“How far is that place from here?” Ansel asked, still deadly serious, in spite of Moon’s attempt at humor.
“’Bout a couple of days, or a little less,” Moon replied. “You ain’t thinkin’ ’bout ridin’ over there, are you? That ain’t no town or nothin’. It’s an army post.”
“No, I ain’t thinkin’ about goin’ there,” Ansel answered, “but I expect you might go there more’n you let on. And maybe that’s where you might be talkin’ to that lawman that’s arrestin’ my men, and that’s how the son of a bitch knows about this hideout.”
There followed a stunned silence as everyone was shocked by Ansel’s accusation. Elmira was the first to speak. “That don’t make no sense! Moon wouldn’t tell anybody where we are.”
“Makes sense to me,” Ansel replied, calmly satisfied with the possibility. “That lawman didn’t just stumble over Grassy Creek, somebody had to tell him where it was. And ain’t it funny how you showed up right after he got Bo and Tom?”
Moon took a step back, taken completely by surprise. “Now, hold on, Ansel, that’s crazy talk. You’ve let Will Tanner get into your head so much you ain’t thinkin’ straight. I’ve been doin’ business with Elmira for years, she’ll tell you.” He looked from Ansel to Luther. “Do you believe what he’s sayin’?”
Luther, dumbfounded by Ansel’s sudden attack on Moon, as were the other witnesses, gave his initial opinion. “No, I can’t honestly say that I do.”
Realizing he was facing an obviously crazy man, Moon attempted to dissuade him. “There, you see, Luther knows I wouldn’t do nothin’ like that.”
“Sometimes Luther don’t see the straight of things like I do,” Ansel calmly replied. Then without a pause, he drew the .44 he wore and shot Moon in the chest, point-blank. The impact of the bullet caused Moon to stagger backward a couple of steps to keep from falling, the expression of complete shock frozen upon his face. He made one feeble attempt to draw his handgun before a second shot from Ansel’s .44 dropped him to the ground.
The only sound heard after that moment was a little squeal from a horrified Darlene Futch, who was standing in the doorway. The others, including Luther, were shocked beyond belief at what they had just witnessed. Finally Elmira blurted, “You crazy fool! You’ve killed Moon!” She rushed to him, but too late to do anything to ease his dying. His eyelids opened wide as if trying to see through a thick fog and remained that way as he exhaled his last breath. Unable to understand how Ansel could have done such an evil act, she looked up at him and cried, “Why did you do that, you damn lunatic? Moon never did nothin’ to hurt you.”
Ansel cocked his pistol again and aimed it at her. “Maybe he ain’t the only one needin’ killin’,” he said. “Maybe you’d best remember your place.” He might have pulled the trigger, had not Luther stepped in.
“Easy, Ansel,” Luther tried to calm him. “Hold on, partner, we need her. We don’t wanna shoot Elmira.” It appeared that he had gotten through to the crazed killer, even though there was a long moment of uncertainty before Ansel let the hammer back down. Although Ansel had remained calm throughout the entire incident, Luther was not sure that he did not have a maniac for a partner. For a fact, he didn’t believe Moon had betrayed them, and he couldn’t see why Moon would benefit from their arrest. So now he had to wonder who might be next to cause Ansel to go off half-cocked.
“We need to ride out on that trail tomorrow and find us a good place to set up an ambush for Tanner,” Ansel said to Luther as he dropped his .44 back in his holster. There was no trace of agitation in his voice when he turned to Eddie and told him to drag the carcass away. “Drag him downwind somewhere, far enough so we won’t have to smell him when he starts gettin’ ripe.”
“We need to bury him,” Elmira said, finding her voice again. “That’s the least we can do for him.”
“Yessum,” Eddie replied. “I reckon I can dig a grave.” He took a rope from Moon’s saddle and tied one end around Moon’s ankles.
“Make sure to tie them good and tight,” Ansel offered casually, “else you’re liable to just pull his boots off when that horse starts up.”
Darlene exchanged a look of total disbelief with Elmira, then said to Eddie, “Come on, we’ll find him a good spot. I’ll help you dig a grave.”
