Snake River Slaughter

Chapter Seven

After he served Matt another beer, the bartender leaned over the bar to look at the two bodies. Madison was lying on his back at the end of the bar, his arms thrown out to either side of him, his pistol a few feet away from his right hand.

The second shooter was also on his back, but he was draped across the piano with his head hanging down. His hat and pistol were on the floor just in front of the piano bench. Gradually, cautiously, the others in the bar began approaching the two bodies.

“Are they both dead?” the bartender asked.

“This here’n is deader’n shit,” someone said as he poked at Madison’s body with his foot.

“This one is as well,” the piano player said, returning to his instrument. He lifted the shooter’s hand, then let it go. It fell against the keyboard, striking several keys inharmoniously.

“Damn, Floyd, that feller plays the piano better dead than you do alive,” someone said, and a few of the others laughed, nervously, not from the humor of the comment, but from the fact that it tended to relieve the tension.

Only the women of the bar did not gather around the two bodies. Instead, the one who had smiled at Matt when he first came into the saloon, and the other two who had been working the bar with her, now stood in a frightened cluster back in the far corner of the barroom, near the large, upright clock.

“Did you all you see what I just seen?” someone asked. “That feller at the bar took ’em both out.”

“Damndest thing I ever saw.”

“I seen Hickock in action oncet. He war’nt nowhere near as fast as this here fella was.”

“I’ve hear’d tell of a feller named Matt Jensen, but this here is the first time I ever actual saw him.”

For a long moment nobody approached Matt, and he was glad. He had come in here for a beer, and that was all. He had no idea he would get involved in a gun fight, and he still had no idea why he was challenged. It couldn’t have been, as Madison said, to make a name for himself. For if that had been the case, there would not have been a second shooter on the balcony. And if there was a second shooter that meant this was planned. But how could they have planned it? Nobody knew Matt was coming to American Falls.

Nobody except the person who had offered him the job. Was Madison the one who wrote the letter? Had he written it just to get Matt to come American Falls? That would explain how they were able to set up an ambush for him, but it did not explain why.

The life Matt Jensen lived was full of desperate and deadly encounters, and those encounters invariably left enemies. But as far as he knew, he had never encountered Madison before. On the other hand, he also realized that there was no way he could ever know just who every enemy might be.

Matt looked over in the corner toward the smallish man who had given him the warning of the second shooter. Seeing a nearly empty beer mug sitting on the table in front of him, Matt turned to the bartender.

“Give me another beer,” he said, again putting a nickel down.

The bartender drew a third beer, and Matt took the full mug over to the little man at the table.

“I’d like to buy you a beer,” Matt said.

“Thank you.”

“Why did you do it?” Matt asked.

“Why did I do what?”

“You know what. You gave me a signal about the second shooter.”

“I suppose I did.”

“Why?”

“Because, Mr. Jensen, if you had been killed, I would not have been able to fulfill my obligation to my client.”

Before the little man could explain his comment, a deputy sheriff came into the saloon. He stopped just inside and looked around at the saloon patrons who were now gathered in a knot around the two bodies.

“What the hell happened here? Did these two fellers shoot each other?” the deputy sheriff asked.

“Not hardly,” the bartender answered.

“Well then, what did happen?”

Everyone wanted to tell him, and they all started talking at once, each one shouting over the other in order to be heard.

“Hold it! Hold it!” the deputy called, loudly. He put his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you if you are all goin’ to shout at the same time. You, Ben,” he said to the bartender. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I seen it.” Ben offered nothing else.

“Well?” the deputy asked.

“Well what?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“That feller sittin’ at the table over there,” Ben said, pointing to Matt. “The big one, not the little one. Anyhow, he just come into the saloon a couple minutes ago and ordered hisself a beer. I drawed him one—from that barrel there, the other’n bein’ just about empty and it gets some bitter when you get to the bottom. And you know me, Pete, I figure the first beer anyone orders should be the best ’cause otherwise, how are you goin’ to keep ’em as a customer?”

“For God’s sake, Ben, will you get on with it?” the deputy said. “I don’t give a damn which barrel you served him from.”

“Yes, sir, but you asked what happened, and I’m just tellin’ you in my own way. Now if you want to hear what happened, just hear me out an’ let me speak my piece. Now, like I was sayin’, I drawed him a beer, and that feller was just drinkin’ it, all peaceful like, when that feller down there”—he pointed to Madison’s body—“he says, ‘Would you be Matt Jensen?’ And the big feller, he says, ‘Yes I am.’ And then that feller lyin’ on the floor, he says ‘I’m goin’ to kill you.’ And the next thing you know, the shootin’ commenced.”

“What about the other one over there?” the deputy asked, pointing to Jernigan’s body. The deputy looked up at the balcony and saw the busted rail. “Did he just get so excited watchin’ that he fell through the railing?”

“No, sir. To tell you the truth, Pete, now that’s the mystifyin’ thing of it. That feller was up on the balcony, and he shot at Mr. Jensen too,” Ben said.

“Did he also challenge Jensen to a gunfight?”

“No, sir. What he done is, he just commenced a’ shootin’ without no word of warnin’ at all.”

“Ben’s tellin’ it right, Deputy,” a patron said. “It all happened just like he’s a’ tellin’ you it happened.”

“So what you are sayin’ is, there was two men shootin’ at him, one from up on the balcony, but the big man sittin’ back there took ’em both on and kilt ’em both?

