William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

“I need me a sky rocket,” Crack said.

“A sky rocket? Just one?”

“Yes, sir, just one will do me.”

“All right,” Dunnigan said, walking down behind the counter until he came to the fireworks’ shelf. He picked up one rocket, then brought it back and showed it to Crack.

“Will this leave a trail when it goes up?” Crack asked.

“Indeed it will,” Dunnigan replied. “If you send this thing up in the night it will leave a shower of sparks behind it, then, when it gets to the top, it will burst open into a whole bunch of little balls of different colored lights.”

“I’ll take it,” Crack said.

“Is this all you want? I got me a lot of firecrackers too. You can’t hardly celebrate the Fourth of July without you set off a bunch of firecrackers.”

“Mayhaps I’ll come back a’fore the Fourth and get some of them,” Crack said. “But for right now, this here rocket is all I want.”

“All right. The rocket and the piece of horehound candy come to eleven cents,” Dunnigan said.

Crack paid for his purchase, put the rocket and half a piece of the candy in a sack, stuck the other half piece in his mouth, then went back outside. He saw a couple of cowboys he knew from a neighboring ranch. They were standing near the watering trough.

“Hey, fellas,” he said. “What you doin’ out here? Anytime you boys come into town, you near ’bout always go to the Sand Spur.”

“Ain’t no fun at the Sand Spur right now,” one of the two cowboys said.

“Yeah, not as long as them deputies are here,” the other one said. “They go into the Sand Spur and all the fun comes out of it.”

“I don’t know what they are after, but I’ll sure as hell be happy when they leave.”

“What are you doin’ in town, Crack?”

“I just come into town to buy somethin’,” Crack said.

“Horehound candy,” one of the cowboys said with a chuckle. “You come into town to buy horehound candy.”

“Yeah, well, I like it,” Crack said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it. I like it too, but I don’t think I’d ride five miles just to get me some.”

“Maybe you just don’t like it as much as I do,” Crack said. He untied his horse, mounted, then looked back down at his two friends. “You boys take it easy now, you hear?” he said as he rode away.

“Good job,” Matt said. He looked down at the rifle pit which was deep enough to stand in, and wide enough for three men to occupy.

“We dug one here, and another one over there,” Tyrone said. “This way we’ve got the entrance covered, no matter which side the rustlers might come in on.”

“Move some brush over in front of them,” Matt said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. That way they won’t be as likely to see us, even if we are shooting at them.”

“I’m going back to the house,” Matt said. “When Prew gets back with the bodies, have him come up.”

“Here comes Crack,” Jake said.

Matt waited until Crack got there before he left for the house.

“Did you get the rocket?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Now, go back to the cookhouse, have the cook fix you a lunch to take with you.”

“Take where?”

“Do you see that bluff there?” Matt said, pointing to a rather prominent feature about two miles away. “I want you to go up onto that bluff and stay. And stay awake. If you have to, get yourself a handful of coffee beans and chew on them tonight. From there, you will have a good view of anyone who approaches the ranch. If you see anyone coming, shoot the rocket off.”

“Ahh, it’s a signal,” Crack said. “I was wonderin’ what you were wantin’ this rocket for.”

“Don’t shoot it until they pass you though,” Matt said. “We don’t want them to know they’ve been seen.”

“How do you know they’ll be coming tonight?” Jake asked.

“I plan to leave them a message tonight,” Matt said. “Once they get the message, they’ll come.”

Matt was sitting at the dining room table with Kitty when Prew came in. “Excuse me, but Tyrone said you wanted to see me.”

“Did you recover the bodies?” Matt asked.

“All four of them. With their hats, just like you said.”

“Are they still in the buckboard?”

“Yeah. I tell you the truth, Matt, I don’t know why we’re goin’ to all the trouble. If it was up to me, I’d let ’em just lie out there and rot.”

“Have you had your supper?”

“Not yet.”

“Have the cook make you a sandwich, then bring it with you. You can eat it on the way into town.”

“We’re actually going to do it, aren’t we? We’re takin’ these bastards into to town to the undertaker.”

“Something like that,” Matt said.

Clay Sherman was staying in the room that had belonged to Mr. Pemberton, taking it because it was better furnished than any of the other hotel rooms. This room had, in addition to the bed and a comfortable chair, a small kitchen table and kitchen chair. At the moment, Sherman was sitting at the kitchen table in the soft, golden glow of the lantern, figuring his profit on the back of an envelope.

Marcus Kincaid had paid him ten thousand dollars to make certain Kitty Wellington did not get her horses to market in time to save her ranch. But Kincaid had made no reference of any kind as to the disposition of the horses. He hadn’t mentioned them because he was certain that once the ranch came into his possession, then everything on the ranch would also be his, including all the horses.

Sherman hadn’t mentioned the horses either, because he had his own plans for them. Poke had already made an arrangement to move the horses at fifty dollars a head, though he had told everyone but Sherman that he was only getting twenty-five dollars a head.

Fifty dollars a head for five hundred horses was twenty-five thousand dollars. That twenty-five thousand dollars, plus the ten thousand he was getting from Kincaid, would make this, by far, the most profitable business arrangement he had ever entered in to.

Smiling, Sherman drew a circle around the figure, thirty-five thousand dollars, then he folded the envelope and stuck it down in his pocket. Glancing toward the window, he saw that it had grown very dark outside and, since he had not yet had his supper, he decided he would have it now. Sherman extinguished the lantern, then stepped out into the hallway and started down the stairs.

The wall sconces in the lobby had not yet been lit, so it seemed darker than usual. The only lantern providing any light was sitting on the front desk.

“Hey, hotel clerk,” he called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Why ain’t you lit the wall sconces yet?”

Sherman did not get a reply.”

“Reinhardt, where the hell are you?” Sherman called again.

Of course, when one thought about it, there was really no reason for the clerk to be at his desk at all. The Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse occupied every room but one, and nobody was likely to occupy that one, remaining room.

Sherman stepped up to the front desk, and banged his hand down on the call bell.

“Reinhardt?”

He didn’t care whether the hotel had any new guests or not. As far as he was concerned, the clerk should still be at work, if for no other reason than to provide services for Sherman and his men. And one of the things he should do, was light the sconce lights in the lobby. A man in Sherman’s position couldn’t help but make enemies, and dark lobbies were places that a man with enemies should avoid, when possible.

“Never mind,” Sherman grumbled. “I’ll light the lanterns myself.”

Reaching over the desk, Sherman found a box of matches, then he turned and started out into the lobby.