Snake River Slaughter

Chapter Ten

The Mud Hole was a poor second place saloon to the Sand Spur. Whereas the Sand Spur had a real bar, a brass foot rail, a mirror, and lantern sconces, the Mud Hole bar was boards, spread across barrels. There was no mirror, the light was dim, and provided by no more than three or four lanterns that were strategically set around the room.

No bar girls worked the Mud Hole, because the clientele didn’t believe in buying drinks for anyone but themselves. So different was the clientele that frequented the two saloons that even in a town as small as Mudbury, there were men who were regulars at the Mud Hole, who would not even be recognized if they stepped into the Sand Spur.

Such was the case with John “Mole” Mueller, and Harold “Cooter” Cotter, habitués of the Mud Hole, who earned their money in the most menial tasks imaginable. Logan had met Mole and Cooter when he spent some time with them in prison.

Logan, who tended to move back and forth between the saloons, needed a couple of men to help him “take care of” Matt Jensen, so he recruited them in the Mud Hole, calling upon Mole and Cooter.

“Ten dollars?” Cooter said. “Ten dollars to do what?”

“To do what I tell you to do, without asking any questions,” Logan said.

“Hell, what kind of job is that?” Mole asked.

“It’s a job that will earn you ten dollars,” Logan said. He waited for a moment, then added, “each.”

“Wait. We each get ten dollars?” Cooter asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s different. I thought you was just talkin’ about ten dollars for the two of us to have to share. When do we get it?”

“When the job is done,” Logan answered.

Cooter shook his head. “No, we need it before we do the job.”

“Why do you need it before you do the job?”

“I don’t know what the job is, but since you won’t tell us beforehand, it ain’t likely to be all that easy,” Cooter said. “Besides, we may want to buy us a bottle of whiskey.”

“I ain’t goin’ to have you gettin’ drunk on me,” Logan said.

“We ain’t goin’ to get drunk. We just want a couple of drinks.”

“You got horses and guns?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I got me a gun and a horse,” Cooter said proudly.

“I ain’t got either one. I used to have a gun, only I sold it in order to get enough money to buy some whiskey,” Mole said.

“All right, I’ve got a gun I’ll lend you, Mole. And we can rent you a horse from the livery.”

“What about the ten dollars?” Cooter asked.

Logan stared at them for a long moment, then sighed and pulled out two ten dollar bills. “Here it is,” he said. “But if you two try and run out on me before we do the job, I’ll hunt you both down.”

“We ain’t goin’ to run out on you,” Cooter said, smiling as he took the money. “Come on, Mole, let’s split the cost of buyin’ a bottle of whiskey.”

An hour later Logan, Cooter, and Mole were on the top of the Bruneau Canyon Wall. A moment earlier, Logan had ridden out onto the lip of the canyon rim and looked north toward the Snake River. That was when he saw Jensen and Gilmore coming south in a buckboard. There was a horse tied on to the back of the buckboard.

Smiling, Logan turned his horse and rode back far enough from the edge of the canyon to avoid being silhouetted against the bright, blue, sky. He dismounted and tied his horse off where Cooter and Mole had ground staked their own mounts.

The two men were sitting cross-legged, passing back and forth the bottle of whiskey they had bought with the money Logan had given them.

“Cooter, he’s comin’. You two boys get ready.”

“Put the whiskey away, Mole,” Cooter said.

“What about it, Logan? Before I put it away, you want a drink?” Mole asked holding up the bottle. He dropped the bottle, and though it didn’t break, it did turn over and some of the whiskey began gurgling out.

“Sum’ bitch, Mole, you’re pourin’ out all our whiskey,” Cooter said, angrily.

“Don’t worry about it. There ain’t practically none of it spilt,” Mole said.

“Hah. If it had’a been spillin’, like as not you would be down on your hands and knees tryin’ to lick it up,” Cooter teased.

“What the hell?” Logan asked. “Are you men drunk?”

“We ain’t all that drunk,” Cooter answered with a belching laugh.

Poke Terrell had given Logan one hundred and fifty dollars, telling him to find four men he could trust, who would work for thirty dollars apiece. Generously, he told Logan that he could keep thirty dollars for himself.

What Poke didn’t know was that Logan was able to find two men who would work for ten dollars apiece. That left Logan with a total bonus of one hundred thirty dollars. But now, as he looked at the two men he had hired, he was beginning to wonder whether he made a mistake. If they weren’t drunk yet, they were well on the way.

“This ain’t the kind of job you can do while you are drunk,” Logan said.

“Well now, you just hold on there, Mr. Sam Logan,” Cooter said. “You’re askin’ us to kill a couple of fellas, right? For no reason in particular, just kill ’em. If that ain’t reason enough to take a couple of drinks before you commence shootin’, then I don’t know what is.”

