Gunsmoke Legend (An Ash Colter Western) by Bridges Ben

Author:Bridges, Ben [Bridges, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Bookends
Published: 2012-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Much has been written about the Snake River Shootout, as it came to be known, and its aftermath has also been discussed at some length by students of Western history, so I will only summarize it here, for there is still much of our story left to tell.

Suffice it to say that when Jim Ballew tooled the eastbound stage into the yard a few hours later, he left with two extra passengers, Cy Pollack and Mr. Traylor. Upon reaching Franklin, Cy got Mr. Traylor to a doctor and then went to report the shootings to the town marshal, T G Haslett. Three days later, the county sheriff, Allan Doyle, rode out to the station and formally arrested Jack and me.

Before Justice of the Peace Levi Kennett, we explained as much of the affair as we considered necessary, but having no wish to besmirch Kate Spickett’s reputation — or Jack’s, come to that — we chose to omit the real reason for Walt’s visit that day, and instead concentrate upon the outstanding debt he had come to recover.

Witnesses were called. Among them were Cy, Hetty and a slowly-recovering Mr. Traylor. Under oath, a couple of Lazy D men grudgingly confessed that they had heard Walt boasting drunkenly the night before the killings. He had said, Tm going to fix them sorry sonofabitches out at the Snake River station.’

It was, then, a clear case of self-defense, but even if it had been otherwise, I think we would have been discharged, for the Devlins were not well-liked in the county — even less so once news of Kate’s cold-blooded murder got around — and most folks were just glad to see the back of them.

Thus it was that we left the county courthouse as free, if infamous, men. But the matter did not end there. Folks came out to the station and lined up to shake us by the hand and ask shyly if they could touch the butts of our guns. The editor of the Franklin Courier paid Cy Pollack fifty dollars for an exclusive eye-witness account of the gunfight. Suddenly I had all the attention and respect I could ever want.

And yet I did not care to stay in that neck of the woods and be forever known as one of the participants in the Snake River Shootout. Men of such dubious distinction inevitably attract challengers, fledgling gunmen anxious to prove their own worth by burning down their peers, and I had no desire to await their arrival. This, I think, was why Jack always preferred to move on after a time. Apart from that, there was the very real danger that Angela Farson, Tom’s widow and the Devlins’ sister, might engineer some kind of retribution against us.

Suddenly I began to cherish the anonymity I had lost. The only way that I could see to regain it was to leave the area and start up my life someplace else. But I found the prospect of leaving the station frightening, because

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