Snake River Slaughter

Chapter Eight

Matt waited until the deputy left, then he returned to the table where the little man sat, quietly waiting. Matt had some questions for him, and began, by asking him his name.

“My name is George Gilmore.”

“Just before the deputy came in, you said something about fulfilling an obligation to your client. What were you talking about?”

“I am a lawyer, Mr. Jensen. The client I was talking about is Mrs. Kitty Wellington of Coventry on the Snake.”

“You are the one who sent me the letter,” Matt said. It was a statement, not a question.

“I am.”

“What is Coventry on the Snake?”

“It’s a ranch over in Owyhee County.”

“Owyhee County is in West Idaho,” Matt said. “If your client wanted me to come over there, why did you ask me to meet you here, in American Falls?”

“We didn’t want anyone to know we were hiring you,” Gilmore said. “That’s why Mrs. Wellington suggested that we meet here, in American Falls. Evidently our ruse didn’t work, because as you can see, Madison, Jernigan, and Logan found out, not only that we were attempting to hire you, but also where we would be meeting.”

“You knew these men?”

“Not personally, but I know who they were. The moment I saw them here, I knew there was likely to be trouble.”

“How did you know they would mean trouble?”

“Mrs. Wellington has recently had some trouble with rustlers. One of her hands said that Poke Terrell was behind the rustling, and these three men are associates of Poke Terrell.”

“Is Terrell in jail?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It was one ranch hand’s word against Terrell’s. And Terrell had witnesses who provided them with an alibi.”

“But you believe the ranch hand?”

“I do. And what happened here, tonight, proves it, as far as I’m concerned. I believe they were trying to keep you from going to help Mrs. Wellington.”

“How did they know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know how you knew I would be here, since you are the one who sent me the letter. But how did these two men know that I would be here?”

“That is a good question, Mr. Jensen” Gilmore admitted. “I don’t have any idea how they knew I was going to meet you here.”

“I have another question for you. Why did Mrs. Wellington pick me?”

“At one time Mrs. Wellington knew you, and she remembers you fondly.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t recall ever meeting anyone named Kitty Wellington.”

“That is her married name,” Gilmore said.

“If she is married, why is she trying to hire me? Shouldn’t her husband be the one doing the hiring?”

“Her husband is deceased,” Gilmore said. He chuckled. “But the truth is, Mrs. Wellington is such a remarkable woman, that even if her husband was still alive, she might very well be the one involved in these negotiations.”

“She sounds like an interesting woman.”

“Oh, indeed she is, sir. Have you had your dinner yet, Mr. Jensen?”

“No, Matt replied.

“Let me buy you dinner. And over dinner I shall show you a newspaper article about her. Then, I will show you the letter that Mrs. Wellington wrote to you. I think that will explain everything.”

Matt smiled. “I’ve never turned down a free meal,” he said.

The undertaker arrived just as Matt and Gilmore were leaving the saloon. He had two workers with him, and he began directing them through the grim business of recovering the bodies.

As they left the saloon they saw the undertaker’s wagon parked out front, not the elegant and polished glass sided hearse, but the more pedestrian wagon he used to pick up bodies for preparation.

The two men walked up the street, past the leather goods store, the apothecary, a dry goods store, and a hardware store until they reached a restaurant called Morning Star Café. They were greeted by an attractive brunette, who showed them to a table in the back of the room.

“Now then,” Gilmore said, after they ordered, “we’ll start with the newspaper article. This particular article happens to be from The Boise Statesman. When you read it, perhaps you will have an idea as to who Mrs. Kitty Wellington is.”

Gilmore took an envelope from his pocket, then removed the newspaper article. Gingerly unfolding the article, he handed it across the table to Matt. “Read this.”

Matt unfolded the article, spread it out on the table in front of him, and began to read.

Coventry on Snake Will Be Ready

TO SHIP HORSES SOON.

Mrs. Kitty Wellington of Coventry on the Snake now has upward of one thousand horses on the Range. These are the finest animals one can imagine.

Mrs. Wellington is a strikingly handsome woman, tall and graceful. Her face shows great strength of character and a wealth of blond hair makes a striking frame for it.