“They’re coming,” Logan said disgustedly. “Get up to the edge of the rim. As soon as they come into the canyon, open fire.”

The two men stood up then walked up to the edge of the canyon.

“Where are they?” Cooter asked.

“Damn it! Get down!” Logan said. “You may as well be holdin’ up a sign.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cooter said. “You’re prob’ly right.”

All three men lay on their stomachs, then crawled up to the rim of the canyon so they could see.

“I don’t see nothin’,” Mole said.

“There’s two of ’em, comin’ in a buckboard with a horse tied on to the back. The buckboard is just around the bend. Be ready, you’ll see it in a minute,” Logan replied.

What neither Logan, Cooter, or Mole knew was that five minutes earlier, Matt had seen Logan up on the rim. He wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but for two reasons. First was that the run in with the two men in the saloon back in American Falls last night told him that someone was trying to see to it that he didn’t do anything to help Katherine. And second, the man on the rim was obviously trying to avoid being seen.

As the buckboard made a curve around a bend it was, for the moment, obscured from view by anyone who might be up on top of the canyon wall. Matt halted the team, then set the brake.

“Stay here until I get back,” Matt said, crawling over the seat into the back of the buckboard, then stepping into the saddle.

“What is it? Where are you going?”

“There is someone up on the lip of the canyon who seems more than a little interested in us,” Matt replied. “I plan to go up and see what he wants.”

“Oh, my,” Gilmore said. “You know, I never realized that we might actually be in danger, just by riding out to Coventry. I—I don’t even have a gun.”

“You won’t be in any danger as long as you stay behind this promontory,” Matt said, as he rode away.

Matt didn’t have to ride too far back before he found a small creek coming down from the top of the canyon wall. The creek bed was much larger than the creek itself, apparently the result of spring runoffs. Any question he may have had as to whether the creek bed would lead all the way up to the top was answered when he saw the track of three horses. Fresh droppings on the trail told him that the pass had been used within the last hour or so.

Matt urged Spirit into a trot and, rather quickly, he reached the top. Dismounting, he tied Spirit off to a low growing juniper, then, pulling his pistol and walking quietly, he started out across the relatively flat top.

“Are you sure you seen ’em? I don’t think there’s anybody down there at all.”

“I told you, they are around there behind that point. Soon as the buckboard comes into view, start shootin’.”

“I need another drink.”

“You don’t need nothin’ of the sort. Just do what I tell you.”

“Who is this fella we’re supposed to be shootin’ at, anyway?”

“His name is Matt Jensen.”

“Matt Jensen? Are you loco? I don’t know much, but I’ve heard of Matt Jensen, and I know he’s someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“You took the money, now just do what I told you to do. Keep lookin’.”

“Are you boys looking for me?” Matt asked, stepping up behind them.

“What the hell?” Cooter shouted. “Where did you come from?”

“Stand up,” Matt ordered.

The three men did as they were directed.

“Now, this is what I want you to do. I want you to toss your guns over the edge.”

“Mister, I ain’t tossin’ my gun over the edge of this here canyon for nobody,” Logan said.

Matt fired at him and a little mist of red flew up from his earlobe. Crying out in pain, he slapped his hand up to his ear, then pulled away a palm full of blood.

“You son of a bitch! You shot my ear off!” he shouted in fear and anger.

“I didn’t shoot it off, I just shredded your ear lobe some,” Matt said. “If you want me to shoot your ear off, I’ll do it. Now, toss your gun over like I said.”

The man with the bleeding ear tossed his gun over and the other two followed suit.

“Now your boots,” Matt said.

“Whoa, hold it now. Have you seen the kind of rock that is around here?” Logan asked. “Some of it is as sharp as a razor. You go walkin’ barefoot on that, you’re goin’ to cut your feet to pieces.”

“Then you’ll have to walk real slow and careful, won’t you?” Matt said. “That’ll give my friend and me time to get through the canyon without worryin’ about someone trying to kill us. Throw your boots over, like I said.”

Grumbling, the three men sat down and pulled off their boots, then dropped them over the edge. They stood up again.

“I’ll tie your horses off down at the bottom of the canyon,” Matt said.

“The hell you will!”

Logan produced another pistol from somewhere, and he fired at Matt, the bullet coming so close that Matt not only heard the pop as it passed his ear, he felt the concussion of air.

Matt returned fire, hitting Logan in the chest. Logan dropped his pistol and put his hands over the wound as blood poured through his fingers. His eyes rolled up, and he fell back.

The other two would-be assailants looked down at him.

“Either one of you two have another pistol?” Matt asked.

“I ain’t got one.”

“Me neither.”

“Hell, can’t neither one of us afford a second pistol.”

“Who was this man?” Matt asked, pointing to the one on the ground.

