“Probably just to spite us,” another man interjected.
The heavyset man snorted in disgust. “Well, it didn’t do him a helluva lot of good, did it? Just to come back here to get hisself hung.”
“What did he do to get himself hung?” the newcomer asked.
“Stole a horse is what they were talkin’ about,” one at the table commented. “Ain’t that right, Sheriff?”
“We’re done talkin’ about it,” the sheriff informed them. “Judge Harris is fixin’ to rule on it tomorrow, and I expect we’ll have a hangin’ the next day after that.”
Seated at the next table, Tanner slowly sipped his drink. He had heard all he needed to hear. The sheriff sounded pretty confident about what the judge’s ruling would be. They were going to railroad Jeb. It wasn’t a prosecution of a crime. It was simple extermination that the good folk of Mound City had in mind. Tanner had heard stories, some from Jeb, about the Kansas-Missouri border wars between the Free-Soilers and the pro-slavers that led up to the war just ended. According to Jeb, there were plenty of folks in Mound City who held Southern sympathies. Sitting in this saloon now, Tanner wondered where those people were, and if they were apt to come out in support of one who’d fought for the Confederacy. The sheriff certainly was confident that Jeb’s trial was merely a formality before the hanging.
It was pretty clear what he had to do. Tossing back the last few drops of the strong whiskey, he placed the empty glass on the table, and stood up. When he did, he found the sheriff’s gaze focused upon him. Tanner looked at the fleshy brute of a man for a few long seconds before turning and slowly walking toward the door. Behind him, he heard the scraping sound of the sheriff’s chair being pushed back from the table. He continued to walk toward the table where the weapons were deposited.
“Hold on there a minute, mister,” Jeff Yates called out, his voice brusque and commanding.
Tanner casually reached down and picked up his rifle before turning slowly to face the sheriff. Yates halted a couple of steps from him and looked him up and down before speaking again. “I’m the sheriff in this town, and I like to know what business strangers like you have in Mound City.”
“I don’t have any business in Mound City,” Tanner said. “I’m just passin’ through. I ain’t broke any laws, have I?”
“Why, none that you’ve been caught at yet,” Yates replied with a smirk. “We’ve been seein’a fair number of drifters comin’ through here since the war, and that ain’t what the folks here wanna see.” He gave Tanner another hard look. “You fight in the war?”
“Maybe,” Tanner replied.
“If I was to guess, I’d say it wasn’t on the Union side,” Yates said. When Tanner answered with only a smile, the sheriff snorted. “I thought so.” He nodded toward the rifle in Tanner’s hand. “I don’t believe you Rebs were issued Spencer carbines. I might have to order you to hand that over. That’s government property.”
The last thing Tanner wanted was a confrontation with the sheriff, but he had had enough of the surly lawman’s attitude. “I took this rifle off a dead man. The next man that gets it is gonna have to take it the same way.”
The noisy barroom suddenly got quiet, with no sound except the scraping of chairs on the plank floor as the patrons pushed back from the table. Yates was stopped momentarily, not expecting the defiance he encountered. His eyes locked on Tanner’s, measuring the depth of the stranger’s resolve. Something he saw there told him that there was cold steel behind the gaze. “Mister,” he warned, “you’re fixin’ to make the biggest mistake of your life.” His hand dropped to rest on the handle of his pistol. “Now, hand that rifle to me butt first.”
Tanner brought the Spencer up chest high and cocked it, loading a round in the chamber. He suspected that the sheriff not only wanted the rifle, but also meant to throw him in jail with Jeb. A smattering of hushed comments filled the room behind the sheriff as his friends watched the confrontation. They went silent again when Tanner leveled the rifle at Yates. “Sheriff,” he said, his voice soft and deadly, “I ain’t broke no laws in your town, but if your hand comes up with that pistol in it, you’re a dead man.”
Yates was stopped cold for a few moments, unsure of himself and uncertain if the brash young man actually had the nerve to follow through with his threat. His hand lingered on the handle of his revolver, but he hesitated to grip it. “Are you that big a fool?” he finally snarled. “Threatenin’ a lawman?” Tanner made no reply, simply staring coldly into the sheriff’s eyes. “Look around you,” Yates said. “You’re outnumbered about seven to one. You pull that trigger and there’ll be half a dozen on you before you can cock that rifle again.”
