Straight Arrow had been relatively frugal with his money, whereas Walks Fast was anything but frugal. Walks Fast talked about the bank job they were going to pull over in Osage Country where “we’ll have all the money we might ever want or need. I say let’s have a good time until this money runs out.” Following his own advice, Walks Fast was, at the moment, upstairs with Elaina. This was his twelfth visit with her in as many days.
Straight Arrow walked up to the bar. “What have you got to eat today?” he asked.
“Steak, beans,” the bartender answered.
“Eggs?”
“Yes. We have eggs.”
“I want a steak and some eggs,” Straight Arrow said. “And let me have a pitcher of beer.”
Straight Arrow took the pitcher of beer from the bartender and walked over to a corner where he found an empty table. He sat down with his back to the wall and began drinking his beer. As he drank his beer, he studied some of the pictures that decorated the wall of the establishment. One picture in particular caught his attention. It showed a man on a horse riding alongside a thundering herd of buffalo. The horse had no saddle and the Indian was controlling him with his knees only. He was holding a bow and the string was pulled back as he rode alongside one big bull. There was already one arrow sticking out of the buffalo.
The Indian was obviously not a Cherokee, for though the Cherokee had hunted buffalo and deer since coming to Indian Territory, they had never done so in such a way. Still, it made Straight Arrow feel good to imagine himself as that Indian.
John Henry knew both Straight Arrow and Walks Fast on sight, and as soon as he stepped into the saloon, he saw Straight Arrow sitting alone at a table in the back of the room. He saw, also, a Mexican man carrying a plate of food toward the table.
“Is that food for Straight Arrow?” John Henry asked.
“Sí, Señor.”
“I’ll take it to him,” John Henry said, taking the plate from the waiter.
As Straight Arrow continued to study the picture, a plate of steak and eggs was put on the table in front of him, but he was too absorbed by the picture to bother to look up. He reached for the steak and picked it up in his hands.
“We pride ourselves on being civilized,” John Henry said. “And here you are, Straight Arrow, eating with your hands. Haven’t you ever heard of a knife and fork?”
Gasping, Straight Arrow looked up to see that the person who had just delivered his food was not the bartender, but someone who was wearing a badge and holding a pistol in his hand. The pistol was pointed toward him.
“Sixkiller?”
“Good, I see you remember me. That means there is no need for an introduction. Go ahead and take a bite,” John Henry said. “I wouldn’t want to disturb a man before he was finished eating his supper.”
Straight Arrow just sat there staring wide-eyed at the man who had confronted him.
“Go ahead, Straight Arrow, eat,” John Henry said again.
Straight Arrow raised the steak to his mouth, then suddenly dropped it and made a mad grab for his pistol. But John Henry was quicker and he brought his pistol down hard on Straight Arrow’s head. Straight Arrow wound up facedown on the table.
John Henry bent down to take Straight Arrow’s pistol. Then he dragged the outlaw’s limp, unconscious form over to one of the supporting posts where he propped him up, and putting one arm to either side of the post, put the handcuffs on.
The guitar music, laughter, and conversation had all come to a stop when John Henry knocked Straight Arrow out. Most of the other patrons looked on in curiosity, making no comment until they saw John Henry put on the handcuffs.
“Hey, wait a minute! What are you doing?” someone called. The person who called out was, as were most of the people in the saloon, a white man.
“What does it look like? I’m putting this man under arrest for murder and robbery,” John Henry replied easily.
“No, you ain’t. There ain’t no law here in Verdigris, and we don’t want any. So if I was you, I’d get them cuffs off that man and get out of here while you still can.”
John Henry looked up at the speaker. “Who are you?” he asked.
“The name is McGuire, and I’m the man that’s goin’ to run your ass out of Verdigris. Who the hell are you?”
“The name is Sixkiller. John Henry Sixkiller. I am Chief Sheriff of the Cherokee Nation, and I am taking this man to jail.”
“I don’t care who you are, I say you ain’t goin’—”
John Henry pulled his pistol and shot McGuire in the leg. McGuire let out a cry of pain, grabbed his leg, and fell to the floor.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted.
John Henry reached down and pulled McGuire’s pistol from his holster, then removed all the shells. Walking over to the front door, he tossed the pistol out into the street. After that, he returned to the table where Straight Arrow had been sitting. The untouched steak had fallen back onto his plate and John Henry cut off a generous piece of it and stuck it into his mouth. Then he picked up the pitcher of beer and took several swallows before he set it back down. The rest of the saloon continued to watch him in silence.
Returning to the bar, he glanced down at McGuire, who was sitting up now, groaning in pain and holding his hand over the bullet hole in his leg.
“You shot me in the leg, you son of a bitch!”
“Yeah, I did,” John Henry replied, his voice as calm as if telling the time of day. John Henry looked over to the bartender. “There were two of them,” he said.
“I don’t know, I haven’t been paying any attention.”
“Really? They have been here for several days but you haven’t noticed them? Do you think a bullet in your leg would help you remember?”