“His name was Logan. Sam Logan,” one of the men answered.

“Logan?” Matt remembered Gilmore telling him that Logan had been with Madison and Jernigan.

“That’s what he told us his name was.”

“Do you men work for Poke Terrell?”

“Poke Terrell? No, there don’t none of us work for Poke Terrell. Don’t none of us work for nobody except odd jobs from time to time,” the more talkative of the two men said. “That’s how we wound up with Logan.”

“What’s your name?” Matt asked.

“Folks call me Cooter.”

“Well, Cooter, if you aren’t working for Poke Terrell, what were you doing up here, waiting to ambush me?”

Cooter pointed to the body. “Like I said, we take odd jobs from time to time. Logan, he give us ten dollars apiece to come up here with him,” he said.

“Did he work for Poke?”

“He didn’t say,” Cooter said. “He never give us no reason for comin’ up here to shoot you. All he done was give us ten dollars.”

“And you agreed to kill someone for ten dollars? You consider killing somebody an odd job, do you?” Matt asked.

“He made it seem like it wasn’t goin’ to be all that hard to do.”

Matt raised his pistol and aimed it at Cooter. “It’s not much of a man who would agree to kill someone for ten dollars,” he said. “The world would be better off if I just killed you now.”

“No!” Cooter said, putting his hands out in front as if he could ward off the bullets. “No, don’t shoot!”

“Oh, damn, I just peed in my pants,” Mole said.

With a sigh, Matt lowered his pistol. “Like I told you, I’ll leave your horses at the bottom,” he said. “Being barefoot, it will take you a while to get there, but if you are careful, you can make it without cutting your feet up too bad. But hear this.” He raised his pistol again and waved it back and forth pointing at all of them. “If I ever seen any one of you again, I will kill you.”

“You ain’t never goin’ to see me no more, Mister. I can promise you that,” Cooter said.

Ten minutes later, Matt returned to the buckboard, leading the three horses.

The buckboard was empty.

“Mr. Gilmore?” Matt called out in some concern. “Mr. Gilmore, are you here?”

“I’m here,” a muffled voice answered and Matt saw the lawyer crawling out from a fissure in the side of the promontory.

Matt laughed. “It looks like you found a good hiding place there, Mr. Gilmore,” he said. “I didn’t even see you.”

“I heard shooting,” Gilmore said. “I didn’t know—that is, I wasn’t sure what was happening.”

“It was probably a good idea for you to hide,” Matt said. He found a scrub bush growing out of the side of the promontory, and he tied the three horses off, then he tied Spirit to the back of the buckboard.

“How much farther is it?” he asked climbing back into the buckboard and picking up the reins.”

“Not far,” Gilmore said. “We should be there in time for dinner.”

About half an hour later, Matt and Gilmore approached an arched gate. The pillars were made of stone and the overhead arch that connected the pillars was made of steel. The words COVENTRY MANOR in ironwork, were worked into the arch. On the left stone pillar was a coat of arms. The escutcheon was in quarters, and in the first and fourth quarters was a golden lion rampant on a red background. In the second and third quarters was the cross of St. George.

As they passed through the gate, they drove up a long, crushed white gravel drive which led to a three-story edifice of stone, brick, and mortar. The house spread out for at least one hundred fifty feet. The house had a castellated top, with towers at each of the four corners, plus an additional tower over the main entrance to the house. Pennants flew from the top of each of the corner towers; an American flag flew from the top of the central tower.

It had been many years since Matt last saw Katherine—he never knew her last name as nobody was permitted to use last names in the orphanage—but he recognized her immediately.

It was her eyes, big, blue, and flecked with gold, that he recognized first. They hadn’t changed. Appraising her as they drove up, Matt decided that she had grown up well. She was a very pretty woman.

Kitty Wellington was standing in the curved driveway, an entrance that seemed much more suited for an elegant and liveried carriage than an ordinary buckboard, pulled by a team of rented horses.

“Welcome to Coventry,” Kitty said as Matt pulled back on the reins to stop the team.

“Mrs. Wellington,” he said.

“Oh, please, Matt,” Kitty said. “Can’t we refer to each other as we remember?”

“All right,” Matt said with a big smile. “Only I remember you as Katherine, not Kitty.”

“Then, by all means, call me Katherine. I started calling myself Kitty as a way of totally separating myself from the orphanage. When I left I never wanted to think of it again. Although as I think back on it, I remember some people with great fondness—Eddie, Tamara, and of course, you. Eddie and Tamara are both dead now,” she said with a wilting tone. Then she smiled, and brightened. “But you and I are still alive. We have done well, Matt. And when you get right down to it, I think doing well is the best way possible to put that period of our lives in its proper perspective.”

