Snake River Slaughter

“Number five? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Al Madison, Ken Jernigan, Sam Logan, Carlos Garcia, and now Cooter. I don’t know Cooter’s real name,” Matt said.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you are the son of a bitch who keeps sending them after me.”

“Here, you got no call to be talkin’ to Mr. Terrell that way,” Mole said.

Matt jerked his pistol from his holster, pointed it at Mole, and cocked it. “You were there with Cooter, both times,” Matt said. “You were on the canyon wall, and you were with Cooter this morning.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mole said.

“You don’t?”

“I swear, I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Then you are going to die dumb,” Matt said. “I don’t plan to give you any more chances to ambush me, so I’m going to kill you right now.”

Several in the saloon gasped.

“No, no!” Mole said, throwing his arms up. “I ain’t even carryin’ a gun. You can see my holster is empty! I think Cooter stole it.”

“Did he, now? Well, you can take that up with him when you see him in hell.”

“No, no!” Mole said. “Please, Mister, don’t kill me. Don’t kill me!” Mole dropped down onto his knees, weeping.

“Get out,” Matt said, making a motion toward the batwing doors. “Get all the way out of town. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Mole shouted. Getting back on his feet, he ran toward the door, pushing through those who had gathered just outside. A moment later, everyone could hear the clatter of hooves as Mole galloped out of town.

“Mister, I don’t know who you are,” Poke said. “But you don’t come in here and threaten me or my friends. I won’t put up with—unh!”

The grunt came from a blow, struck by Matt. Matt was still holding the pistol in his hand, and he brought it around in a vicious backhand, hitting Poke in the side of the head and knocking his chair over. Poke wound up on his back, on the floor.

“You son of a bitch!” Poke shouted in rage, pulling his pistol from his holster.

Matt closed in on him in one step, and as Poke got the pistol out, Matt sent a swift kick against it, knocking the pistol out of Poke’s hand.

Poke rolled over onto his hands and knees and stayed that way for a moment.

“Arrghhh!!” Poke yelled at the top of his voice. Coming up off his hands and knees, Poke launched himself in a bull-like charge toward Matt. The sudden charge caught Matt off guard and he dropped his pistol as Poke drove him across the room before slamming him into the bar.

The ferocity of the attack momentarily stunned Matt and he was unable to respond. Poke took advantage of Matt’s immobility, then pulled back away from him just far enough to send a hammerlike blow into Matt’s side.

Poke was an incredibly strong man, and Matt felt as if he had been kicked in the side by a mule. The pain was excruciating, and he knew that the wound had been opened up. In fact, he could feel a dampness under his shirt, and he knew it was blood.

Thinking he had the advantage now, Poke threw a powerful right cross, hoping to connect and take Matt out. But Matt managed to jerk his head back just far enough to avoid the blow. Matt countered with a hard, straight left, landing it on Poke’s nose. He felt the nose go under the blow, and had the satisfaction of hearing Poke grunt in pain.

By now the citizens of the town who had gathered just outside the saloon began to come inside, joining the saloon patrons who were already inside, in order to witness this fight. For a few of the townspeople, this was the first time they had ever been inside the saloon, and though under normal circumstances, they would avoid such a place with all that was in them, this was different.

This was a fight between two powerful men. And since neither of the men were from Medbury, it didn’t really matter to the crowd who won, as long as the fight was entertaining.

Poke made another wild swing, and Matt managed to dance back away from it, shooting a right jab to Poke’s chin as he did so. Poke shook off the blow, then saw that Matt was bleeding through his shirt on his left side. Poke smiled at him.

“Oh, now, did I do that?” Poke asked. “That must really hurt.”

Poke picked up a chair, then swung it like a baseball bat at Matt. Matt ducked under it, and the swing caused Poke to be off balance. Taking advantage of that, Matt gave Poke a shove, causing him to stumble into the potbellied stove, knocking it over. When he did so, all the sections of the stove pipe came loose, and black soot poured out onto Poke, blackening his face.

Just as Poke regained his feet, Matt charged, putting his shoulder into Poke’s stomach and driving him back against the stair railing. Poke went through the railing.

Matt stepped away again. Poke lay halfway through the railing onto the stairs. He shook his head, then got up but, as he did so, he grabbed one of the rungs from the railing. Lifting it over his head, he charged Matt, once again, bellowing in anger.

Matt picked up a section of the stove pipe and held it crosswise in front of him to take the blow from the club. The stove pipe was bent double by the force of the blow, but it prevented the club from actually hitting Matt. Poke