Dig Your Own Grave

by William W. Johnstone

  In a short while, there was a fire belching smoke out of the stovepipe in the bunkhouse, and shortly after that, the chuckwagon cook came from the cookshack carrying a large coffeepot and a large iron pot. He would make two more trips carrying pans and trays before breakfast was officially under way. Will sat patiently as every man inside hurried outside to the convenience of the laurel bushes to make room for the cook’s coffee. He counted nine men, including Ansel Beaudry and the cook. Now he knew for sure that he had eight men to account for, since nature’s call went out to every man upon first waking up in the morning. In addition to the men in the bunkhouse, he also had to account for whoever might be in the house. Based on what he had learned from Sid Worley, that would be old man Mica Beaudry and one other son. Thoughts he had had earlier of brazenly walking into their midst and arresting Ansel were now out of the question. In all likelihood, he would be the second lawman to disappear in the Hornet’s Nest. He had to keep reminding himself that the crew of this particular cattle ranch was more akin to an outlaw gang. These were the troubling thoughts that cluttered his mind as he remained in his hiding place long enough to see the men file out of the bunkhouse and head for the barn—all except the cook and Ansel.

  Still, he waited to see what Ansel was going to do. He figured he would soon come out and head straight for the house, thinking surely he would make some connection with the family. A few more minutes passed before Ansel finally showed in the doorway of the bunkhouse, but instead of heading for the house or the barn, he paused on the steps of the bunkhouse, as if making up his mind. In one hand, he held what appeared to be a canvas sack. Eventually, he made his decision, walked around behind the bunkhouse, and headed for the outhouse. Not anticipating this move by Ansel, Will hesitated, rose to his feet, and looked in all directions around him. The cook was busy inside the cookshack and none of the other men were anywhere close. Had he taken the time to think what he was about to do, he might not have done it, but in the moment, he saw a chance to get to Ansel when he was alone. He didn’t hesitate.

  He decided that he might attract attention to himself if he ran to the outhouse, so he attempted to walk as casually as he could while still hurrying to reach the outhouse before Ansel completed his toilet. The most critical point was when he passed the open door of the cookshack, but when he glanced inside, he could see Spot bent over a washtub, his back to the door. Once he was behind the cookshack, Will levered a cartridge into the chamber and clutched his rifle, ready to shoot his way back to his horses, if necessary. At any rate, he was fully committed at this point, so he strode right up to the outhouse and knocked on the door. “Hold your horses,” Ansel bellowed from inside. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

  Will didn’t answer. He took another look behind him before planting himself solidly with his back against the outhouse wall, right beside the edge of the door. He held his rifle in both hands, level with his shoulders. In another minute, he heard Ansel throw the latch back on the door. Will braced himself, certain that if he missed, the whole attempt would blow up in his face. The door opened and Ansel started to make some remark, but was stopped stone cold by Will’s rifle butt when it struck his forehead with the force of a battering ram. Stunned, he was knocked backward into the outhouse. He was not unconscious, but helpless and confused as he struggled to get up, but Will was on him like an angry wolf, stuffing his bandanna into Ansel’s mouth, then yanking Ansel’s bandanna from around his neck and using it to tie the gag in place. Next, he rolled him over, pulled his arms behind him, and clamped his handcuffs around Ansel’s wrists. With Ansel still unable to gather his wits, Will pulled him up on his feet and got a shoulder under him. The only sound to that point was a low grunt from Will when he straightened up under the weight of Ansel’s sizable body.

