In a minute, Mary Light Walker stepped out on the small front porch. “Will Tanner!” She repeated her husband’s greeting and stepped off the porch to join them.
“Mary, Jim,” Will greeted them in order and stepped down from the saddle. “Stone sent me and Ed Pine, too.” When both Jim and Mary looked past him toward the road, Will explained. “Ed’s back in town with Horace Watson and a jail wagon. He’s set up camp on the other side of the railroad tracks.” He went on to explain the acquisition of two prisoners he had not planned on and the need to do something with them while they investigated the problem Jim had wired Fort Smith about. “Anybody in that jail of yours?”
“No,” Jim answered. “The jail’s empty, has been for a couple of weeks.”
“Good,” Will said. “Maybe we can put these two jaspers in there for safekeepin’ till we come to some kinda answer to your problems here in Atoka.”
“You no stay for supper?” Mary asked.
“I reckon not this time,” Will replied, “and I surely am disappointed, too. But I’ve got Ed and Horace and two fellows in the jail wagon back in town. So, I reckon I’ll just have to miss out on enjoyin’ one of your fine suppers.” He shook his head and smacked his lips. “You know when I’m workin’ up this way, I always try to hit town here in time to get invited to eat at your table.”
She laughed, delighted. “You know you always welcome, Will Tanner.”
“I’ll saddle my horse,” Jim said, “and go back to town with you. Maybe those three drifters will give you a show tonight like they do on some nights.” He looked at Mary and said, “You might have to keep my supper warm in the oven till I get back.”
“We’ll try not to keep you from your supper,” Will said. “Just open up that jail for us, then Ed and I can watch the town tonight. If they don’t show up in town tonight, maybe we can find out where they’re holed up tomorrow.”
“No problem there,” Jim said at once. “I know where they stay, where every no-good outlaw troublemaker stays. They stay at Mama’s Kitchen in Boggy Town.”
“Say what?” Will responded, not sure he had heard correctly.
“Mama’s Kitchen,” Jim repeated. “Big fellow named Tiny McGee built it about three miles east of town on Muddy Boggy Creek. He named it that, so the law might think it’s a place to eat, but it’s nothing but a saloon.”
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Will started. “It wasn’t here the last time I rode through, and that ain’t been but four or five months. And I ain’t ever heard of Boggy Town.”
“That McGee fellow started calling it that. I think he’s planning to start his own little town for outlaws on the run. He put some buildings up fast,” Jim said. “He’s selling whiskey to outlaws coming up from Texas, and he’s selling rotgut firewater to my people at the back door. He’s hauling whiskey in by the barrel, fills his bottles out of the barrels. That’s for his white customers. The Indians have to bring a fruit jar to hold their firewater.”
“Sounds like your problem is more than three hell-raisers shootin’ up the town,” Will said. “And it sounds like some big trouble for me, if this Boggy Town catches on.”
“That’s why I send for marshals,” Jim said. “I wanted you to see for yourself.”
* * *
“This ain’t no damn jail,” Zeke complained when Jim Little Eagle unlocked the door to the converted storehouse. “This ain’t nothin’ but a smokehouse. You can’t lock us up in there.”
He was not far off in his appraisal, but the storehouse had been fixed up to accommodate prisoners, complete with one small window and two straw pallets. Will had used it before to hold prisoners for a short time. “It’ll do for you two hams,” Will said.
“What about my brother?” Zeke asked. “He’s still bleedin’ like a stuck hog. He needs a doctor.”
“I’m goin’ to the doctor’s office right now,” Will replied. “Then we’ll see about gettin’ you some supper. Before long, you’ll be so comfortable here you won’t wanna leave.” Will hoped it was still early enough to catch the doctor in his office, so he hurried up the street to get him while Horace filled a water bucket for the prisoners. Ed stayed behind and put an empty bucket inside the jail for the prisoners’ convenience. Jim Little Eagle went with Will.
Dr. Franklyn Lowell’s office door was locked when they arrived, so they walked around the building and knocked on the back door. In a few minutes, the door opened and Dr. Lowell stood there, glaring down at the two lawmen. “Jim Little Eagle and Will Tanner,” he called back over his shoulder to his Choctaw cook and housekeeper. Turning back to Jim and Will, he complained, “It’s always suppertime when you two come looking for me. Don’t you ever shoot anybody when I’m not fixing to sit down to eat? Who’s shot this time?”