Few persons are more entertaining conversationalists. In speaking about her ranch interests, Miss Wellington stated that the ranch was the vision of her late husband, Sir Thomas Wellington, who was the Seventh Earl of Buckinghamshire. However, he died before his ambition could be realized. While some may think that starting a horse ranch may be unseemly for a woman, Mrs. Wellington says that she considered it her obligation to bring his dream to fruition.

Readers may know of Coventry Manor, Wellington’s palatial estate located on the Snake River at the conflux of the Bruneau. The ranch itself, Coventry on the Snake, comprises some 20,000 acres of the best grazing range in Idaho. Among the horses are several fine Arabian saddle horses, as well as imported stallions, including Normans and French coach horses.

Her prize horse is a Hanoverian, which she brought out to the ranch from the East last year. Prince William, a champion jumper, stands sixteen hands high, weighs 1,200 pounds, and has a bright brown coat. Mrs. Wellington is breeding draft, coach, and saddle animals that are as magnificent as any that appear upon the parade grounds of the U.S. Cavalry, or the boulevards of the great cities of the world. Though she has spent the last three years developing her stock, this will be the first year she will actually ship her animals to market.

It may be added that Miss Wellington has quickly established the reputation of being a perfect judge of horses There is no man in Idaho who is her equal and few anywhere who are as good as she. Moreover she is an ideal horsewoman; there is probably no woman in the world who can excel her in the saddle.

“She sounds like quite a lady,” Matt said, handing the article back to Gilmore. “But it still doesn’t ring any bells as to why I should know her.”

“Read this letter, then we’ll talk,” Gilmore said.

Dear Matt:

Please forgive me for addressing you by your Christian name, but it is the way I remember you. You will remember me, if you remember me at all, as Katherine. I slept in the bunk next to Tamara when she and I, and you, were residents of the Soda Creek Home for Wayward Boys and Girls.

Of course, you may not remember me at all. I was younger than you, and not nearly as courageous. But then, nobody at the home was as courageous as you were. You had no way of knowing, but I was so in love with you then. Well, I was as in love as a nine-year-old girl can be.

It took me a while to find you, and if you are reading this letter, then the first part of my quest has been accomplished. The second, and most difficult part of my quest, will be in getting you to agree to come work for me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean work for me in a permanent position. I would love that, but from what I have learned about you, you are a man who moves about in a restless drift that neither proposes a particular destination nor has a sense of purpose.

Perhaps, for a short time, I can provide you with both a destination and a sense of purpose.

I believe Mr. Gilmore, who is the bearer of this letter, also showed you a newspaper article that will provide you with some information about me. If so, then you know that I am undertaking to fulfill a dream that I shared with my late husband.

Although my husband owned the land, he did not have any livestock, and when he died, I was denied access to his funds by the English courts. As a result, I have had to borrow money against the land and the house in order to build the ranch. I am about to make a shipment of horses which will make enough money to pay off the loan, but recent events have caused me to worry as to whether or not I will be able to do this. Rustlers have twice struck the ranch, and I have been losing stock at an alarming rate. I have asked the city marshal, who is also the deputy sheriff of the county, for help, but there is only so much he can do.

Marcus Kincaid has suggested strongly that I sell the ranch to him. Kincaid was the son of my husband’s first wife and inherited half of Thomas’s holdings. I believe he was hurt that he did not inherit Coventry, so I think his offer to buy the ranch is made as much out of his desire to own the ranch, as it is out of genuine concern over my welfare.

Despite his offer, I intend to keep the ranch. That is, I shall keep it if I am successful in fighting the rustlers. And that is why I am contacting you, now. From what I have learned about you, Matt, the courage and resourcefulness you showed as a youth in the orphanage has now manifested itself in your adulthood. I have read about you. You are a fearless defender of what is right and a brave foe of all that is evil.

I am calling upon you for help, believing that the aforementioned virtues, as well as any residual feeling you might have for one who shared with you those terrible days in the orphanage, will lead you to respond favorably.

Should you decide in the affirmative, Mr. Gilmore will provide you with rail passage to Medbury, the nearest railhead to Coventry. From there, it is but a short ride to my home.

Sincerely,

Your Friend, Katherine

Matt smiled as he finished the letter. “I do remember her,” he said.