“Yeah,” another said. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. This here Jensen fella is as fast as greased lightnin’. I mean, when you think about it, it was all over in not much more than the blink of an eye.”

“Jensen?”

“Matt Jensen is who it is. I reckon you’ve heard of Matt Jensen.”

“Yeah,” the deputy said. “I’ve heard of him.”

During the entire conversation between the deputy, the bartender, and the other patrons of the bar, Matt had remained seated at the table with the small man who had warned him about the second shooter.

“You want to come over here, Mister Jensen?” the deputy called to Matt.

“Excuse me,” Matt said to the little man at the table. He pushed his chair back, then walked over to join the deputy.

“Is that pretty much the way you’d tell the story?” the deputy asked Matt.

“Yes.”

“Folks are sayin’ you are Matt Jensen. Is that right? Are you really Matt Jensen?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Jensen. Fac’ is, I seem to recall seein’ a book that was writ about you. Would you be that Matt Jensen?”

“I wouldn’t put much store in any of those dime novels,” Matt replied.

“But you are the one them books is about, ain’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Didn’t I just also read somethin’ about you bein’ involved in a shootout over in Green River City, Wyoming last month?”

“You may have.”

“You bein’ the real Matt Jensen and all, it makes me wonder what you are doin’ in American Falls,” the deputy said. “Is there a reason for you bein’ here?”

“There’s no reason for me not to be here,” Matt answered in a matter of fact tone.

“I reckon not,” the deputy agreed. “But the thing is, Mr. Jensen, we don’t get that many famous folks in our little town. And we most especial don’t get folks that’s famous ’cause they are so all fired good with a gun. Accordin’ to them dime novels, you are always on the right side of the law. Is that true?”

“I try to be a law abiding citizen,” Matt replied.

“Yes. Only, you come here to American Falls and the first thing you do after you get here is, you get yourself involved in a gunfight. Ain’t that about the size of it?”

“I didn’t start the gunfight.”

The deputy waved his hand in dismissal. “I know, I know, ever’ one says you didn’t start it. But that still don’t tell me what you’re a’ doin’ here.”

“Deputy, since I am not breaking any law, nor am I wanted by the law, the truth is, I can be just about anywhere I want to be,” Matt replied.

“I’m just curious, that’s all,” the deputy said. “I reckon you are right, I reckon you do have the right to be anywhere you want. And, from what all the folks are saying, I don’t see any need for an inquiry. It was self-defense, pure and simple.”

“You’re doin’ the right thing, Pete,” the bartender said.

“Anybody know these two men?” the deputy asked, looking toward the bodies.

“This one here said his name was Madison. Al Madison,” the bartender said. “I seen him and the other fella together earlier. And if I recall, there was a third one with them too.”

“Is that a fact? Is he still here?”

The bartender looked around the saloon, then he shook his head. “I don’t see him.”

“I seen him a while ago,” one of the other saloon patrons said.

“Where did you see him?”

“He was standin’ just outside the door there,” the man said. “He was watchin’ what was goin’ on. And like Ben said, he come in with them two fellers. For a moment, I was afraid he might start in a’ shootin’ seein’ as how he was with them before. But all he done was watch. He come in for a few seconds, just long enough to look at his two dead pards, then he left.”

“You ever heard of a fella named Al Madison, Deputy?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah, to tell the truth, I think I have heard of him,” the deputy replied. “I think I might have seen some paper on him once. Only I believe he’s from over in Owyhee county. What do you reckon he’s doin’ here?”

“Well sir, from the way he was talkin’, I’d say he come here especially to kill Mr. Jensen,” the bartender answered.

“Did you know him?” the deputy asked Matt.

Matt shook his head. “No.”

“I ain’t never heard that you ran bad, Mr. Jensen, but I have heard that you’ve come out on the standin’ up side of an awful lot of gunfights, just like you done with this one. Could this maybe be some feud you brought in from somewhere else?”

“Like I said, I’ve never laid eyes on either one of them before today.”

“Uh huh,” the deputy said. He stroked his chin as he studied Matt. “Well, I reckon when you come right down to it, somethin’ like this is bound to happen, pretty much anywhere you go, ain’t it? I mean people like you just seem to breed trouble.”

“What do you mean ‘people like me’?”

“You know what I mean. I mean people who have a reputation like you have. There’s always someone all full of himself, someone who thinks that killin’ you will make him famous.”

Matt had encountered many such people before, so he couldn’t argue with the deputy’s logic.

“You’ve got me there, Deputy,” he said. “It’s not something I want—it’s just something that happens.”

“Ahh,” the deputy said with a dismissive shake of his head. “It ain’t your fault. It’s just that—well, for small towns like American Falls, we simply ain’t prepared to deal with it. Adam,” the deputy called to one of the others, “go get Mr. Prufrock. Tell him he’s got some undertakin’ business to do. We got us two bodies to take care of.”

“Yes, sir, Deputy.”

The young man charged off on his errand. The deputy hung around for a moment or two longer, then he started for the door, but before he reached the door, he turned back.

“I’d appreciate it, if those of you who can write, would stop by the office tomorrow and write out a statement about what you seen here tonight. There ain’t goin’ to be no inquiry, but the sheriff and the judge are goin’ to need to know the facts.”

“We’ll do it, Deputy,” someone called back.