“Howdy, Doc,” Will greeted him. “Good to see you again, too. We’ve got a prisoner down in the jail with a bullet in his shoulder. I’d ’preciate it if you could take a look at him.” He had used Dr. Lowell’s services on other occasions and he couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t inconvenient to the stocky little white-whiskered physician.
Recognizing Will’s playful bit of sarcasm, Doc snorted to show it didn’t bother him. “It’s about time you showed up around here,” he said. “It’s time somebody did something about those three saddle tramps that take delight in shooting up the town. It’s just a matter of time before I’m gonna have to take a bullet out of somebody who catches a stray shot.”
“Yes, sir,” Will responded. “I’ve got another deputy with me. We’re gonna see what we can do. These two men we’ve got in the jail didn’t have anything to do with shootin’ up the town and one of ’em needs a doctor. Of course, I’ll pay your fee.”
Doc turned to face his housekeeper. “How long till those chops are done, Lila?” She told him she had not put them in the pan yet. “Well, wait on that till I get back. I won’t be long. Get me my bag.” He put on his coat while she hurried to fetch his bag. Will turned to Jim and suggested he might want to ride back and get his supper. Jim agreed and said he’d return after supper.
“You think your three hoodlums are gonna put on a show tonight?” Will asked Jim when they walked back to the jail with Doc Lowell.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jim Little Eagle answered. “They got to get good and drunk first.” From what Jim had told them about the three men before, it appeared there was no motive behind their mischief other than the pure enjoyment of scaring the peaceful citizens of the town. His concern was that in their drunkenness, their shots were often wild, causing damage to windows and doors. As Doc had complained, he feared it was only a matter of time before someone was struck by a stray bullet.
“From what you’ve just told us, there’s grounds enough to arrest ’em,” Will said. “So, we’ll just wait to see if they’re still around. Ain’t that what you say, Ed?” he asked as they arrived at the jail. Ed smiled and agreed. He knew Will was trying to remember who was supposed to be in charge. “Like I said, you might as well go on home and eat your supper,” Will repeated to Jim. “Course, you’re welcome to eat with us. Horace is fixin’ to fry up some bacon right now.”
“Thanks just the same,” Jim replied. “I’ll go to the house now. I’ll be back after I eat.” He jumped on his horse and rode back up the creek.
As Doc had told Lila, he didn’t take long to remove the .44 slug from Ike’s shoulder. He didn’t concern himself with his patient’s comfort. Ed Pine commented to Will afterward, “Hell, I coulda done that with my skinnin’ knife.” Will agreed with him but pointed out that there would probably have been a higher risk of infection. He then reminded Ed that he was just a posseman on this job. Ed was the deputy marshal and, as such, it was his responsibility to pay the doctor. “So that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Ed joked. “All right, I’ll pay Dr. Lowell and I’ll make sure Dan Stone remembers to pay you a posseman’s pay.”
“Hey, Doc, I’m gonna need some medicine for my pain,” Ike called after the doctor when he went out
the door and Ed locked it.
“They’re fixing to give you some supper,” Doc answered him through the door. “That’ll do you just fine.”
“He’s eat-up with compassion for his patients, ain’t he?” Ed commented aside to Will. “I’m glad he didn’t do the job on my wounds.”
Doc paused to complain before he started back up the street. “Next time you shoot one of these outlaws, bring him to my office instead of dragging me down here.” He started again, but stopped to add, “And don’t bring him at suppertime.”
“Whatever you say, Doc,” Will responded.
By the time Doc had finished and collected his fee, Horace had a fire going back at his camp by the creek with side meat in the pan and coffee working away. When it was ready, he brought it up to the jail and Will went in with him to guard the prisoners while Horace laid dinner out for them on the small table in the center of the cell. After the Bowers brothers were fed, Will and Ed went back with Horace to get their supper. The town seemed quiet enough as darkness began to set in, but there were still lights on in a few of the shops. Tom Brant had not taken in his display of long-handled shovels he had in front of his store, and Lottie Mabry’s dining room was still busy. The two deputy marshals and their cook sat by the fire drinking coffee, enjoying the peaceful night. Horace produced another coffee cup for Jim Little Eagle to use when he returned to join them.