“I reckon there’d be only two dead then,” Tanner replied. “But one of ’em’s gonna be you. So it’s your call. I walk outta here and no harm done. Or you and I can catch the evenin’ train to hell together.”
“I’ve got him covered, Jeff,” the bartender sang out and pulled a double-barreled shotgun from under the counter.
This was not good news to Tanner. He hadn’t figured the bartender to get involved in the standoff. He wondered why the man hadn’t shot first and talked later, but his unblinking gaze never left Yates’ face. “My finger’s gettin’ awfully damn itchy,” he said. “If that shotgun goes off, you’re a dead man. Tell him to put the gun away, and I’ll not waste any time ridin’ outta your friendly little town.”
One could almost hear the crackle of tension in the room as the standoff continued. Yates glanced at the weapons on the table behind Tanner, wishing at this point that he had never insisted on the ordinance that caused them to be there. The bartender was holding a gun on the stranger, and was sure to get him. But Yates was staring at the barrel of Tanner’s rifle, and he didn’t know if Tanner would automatically squeeze the trigger if the bartender fired. He wasn’t ready to take the risk.
“Put it away, Lonnie,” the sheriff finally said. When the bartender lowered the shotgun, Yates turned back to Tanner. “All right, I’m gonna let you go, so these innocent bystanders don’t get hurt. But I want you outta my town, and I don’t mean maybe. I ain’t likely to be in such a good mood next time I see you.”
Not influenced by the sheriff’s attempt to save face, Tanner said, “Reach across with your left hand and lift that pistol outta the holster real slow. Do it, dammit!” he roared when Yates hesitated. “All right, drop it on the floor and kick it over here.” Becoming more and more flushed by the moment, the sheriff did as he was told. Tanner stooped to pick up the weapon, being careful to keep the rifle trained on the sheriff.
Backing slowly toward the door, Tanner watched the crowd of uneasy citizens of Mound City carefully, lest anyone try to make a run for the weapons table. None was heroic to the extent of testing the tall stranger. Tanner opened the door and paused in the doorway for a moment. Then he suddenly stepped outside, slammed the door, and jammed the sheriff’s pistol barrel through the door handle, wedging it against the doorframe. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it might delay the pursuit enough to let him get a head start. Running as fast as he could, he darted between the saloon and the dry goods store. Turning the corner, he sprinted along behind the buildings, heading for the stable.
John Porter was startled when Tanner suddenly appeared at the back of the stable at a dead run. “What tha—” was all he managed to get out as Tanner rushed by him, going straight to the tack room where his saddle was stored. In a moment, he reappeared with the saddle on his shoulder, heading for the corral.
“I reckon I won’t be stayin’ the night after all,” Tanner blurted as he passed the astonished stable owner. “How much do I owe you?” he called over his shoulder as he cornered his horse against the rail.
“Nothin’,” Porter replied while Tanner slipped the bit in Ashes’ mouth and pulled the bridle on. “You done paid me for the oats.” He stood gaping as Tanner threw the saddle on the big gray horse. “You sure seem to be in one helluva hurry. Is somebody after you?”
In the clear so far, he thought, looking back over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The big gray’s hooves pounded the hard clay as he drove for a bend in the road that would take him out of sight of the buildings. Lying low on Ashes’ neck, he waited for the snap of bullets to overtake him, but there was none, and soon he gained the shield of a grove of hardwoods at a curve in the road. Riding on, he eased up on the gray a bit as he quickly looked about him for the best place to leave the road. Knowing he didn’t have much time to decide, he took the easiest route of escape. Pulling hard on the reins, he swung the gray to his left, jumped a shallow ditch, and followed a faint drainage trail down through a stand of hickories and oaks. Weaving between dark trunks, he made his way through the trees until coming to a creek bordered by chokecherry thickets and buckthorn.
