Snake River Slaughter. William W. Johnstone
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and the time of the settlement of the loan.”
“If you are sure the loan is going to be repaid, why are you willing to sell it?”
“We are a bank, Mr. Kincaid, and in order to function as a bank is supposed to function, it is necessary that we maintain a significant balance of funds. From time to time we get—well, to be honest—a little over-extended. When that happens, we can’t make any new loans. Selling this note will give us more flexibility in handling customers who require new loans.”
“All right, I want to buy the loan. How long will this transaction take?”
“Not very long at all,” Matthews said. “In fact, we can do it this very day. As soon as you make the payment, we can draw up the papers transferring the mortgage to you.”
“Exactly how much money will it take at this moment, to purchase the loan?”
“The initial loan was for twenty-five thousand dollars, but currently, with accrued interest, the amount due is twenty-eight thousand, five hundred seventeen dollars, and thirty-six cents,” Matthews said with the efficiency of one who was well at home with numbers, especially as it related to money.
“And you say that she has pledged the entire ranch against the loan?”
“Yes. Mrs. Wellington being a woman and all, our board of directors insisted upon more collateral than they would had the borrower been a man. As I am sure you are aware, the assets are easily worth twenty times the face value of the note.”
“Thank you,” Kincaid said. “I will draw a draft for immediate payment. Oh, and Mr. Matthews, if you would, please say nothing of this to anyone else.”
“You needn’t worry about that. Confidentiality is the policy of the Cattlemen’s Bank and Loan.”
“I appreciate that,” Kincaid said as he began filling out the draft.
“As a matter of fact, if you wish,” Matthews added as he watched the draft being written, “for a nominal fee, we will continue to process the loan for you. That way, as far as Mrs. Wellington is concerned, the bank is still the mortgage holder. For your purposes, that might be better.”
“How would it be better?”
“Well, say for example Mrs. Wellington finds out you hold the note instead of the bank. And suppose the borrower is unable to make the payment on time. It is much easier for the bank to turn down any request for extensions on the loan than it would be for you.”
“Yes, I can see what you are talking about. Good, good, let’s do it that way then.”
Finishing the draft, Kincaid held up the document and blew on it to dry the ink. He then passed it across the desk to Matthews. “I guess that makes me a member of the banking business,” he said with a broad smile.
Matthews accepted the check. “I guess it does at that,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I only wish that other businessmen were as astute as you are. If we could sell more of our loans, we would have more money available to service our customers when new loans are needed.”
Chapter Four
When Poke Terrell rode into King Hill a train was sitting at the depot. The engine, painted green and trimmed in red, was glistening in the golden light of the setting sun. The engineer was leaning through the window of the cab and holding a long-stemmed pipe clinched tightly between his teeth. He watched from his lordly position as arriving passengers left the train and departing passengers boarded.
The restaurant Poke was looking for was next door to the depot, an adobe building that had recently been given a fresh coat of whitewash. There was a sign hanging in front of the restaurant that identified it as Delmonico’s and a hitching rail that ran all the way across the front of the building. Poke dismounted, tied his horse to the rail, then climbed the two wooden steps to the porch.
Poke was a relatively short man, but he was powerfully built, with a barrel chest, and muscular arms. His head was bald and round, and because one could almost imagine that Poke had no neck, it looked rather like a cannon ball resting on his shoulders.
He was greeted by an employee of the restaurant as soon as he stepped inside.
“May I help you sir?”
“I’m supposed to meet someone here, only I ain’t never met him so I’m not…”
“Would you be Mr. Terrell?” the restaurant employee asked.
“Yeah.”
“Your party is back here.”
When the waiter took Poke back to the table in the corner of the restaurant, Marcus Kincaid stood to greet him. There could not have been a more dramatic contrast in the appearance of the two men. Terrell was wearing denim trousers and a white stained shirt. Kincaid was wearing a brown tweed suit. Poke was the rough-hewn log on the fireplace hearth; Kincaid was the cut flower in a vase.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Kincaid said, as the two men sat down.
“Do you have the money?” Poke asked.
“Yes, I have the money. Half now, as we agreed,” Kincaid said, taking an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to Poke.
Poke took the money from the envelope and began counting.
“Don’t count it here!” Kincaid snapped.
Poke looked up with a frown on his face, as he continued to count the money.
“All right, it’s all here, seven hundred fifty dollars,” Poke said as he finished counting. He put the money back into the envelope, then put the envelope into his pocket. “What do you want me to do?”
“Have you heard of a ranch called Coventry on the Snake?” Kincaid asked. “It’s near Medbury.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Owned by a foreigner,” Poke said.
“It was owned by an Englishman named Thomas Wellington. Now it’s owned by an American woman. When Wellington died, it became the property of his widow. She has invested heavily into the operation and is badly in debt. She needs, desperately, to sell some horses, and she has to do it soon, or she will lose the ranch.”
“And you want me to help her sell the horses? I don’t know what you thought I could do for her. I’m not a salesman.”
Kincaid shook his head vehemently. “No, no, it’s just the opposite. I don’t want you to help her save the ranch. I want you to make sure she loses the ranch.”
Poke laughed. “I’m glad to hear that. I think that might be easier to do. Do you have an idea as to how I need to do it?”
Kincaid shook his head. “No, use your own initiative. I don’t care how you do it, as long as you do it.”
“You don’t care how I do it?”
“Well, I don’t want you to burn any of the buildings, or anything like that,” Kincaid said. “I don’t want the ranch destroyed. All I want is for it to fail.”
Poke chuckled. “That’s all you want, huh?”
“That’s all I want. Do you think you can handle that without too much difficulty?”
“Yeah,” Poke said. “As long as you stay out of my way and let me handle things.”
Kincaid held up both his hands. “Trust me on this, Mr. Terrell, you shall have free reign. In fact, I would be very pleased if we never even saw each other again.”
“Except for the final payment,” Poke said.
“Yes, except for the final payment,” Kincaid agreed.
When Poke Terrell stepped inside the Sand Spur Saloon in Medbury for the first time, he looked around the room until he saw the table that he wanted. It was slightly more than