  Once he was sure he had the big man’s body balanced as well as he could, he started to turn around to face the door, pausing a moment when he saw the canvas sack beside the toilet seat. The thought occurred to him that there must have been a reason to take it to the outhouse with him. Not likely hand soap or shaving mug, since there was no wash room in the outhouse, it had to be something Ansel wouldn’t leave unguarded. Will picked it up, managing to grasp it in his hand with his rifle, needing to keep one hand free to help steady his load. He made his way awkwardly through the outhouse door then, with his cumbersome burden across his shoulder. Once outside, he stepped as quickly as he could toward the cover of the trees by the creek. Clutching his rifle in one hand along with the canvas bag, he knew he would be hard put to use it, impaired as he was under the load on his shoulder. His only chance was to cross over the open area between the bunkhouse and the trees without being seen. All it would take would be for the cook to happen to look out the cookshack door. Luck was with Will and he reached the cover of the trees just moments before Ansel began to recover and started trying to yell. His efforts only added to his confusion, causing him to panic when he realized what had happened to him. Before Will reached his horses, his captive started kicking his feet in an effort to free himself, causing Will to stagger drunkenly under his load. At this point, however, he had no choice but to persevere to finish what he had started, as unlikely as it was to succeed.

  Although it seemed much longer, he reached his horses after a few minutes and dumped his burden on the ground. Ansel landed hard, causing him to emit a heavy grunt, blunted considerably by the gag in his mouth. Will stood over him, gazing intently at his dazed prisoner, staring, wide-eyed back at him, the two men confronting each other face-to-face. Now that I caught him, Will was thinking, what the hell am I going to do with him? Someone was bound to wonder where Ansel was, then it would be only a matter of time before they looked for him. If I was fishing, I think I’d throw this one back, he couldn’t help thinking. It would have helped his situation if he also had Ansel’s horse. He was going to have to put him on his packhorse, although he would have to rearrange the supplies he was carrying, especially the extra weapons he had confiscated. The big problem, however, was whether or not he could ride out of there with his prisoner without being seen. The only possibility for that would be to ride back to the west, the way he had come that morning, so there was no sense in trying to think of other options. That was the only direction that would utilize the line of trees along the creek, keeping them between him and the house. Unfortunately, someone at the back of the bunkhouse, or at the door of the cookhouse, could see him should they happen to look toward the prairie to the west. He was going to need a hell of a lot of luck. Might as well get on with it, he told himself.

  He left Ansel to struggle against his chains for a few minutes while he made a place for him on his packhorse by shifting much of the load to Buster. When he was ready, he led the sorrel gelding up beside Ansel. By that time, his prisoner’s brain was beginning to function more normally and he was glaring up at Will, trying to shout at him, but the gag muffled his every angry curse. Even with the gag, Will could still understand what Ansel was trying to demand answers for. “Let me spell it out for you,” Will said to him. “You’re under arrest for murder and bank robbery. We’re fixin’ to ride outta here as soon as I get you up on this horse.” His announcement brought a new tirade of muffled threats too garbled for Will to understand. “It’s up to you how hard this is gonna be,” Will continued. “If you don’t give me any trouble, I’ll treat you as fair as I can and take you back for trial. But I’ll be honest with you, I had just as soon shoot you, if you give me the slightest reason to. And that goes for anybody that comes after us, tryin’ to save your worthless ass. If at any time I have to run for it to save my life, I’ll guarantee you I’ll shoot you before I take off.” He paused to make sure Ansel understood him. There was no sound from the infuriated prisoner, so Will said, “All right, let’s get started.”

  At first, Beaudry resisted when Will took hold of one of his arms and started to pull him to his feet, but Will stomped his boot down hard on the arch of Ansel’s foot. Then he grabbed him by his shirt collar
and jerked him to his feet, his body like a lever with his foot anchored as the base. Ansel seemed surprised to find himself on his feet. “Now, you’ve got a choice,” Will said. “You can sit up on the horse and ride, or I’ll lay you across him and you can ride on your belly. If you’d rather ride sittin’ up, give me your foot and I’ll boost you up on the horse.” Ansel thought about it for only a moment, but the look on Will’s face implied that he would just as soon throw him across the horse on his belly, so he submitted to being hoisted up on the horse. Since his hands were locked behind his back, he landed awkwardly on the sorrel’s back, but Will kept him from falling off the other side. Once his prisoner was settled on the horse, Will cut off a short piece of rope, made a loop, and dropped it over Ansel’s head. Pulling the loop up tight around Ansel’s neck, he tied the other end around the horse’s neck. “That’s just a safety device in case you happen to fall off the horse,” Will said. “That way, the horse can’t run off and leave you. Best try to hold on with your knees, though, ’cause it looks like I didn’t take enough slack outta that rope. I expect there’s enough rope to let you land on the ground.” It was obvious by the scowl on Ansel’s face that he got the picture. With his prisoner mounted, Will picked up the canvas sack and looked inside. As he had expected, it was filled with money, Ansel’s share of the bank holdups. “I expect I’d best carry this in my saddlebags,” he said to Ansel. He placed the sack in one of the pockets of his saddlebags. The other pocket already held Luther Curry’s share.