“Oh, thank Heavens,” Gilmore said. “If you had not remembered her, I fear it would have been impossible to talk you into coming to her aid. Though I am prepared to tell you what a wonderful woman she is, and how…”

“I’ll do it,” Matt said, interrupting Gilmore in midsentence.

“Oh, my, this is a little unusual,” Gilmore said. “Is there to be no negotiation? Don’t you want to know how much Mrs. Wellington is willing to pay for your services?”

“Not particularly.”

Gilmore smiled. “Mrs. Wellington said this would be your reaction. I didn’t believe her—I thought you, well, that is, I thought any man would want to know what was in this for them before they made a commitment.”

“When do we leave?” Matt asked.

“We will leave on the morning train,” Gilmore replied.

“My horse?”

“I have rooms for us at the hotel. The hotel also provides a stable. You can put your horse there for tonight, and I will secure passage for him on the train tomorrow.”

“Mr. Gilmore, you are a very efficient lawyer,” Matt said.

“Thank you, sir. I try to be,” Gilmore replied.

That night, Matt dreamed. It had been a long time since he had actually thought of the orphanage, and even longer since he had dreamed about it. But the contact with Katherine had brought back the memories that caused the dream. And in the dream the years rolled away so that it was a real as if he were reliving the first day he became a resident of the Soda Creek Home for Wayward Boys and Girls.

“I thought this was the orphanage,” Matt said. “Maybe I’m in the wrong place. I’m sorry.” He turned and started to leave.

“Did you come with Landers?” the man asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I already paid for you. You are in the right place.”

“You paid for me?”

“Twelve and a half good dollars,” the man said. “You’ll be workin’ that off.”

“But he took my rifle.”

“Who took your rifle?”

“Brother Landers. He said he paid you so I could stay here, and he took my rifle to pay him back.”

The man chuckled. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said. “Don’t trust somebody, just because they tell you they are a preacher.”

“Isn’t he a preacher?”

“He is sometimes, I reckon. What’s your name?”

“Matthew Cava…”

The man held up his hand. “Your ma and pa alive?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you don’t have a last name.”

“But my last name is…”

“You don’t have a last name,” the man said again. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Captain Mumford.”

“What?”

“When you talk to me, you will always address me as Captain Mumford.”

“Yes, Captain Mumford,” Matt said.

“You’re awfully small for twelve years old.”

“I’m not twelve,” Matt said.

Mumford slapped Matt in the face, not hard enough to knock him down, or even bring blood, but hard enough that it stung.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m not twelve,” Matt repeated.

Mumford slapped him again. “You don’t learn very well,” he said. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. What did you say?”

“I said I’m not twelve—Captain Mumford,” Matt said, getting the last part out just before Mumford slapped him again.

Mumford smiled. “Well, maybe you aren’t so dumb after all. Not twelve, huh? How old are you?”

“I’m ten, Captain Mumford.”

“Ten, huh? Well, you are a big enough boy for ten. I’m sure I can find something for you to do. Connor!” he called loudly.

An older boy came into the office from the back of the house.

“Yes, Captain Mumford?”

“Here is a new boy,” Mumford said. “His name is Matthew. Take him into the back and,” Mumford paused, “break him in.”

Matt awakened in the middle of the night and for just a second or two, he could almost imagine that he was back in the Wayward Home for Boys and Girls.

Despite what Captain Mumford had told him, he did have a last name. At that time, his last name was Cavanaugh. He was ten years old, and he had already killed the first man—killing one of the outlaws who had killed his parents and his sister.

He escaped from the Home a few years later, and was found in the mountains, half frozen to death. The man who found him was Smoke Jensen, and the legendary mountain man not only saved Matt’s life, he raised him, and taught him how to ride, shoot, and track. But mostly, he taught Matt how to be a man and a grateful Matt took Smoke Jensen’s last name to honor his friend and mentor.

Then he used every skill Smoke taught him to track down, and bring to justice, the men who had killed his entire family.

Now, several years later, he lay in bed, in the hotel room in American Falls, Idaho, separated from the reality of his dream by both time and distance, until finally sleep overtook him.

The rest of the night was deep and dreamless.