CHAPTER 3
Their pleasant evening came to a close, however, signaled by a single shot that sent two boarders on the porch of Mabry’s boardinghouse running for their lives. As Jim had predicted, that shot was followed by an explosion of gunshots, accompanied by drunken whooping and hollering as three riders galloped the length of the main street. With nothing and anything as targets, they fired at the shops and stores as they passed, sending anyone caught on the street diving for cover.
Dropping their cups where they sat, Will and Ed scrambled to their feet and sprinted toward the street, leaving Horace to take care of the camp. They stopped at the corner of Brant’s General Merchandise, which was about the halfway point in the street. Down at the end, the three bullies wheeled their horses and prepared to make another wild pass back up the street. “First thing we need to do is get their attention,” Will said. He stepped up on the porch and grabbed one of the shovels from Tom Brant’s display, then hopped back down beside Ed. “If you’ll stand ready with that rifle, in case they don’t wanna talk, I’ll see if I can get their attention.” He was watching the three closely as they picked up speed, pushing their horses to gallop. The rider he picked was Bob Atkins, since he was closest to that side of the street, then Will remained hidden behind the front corner of the store. He knew his timing was key in what he was about to attempt, so he held back until the riders were almost even with him. Then with only seconds to spare, he stepped out to the edge of the street. And in one motion, he set his feet solid under him and swung the shovel with all the force he could muster.
The back of the metal shovel blade caught Atkins square on his chest with his gun hand up over his head as he fired a shot in the air. The impact of the shovel against his chest, plus the speed of the galloping horse, was enough to stop Atkins right where he was while his horse continued on up the street. For a brief moment, Bob was suspended in midair, his feet kicking like a swimmer treading water, until he landed solidly on his backside. Still not sure what had happened because he got only a brief glimpse of Will at the edge of the street just before the blow, he blinked rapidly at the muzzle of the Winchester in his face. A couple dozen yards up the street, Raymond and Stump reined their horses back hard when Bob’s saddle was suddenly emptied. When they wheeled their horses to come to his aid, they found themselves staring at Ed Pine, his rifle aimed in their direction. “Drop ’em,” Ed ordered. “I ain’t gonna say it again.” There was not enough intelligence between the two drifters to fill a whiskey glass. But they had enough sense to know that one of them was going to lose in a shoot-out with the one rifle, and it was hard to tell which one of them Ed had his sights on. They dropped the pistols. “Now climb down off them horses. You’re under arrest for disturbin’ the peace and threatenin’ the lives of everybody on this street.”
They did as Ed ordered, but Stump protested. “We ain’t threatened nobody in this town.”
“That’s right,” Raymond Atkins said. “We was just makin’ a little noise. You ain’t got no cause to arrest us.”
“I reckon we’ll let the judge decide that,” Will said, and took the six-gun out of Bob’s hand before he had a chance to realize he was still holding it. “Now get on your feet,” Will directed, and stood back to give him room.
Bob made a painful effort to comply, complaining as he did. “You damn nigh broke my back. I ain’t sure I can walk.”
“You’ll make it, all right,” Will said. “It ain’t a long walk to the jail. Maybe you can lean on your friends for help.” Bob got on his feet then and wobbled over to stand next to his brother. “All right,” Will ordered. “Unbuckle those belts and let ’em drop to the ground.” When they did so, he told them to take a step back. As soon as they did, Ed moved in and started picking up the gun belts. Seeing a chance to make a move while Ed was bent over picking up the belts, Raymond nodded to his brother. Understanding what he was about, Bob took a step forward in an attempt to block Will’s view, so he couldn’t see Raymond reach for the pocket pistol he carried in his vest. It was a poor attempt to surprise the deputy, for Will took a step to the side when he saw Bob step forward. When Raymond drew the derringer from his vest and pointed it at Ed’s head, Will had no option but to cut him down. It happened so quickly that he had no time to place his shot to simply wound him. Consequently, he shot Raymond dead center in his chest, killing him instantly.
