“George, no!” she shouted impulsively and pushed him away.
“Hey, I’m your husband and—” Suddenly he grinned. “Hell, I know what it is, darling. I need a bath, don’t I?”
“Yes. Yes, George. You need a bath,” Harriet said. She picked up the tray and started out the door.
“Well, you tote some water in here and I’ll get washed up quicker’n you can bat an eye,” he said leering. “Then we’ll have some fun up there in the hayloft, huh?”
Harriet, grimacing, continued out the door. The thought of submitting herself to George was so repulsive that she could hardly bear the image in her mind. But she knew she was his wife and it was her duty to let him have his way with her. The thought of another man—any man—taking her in this same world where Dace Halston lived was enough to make her want to weep.
~*~
Ward Stormwell felt a useless rage well up in him. “How long ago did he head back for Guthrie?” he asked the Tulsa sheriff.
“Yesterday morning after he killed Shorty Eastman,” the local lawman answered. He looked closely at the Pinkerton man. “You seem to want to see Dace Halston mighty bad.”
“Yeah,” Stormwell said. “But sooner or later I’ll be catching up to him. Thanks and so long.”
The sheriff watched Stormwell leave. “Hell,” he said to himself, “from the way that feller is acting you’d think Dace Halston hisself was a wanted man.”
Chapter Sixteen
Trail-weary and dry, Dace Halston tried to get permission for a couple of days off after his return to Guthrie. He wanted to visit the Eldridge farm to see if George McClary had ended up there. But without having reliable information that the fugitive would be visiting his wife, Nix couldn’t spare Dace from the office.
The best he could do for the deputy marshal was assign him to temporary standby duty that required him to stay in town. Dace bought a bottle and treated himself to a solitary drunk in his room before reporting back to Marshal Nix’s office for duty.
Instead of an assignment, he found a note waiting for him. McGoodwin, the chief clerk, handed it to him with a wink. “Looks like one of the girls at Minerva’s is sweet on you, Dace.”
“It’s my boyish charm,” Dace said. Curious, he went over to an empty desk and settled down with his boots propped up on the top. He opened the envelope that had been handed him. The note inside was terse but interesting:
Deer Marshal i know whur Gorge MKlarry is come and see me at Minurvas Lilly Waring
Dace’s boots hit the floor and he rushed out the door and down the street toward the bordello.
The clerk grinned at Dace as he went through the door. “Have fun, Dace. Give her a kiss for me.”
Dace pushed his way through the crowd on the street, his mind swimming with questions about George McClary. Mainly: where was he? Did he want to make a break for California? What were his plans regarding Harriet and the kids?
Minerva Lang herself greeted the marshal as he stepped into the parlor of her brothel. A definite increase in business had made certain refinements possible, and the clientele awaiting entertainment could buy drinks at a small but ornate bar, then walk back to plush overstuffed chairs on thick carpeting. Lamps with fringed shades stood on shiny waxed wood side tables and the curtain that had been hung over the stairs matched the decor in thick fringes and heavier material.
“Well, howdy, Dace,” Minerva said. “Decided to pay us a visit?” The buxom lady had put on even more weight since Dace’s days as town marshal.
“I’m here on business,” Dace said looking at the girls in the parlor. “I want to talk to Lilly Waring.”
“Shhh!” Minerva hissed. “The girls don’t like their real names bantered about like that. Most of ’em plan on marrying and settling down someday.”
“Just take me to her,” Dace said impatiently.
“She’s upstairs with a gentleman,” Minerva said. “But I’ll let you wait in the kitchen if you’ve a mind.”
“That’s fine,” Dace said. “Run up and tell her to hurry.”
“It ain’t up to her to hurry,” Minerva said leading him through the heavy curtain toward the back of the establishment. “Her companion handles that part of the transaction.”
Even the kitchen had been remodeled and improved, making it difficult for Dace to find the coffee cups with the ease he used to in the old days. He downed two quick cups before Lilly, heavily made-up and wearing a flimsy gown, made an appearance. He hardly recognized her from Ingraham.
“The note says you know where George McClary is,” Dace said.
“Are you gonna throw him in jail?” Lilly asked.
“Where is he?”
“He went back to his wife,” Lilly said sullenly. “After all I gave up for him, the no good sonofabitch went back to his wife.”
“Did he say anything about wanting to give hisself up?” Dace asked.
“No. He just said he was a-going back to her,” Lilly said angrily. “I want you to shoot him, Marshal Halston. He done me wrong.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Dace promised. “How long ago did he leave?” This information would be enough to have him sent to Arkansas City by Marshal Nix.
“Been a coupla weeks or so, I reckon,” the girl said. “We was outside Tulsa when he tole me. Shorty and Leon had already gone their own way, and there we was—broke an’ hungry with me willing to do something about it.”