Behind him he heard the sound of several horses on the road he had just left. He pulled the gray up to listen. He could not see the road, but from the sound, he knew that they had continued on, evidently failing to see where he had plunged into the trees. This, he decided, was as good a place as any to wait out the remaining daylight. The sheriff had to figure that he had fled the town, anxious to put Mound City far behind him. So Tanner reasoned that the lawman would not think to search for him close to town. The problem to be solved now was how to get Jeb out of jail. He looked up at the late-afternoon sun. “Well, I’ve got plenty of time to figure out how I’m gonna do it,” he said.
While he pictured the tiny jail in his mind, and tried to think of his best chance of breaking Jeb out, he took a look around the woods he had picked as his hiding place. Leaving Ashes to graze by the creek, he pushed through a thicket on the other side to discover a cleared field of perhaps five or six acres. At the far end of the field, a small farmhouse sat between two sizable oak trees. Tanner stood in the cover of the thicket for a while, watching to see if there was any activity around the house. Seeing none, he felt reasonably safe in assuming there would be no one venturing across the field in his direction. He returned to the creek to wait out the daylight.
A little before dusk, he heard the sheriff’s posse returning to town. Sitting up to become more alert, he listened hard to make sure the sound of hoofbeats on the road continued on past. He settled back and waited. Finally, darkness settled in around the chokecherry bushes, and Tanner determined it was time to act. The fact that he was about to embark on his first ever act that was against the law never entered his mind. As far as he was concerned, he was planning to free a comrade in arms from an enemy prison. It was a matter of right or wrong, and he couldn’t leave Jeb there to be hung.
“Your supper’s a mite cold,” Jeff Yates said as he pushed the door open with his foot. Entering the cell room carrying a plate of food, he pretended to be apologetic. Jeb knew the sheriff was merely entertaining himself. “I weren’t here to unlock the door for Annie, so she had to leave it on the stoop. She put a cloth over it, but the flies got to it anyway. I sure feel bad about that, but I had to chase one of your Reb friends outta town.” He slid the plate under the bars, knocking a biscuit off on the floor. “A little dirt won’t hurt’cha,” he said, tapping the biscuit under the bars with the toe of his boot.
Jeb held his tongue, determined not to let the sheriff get his goat. He picked up the plate and shooed a couple of flies from the cold bacon before stuffing a slice into his mouth. “Why, Sheriff, I’m just about overcome with gratitude. I wouldn’t have expected you back at all tonight, after such a hard day of settin’ on your ass in the saddle.”
Yates didn’t reply right away, staring at Jeb with a sly smirk on his face. Then after a moment or two, he said, “You’ve always had a sassy mouth on you, ain’t you?” The smirk slowly transformed into a wide smile. “We’ll see how sassy you can talk day after tomorrow when I hang your sorry ass.”
“Ha,” Jeb snorted. “Hang me for what? Disturbin’ the peace?”
“Horse thievin’,” Yates replied.
“Horse thievin’!” Jeb exclaimed. “I ain’t stole no horse.” Then his eyes opened wide and a broad smile formed on his face.
Puzzled by Jeb’s sudden transformation, as if he had just heard good news, Yates stared dumbly at his prisoner for a few moments. Then, realizing that Jeb was looking at something behind him, he turned to find himself staring into the muzzle of a Spencer rifle. His hand immediately fell to rest on the handle of his pistol. “It would be a mistake,” he was calmly warned.
“Howdy, partner,” Jeb gleefully greeted Tanner. “I reckon it must be time for me to get outta here—and just when I was beginning to feel right at home.”
“I knew you wasn’t just passin’ through.” Yates spat out the words with a scowl. “By God, you’re gonna end up at the bottom of a rope for this.”
“Maybe,” Tanner replied, reaching over to relieve the sheriff of his pistol for the second time in one day. “I expect you’d best take that key ring off your belt, too.” With a look that would scorch a frightened man, the sheriff complied, taking the ring off and tossing it on the floor. “Pick it up,” Tanner commanded.
“You pick it up,” Yates shot back. “You gonna shoot me if I don’t?” He sneered. “I don’t think you got the guts to shoot me.”
