Go-Ahead Rider

by Robert J Conley

  In Muskogee, sitting on the back of his black horse in the shadow of some tall trees, Go-Ahead Rider watched Omer Lyons go into James L. Barnes’s Pioneer Boarding Car, a hotel made up of five railroad cars parked on a sidetrack. Lyons would get his room and go to sleep. He had lived through a rough day. He was in the Creek Nation, beyond Rider’s jurisdiction, and he would feel safe. He would sleep late in the morning.

  Rider could afford to get a good night’s sleep. He knew he would be up long before Lyons, and he knew where Lyons would be. He rode out of town to the edge of the river, and he made himself a camp. He would spend the night there, and in the morning, he would go back into Muskogee, find himself a place to have breakfast, and then return to the Pioneer Boarding Car and wait for Lyons to make his appearance. When Rider crawled into his bedroll, his thoughts were partly on Lyons, partly on his family, and partly on George Tanner. Then he fell into a restful, untroubled sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Omer Lyons crawled out of bed in the luxurious Pioneer Boarding Car. He felt pretty good. Things, of course, would have been better had the vote in Tahlequah come out in his favor. He would have gotten more money out of the railroad, and he might even have worked his way into a permanent position with them. But he had been paid reasonably well by the railroad while the Council meeting lasted, and he still had money. Then things had gotten bad, but he had come out of the whole mess slick, and he had removed himself from the reaches of the Cherokee authorities. He was safe. His money would last for a while yet. Before it was gone, he would find something else to do.

  He washed his face in the basin of water in the room, and he dressed. He didn’t need to shave. Maybe tomorrow. He had just enough Indian blood in him to have inherited a light beard. He dropped the little three-shot pistol into his right-hand coat pocket and left the room. As he stepped down from the train car hotel, he saw Go-Ahead Rider standing to his right, not five feet away from him. Rider was leaning on the side of the car, his arms folded across his chest. The grips of his big Colts were visible beneath his folded arms.

  “Morning, Omer,” said Rider.

  Lyons struggled to regain his composure. He turned to face Rider.

  “You’re out of your jurisdiction,” he said.

  Rider unfolded his arms and held them out to his sides.

  “Look,” he said. “No badge. I quit.”

  “Then what do you want with me?”

  “Nothing, Omer. Why would I want you? I’m just over here for a little change in scenery. That’s all.”

  “Leave me alone,” said Lyons, and he hurried away from the car. After he had gone some fifty feet, he stopped, turned, and looked back at the hotel on wheels. Go-Ahead Rider was nowhere to be seen.

  George ate breakfast with the Riders, then went directly to find Elwood Lovely. He found Lovely at Al’s Eats, having a last cup of coffee following a big breakfast.

  “Mr. Lovely,” said George.

  “Call me Woody,” said the marshal. “Everyone else does.”

  “Mind if I sit with you?”

  “Hell, no: Take a load off. You ate yet?”

  “Yes,” said George. “I have. I could stand a little more coffee, though.”

  Lovely raised a hand.

  Al brought a cup and the pot. He poured George some coffee and refilled Lovely’s cup.

  “What’s on your mind?” said Lovely, after Al had left them.

  “Well,” said George, “I’ve got something to tell you. At first I didn’t know if I should tell you or not. I’m still not quite sure, but I did get some new information that helped me decide.”

  Lovely took a sip of coffee and waited for George to continue. The man was already hesitant, he thought. Don’t rush him.

  “Rider turned in his badge yesterday,” George said.

  Surprise registered on Lovely’s face, but still he kept quiet.

  “He went after Lyons. I guess you heard about the results of the trial. Lyons was found not guilty. We just didn’t have any real evidence against him. Anyhow, Rider said he knew that Lyons had paid Riley to do the killing for him, and he wasn’t about to let him get away with it. So he went after him.”

  “Where’d they go?” asked Lovely.

  “When Lyons left out of here he was headed south. Rider speculated that he was going to Muskogee.”

  “What are you worried about, George? You afraid that Rider’s going to get himself killed?”

  “No, sir,” said George. “Oh, maybe a little. What I’m really worried about is that Rider might go and commit a murder and get himself in trouble with the law over there. I don’t want to see that happen.”

  “I think Rider’s too smart for that,” said Lovely, “but it is a danger. It could happen.”

  “Woody, last night I got evidence that would have convicted Lyons if we’d had it before the trial. It would still convict him, I think, if we had him again.”

  “You can’t try a man twice for the same crime, George. Lyons is free.”

  “I know,” said George, “but we only tried him for the murder of Mix Hail. My new evidence would have convicted him of that, but it would also convict him of the murder of Jess Halfbreed. We didn’t charge him with that one.”

  “George,” said Lovely. He stood up, and took a last, long slurp from his cup. “You go see Harm Boley and get a fugitive warrant for Lyons. I can’t serve it on him, but it will add a little clout if I can show it. I carry blank whiskey warrants with me all the time, and I can arrest a man with one of them anywhere I find him. But if you get me that other warrant, I’ll use that as justification for bringing him back here to you. I’ll meet you in front of the capitol building to get it, and then I’m going to Muskogee.”

