Snake River Slaughter

Chapter Twelve

Coventry on the Snake was mostly rolling upland grassy country. As they rode back, in the distance Matt could see mountains, dark blue at their base, and rising to majestic heights where little spindrift-like tendrils of snow trailed away from the brightly gleaming snow-covered peaks, white, against the bright blue sky. The prairie below the mountains was ablaze with a colorful profusion of wildflowers: yellow Yarrow, red Indian Paintbrush, light blue Mountain Phlox, and purple Trillum.

Just ahead of them, a jack rabbit ran along with them for a short distance until it grew tired, then it stopped and watched as the two riders passed by.

The range was divided by fences, into several different pastures, each pasture area containing a specific breed of horse.

“If I didn’t keep them separated, it would be no time at all until I had such a mixture of breeds that the horses would be practically worthless,” Kitty explained. “As you can see, I have nothing but purebreds, specific as to their purpose: draft horses, carriage horses, horses that are best for pulling stagecoaches, and saddle horses,” Kitty said.

“I see you also have a few head of cattle,” Matt said, pointing to a distant field where a rather substantial herd of cattle grazed.

“Only about five hundred head,” Kitty replied. “They are what is left from Tommy’s original cattle operation. They are also a hedge. If my note comes due and I can’t pay it, I believe I can sell off the cattle for enough money to renegotiate the loan.”

“Good plan,” Matt said.

When Matt and Kitty returned to the house, they saw a carriage parked in the driveway.

“Looks like you have company,” Matt said.

“That carriage belongs to Marcus Kincaid,” Kitty replied. “I wonder what he wants.”

“Only one way to find out,” Matt said.

Kitty urged her horse into a trot and Matt kept up with her. As they rode into the drive, the door to the carriage opened and a well-dressed man stepped out.

“Hello, Kitty,” the man said.

“What are you doing here, Marcus?”

“Now, is that anyway to greet your own stepson? Who is this?” he asked, looking at Matt.

“This is Matt Jensen. He is a friend of mine. In fact, he has been a friend since we were children together.”

Marcus extended his hand. “It’s good to meet an old friend of Kitty’s.” he said. “I hope you find your visit to Idaho pleasant.”

“I’m enjoying it so far,” Matt replied. He was still mounted, so he was able to refuse the offered hand without it being too obvious. He nodded instead.

“You didn’t answer my question, Marcus. What are you doing here?” Kitty repeated.

“I’ve been concerned about you,” Marcus said. “I just came out here to see how you are getting along.”

“You go to court to try and take everything away from me, and now you say you are concerned about me? Am I supposed to believe that?”

“I was wrong, taking you to court the way I did,” Marcus said. “I guess I was hurt, and maybe a little angry, that Papa Tom left me out of his will. I mean, after all the years I was a part of his family, for him to just forget about me the way he did—well, it hurt my feelings. But I had no right to take it out on you. And now that I look back at it, I can see that what I did might be taken as an act against you, personally, and I don’t want you thinking that.”

“What are you saying to me, Marcus? That you will make no more attempts to take over Coventry?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Marcus said. “The issue was settled in court, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s over.”

“Well, I appreciate that. Does that also mean that I don’t have to worry about Poke Terrell killing any more of my hands?”

“Now, Kitty, that isn’t fair. You know I don’t have anything to do with Poke Terrell. I have no idea why he suddenly showed up here.”

“What about Madison and Jernigan? They worked for you at one time, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they worked for me once, a long time ago. But they quit last year. As far as I know, they are out in California by now.”

“They’re dead,” Kitty said.

“Dead? How do you know?”

“Because I killed them,” Matt said. “Just like I killed Sam Logan.”

“Logan, yes, he was a real bad sort. He tried to come to work for me once, but when I found out he had served some time in prison, I said thanks, but no thanks. And you say you killed Sam Logan?”

“And Madison and Jernigan.”

“I suppose you had good reason to kill them?”

“They were trying to kill me,” Matt replied.

Marcus nodded. “That’s reason enough, I would say.”

“But you knew nothing about it?” Kitty asked.

“No, how could I know anything about it? I told you, none of those men work for me. I have no way of keeping up with them.”