Without hesitating, Tanner lowered the muzzle of the rifle and squeezed the trigger, putting a bullet through Yates’ boot. “Jesus!” the sheriff screamed in shocked disbelief. “You shot me, you son of a bitch!” He hopped backward on his good foot, staring wide-eyed at the black hole in his boot.
“I know,” Tanner replied softly. “If you don’t pick up those keys and unlock that cell, I’m gonna shoot the other foot.” He aimed the rifle at the sheriff’s foot.
“Hold on, dammit!” Yates howled. The shock of Tanner’s first shot had a numbing effect on the wounded man. Now blood began oozing through the hole in his boot, accompanied by a throbbing pain. “Wait a minute!” he pleaded again. “I’m gettin’ ’em.” Unable to maintain his balance on one foot, he dropped to the floor, and crawled over to retrieve the keys. On hands and knees, he moved to the cell door and began to fumble with the lock.
When the door was unlocked, Jeb pushed it open and held it wide. “Come on in, Sheriff,” he gestured grandly.
When Yates balked at entering the jail cell, Tanner administered a heavy boot to his backside, providing the proper motivation. “We ain’t got all night,” he complained. “Come on, Jeb. We’d best get on over the border to Missouri.”
Jeb stepped out of the cell, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Then he tossed the keys through the open door to the office. “They’re right there, whenever you’re ready to get out,” he said. “And you can have the rest of my supper. It’s right there on the floor where you left it. I don’t expect anybody will be comin’ around to bother you tonight. That tick on the bunk could use a little more straw, but I managed to sleep on it.”
Yates grew bolder with confidence that Tanner had no intention of killing him, and his temper began to boil. “You two are gonna be hangin’ from the same tree,” he threatened. “I’ll be outta here in no time, and I’ll be comin’ after you.”
“It’ll be a waste of time, Sheriff,” Tanner informed him. “We’ll be in Missouri before mo
rnin’, and you’ve got no jurisdiction there.”
His anger sufficiently riled at this point, Yates snarled, “You think that’ll stop me? I’ll run you bastards down. You ain’t gettin’ away with this.” Then he started to yell. “Help! Help! Somebody help!”
Tanner said nothing as he solemnly gazed at the wounded lawman. After a moment, he raised his rifle again, and sighting through the bars, shot the sheriff in the other foot. Yates’ yells for help turned at once into howls of pain, and he sat on the floor, rocking back and forth, holding his throbbing feet in his hands.
Outside, Jeb discovered his horse saddled and waiting beside Tanner’s. When Tanner told him that the owner of the stable had saddled the horse himself, Jeb laughed and remarked, “Damn, you’ve been right busy, ain’t you? You sure as hell ruined a good pair of boots back there, though.” He stepped up in the saddle. “I knew there musta been a reason my pa thought John Porter was a good man.” Reining the sorrel’s head around, he said, “If we’re gonna cross the Missouri border before mornin’, we’d best get goin’.”
“What the hell do you wanna go to Missouri for?” Tanner stopped him. “Hell, I wanna see Montana.”
“You said in there—” Jeb began, but broke off. “Oh, you just said that for Yates’ ears, so’s he’ll head in the wrong direction.”
Tanner shrugged, not really convinced. “If he’s dumb enough,” he said.
Jeb threw back his head and chuckled. “He’s dumb enough. I reckon they’ll be callin’ him Ol’ Leadfoot now.” The thought caused him to chuckle once more. “Let’s go to Montana!” Then he pulled his horse up short, as if just remembering something. “There’s one more thing I’ve gotta do before we leave.” With no explanation beyond that, he kicked the sorrel into a gallop, heading for the back of the building, leaving Tanner no choice but to follow.
The two fugitives raced along behind the buildings until Jeb pulled his horse to a sliding stop behind the saloon. Leaping from the saddle, he burst through the kitchen door to totally stun a Chinese cook and a flabbergasted Annie Whatley. Sweeping Annie off her feet, he planted a kiss on her mouth, holding it so long that the poor girl gasped for breath when finally released.
Tanner's Law Page 6