“What?” Blackburn called back, his voice thin and muffled from inside the cabin. “Who’s calling me?”
“This is Lieutenant Poke Terrell of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. I am ordering you to come out of that cabin with your hands up!”
“What do you mean, come out with my hands up? Why should I do that? What do you want?”
“I have a summons to take you back for the murder of James Dixon!” Terrell shouted loudly.
“You’re crazy! I’ve already been tried, and found innocent.”
“You’re being tried again.”
“My lawyer said I can’t be tried again.”
“You’re lawyer lied. And if you don’t come out of your cabin now, I’m going to open fire,” Poke called.
“Go away! You ain’t got no right to take me back.”
“You are going back, whether it’s dead or alive,” Poke said.
As Sherman and Poke expected, a pistol shot rang out from inside the cabin. The pistol shot wasn’t aimed, and was fired more as a warning than any act of hostile intent.
“All right, boys, he shot at us!” Sherman called.
“Beg your pardon, Colonel, but I think he wasn’t actual aimin’ at us. I think he was just tryin’ to scare us off,” one of the men said.
“That’s where you are wrong, Scraggs,” Sherman said. “He clearly shot at us. I could feel the breeze of the bullet as it passed my ear.” Smiling, Sherman turned to the rest of his men. “That’s all we needed, boys. He shot at us, so now if we kill him, it is self-defense. Open fire,” he ordered.
For the next several minutes, the sound of gunfire echoed back from the sheer wall of Snowy Peak as Sherman, Poke, and the other men with them fired shot after shot into the cabin. All the windows were shot out and splinters began flying from the walls of the little clapboard structure. Finally, Sherman ordered a cease-fire.
“Lieutenant Terrell, you and Scraggs go down there to have a look,” Sherman ordered.
With a nod of acceptance, Poke and Scraggs left the relative safety of the rocks, then climbed down the hill to approach the cabin. Not one shot was fired from the cabin. Finally, the two men disappeared around behind the cabin, and a moment later, the front door of the cabin opened and Poke stepped outside, then waved his hand.
“He’s dead!” Poke called up.
“Dead—dead—dead!” The words echoed back from the cliff wall.
“Gentlemen, we’ve done a good day’s work here today,” Sherman said with a satisfied smile on his face.
Boise City
For a time during the gold rush, Boise had prospered and boomed. After the gold rush, Boise began declining in population, and had shrunk to less than one thousand people in 1870. But now, with both the territorial prison and the territorial capital in Boise (some wags suggested that there was very little difference in character between the prisoners and politicians), there had been a rather substantial rebirth and, once again, Boise was a booming community.
Clay Sherman had an office in Boise, boldly placing it right next door to the Territorial Capitol Building. He had no reservations about advertising his location, and a sign, hanging from the front of the office, read:
IDAHO AUXILIARY PEACE OFFICERS’ POSSE
Colonel Clay Sherman, Commanding
PRIVATE POLICE SERVICE
At the moment, Sherman was meeting with Poke Terrell, his second in command. Poke had brought him a proposal for a job down on the Snake River in Owyhee County.
“What do you think, Colonel? Should we take the job?” his first lieutenant asked.
“I don’t know,” Sherman answered. “It’s not the kind of thing we normally do.”
“No, but he’s offerin’ fifteen hunnert dollars, and the job don’t seem all that hard to do. I just don’t think we should walk away from it.”
“Who is it that’s wantin’ to hire us?”
“His name is Marcus Kincaid. He’s a rancher down in Owyhee County.”
Sherman, who had once been an Arizona Ranger, stroked his jaw for a moment as he contemplated the suggestion his second in command had made.
“If you ask me, I think we should do it,” Poke said. “I mean, we don’t need ever’one. I could prob’ly take care of it myself.”
“All right, I’ll tell you what,” Sherman said. “How about you go down there and meet with this fella? If it looks like something you can handle, go ahead and do it.”
“By myself?”
“Why not? You just said you could probably handle it by yourself.”
“Well, yeah, I think I can. But maybe I should take a few of the men with me?”
“No. Because of the type operation it is, I want to keep as much separation as I can between that job and the posse,” Sherman said. “In fact, I think you should quit the organization.”
“What? No, now wait, I didn’t have nothin’ like that in mind,” Poke said. “I was just suggestin’ that it might be a good way to make some money.”
Sherman held up his hand to halt the protest. “Don’t worry, you won’t really be quitting,” he said. “We’ll just make everyone think you have quit. In fact, we can let it out that I fired you.”
“Oh. All right, whatever you say. As long as you ain’t kickin’ me out, I mean.”
“Now why would I want to kick you out, Poke?” Sherman asked. “You are one of the best I’ve ever ridden with. I told you, you leavin’ us would be just for show, just to keep anyone from tracing your operation back to us.”
“What if I need help?”
“If after you get down there, you decide that you need help, hire some locals. If the job is really worthwhile, you should be able to afford it.”
“Oh, the job will be worthwhile, all right,” Poke said. “I don’t see how it can miss.”
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2009 William W. Johnstone
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-2316-5
*From Violence of the Mountain Man
* Betrayal of the Mountain Man