“Yes, so you said,” Kitty replied, the tone of her voice clearly challenging.

“Kitty, I wonder if your friend would excuse us, so we could talk alone for a few minutes?” Marcus asked.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Mr. Jensen,” Kitty said.

“Please, Kitty,” Marcus said. “There are some things that are just too personal.”

Kitty looked over at Matt.

“I’ll put the horses away,” Matt offered.

“Thank you, Matt,” Kitty replied, offering him the reins to her horse. She watched as Matt led both animals toward the barn.

“May we step inside?” Kincaid asked.

“If you wish.”

Kincaid made a motion with his hand, offering Kitty the lead. When they reached the top of the steps, Kincaid hurried ahead of her, then opened the door and held it.

“Ah, the suits of armor,” he said, smiling, as they stepped into the hall. “Do you know that when my mother first married Papa Tom, and we came out here to live, I was frightened by these suits of armor? I was convinced they were all occupied by ghosts from Papa Tom’s past.”

“Kincaid, I know you didn’t come out here to talk about ghosts and suits of armor.”

“No, I didn’t,” Kincaid admitted. “Look, this is—well, it is rather awkward, but I don’t know any way to say it, other than to come right out and say it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and me. Us, actually,” Kincaid said.

“Us?”

“Kitty, you can’t possibly be blind to the fact that I have long been an admirer of yours.”

Kitty laughed out loud. “You, an admirer? Well I must say, Kincaid, you certainly have a strange way of showing it.”

“But it’s true, Kitty. I’ve known it, from the moment Papa Tom brought you home. You have to know that you are a beautiful woman. Any man would admire you. I had to keep quiet about it of course. After all, you were my stepfather’s wife. How would it look if I showed any romantic interest in you? It would have been, at best, shocking.”

“It couldn’t possibly be any more shocking than the conversation we are having now,” Kitty said.

“I know this must come as a shock to you,” Kincaid said. “After all, I have held my feelings in check for a long time now. First, there was the fact that I—well, as I said, I felt hurt and resentful over the fact that Papa Tom left everything to you. Then—foolishly I now know—I attempted to use the court to subvert Papa Tom’s wishes. I had no right to do that. I can only hope that, by my foolishness, I haven’t completely destroyed any possibility of paying court to you.”

“Marcus, after all you have done, I can’t believe that you would possibly say such a thing to me and expect any kind of a response,” Kitty said.

“Don’t say anything now,” Marcus said. “All I ask is that you just think about it for a while. You are going to need a husband to help you run this place. You have a very good business head on your shoulders, I will give you that. But there are times when you will need a man around, and I’m willing to be that man.”

“Marcus, I—I don’t want to sound rude, but there is no way I could possibly have any feeling for you. What you asking is impossible.”

“Why is it impossible? You can’t tell me you actually loved Papa Tom. You know you married him just to—uh get out your situation. Well, you are in another situation now and I’m available. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You are wrong, Marcus. I did love Tommy. Oh, maybe not in some young, girlish romantic way. But I did love him. And there is no way I could say the same thing about you.”

For a moment, Marcus looked angry, then, inexplicably, he smiled. “All right, Kitty, if you say so,” he said. “But you can’t blame a man for trying.”

Matt came back in to the house before Kitty could respond. Noticing a pregnant silence and sense of awkwardness, he stopped just inside the door. “Have I returned too soon?” he asked. “Should I leave and come back?”

“No, I was just leaving myself,” Marcus said. He smiled at Matt as he started toward the door. “Do enjoy your visit here,” he said. “And if you get up toward Medbury, stop by and pay me a visit.”

“Thanks, maybe I will,” Matt said.

Marcus took Kitty’s hand, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Until we meet again,” he said.

Marcus’s act of courtesy surprised Matt, but he said nothing until he heard the sound of the carriage driving away. Turning back toward Kitty, he saw a very strange look on her face.

“Katherine, are you all right?” he asked, reverting back to the name by which he had known her.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Kitty said.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Matt knew that Kitty’s response was disingenuous, but he didn’t press the matter.

“You said I could speak with Prewitt?”

“Oh, yes. See Tyrone Canfield. He is the ranch foreman and his office is at the end of the bunkhouse. Tell him I said to take you to see Prew. I never go into the bunkhouse myself. I consider that to be the private quarters of the men who work for me.”