  Most of the day had gone by, and George had discovered that, with the single exception of his early morning conversation with Elwood Lovely, his speculation of the night before that it would be a long and frustrating day had been correct. Soon it would be time to lock the office and go home. That meant going to Rider’s house. George felt a little uncomfortable being in Rider’s house with his family during his absence. He would go, of course. For one thing he had no other home to go to. He also felt an obligation to Rider and his family. There might be something around the house that needed doing while Rider was gone, something that Exie couldn’t handle alone, or something that George could accomplish much more easily than she could. He would go to Rider’s house, eat supper, and see if there was any way he could be of help. Then perhaps he would go out again and—do what? Patrol the town? Maybe. He wanted to go visit Lee Hunt, but he still didn’t know who her other visitor had been. Well, he would go out and do something until it was late enough to go back and go to bed. He stood up and went to the coffeepot. He knew that he had already had too much coffee. He was beginning to feel just a little light-headed. But it was a boring and trying day. He had just lifted the pot to pour himself another cup when Vernon Starr walked into the office.

  “Tanner?” said Starr.

  “Yeah?”

  “We met once,” said Starr. “I’m Vern Starr, Cherokee Nation Treasurer.”

  “Sure,” said George, extending his hand. “I remember.”

  “Did you know that today is payday?”

  “Oh,” said George. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it. No one said anything. I haven’t had one yet.”

  “That’s what I thought when it got to be so late in the day and you hadn’t showed up in my office. I brought your money and a receipt for you to sign showing that I gave it to you. The normal procedure is for you to stop by the office on payday, but since Rider’s gone, I figured I could come over here this time and let you know.”

  “Thanks,” said George. “I appreciate that. I guess I’d have just gone on and never known the difference.”

  “You’d have thought about it before much longer, I expect. If you’ll just sign this,” said Starr, handing George a slip of paper, “I’ll give you your money and be on my way.”


  George took the receipt to his desk and signed it, then handed it back to Starr. The treasurer then carefully counted out a small stack of coins onto the desktop.

  “There you go,” he said. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  “Well,” said George, “I might.”

  The money lifted his spirits some. It surprised him. He hadn’t, he thought, been overly conscious of his dwindling assets. He had been too busy with other concerns. But looking at the stack of coins on his desk did make him feel better. He picked up the money and felt its weight in his palm. Then he dropped it into a pocket, looked around the office, picked up the keys, and left. It was still a little early, but nothing was happening. No one was in jail. His duties might as well take him around the town as keep him sitting in the office. So he walked downtown. He stopped in at Jameson’s Boot and Shoe Store and bought himself a pair of new, high-topped, black boots. He pulled them on and stuffed his trouser legs down inside them.

  “If you’ll wrap up my old shoes,” he said, “I’ll just wear these.” From there he went to the newest mercantile store in Tahlequah, just down the street from Jameson’s, where he tried on several hats. Finally satisfied with his appearance under the wide, flat brim of a black Plainsman with a red and white woven hatband, he paid for the hat and left. He felt good with his new hat and boots and some money still left in his pockets. He tried to think of what else he needed now that he had been paid. The only thing he could come up with was a place to live, a place of his own, but he wouldn’t do anything about that yet, not until Rider had returned. He strolled casually down the sidewalk, his package under his left arm. He walked to the end of the street, turned, and walked back as far as the mercantile. He went back in.

  “Do you have a nice scarf for a lady?” he asked.

  “Kerchief?”

  “Yeah. Whatever you call it. What do you have?”

  “Right this way, sir.”

  The clerk led George to a counter that was stacked with scarves. He held some up for George to see. George picked up a few and looked at them and felt them. The clerk moved over to another counter.

  “We have some very nice shawls,” he said.

  “Uh, shawls?” said George turning to follow the clerk.

  “For around the shoulders.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like this for instance,” said the clerk, holding up a large square piece of material and folding it into a triangle. It was blue with yellow flowers printed all over and a lace border. The clerk flung it around his own shoulders to let George see how it would look when worn.

  “That will do,” said George. “That’s nice.”

  “I have some others here.”

  “No. I’ll take that one.”

  He paid for his latest purchase and left the store, then he headed for Rider’s house. When he got to the top of the hill, the kids ran to meet him as usual, and he gave them his usual hug. They went inside and had their supper. George didn’t feel quite as uneasy as he had the day before. All three Riders complimented George on his new hat and boots, and they made some other small talk when they were finished eating.

  “Exie,” said George, “is there anything I can do for you around the house?”

  “Everything’s done, George,” she said.

  “I bought something today for Miss Hunt,” said George. “I want to show it to you.”

  He picked up his package and took out the shawl, holding it up for Exie to see.

  “Will she like it, do you think?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Exie. “Sure she will. It’s real pretty.”

  “Good. Thanks. Well, if you don’t have anything for me to do around here, I think I’ll go by and see if Lee—if Miss Hunt is home.”

