Snake River Slaughter. William W. Johnstone

      At the moment he was standing in the entry hall at Coventry Manor, having been summoned by Kitty Wellington. As he waited there, he studied the colorful banners that hung over the hall, including the Union Jack of Great Britain, the Stars and Stripes of the United States, and the Wellington family crest.

      Gilmore was a little nervous about the visit because he had recently represented the plaintiff in a lawsuit against Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington won the lawsuit, so he hoped she hadn’t sent for him to give vent to her anger. Mrs. Wellington was a very important woman in Owyhee County, and someone in his position could not afford to make such a powerful enemy.

      “Mr. Gilmore,” Mrs. Wellington said, smiling sweetly when she came to greet him. “Thank you so much for coming.”

      Gilmore was a little taken aback by the smile. It seemed genuine. He relaxed a little.

      “Yes, well, you said you had need of my services. I must confess to being a little surprised.”

      “Why surprised?”

      “I thought you might be angry with me.”

      “Because you represented the other party in a lawsuit against me? Don’t be silly. I know that’s what lawyers do. I also know that you are an honest and trustworthy man. You could have bent the facts in the case, but you did not.”

      “That wouldn’t have been ethical,” Gilmore said.

      “Exactly,” Kitty said. “And right now I need someone who is both ethical and discrete. Can you be both?”

      “As long as the two requirements aren’t contradictory,” Gilmore replied.

      Kitty laughed. “Good, good, that is exactly the answer an honest man would give. Now I know I have the right man.”

      “What is the task, Mrs. Wellington?”

      Kitty picked up a folded copy of The Boise Statesman from the hall table. “Have you read this paper?”

      Gilmore glanced at it, then he looked up. “Yes, it has a very nice article about you.”

      “It also has an article about Matt Jensen,” Kitty said. “The task I am assigning you, Mr. Gilmore, is to find Matt Jensen. Once you learn where he is, I want you to contact him and tell him that an old friend needs help, and ask him to meet you in American Falls. Once you meet him, bring him to me.”

      “You tell me to bring him to you, but I can only bring him if he is willing to come,” Gilmore said. “I have heard of Matt Jensen. I get the feeling that he is not a man who can be coerced into doing something he doesn’t want to do.”

      “I will give you a personal letter to carry from me to him. Once you show him the letter, he will come,” Kitty said, confidently.

      “All right, I’ll contact him, and I’ll carry your letter to him,” Gilmore replied. “But I’m curious. Why do you want me to meet him in American Falls? Why not meet him in Medbury?”

      “I want to keep the meeting secret,” Kitty replied. “I think we can better do that in American Falls. Besides if, after you meet him, he doesn’t want to get involved, he won’t have come so far. That is, assuming he is still in Green River.”

      “I’ll do what I can.”

      “Mr. Gilmore, I especially do not want Poke Terrell to find out about this. If Prew is right, if Mr. Terrell is the one behind the rustling of my horses, he might try and stop Matt from coming.”

      “Matt? You are on a first name basis with Matt Jensen?”

      “I was once,” Kitty said.

      “Well, in that case, maybe he will come,” Gilmore said. “And don’t worry, I will be extremely guarded in my mission.”

      Cattleman’s Bank and Loan, two days later

      “You sent for me, Joel?” Marcus Kincaid asked.

      “Yes,” Matthews said. He slid a letter across the desk, and Marcus picked it up.

      “What is this?”

      “This is a letter from Kitty Wellington. I thought it might give you comfort to know that the loan will be repaid and you will recoup your investment, as well as the interest due. It’s addressed to me but, under the circumstances, you being the one who now owns the loan, it is really your letter.”

      Dear Mr. Matthews:

      As you know, within the last two weeks, Coventry on the Snake has been the victim of the foulest rustling, resulting in the loss of more than one hundred and fifty head of fine horses, worth a total of fifteen thousand dollars.

      I fear that you may be worrying about whether I will be able to retire the loan your bank so generously advanced, so I undertake the writing of this letter to ease any worries you may have on that score. I have recently signed a contract to deliver enough horses to the U.S. Army to allow me to easily discharge the debt I owe the bank. In order to help me accomplish this, I am calling upon Matt Jensen, an old friend, to help me, and I am sending my agent to American Falls to meet with him.

      I’m sure you can understand that, for the time being, I would prefer that the details of my contact with Mr. Jensen be kept in the strictest confidence.

      Sincerely,

       Mrs. Katherine Wellington

       Coventry on the Snake

      “Yes, I heard she had signed a contract to sell enough horses to pay off the loan,” Marcus said. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

      “I thought you might appreciate that, knowing that the money will be repaid, in full, and with interest.”

      “Yes, that’s very—comforting.” He set the word comforting apart from the rest of the sentence.

      “As the bullfighters say, it is the moment of truth for all bankers, when the loans are repaid in full,” Matthews said. “Perhaps after the successful conclusion of this project, you would be interested in purchasing more loans.”

      “Perhaps.”

      Mountain Home, Idaho

      When Sam Logan, Al Madison, and Ken Jernigan first stepped into the Cow Palace Saloon, they didn’t see the person they were looking for.

      “You sure this is the place?” Madison asked.

      “Yeah, I’m sure,” Logan answered.

      “What makes you so sure?”

      “How many saloons are there in Mountain Home named Cow Palace?” Logan asked.

      “There’s only one saloon in Mountain Home,” Jernigan said.

      “And it is named Cow Palace,” Logan said.

      “So, if this is the right place, how come Poke ain’t here?”

      “There he is,” Logan said.

      “Where?”

      “Back there in the corner, sitting with his back to us.”

      “Why is sittin’ like that? We damn near didn’t see him,” Jernigan said.

      “Maybe that’s why he’s sittin’ like that,” Logan answered. “Maybe he don’t want to be seen.”

      Logan led them to the back of the saloon to the table where the man they were to meet was sitting.

      “Did you see anyone else from Medbury outside?” Poke asked.

      “No,” Logan answered. “Poke, why we meetin’ here, ’stead of in the Sand Spur?”

      “It’s better to meet here,” Poke said without further explanation.

      Matt Jensen was in Southeastern Idaho, riding north and sloping down a long slant from the Sublett Mountain range. The green covered mountains loomed