The bartender looked down at McGuire, who was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bar with his hand over the bullet hole in his leg, moaning in pain.
“The other man’s name is Walks Fast,” John Henry continued. “Walks Fast and this man, Straight Arrow”—he pointed to the man who was sitting on the floor, cuffed to a support post—“murdered four people back in Spavina. One of them was a woman schoolteacher, and the other was a little girl. Now, where is Walks Fast?”
Upstairs, Walks Fast was sitting on the foot of Elaina’s bed drinking whiskey when he heard the shot.
“What was that?”
“I think it was nothing,” Elaina said. “Always there is shooting here.”
“No, I think it was something more.”
Walks Fast moved to the door of the room, opened it, then looked down. From here, his view of the floor was restricted, but he could see the mirror behind the bar, and in the mirror he saw John Henry Sixkiller talking to the bartender.
“Sixkiller,” he said aloud.
“¿Qué has dicho, cariño?”
“Come here.”
“¿Qué?”
“I said, come here!” Walks Fast repeated, his words harsh and demanding.
Elaina, who was wearing only a chemise, came to him. Suddenly, he grabbed her, then, opening the door, pushed her out onto the landing in front of him. He stepped up to the railing, then called down.
“Sixkiller!” he shouted.
John Henry looked up toward the sound and saw Walks Fast standing there, holding a pistol to the head of a young woman.
“Let my friend go!”
John Henry made no effort to move.
“You heard me! Let him go, or I will kill this woman.”
“Please, Señor, let him go!” Elaina begged.
“Ha!” McGuire said. “He’s got your ass in a crack, don’t he? What are you going to do now, you son of a bitch?” McGuire asked.
“I’m going to let Straight Arrow go,” John Henry said.
John Henry walked over to Straight Arrow and leaned down to open the handcuffs. Looking back toward Walks Fast, he saw that moving over to the post to which Straight Arrow was attached had greatly improved his position with regard to the angle he had
on Walks Fast. From this angle there was more of Walks Fast exposed than there was of the woman.
“Hurry it up!” Walks Fast ordered.
John Henry drew his pistol and fired. Elaina screamed, but she wasn’t hit. John Henry’s shot had been deadly accurate, and Walks Fast pitched over the railing, turned one-half flip, and landed on his back on a table that was occupied by four cardplayers. Cards and chips went flying as the men, with shouts of anger and alarm, jumped up and moved away from the table.
John Henry, with the smoking gun still in his hand, crossed over for a closer look at Walks Fast. It didn’t take much of an examination to see that he was dead.
“¡Señor, cuidado!” Elaina shouted.
Heeding the warning, John Henry looked around to see that McGuire had gotten another gun from somewhere, and he was aiming it at John Henry.
“You son of a bitch!” McGuire shouted as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet from McGuire’s gun fired past John Henry’s ear, coming so close that he could feel the wind of its passing. John Henry returned fire and McGuire, who had gotten to his feet despite the wound in his leg, fell back with a bullet in his heart.
Putting his pistol back in its holster, John Henry returned to the post where Straight Arrow was attached. He freed his prisoner from the post, then cuffed his hands again, cuffing them in front, so Straight Arrow could ride.
“What are you planning on doing with that man, Sheriff?” someone asked.
“First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to take him back to Tahlequah.”
“Yeah? Where are you plannin’ on keepin’ him tonight? Maybe you didn’t notice, Mr. Indian Sheriff, but we don’t have a jail in this town.”
“I will improvise.”
“Do you think you’ll make it to Tahlequah alive?”
“Oh, I’ll get there alive,” John Henry said. He nodded toward his prisoner. “But if anyone tries to stop me, he won’t.”
When John Henry rode away from the saloon, Straight Arrow was mounted on his own horse, but secured by means of a rope noose around his neck. John Henry’s end of the rope was tied around his saddle horn, and by this method he rode the full length of the single street in Verdigris.
He recalled the question one of the men in the saloon had asked him. “Where are you plannin’ on keepin’ him tonight? Maybe you didn’t notice, Mr. Indian Sheriff, but we don’t have a jail in this town.”
John Henry said that he would improvise, and now, as he contemplated what to do with Straight Arrow, he thought about the well. When they reached the old, abandoned stagecoach office and well, he stopped.
“Whoa,” he said.
“What are we stoppin’ here for?” Straight Arrow asked.
“Get down,” John Henry ordered.
Moving gingerly because of the noose around his neck, Straight Arrow dismounted.
“You didn’t answer my question. What are we stoppin’ here for?” Straight Arrow asked again.
“We are going to spend the night here.”
“Here? Where?”
“Down in the well,” John Henry said. “At least you are.”
“The hell you say! I’m not going down into that well.”
“You have a choice. You can go down into that well, and I will take you back alive. Or you can refuse to go down into the well, and I’ll take you back dead.”
“I’ll go down into the well,” Straight Arrow said. He walked over to look down into it. “But how am I goin’ to get down there?”
“That’s easy. I’m going to lower you with this rope.”