  He took both packages and crossed the dog run into the other cabin, the one in which he was staying. He tossed the old shoes into a corner and went to rummage among his books. He found his copy of the fifth edition of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, published in 1871. It was practically brand new and absolutely the latest thing that he had. She might possibly have an earlier edition. He had no way of knowing, but certainly she wouldn’t have this. It couldn’t have reached the Cherokee Nation yet. He took out the shawl and wrapped it around the book, then put the wrapped book back into the paper package the shawl had come in. Then he walked to her house.

  No buggy was parked in front. George breathed a sigh of relief, walked up to the door, and knocked. From inside, Lee opened the door a crack so that she could peek out and see who was there. Then she flung it wide open and stepped back out of the way.

  “George,” she said, “come in.”

  George stepped in and closed the door.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” he said. “I wanted to see you. And I’m glad that you’re not occupied. I came by yesterday, but you had company, so I went on.”

  “Oh,” said Lee, “my superintendent was here with his wife. We had a—nice visit.”

  George tried hard to take that welcome news casually, but he was greatly relieved to find out that the buggy he had seen did not belong to some rival suitor. He held the package out toward Lee.

  “I brought you something,” he said.

  “A present?”

  She took the package and reached in, pulling out the shawl-wrapped book. The paper was dropped to the floor and ignored. Carefully she unwrapped the book.

  “George,” she said, “I don’t know what to look at first. Here. You hold this.”

  She handed him the book and draped the shawl around her shoulders. She stepped over to a mirror on the wall to get a look. She turned one way and then another. George watched, smiling. She’s awfully lovely, he thought. He felt good. It had been money well spent.

  “It’s beautiful, George,” she said. “Thank you. Now, let me see the rest.”

  She took the book back from George and studied its cover.

  “Leaves of Grass. Walt Whitman,” she said. “I’ve heard of Mr. Whitman, of course, but I’ve never read any of his work.”

  “This is the latest edition,” said George. “The fifth. Of all the books I brought back from the East, this is the newest. Mr. Whitman was not well received by the critics at first, but they are beginning to praise him. I think he was probably ahead of his time. As a poet. He’s a kind of—innovator, I suppose.”

  “I look forward to becoming acquainted with him. Thank you again. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Well, yes,” said George. “I’ll have some.”

  “Sit down. I’ll just be a minute.”

  George sat in the rocker, and soon Lee brought in coffee and cookies.

  “Have you been busy?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah. Kind of. Rider’s out of town, and I guess I’m more or less in charge.”

  “And you were paid today,” said Lee.

  “Yeah,” said George. “How did you know?”

  “Your new hat and new boots and my shawl.”

  George ate a cookie in one bite, and then he washed it down with a big swallow of coffee.

  “I thought you had a beau,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Well, I mean, I was afraid that you might. When I saw that buggy here last night, I was afraid it might be some other man calling on you. I’m glad I was wrong.”

  Lee smiled and stared at George for a long, silent moment.

  “George,” she said, “I like you.”

  It wasn’t hard for Omer Lyons to find a man in Muskogee from whom to buy whiskey, and as he was paying the man, he whispered a harsh and desperate question. The man pointed to two other men standing not far away. Lyons nodded and walked over to the two strangers.

  “Buy you a drink?” he said.

  The two eyed him suspiciously and looked at each other, and then the smaller of the two said, “Sure.”

  “Where can we go that’s safe?” said Lyons.

  “Follow me,” said the same man who had spoken before.

  Lyons followed the two toughs. T
hey led him to a dirty canvas tent pitched not far from the railroad tracks, and they crawled inside. Apparently they lived in there. The filth and the stench almost overwhelmed Lyons, but he was desperate. He pulled out the bottle he had just purchased and uncorked it. He took a swig, and then he handed it to the smaller of the two men. The whiskey felt good to Lyons. It was the first he had tasted since before Bean Riley’s stock had been destroyed.

  “My name’s Lyons,” he said.

  “Branham,” said the small man.

  Lyons looked at the other, who had just finished his first pull at the bottle. The man wiped his mouth with his sleeve and handed the bottle back to Lyons.

  “Crider,” he said.

  Lyons wanted to wipe off the mouth of the bottle before touching it back to his own lips, but he was afraid he might offend the two ruffians he had picked up. He steeled himself and took another swig, then handed the bottle back to Branham.

  “There’s a man following me,” he said. “I want him off my trail. Someone said you might help.”

  Branham handed the bottle to Crider and stared at Lyons without responding. God, thought Lyons, these two would slice their own mothers’ throats for a dollar. He reached into a pocket and pulled out some money. He held it out to Branham. Branham took the money and looked at it. Still, he did not speak. Crider handed the bottle back to Lyons. Lyons took another drink.

  “If you get him off my back,” he said, “I’ll give you the same amount again.”

  He handed the bottle to Branham. Branham took a long drink and passed the bottle on to Crider.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “His name is Go-Ahead Rider.”

  “Injun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do we find him?”

  “I don’t know where he’s staying,” said Lyons, “but I’m staying at the Pioneer Boarding Car. He hangs around there at night and again in the morning, just watching me. You can find him there. But don’t do anything there. Follow him to wherever he stays and do it there. Away from me. When it’s done, you can find me at the Pioneer, and I’ll give you the rest of your money.”