Ansel turned to Luther and said, “I could use another cup of coffee. Let’s go see if there’s any left in that pot. If there ain’t, we’ll have Elmira make us another pot.”
Luther didn’t reply. He took another look at Oscar Moon’s body as Eddie led his horse off toward the other side of the barn. Then he turned and followed Ansel inside. Maybe I was wrong, he thought, and Ansel made the right call about Moon. Maybe he had the right idea about ambushing Tanner. He decided he would back him one more time, partially because he was not sure he could risk arguing with him while he was in this fit of vengeance.
* * *
It was close to the noon meal at the mess hall when Will approached the gate at Camp Supply. His timing was not at all an accident, thinking he might take advantage of the army’s hospitality again. This time, he told the private on guard duty that he was to report to Major Scott about turning over another prisoner. He made it sound routine enough that the private didn’t question him at all and just waved him through. He rode over to the post headquarters and stepped down, leaving Cecil to remain in the saddle while he opened the door and stuck his head in. Seeing Master Sergeant Patterson at his desk, he said, “Howdy, Sergeant, I got another prisoner for your guardhouse.”
Patterson was naturally surprised. “Another one? Whaddaya doin’, pickin’ them off one by one?”
“I reckon that’s the safest way,” Will answered. “If my luck holds out, maybe I can arrest the last two by the time that posse gets here from Wichita to pick ’em up. The last two might be a little bit harder, though.”
“What’s this one’s name?” Patterson asked, since the major had him keep a record.
“This one is Cecil Cox and he’s not as much of a threat as the other two. He didn’t give me any trouble, just came along peaceful as you please. Matter of fact, I think he was just unlucky to join up with the others.”
“I’ll tell Sergeant Davis that when we lock him up,” Patterson said. “It’s about time to eat, so I’ll go down to the guardhouse with you.” He got up, about to stick his head in the office door to tell the major, when Major Scott walked out, having heard the conversation.
“Deputy Tanner,” Scott greeted him. “I see you’re still working hard on the job, rounding up those bank robbers.”
“Yes, sir,” Will replied. “I’m doin’ the best I can to earn my pay, and I surely do appreciate the army co-operatin’ with us on this job. I’ve got some more money to put with that I brought last time.”
“You keep making deposits and we’re going to have enough to start our own bank,” Scott said with a laugh. “First Bank of Wolf Creek, we’ll call it.” After he put the money away, the major wished him success with the capture of the two remaining outlaws and returned to his desk. Will couldn’t help thinking how much quicker they could get the job done if Scott had offered to send a cavalry patrol back with him to arrest Beaudry and Curry.
As he had with Will’s first two prisoners, Patterson walked down to the guardhouse with Will, while Cecil sat patiently in the saddle behind them, already hoping for a term in prison and not the hangman’s noose. Sergeant Davis again took delivery of Will’s prisoner and cheerfully japed him about the extra work he was causing his guards. “We might have to start charging you rent,” he joked. “These birds you’re bringin’ in ain’t the best guests we’ve had.”
“The folks you need to see about the rent will be here pretty soon,” Will joked. “They’re the ones who pay all the bills.” Then he asked if they had had any trouble with Hagen and Daly.
“None to speak of,” Davis replied. “They ain’t showin’ any signs of likin’ it here, though. You wanna visit ’em before you go back and round up th
eir friends?”
Will’s initial reaction was that he had no desire to see either of the two, then he changed his mind and followed Davis and one of the guards inside to the cell block with Cecil. “Well, I’ll be damned . . .” Bo Hagen started when he saw Cecil being led in. A moment later, when he saw Will come in behind them, he got up from his cot and hobbled over to stand by the bars.
Lying on a cot against the back wall, Tom Daly raised up to get a look. When he saw who had caught Bo’s attention, he sat up as well. Anxious to hear about the others at Grassy Creek, he asked, “Cecil, what about Ansel and Luther? Are they dead?”
“No, they ain’t dead,” Cecil replied, “but he knows where they’re hidin’.”
“He better hope he don’t find ’em,” Bo snorted. “He might not be able to sneak up on ’em like he did with me and Tom.”