“Shorty and Leon are dead,” Dace said. “George is lucky they left him.” He looked at the girl. “And you’re lucky George left you, Lilly. I got a feeling that nothing but bad is gonna come outta all this.”
“He don’t like you, Marshal,” Lilly said. “In fact, he hates you something fierce. He thinks you care for his wife too much for your own good.”
Dace’s face reddened. “Thanks, Lilly. I’ll be going now.”
“Good luck,” Lilly said as Dace went out the back door. She ran up and hollered at him as he strode down the alley. “You shoot him, hear? If you don’t, George McClary’ll sure as hell shoot you, Marshal Halston!”
~*~
Ward Stormwell dismounted and walked wearily into the U.S. marshal’s office. He grabbed a chair by the chief clerk’s desk and plopped himself down in it. “Whew! I’ve been riding this country for weeks, it seems.”
“Who the hell are you looking for?” McGoodwin asked looking up from his work.
“Dace Halston,” Stormwell answered. “Has he shown up in Guthrie yet?”
“Sure has,” the clerk answered. “Matter of fact, he was in here this morning. Didn’t stay long though. He got a note from one of the gals over at Minerva Lang’s place. He went over that way and I haven’t seen him since.
Stormwell sat up straighten “Which girl was it?”
“I don’t know,” McGoodwin answered. “But I have an idea it was Lilly Waring.”
Stormwell’s trained mind turned the name over for a couple of seconds. “Oh, yeah, George McClary’s girl friend from Ingraham. And she’s working in a whorehouse again?”
“That’s what they tell me,” McGoodwin answered.
Stormwell could immediately picture the situation. A woman scorned, seeking revenge against the man who left her for—whom? Another woman, of course. Maybe a wife? The Pinkerton man looked at McGoodwin. “Doesn’t George McClary’s wife live on a farm with her father?”
“Sure,” McGoodwin answered. “The old man’s got a place near Arkansas City. I’ve heard Dace mention it several times.”
Stormwell stood up and grinned. “Glad I didn’t take the trouble to unsaddle.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dace Halston’s boots crunched in the dirt as he and Harriet walked across the farmyard in the moonlight. When Dace reached a point some twenty feet from the barn door he halted and motioned Harriet to move away from him.
“George!” he called.
There was no answer from the barn.
“George! It’s me—Dace!”
Still no response could be h
eard.
“I’m here to give you a hand, George,” Dace said. “Look. I’m dropping my gunbelt. See?”
A few moments passed but finally the door eased open a crack and George McClary stepped through it. “Howdy, Dace.”
“How’re you doing?”
“Tolerable.”
Dace smiled a little. “I’ve spent a hell of a lot o’ time looking for you.”
“I heard about that,” George said.
“Did you hear I got Shorty and Spalding?”
“Nope,” George replied. “But I ain’t surprised.”
“I think we better talk,” Dace said.
“I ain’t going to no damn jail,” George said with the hint of a threat in his voice.
“I ain’t planning on taking you to one,” Dace said. “Have you talked with Harriet?”
“Yeah,” George answered. “She said you was willing to help me get to Californy.”
“You and her—the kids too,” Dace said.
“I figger it’s better if I go alone,” George said.
“Wouldn’t be worth my trouble to help you then,” Dace said. “I pictured you as going straight once you got out there. You know what I mean—build a new life.”
“The owlhoot trail is fine with me,” George said. “All I need is a hand getting outta here. Then I can run free. I figgered that since we was pards once and all that, you might help out.”
Dace shook his head. “That ain’t the way it should be.”
George’s face was grim in the moonlight. “That’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“Not with my help,” Dace said.
George stood thoughtfully for several long moments. “It’ll have to be your way then. How you gonna do it?”
“I know a better place than this for you to hide a spell,” Dace said. “You can cool off down in the Cherokee Strip for about six months. In the meantime, Harriet and the young’uns can head west and wait for you—and me—to join ’em.”
“You gonna live with us or something?” George asked.
“Nope,” Dace answered. “But I’m staying out there too. I cain’t help you and wear this here badge too. I’m gonna give up being a U.S. marshal.”
“You take that job perty serious, don’t you?” George asked derisively.
“I suppose,” Dace said. “Well? What do you say?”
The carbine shot exploded through the night air like the crack of a bullwhip.
George, his face contorted in pain and shock, staggered sideways into the barn door. He grabbed the handle and held on.
Dace dove for his Colt on the ground as the second bullet spun George around and dumped him to the dirt.
Harriet finally screamed in fear and surprise as Ward Stormwell stepped into view with his Winchester pointed dead on Dace’s crouching form. The detective displayed his crooked grin. “Aiding a fugitive, hey, Halston? Well, it’s your turn now.”