  Although seemingly cocksure when he spelled everything out to Ansel, there was a great cloud of doubt over Will’s head when it came to riding away from the Hornet’s Nest with his prisoner intact. He stepped up on Buster and guided the buckskin out through the oaks lining the creek and started out to the west across the rolling prairie with the early morning sun on his back. Looking back over his shoulder, he could not see the ranch house or the barn, since they were hidden behind the trees by the creek. He could clearly see the bunkhouse and the cookshack, consequently he was depending on nothing but blind luck that there was no one there who would catch sight of the two of them riding away. He was pretty sure the bunkhouse was empty when he had walked past the cookshack on his way to the outhouse, but there was the cook to worry about.

  Back at the cookshack, Spot Morris poured himself another cup of coffee, picked up a biscuit he had saved to eat when he had finished cleaning up after breakfast, and walked out of the cookshack. He sat himself down on the step and studied the clouds overhead and the possibility of rain, never turning to notice the two riders gradually disappearing into the vast prairie. “Things are gonna change around here,” Spot said to a chicken that came to scout for biscuit crumbs, knowing the gray-whiskered little man’s habits. “Yes, sir, Todd better watch out ’cause big brother Ansel’s come home to run the show.”

  Chapter 18

  Will held Buster to a steady pace for what he figured to be about eight to ten miles, when he came to a sizable creek running north and south. He was unaware that it was called Possum Run and was the western boundary of the Beaudry range. He decided it served his immediate purpose, which was to put distance between himself and any possible pursuit from Hornet’s Nest, so he followed the creek north for another ten miles or so until he came to a place that looked familiar to him. A well-traveled road crossed the creek at that point and he realized that it was the Fort Worth road, so now he was no longer on Beaudry land. He also knew that his horses were in need of rest, so he crossed over the road and followed the creek for another fifty yards until coming to a good spot to build a fire out of sight of the road.

  When he went to help his prisoner off his horse, Ansel looked as if the ride had been pretty hard on him. The cut across his forehead, where Will struck him, had bled a great deal, although it had now stopped, but it had left Ansel with dried blood all over his face and a dazed expression. Will speculated that Ansel hadn’t spent a great deal of time riding a horse with the added incentive of staying on the horse with his hands behind his back and a rope around his neck. He figured that contributed to the dazed expression as well. When he was on his feet on the ground, Ansel found it hard to remain steady, so Will said, “Get on your knees.” Ansel made no show of defiance and did as he was told. Will walked behind him. “I’m gonna unlock your cuffs, so you can take that bandanna out of your mouth, and I expect you’d like a drink of water.”

  He must have been parched, for as soon as Will pulled the gag out of his mouth, he crawled straight to the creek and dropped his face in the water. Will picked up the bandanna that had been used to secure the gag and pitched it to him when he pulled his face out of the water. “Here, use this to wipe some of that blood off your face.” Ansel looked at Will, standing behind him with his .44 leveled at him, as if still dazed, but he took the bandanna and started cleaning his face. When he had finished, Will explained the practice of tree hugging, just as he had with Ansel’s former partners and every other prisoner when he didn’t have a jail wagon with him. He picked out a tree for him, and Ansel went to it without a word. He held his hands out on either side of the tree trunk and waited. “You know,” Will informed him as a precaution, “your old partner Bo Hagen—maybe you noticed that’s his saddle you’re ridin’ on—anyway, Bo was standin’ just like you’re standin’ there now, with one handcuff on his wrist and the other one hangin’ free. He got the bright idea to take a swing at me with that chain and I put a bullet in his leg, so you ain’t the first one that’s thought of it.”