“How’s your leg, Bo?” Will asked. “I see you’re walkin’ on it.”
“Yeah, I’m walkin’ on it,” Bo shot back. “They told us they’re sendin’ a whole posse of marshals to take us back to Missouri. Is that so?” Will said that it was, and Bo continued, “I was kinda hopin’ you’d be the one to take us back—things mighta turned out different.”
“They might have at that,” Will replied. “We mighta got to be big friends before it was done.”
“Ha!” Hagen answered his sarcasm. “I’m more particular about who I call a friend.”
Will said no more. He had satisfied his need to know that they were still behind bars and well guarded by the military. He turned about and walked back outside, where Sergeant Patterson was waiting for him. “Come on,” Patterson said, “and we’ll go get some grub.” As he had done before, Will dropped his prisoner’s horse and tack at the stable on their way to the mess hall, where he enjoyed another meal at the army’s expense. He didn’t waste any time after he finished eating before thanking the sergeant and taking his leave. He wasn’t sure what effect this latest arrest would have upon Beaudry and Luther Curry, but if they decided to run, he needed to be back to Grassy Creek before their trail got too cold to follow. With that in mind, he figured to ride until after dark as soon as his horses were rested enough to go. He could not discount the possibility that they might decide to come after him, instead of holing up in their narrow fortress, however. That was going to be tough for them, because he could move his camp from day to day, but one way or another, he was going to have to lure them out of that stronghold. How to do that without getting himself shot was the problem he rolled over in his mind as he rode back toward Grassy Creek.
Chapter 11
It was late afternoon when he reached the fork where the trail from Camp Supply connected with the river trail five miles north of Brinker’s trading post. Brinker’s had figured in with all three of his prior arrests, but he didn’t expect to find either of the remaining two outlaws there now. He was sure they were now too cautious to venture outside Grassy Creek, and that thought was verified by the empty hitching rail he saw when he approached. He was going to have to stop pretty soon to rest his horse after the extra hard day’s ride. Ordinarily, the trading post would be the place to stop. However, Brinker was not likely to welcome him after he had started systematically thinning out his customers, and it might well be a good place to expect a bullet in the back. So he walked his horse past the saloon/store. “There’s a nice little stream about four or five miles down this trail,” he said to Buster. “We’ll stop there and give you a nice long rest—might as well camp there for the night.”
Buster isn’t the only one who is tired, he thought, as he continued along the trail. He had pushed on longer than usual the night before and that, added to the long day today, was enough to make him think about some coffee and something to eat. The setting sun threatening to settle on the western horizon seemed to signal it was quitting time as well. And sometimes, when he was feeling tired, his thoughts drifted back to Bennett House and the young woman waiting for him there. This was one of those times. A picture popped into his mind of the last time he had seen her. She was not too happy with him. Maybe I should have sent her a telegram when I was at Camp Supply, he thought, at least to tell her I miss her and hope I’ll be through with this mess before much longer. Maybe in time she would be a little more understanding of a deputy marshal’s job and the responsibility he had to go when and where he was needed. He knew that she was upset because he had promised to take her to see the J-Bar-J ranch in Texas where, hopefully, he would soon retire from law enforcement and return to his roots raising cattle. I should have sent her a telegram, he scolded himself as he approached the thick border of trees that traced the course of the stream up ahead. The thought was immediately swept away by the snap of the bullet that narrowly missed his head and the sound of the rifle that fired it a second afterward.
There was no need for thinking, instinct and automatic reaction took over. He wheeled Buster to his right toward the setting sun, at the same time lying low on the big buckskin’s neck and yelled, “Go!” In that moment, when a second shot zipped over the horse’s rump, he didn’t know if he had kicked his heels sharply or not, but Buster didn’t hesitate. Calling on all the reserve energy he had, the buckskin galloped full out. As more shots rang out, Will pointed the horse at an angle toward the trees that lined the stream, trying to put more distance between him and the shooters as he raced for the cover of the trees.