“And I’m sure they appreciate that,” Matt said.

Matt walked across the lawn and down to the bunkhouse. He had seen a lot of bunkhouses in his life, had even spent about eight months in one when he worked as a cowboy, but he had never seen one like this. It was much larger than any he had ever seen before, painted white, with a red roof. A porch stretched down the length of it, onto which opened at least ten doors and twice as many windows. The porch had a roof, supported by a series of pillars that were set every ten feet. There were also benches and rocking chairs on the porch, many of them with cushions. It was obvious that Kitty, and probably her husband before her, treated the ranch hands with kindness and respect.

Matt tapped on the door to the office and it was opened by a white-haired man with steel blue eyes. He was weathered and bowlegged and he held the stump of a pipe clenched between his teeth. “I take it you are Mr. Jensen,” the man said.

“Mr. Canfield,” Matt said, extending his hand.

“Call me Tyrone,” the man replied.

“Only if you reply in kind.”

“What can I do for you, Matt?”

“Katherine said you would take me to Prewitt.”

“Sure, right this way,” Tyrone said, stepping out onto the porch and walking down to the next door. He pushed it open, then stepped inside.

“Prew, you awake?” he called.

“Yeah, I’m down here,” a voice answered.

The inside of the bunkhouse was as nice as it was outside. There were at least ten potbellied stoves down the center aisle of the dormitory, all of them sitting in sandboxes. Because it was summer, none of the stoves were lit, but the smell of last winter’s fires still lingered, not strong enough to be unpleasant, but just enough to suggest the warmth the stoves provided.

Now, gourds of water hung from the rafters, the evaporation of the water helping to cool the interior. Every bed had a foot locker and wall locker, and there were decorations on the walls.

“How is your shoulder,” Tyrone asked as he and Matt approached.

“Still a little sore,” Prew answered. “I can’t complain though, seein’ as what happened to Timmy and Hank.”

“Prew, this is Matt Jensen. He’s a friend of—”

“Matt Jensen!” Prew said. “I know’d Miz Wellington was goin’ to ask you to come out here. I’m sure glad you did, and I’m real pleased to meet you.”

Prew stuck his arm out to shake hands with Matt, but he jerked it back with a quick spasm of pain.

“Ouch,” he said, reaching up to grab his shoulder.

“Let me do the reaching,” Matt offered, sticking his own hand out. Prew smiled broadly as they shook hands.

“I’ve read about you,” Prew said. “You’re the first famous person I’ve ever met.”

“Fame is relative, Prew. There are a lot more people who have never heard of me than there are people who have.”

“Yeah, I reckon that’s probably right,” Prew said.

“Prew, I want you to tell me all you can remember about the night you were shot.”

Prew told how he, Hank, and Timmy were riding nighthawk, when Hank rode off to check on a colt. He told of hearing a gunshot in the night, then getting no response when they called after Hank.

“Me and Timmy rode right into it, Mr. Jensen,” Prew said. “One minute we was lookin’ for Hank, and the next minute there was bullets flyin’ all around. I don’t remember actually gettin’ hit. I just remember lyin’ on the ground with my shoulder hurtin’.”

“But you saw the rustlers?” Matt asked.

“Yes, sir, I seen ’em all right. Only thing is it was dark, so I couldn’t say for sure. But I’ve seen Poke Terrell a lot of times in the Sand Spur, and, in the dark, this feller looked a lot like him.”

“Did you recognize any of the others?”

“I thought one of them might have been Sam Logan,” Prew said. “But then since Logan works for Poke, it might be I was just thinkin’ it might be him.”

“He don’t work for Poke any more,” Tyrone said.

“He don’t?”

“Nope,” Tyrone said. “Matt killed him.”

“The hell you say,” Prew replied with a wide grin. “When? Where?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Matt said. “Up on the top of Bruneau Canyon.”

“Damn. What was he doin’ up there?”

“He was trying to kill Mr. Gilmore and me,” Matt said.

Prew laughed. “Good for you. You know what? I think gettin’ you to come help her is ’bout the smartest thing Miz Wellington has ever done.”