“What?” Straight Arrow asked, his eyes growing big in fright. He lifted his cuffed hands to the noose around his neck.
John Henry chuckled. “Not that way,” he said. “Widen the noose until you can slip it down around your waist.
Straight Arrow did so, then John Henry lowered him.
“You’d better work that rope off you so I can pull it up,” John Henry said. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to get you out of there in the morning.”
John Henry recovered the rope. Then, with Straight Arrow safely down in the well, he walked up to the abandoned depot building and took the door down. Because it was hanging by a single hinge, it was easy to remove. Then, carrying the door back to the well, he laid it across the top. That done, he spread his bedroll out on the door.
Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep.
It was the middle of the night when John Henry was awakened by a nudge from Iron Heart’s nose. Opening his eyes, he didn’t see anything, but he did hear someone talking.
“You’re sure they’re here?”
“Yeah, I saw him put the Injun down in the old dry well.”
Drawing his pistol, John Henry slipped down from the door and knelt behind the well. He saw two men come into view a moment later.
“You men looking for something?” John Henry called.
“What the hell!”
“Drop your guns and get out of here.”
“You got no right to tell us to—” Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of John Henry’s pistol being cocked.
“All right, all right, we’re goin’.”
“Leave your guns here,” John Henry said.
The two men dropped their guns, then turned around and disappeared into the night.
Chapter Seven
John Henry pulled Straight Arrow up from the well just after first light the next morning.
“I see that you met Appleby and Crader,” Straight Arrow said.
“Who are Appleby and Crader?”
“They are friends of mine.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“They were here last night. I heard you and them talking. What happened to them?”
“Nothing. I just convinced them to go back to town. Come on, we have a long ride ahead of us.”
Once more John Henry had Straight Arrow mounted on his horse with a rope around his neck.
They had been underway for the better part of two hours when they crossed a stream. Straight Arrow stopped.
“What are you stopping here for?” John Henry asked.
“I never pass up a chance to fill my canteen with water.”
“You are going to pass it this time. Keep going.”
John Henry knew why Straight Arrow wanted to stop. There were two men riding parallel with them, and stopping at the creek would give the men the opportunity to make their ambush.
They rode on for another mile before Straight Arrow stopped again.
“Why are you stopping here?” John Henry asked.
“Can’t you tell? My horse is going lame.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Maybe you can’t see it, but he’s favoring his right foreleg. I can feel it.”
“Keep going.”
“This is a good horse. If I ride him lame now, what am I going to do for a horse in the future?”
“You don’t have a future,” John Henry said.
“We’ve got to stop, I tell you, and give my horse a rest.”
John Henry looked over to his left without being obvious about it, and saw the two riders slipping through a notch in the hills, moving so quietly and expertly that only someone who was specifically looking for them would have noticed.
“All right, we’ll stop here for a few minutes.”
“There’s no need now. I think he may just have picked up a rock in his shoe, but now he’s thrown it. He’s not limping anymore.”
Evidently, Straight Arrow had also seen the two men and now that the two men had gotten ahead of them, he wanted to ride on, to lead John Henry into the ambush that was being planned.
“We’ll stop here,” John Henry said. “I’m going to have you wait while I check ahead.”
“Wait? You’re going to have me wait here?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, you go ahead and check it out. I won’t go anywhere.” Straight Arrow smiled broadly.
“Oh, I know you won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
“You can’t leave me here like this, you son of a bitch!” Straight Arrow shouted in fear and anger a few minutes later as John Henry rode on ahead.
“I would be quiet if I were you,” John Henry called back to him. “You don’t want to spook your horse now, do you?”
Straight Arrow was sitting on his horse, now with his hands cuffed behind his back. The rope around his neck had been thrown over the limb of a tree and tied off. Should his horse decide to run away from under him he would be hanged.
John Henry left the trail he had been following, then rode over to the trail where the two would-be ambushers were riding. It didn’t take him long to catch up with them. They were behind a rock outcropping, watching the path John Henry would have been coming on, had he not stopped. He couldn’t be certain, because it had been dark, but he believed these were the same two men he had encountered last night. He did recognize them from having seen them in the saloon back in Verdigris, and he believed, based upon what Straight Arrow had said, that they were Crader and Appleby. Though of course, he didn’t know which was which.
John dismounted, pulled his rifle from the saddle sheath, then walked up behind them. He approached them very quietly, stopping when he was less than thirty feet behind them.
“What the hell is keepin’ ’em?” one of the two men said.
“Don’t be so damn anxious. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Straight Arrow won’t, but I’m here now,” John Henry said.
“What?” The two men whirled around, shocked by hearing the voice from so close behind them.
“Drop your guns.”
The two men, who were carrying rifles, complied.
“And your holsters.”
“We ain’t got nothin’ in our holsters. You took our guns last night.”
“So I did,” John Henry said. “You, take off your shirt.” He pointed to the larger of the two men.
“What for?”
John Henry raised the rifle to his shoulder and aimed at the man. “I’m not going to ask you again,” he said.
Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal Page 5