He knew he was gaining some distance because the shots were not as close around his body as before. The fact that the bushwhackers were forced to aim looking into the sun had to help some. He hoped they wouldn’t start shooting at the horses, and as soon as he thought it, the bullets started kicking up dirt behind him. Moments before reaching the cover of the trees, he heard his packhorse scream just as its front legs buckled. He immediately dropped the lead rope to keep from being jerked out of the saddle when the packhorse collapsed. With another kick of encouragement when he started to stop, Buster bounded forward again and charged into the cover of the trees. Will came out of the saddle almost before Buster stopped. He quickly led the exhausted horse down beside the stream, then hurried back to the edge of the trees to see if he could pinpoint his attackers. Judging from the number of shots flying around him when he was in the open, he guessed that it was more than one man, and it was easy to speculate that the exact number was two. They had decided not to wait for him to make a try up Grassy Creek—they would hunt him down instead. While he strained to try to spot his assailants, he thought to count himself lucky. If they had waited only a couple of minutes longer, he would have probably been a target too easy to miss. He couldn’t help thinking that it seemed that he was making it a habit to ride blindly into ambushes lately.
* * *
“Damn it! Damn it!” Luther complained to himself when Ansel fired before the deputy was close enough. They had decided Tanner wasn’t coming back to Grassy Creek that day, after waiting for him to show since early afternoon. Then a figure on a horse, leading another, showed up in the distance, so they hurried to set up their ambush, with Luther on one side of the trail and Ansel on the other. If Ansel hadn’t been so anxious to kill him, Tanner would have ridden right between them, but Ansel couldn’t wait. Now they had the job of rooting Tanner out of the bushes around the banks of the stream, and that was not a job that Luther looked forward to. He got up from his kneeling position as Ansel ran across to join him.
“The lucky son of a bitch,” Ansel exclaimed. “He ducked at the wrong time.”
“You shot too soon,” Luther said. “If you’da waited, he woulda rode right between us and he’d be dead right now. Now we’re gonna have to find him.”
“I had a good shot at him,” Ansel insisted. “I can make that shot ten times outta ten. And the damn sun shined right in my eyes when I shot. He just ducked at the wrong time. We’ll find him, but we need to get up this stream in a hurry before he has a chance to run.”
“More likely he’ll dig in up there and wait for us to try to come get him,” Lut
her said. “So far, he ain’t struck me as the runnin’ kind.”
“All right,” Ansel said, becoming more impatient by the moment. “Maybe he’s diggin’ in. We can see where he’ll be.” He pointed to Will’s packhorse lying just outside the tree line. “He ain’t gonna be far from there. We’d best leave the horses here and run up this stream on foot. He could see the horses comin’ too easy.” Luther agreed with that, so he went to his horse and pulled an extra handgun from his saddlebag and stuck it under his belt. Then they started up the stream at a trot to close as much distance as they could before having to become more cautious in their stalking.
* * *
A hundred and fifty yards or more up the stream, Will was hurriedly speculating on his best possible defense. There was plenty of protection beside the banks where he could take cover, but he didn’t like the odds that he would be pinned down there for no telling how long. Then when darkness fell, it would be a dangerous game of hide-and-seek. He decided a better bet would be to close the distance between him and his ambushers and maybe catch them before they expected him, so he started running back toward them as fast as he could move through the trees and bushes. When he estimated that he was nearly halfway back to the trail, he came to a deep gully running down into the stream. Afraid to push on any farther, lest he run headlong into them, he jumped in the gully and waited.
In the gully for no longer than seconds, he heard the sounds of the two men running to surprise him, their breathing heavy as they pushed recklessly through the bushes. He crouched as low as he could in the gully, his rifle ready, when suddenly they appeared. Even in the fading light of the streambed, he recognized Ansel Beaudry by the description given him. Without a glance at the gully, they trotted by him, both men staring straight ahead into the sunlight shining through the leaves. Will raised up from the gully, his rifle aimed at the backs of the two outlaws and gave them warning. “Stop right there, or I’ll shoot you down!” Startled, both men stopped, not sure where the voice had come from. “You’re under arrest. Drop those rifles on the ground. Do it quick, my finger’s gettin’ itchy on this trigger.”
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