Dace rolled with his pistol in one hand, but the slug from the Pinkerton man’s carbine slammed into his body. He felt like he’d been kicked by a wild horse, but Dace was still able to react. He brought up the Colt and fired once.
That was enough.
The bullet split Stormwell’s nose and carried a good deal of his face into the large cavity it created in his skull.
Dace’s senses and instincts told him he was hurt bad. He rolled over and grasped the wound where hot blood seeped unchecked through his shirt.
Harriet ran up to Dace and knelt down beside him. “Oh, Dace! Is it bad?”
Dace tried to answer, but the effort was too much.
She gently lifted his head and cradled him in her arms. “Oh, Dace, my poor sweet darling! Please don’t die! I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.”
Dace again tried to say something, but couldn’t seem to get enough breath to make any sound for words.
Harriet gently stroked his face and wept. Her tears fell on his dry skin as she lovingly rocked him back and forth. “Dace, oh, Dace, I love you. Can you hear me, darling? I love you so.”
The words penetrated Dace’s fading consciousness and he could understand them. He looked up at her and finally managed to speak. “I love you dearly—”
Then he sank into nothingness, his final sensations being Harriet’s arms around him.
Epilogue
U.S. Marshal E. D. Nix and his deputy Bill Tilghman walked down the boardwalk of Guthrie’s main street. The marshal’s face was sad. “Losing Dace Halston is a damned shame.”
“Yes, sir,” Tilghman agreed. “He was a crackerjack lawman. We could’ve sure used him to wrap up this job o’ taming the Territory.”
“He had a quiet efficiency when it came to performing his duties,” Nix said. “Yet he could shoot it out with the best of them.”
“He got Stormwell,” Tilghman said. “I was glad to see that.”
“I don’t think the Pinkerton Agency was too pleased when they found their man more interested in rewards than solving cases,” Nix acknowledged. “Or the fact that he gunned down a United States marshal.”
“Well, here’s the livery,” Tilghman said. “Let’s go in and get it over with.”
“Lead the way, Bill,” Nix said.
The two lawmen stepped inside as the liveryman was tightening the cinch on Dace Halston’s horse.
Dace grinned at his friends. “This feller finally got me to pay him to saddle my horse.”
The liveryman wasn’t amused. “Damn shame that some folks is got to be shot up bad before they’ll part with two bits.”
Nix offered his hand to Dace. “Came to say goodbye. How’s your wound?”
“It was big and deep,” Dace said. “But the sawbones finally okayed a slow ride down here and back to Ark City. Eight weeks o’ lying around should’ve been enough to cure anybody o’ anything.”
“God Almighty, Dace!” Tilghman marveled. “A bullet hole like that would’ve killed any other man!”
Dace smiled. “Good thing for me I’m too dumb to know that.”
“I sure wish I could talk you into staying on,” Nix said.
“I appreciate that, Marshal Nix,” Dace said sincerely. He momentarily reflected on his temporary lapse of duty in planning to help George McClary, a wanted fugitive, escape the law. But he decided to adopt the philosophy of all’s well that ends well. “I got a better offer.”
“I’ll say!” Tilghman exclaimed with a laugh. “A farm complete with a ready-made family.”
“By the way, when are you getting married?” Nix asked.
“Me and Harriet ain’t gonna wait,” Dace said. “We decided we didn’t care much what folks might say. We got the church set aside for a week from this coming Sunday.”
“That’s quite a feat,” Nix said. “Becoming a brand new groom and gentleman farmer on the same day.”
“Yeah,” Dace agreed leading his horse out into the street. “I just wanted to wrap this here marshal’s job up right. That’s why I came down here personal to resign and turn in my badge.”
Tilghman helped him up into the saddle. “I wish I could take advantage of your invite and go to the wedding, but ol’ Bill Doolin and Bittercreek Newcomb are both really raising hell, and need looking for.”
“Best o’ luck in that game,” Dace said. He reached down and offered his hand to Marshal Nix. “I’ll always be obliged to you for letting me serve as one o’ your deputies.”
“Things worked out just fine for everyone concerned,” Nix said. “Good luck, Dace. And God bless you and your new family.”
“I thank you kindly, Marshal,” Dace said. “So long. And to you too, Bill.” He gave them both a wave, then turned the horse and rode toward the north side of town.
Once he was out of sight of Guthrie, he reined up and paused to peruse the Oklahoma prairie where he had once run cattle on open ranges. There, a man personally protected what was his. Those had been violent times and many a wrong-doer had fallen under the Law of the Six-Shooter. But now Dace was content with the thought he co
uld put away his guns and seek the peacefulness he had dreamed of all his life—with the woman he loved.
The old days had been exciting, but Dace Halston now sincerely felt the best part of his life was yet to come.
He kicked the horse’s flanks and resumed the journey to Arkansas City where Harriet and the kids waited for him.
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