Not sure what had happened, Ed hit the ground and rolled over to level his pistol at the prisoners. He gaped in surprise as Raymond Atkins dropped the little two-shot pocket pistol and slumped to the ground. He almost shot Bob when he dropped to his brother’s side, but Will stopped him with a sharp warning not to shoot. “If either of you two have one of those on you, you’d best get it out now,” Will advised. Stump opened his coat wide to show that he wasn’t carrying one. Kneeling beside his brother’s body, Bob glared up at Will after he realized Raymond was dead. The intense look of fury in his eyes told Will that he had made a deadly enemy at that moment. In the next moment, he heard the sound of galloping hooves as Jim Little Eagle charged into town.
“I heard all the shooting,” Jim exclaimed when he pulled the paint gelding to a stop. He slid off the horse and walked over to stand in front of the three. “I told you somebody was gonna get killed one night,” he said to Bob Atkins, who was still kneeling by his brother. “Lucky it was one of you three.”
“Go to hell, you damn Injun,” Bob snapped back at him. “I shoulda shot you the day you walked in Mama’s Kitchen.”
“Take it easy, Bob,” Stump cautioned. “Right now, they ain’t got us for nothin’ but disturbin’ the peace. Raymond shouldn’ta tried it.”
“That’s right, white man. Looks like you ain’t got much luck at all,” Jim replied. He turned to Will and said, “I’ll go get Ted Murdock and tell him to come get the body.”
“’Preciate it,” Will said.
“What for?” Ed asked. “He don’t need a haircut.”
“It’s been a while since you were in town,” Jim answered him. “Murdock’s not just a barber anymore. He took on the job of undertaker. He say not enough business for his barbershop.” He looked at Bob and smirked. “He say Indians don’t get haircuts.” He climbed on his horse again and rode up the street to the barbershop, guiding his horse through the small crowd of curious spectators that had gathered once the shooting had stopped.
“I expect we’d best escort our two new customers to the jailhouse,” Will said. “Then we can take care of these horses.” He looked over at Horace, who had come to join the other spectators. “How ’bout tyin’ their horses up at the h
itchin’ rail, Horace? After we take these two to jail, I’ll take ’em to the stable.”
“What about him?” Horace asked, pointing to the late Raymond Atkins.
“I expect Jim will be right back with Ted Murdock,” Ed answered him.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere till you take care of my brother,” Bob Atkins snarled, looking up, much like a badger cornered by hounds. “You ain’t leavin’ him to lay out here in the street with all these strangers gawkin’ at him.”
“He’s your brother, huh?” Will asked. “Well, I can see why you’re grievin’ so much now. It’s a shame he tried to use that pocket pistol on the deputy, but I had a choice, and I chose to save the deputy’s life. Your brother made a choice and it was a bad one. I’d advise you not to make one, too. Anyway, Horace, here, will take care of your brother’s body till the undertaker comes to pick him up. So, get on your feet and start walkin’.”
“I ain’t leavin’ till I see that undertaker,” Bob said, and dropped from his kneeling position to sit on the ground defiantly.
“I think you’ve got yourself a little mixed up in the way these things are done,” Will said patiently. “Let me set it straight for you. We’re the arresting officers, so we decide what you’ll do and what you won’t do. Now, I’m gonna tell you again real politely, get on your feet and walk to the jailhouse.”
Like a pouting child, Bob crossed his arms in protest and continued to sit beside his brother’s body. “I reckon you’re gonna have to shoot me, like you did my brother.”
Still patient, Will said, “Believe me, I’m considerin’ it.” He turned to Ed, who was watching the debate between the lawman and the prisoner with some degree of amusement. “Deputy Pine, I wonder if you’d be so kind as to fetch me the rope offa that horse, there?” He nodded toward Stump Grissom’s horse. Ed did so at once, eager to see what Will had in mind. Will took the rope and said, “Keep your gun on this fellow.” Then he took the rope and quickly tied one end of it around Bob’s boots, before the determined outlaw could deter him. Then Will tied the other end to the saddle horn on Stump’s horse. “Now, Deputy Pine, if you’ll walk our other prisoner, we’ll take ’em to jail.” That said, he took the horse by the bridle and started toward the jail, dragging Bob Atkins, protesting and cursing, over the deep wagon ruts of the street. It was only for a distance of about forty yards but seemed three times that far to Bob before Will stopped the horse in front of the jail. He untied Bob’s ankles and stepped back to let him get to his feet, his .44 covering him, while he unlocked the door. He waited for a few seconds to throw the latch until Ed walked his prisoner to the door.
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