  Ansel scowled in response and uttered the first words since the gag had been removed. “Damn you, Will Tanner.” He had at first figured he might be a Texas Ranger, which he would have preferred to the deputy marshal who never cared if he was in his legal territory or not. The way Tanner had destroyed his gang, one and two at a time, seeming to be unstoppable, had served to work on Ansel’s mind to the point where he had fled to escape his vengeance. To have the menace come onto his father’s ranch and blatantly pluck him right out of the outhouse, no less, was enough to convince Ansel that the deputy was crazy, so he held his arms steady while Will locked them around the tree. “You’ve got my share of the money now,” Ansel suddenly suggested, “so I reckon you oughta have everybody’s shares. That’s what you’ve been after, ain’t it? So why don’t you let me go? You’ve got the money.” He found it hard to believe that Will really intended to take him back to Fort Smith. He didn’t understand why Will hadn’t killed him and left with the money.

  “All the money you and your gang stole has to go back to the banks you stole it from,” Will replied.

  “You tryin’ to tell me you’re gonna give the money back to the bank, all of it?” When Will nodded, Ansel said, “Then you’re crazier than hell.”

  “You may be right,” Will said, and left to take care of his horses, then went about the business of building a fire and preparing a meager meal of bacon and hardtack. “You’re lucky you had a good breakfast for yourself,” he said to Ansel. “Maybe a little bacon and coffee will do you some good, though, ’cause we’re gonna ride a ways before we camp for the night. I need to put a little more country between us and your daddy’s men.” Although he was not really familiar with the part of Texas he was now in, he had a general idea of the direction he needed to head out to get to where he wanted. His plans were not that firm for the simple reason he hadn’t known he was going to kidnap Ansel Beaudry until he found himself in the midst of doing it. He considered turning Beaudry over to the Texas Rangers if he encountered one on his way back to Oklahoma. If not, he was prepared to transport him all the way to Fort Smith. As near as he could guess, and it was a guess, he figured he must be at least six or seven days from there, and what he hoped to do was find his way to Durant, across the Red, then Fort Smith from there.

  When the coffee was ready, Will unlocked Ansel’s cuffs to free his hands, so he could eat. And while he ate, Will sat a few yards in front of him with his Colt. 44 drawn and lying on his lap, while he sip
ped from a cup of coffee. His prisoner showed very little enthusiasm for the breakfast of bacon and hardtack soaked in the grease, but he consumed it anyway.

  While he waited for Ansel to finish, Will glanced at his Winchester on the ground beside him and frowned when he saw the crack running the length of the stock. The fine line that had resulted from the collision with Junior Hutto’s nose was now a good bit wider, thanks to Ansel’s hard head. Studying his prisoner, he couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble he was going to be to transport. As docile as he seemed to be so far, Will could not believe he would remain that way. It was not the impression of the man he had gotten from the threats and comments he’d heard from Ansel’s gang members. He had formed an image of a cruel and powerful felon with a gift for presenting himself as otherwise, until he struck his victim, whether it was robbery or murder, or both. Whatever, Will cautioned himself to expect the worst.

  * * *

  “Damned if I know,” Spot Morris replied when Brady came to the bunkhouse, looking for Ansel. “I saw him go to the outhouse after all you boys finished breakfast, but I never did see him come out. Course, I weren’t payin’ no attention to whether he did or not. Hell, maybe he’s still in there. We can go look, but if he’s still in there after all this time, there musta been somethin’ he et that upset his stomach or somethin’. Ain’t none of the other boys complained, have they?”