“I agree,” Matt said. He looked around at the house and grounds. “I must say though, Katherine, that when it comes to doing well, you seem to have excelled far above my meager accomplishments.”

Kitty laughed. “Please, come in. I’ve had the cook prepare something special, just in your honor.”

Matt and Gilmore followed Kitty up the huge, curved stone steps, across the wide flagstone porch, through the massive carved and leaded glass double front doors, and into the house. The front doors opened onto a long, wide hallway. There were suits of armor standing on both sides of the hallway, while flags and tapestries hung from above.

On one wall, lit by flanking lanterns, was a huge painting of a young man in the uniform of a British colonel.

“Tommy was really proud of this painting,” Kitty said.

“Tommy?”

Kitty chuckled. “He asked that I call him that. He considered it an endearment. And he was a dear man, so I did so, willingly.”

“How long were you married?”

“Just over a year,” Kitty said. “He was considerably older than I, but it didn’t seem to matter.”

From the hallway they passed through the library. There was an open door at the rear of the library and, looking through that door, Matt saw what appeared to be an office. Even as he glanced toward it, Kitty confirmed what it was.

“My office,” she said.

Next door was a formal parlor with bright blue covering, from which French doors opened onto another patio that overlooked the lawn. From the formal parlor, Kitty led Matt and Gilmore into the dining room. The dining room had polished oak wainscoting, while the top half of the wall was covered in gold linen. The table was very long, and illuminated by three crystal chandeliers that hung above it in equidistant spacing. Although it looked as if it could easily seat forty diners, there were, at the moment, only three place settings of exquisite china, rimmed with a band of dark blue and edged with gold. In the middle of each plate was a crest, exactly like the crest that was on the stone pillar of the entrance gate. The dining plates had been placed on gold chargers. Sparkling crystal and shining silver completed the setting.

Matt started to sit at one of the side chairs, but Kitty demurred. “No,” she said, pointing to the chair on the end. “You sit here, at the head of the table.”

“I wouldn’t feel good about that. This is your house,” Matt said.

“A woman should never occupy the head of the table, and I never do, even when I eat alone,” she said. “Please, do me the honor.”

“Very well,” Matt agreed, holding the side chair out for Kitty, before taking his seat at the head of the table.

Kitty picked up a small bell and rang it.

“Yes, ma’am?” a young woman said, stepping through a door.

“You may serve,” Kitty said.

The first thing that was brought out of the kitchen was a glistening ham. It was set it in front of Matt.

“I thought you might enjoy carving,” Kitty said. “As you did that day, so long ago.”

Matt picked up the carving knife and fork, then smiled as he sliced into the ham.

“You are talking about the ham the ladies of the Methodist Church gave us,” he said.

“Yes. I’m glad you remember.”

“There are some things you never forget,” Matt said, as he lay a generous piece of ham on Kitty’s plate.

Bruneau Canyon

When Cooter and Mole reached the bottom of the canyon, they went right to the river where they sat on the bank and stuck their feet into the water.

“Damn, this hurts more’n it did when we was walkin’,” Mole said.

“Quit your bitchin’, Mole,” Cooter said. “The water is what’s makin’ it hurt now, but after a minute you’ll feel better.”

“Logan said this was goin’ to be easy,” Mole said. “Now he’s lyin’ up there dead, and we near ’bout walked our feet off.”

“What are you complainin’ about?” Cooter asked. “At least you’re still alive. And we still got the ten dollars Logan give us.”

“Cooter, when you looked Logan’s pockets, did he have anything else on him?” Mole asked.

“I told you, all he had was ten dollars, same as us.”

“The way I figure it, that ten dollars he had should belong to both of us,” Mole said.

“It does. Only I can’t give it to you now.”

“Why not?”

“What do you want me to do? Tear the bill into two pieces?”

“Oh, no, I reckon not.”

“Soon as we get into town I’ll get change and we can divide the money up.”

“Yeah,” Mole said, smiling broadly. “Hey, you know what I’m goin’ to do? I’m goin’ to get myself a real café supper, a bottle of whiskey I don’t have to share, and a woman with that five dollars. That’ll still leave me the ten dollars I got in the first place.”

“Nine dollars and fifty cents,” Cooter said. “Don’t forget, we put our money together to buy a bottle of whiskey.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still enough to do ever’ thing I said and have some money left over,” Mole said.

Cooter pulled his feet out of the water and rubbed them for a moment. “I don’t know about you, but I intend to find my boots and pistol, then go back into town. I don’t plan to be out here after dark.”

“Hey, I reckon this pistol Logan loaned to me is mine, now,” Mole said.

“You might as well keep his horse too, seein’ as you got to turn the one you’re ridin’ back into the livery.”

“You don’t mind if I take the horse?” Mole asked.

“No, I got one, you don’t.”

“That’s real good of you, Cooter.”