whether they are wearing badges or not, I don’t believe, for a minute, that they are actually law officers. They may be some sort of posse with deputies’ badges, but they are not legitimate law officers.”

“Where are they now?” Kitty asked. “The men who stole the horses, I mean.”

“Tyrone sent Prew back out with a wagon to pick up the bodies. I’ll take them into town tonight.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Matt said.

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was mid-afternoon when Hodge Deckert stepped down from the 4:20 west-bound train at the Medbury Depot. He checked his sample case to make certain nothing had been broken during the trip.

A traveling salesman from Denver, Deckert had been on the road for just over a week, having served clients in Greely, Colorado, Cheyenne, Rawlins, and Green River, Wyoming, Squaw Creek, American Falls, and King Hill, Idaho, before arriving here in Medbury. So far his trip had been successful, and he had taken orders for almost a thousand dollars worth of goods, which meant he had earned one hundred dollars in commission. Medbury was the end of his sales territory. He would spend the night here at the Del Rey Hotel, then call on the mercantile and general stores tomorrow in time to take the noon train back.

Satisfied that his samples were undamaged, he closed the case then started across the street to the hotel. As he started through the door, though, two large men blocked his way.

“Where do you think you are going?” one of them asked. Both were dressed just alike, and both were wearing star badges on their shirt.

“I’m going to check into the hotel,” Deckert said.

“No, you ain’t.”

“Why not?”

“There ain’t no rooms left.”

“Of course there are. Elmer always keeps a couple of rooms open for travelers. I stay here every time I come to Medbury.”

“You ain’t stayin’ here tonight.”

“I’d rather hear that from Elmer,” Deckert said.

The two burly men looked at each other for a moment, then one of them laughed. “Let him talk to Elmer,” he said.

“Yeah, why not?”

The two men stepped aside and Deckert, a bit apprehensive now, crossed the lobby to the front desk. Elmer was standing behind the desk.

“Hello, Elmer. Is my room ready? I’d like the same one I always have, on the font, overlooking the street.”

“There is only one room left, Hodge, and I don’t think you will want it,” Elmer said.

“What do you mean I don’t want it? Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t,” one of the men with the star on his chest said.

“What’s going on here, Elmer?”

“Pearl and I have a spare room. You can stay with us tonight,” Elmer said. “In fact, you can join us for supper, and it won’t cost you a cent.”

“Well, then, if you are willing to do that for me, of course I will accept your offer. But I would like to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll tell you all about it, later,” Elmer said. “Come on, I’ll walk down to the house with you and tell Pearl we’re having company tonight.”

“Does your wife like perfume?” Deckert asked.

“Oh, heavens, we can’t afford to be buying something like perfume.”

“You won’t be buying it, I’m giving it to you. I have a spare bottle in my samples kit. I would be pleased if Mrs. Reinhardt would accept it.”

Crack Kingsley was riding into town just as Elmer and Deckert were walking up the street toward the little cluster of houses that made up the residential area of Medbury. He touched his hat and nodded at them, and they returned the gesture.

Crack rode past the Sand Spur and wanted, very much, to stop and have a beer and maybe visit a little with one of the women. But he had told Matt that he would come straight to town, make his purchase, then return immediately.

Crack could understand the need to get back to the ranch, especially if the rustlers hit them again tonight. What he couldn’t understand was why Matt had sent him in town to make such a frivolous purchase.

Dismounting in front of the Medbury Mercantile, Crack stepped up on the porch, then went inside. He passed by the candy shelf and saw a large jar of horehound candy. He thought of Hank, who always bought himself a stick anytime he came to town, and asked one of the others to buy it for him if they came to town and he didn’t.

The thought caused Crack to experience a moment of melancholy, and, in memory of Hank, he reached down into the jar and pulled out a penny stick. He walked up to the counter holding the stick of candy.

“Hello, Crack,” the store keeper asked. “How is Mrs. Wellington getting along?”

“She’s doin’ just fine, Mr. Dunnigan, I’ll be sure and tell her you was askin’ about her.”

“You do that,” Dunnigan said. He pointed to the stick of candy and chuckled. “You didn’t ride all the way into town just to spend a penny, did you?”

“What?” Crack held up the stick of candy and looked at it. “Oh, no sir, I just picked this up on account of Hank.”

“Hank? Isn’t he…?” Dunnigan let the question hang.

“Dead, yes sir, Hank’s dead all right. But you mind how much he loved horehound?”

“I sure do. That boy bought him a piece ever’ time he come in here,” Dunnigan said.

“Well, sir, this here candy is for him, sort of a way I’ve got of rememberin’ him.”

“Yes, and a very good way that is too,” Dunnigan said. “Now, what else can I do for you?”

“It’s comin’ up on the Fourth of July,” Crack said. “I was just wonderin’ if you had any of them fireworks in yet?”

“I sure do. Out here, you got to order them things early if you want to make sure you get ’em in time for the Fourth. What do you need?”