* * *
Luther Treadwell nodded a silent thank you to his sister when she filled his coffee cup before he continued talking. “I swear, Jeb, it pains me somethin’ fierce to have to bring you the news about Billy. I’m feelin’ mighty poorly about Joe and Barney gettin’ arrested for robbin’ that store in McAlester. They’ll get a little prison time, but that ain’t gonna hurt ’em any. But, dang it, Billy ain’t never done nothin’ to get arrested for, and then to get shot in the back by a damn deputy marshal, that just ain’t right. Liam and Ethan got it firsthand from a feller that owns a stable in Fort Smith. The word they got from him was they found out Billy didn’t break no laws and so they sent him back to Texas with a deputy marshal to make sure he got back home safe. They hadn’t rode more’n half a day when the deputy shot him in the back, just to save him the trouble of a long ride, I reckon.” He paused and shook his head when he saw his sister’s eyes filling with tears. Both families felt the wrong done to Jeb and Estelle’s youngest son. Billy was different from his other sons. He was a gentle soul who seemed to have never outgrown the innocence of childhood and his brothers and cousins had never pushed him to follow in the families’ bent toward cattle rustling. “Well, I don’t have to tell you that the Treadwells are ready to help you avenge Billy’s death, if we have to take on every damn deputy marshal ridin’ outta Fort Smith to do it,” Luther continued. “The Texas Rangers ain’t ever been able to catch up with the Cottons and the Treadwells, so I know damn well them marshals ain’t likely to whip us, neither.”
Jebediah Cotton maintained a stonelike determination on his face throughout his brother-in-law’s speech. He would have his vengeance, that much he knew, and he would count on the Treadwells for help, just as he always did. Ever since he married Luther Treadwell’s sister, the two families had joined together, earning their living on the wrong side of the law, their coalition growing over the years with each coming of age of their many sons. “I ’preciate it, Luther,” he finally spoke.
“You know you can count on us,” Luther stressed. “It’s a matter of family. What happens to one of us, Cotton or Treadwell, it don’t make no difference, it happens to the family. And it won’t take long to settle with this coward that shot your Billy in the back.” He turned to one of his sons. “Liam, what did you say that deputy’s name was?”
“Will Tanner, Pa,” Liam answered. “That feller at the stable in Fort Smith said Will Tanner was the deputy that was supposed to bring Billy back.”
“And he was at Ramsey’s Store a couple of days ago!” Liam’s brother, Ethan, blurted excitedly. “Right across the border from here—told Ramsey his name was Will Tanner.”
“He must think he’s bulletproof,” Jeb Cotton said, “showin’ his face this close to Texas after what he done.” He looked around for his wife. “Estelle! Write his name down on the wall by the fireplace.” She dutifully obeyed, going to the fireplace and selecting a half-charred stick from the fire to use as her pencil. Then she printed the name Will Tanner on the wall next to the fireplace. Luther got up from the table and took the burnt piece of wood she handed him. He stood staring at the two words, even though he could neither read nor write, until he felt he had seared them onto his brain. Then he threw the stick back in the fireplace, pulled out his large Bowie knife, and slashed an X through them. “Feel that mark on your soul, Mr. Will Tanner, ’cause you’re a walkin’ deadman.”
“How we gonna find him, Pa?” Cecil Cotton, Jeb’s eldest, asked.
“We’ll start by ridin’ over the river to Ramsey’s Store,” Jeb replied. “Liam said Tanner was there a couple days ago. We need to know where he headed from there. We’ll get on his trail somewhere and we won’t get off till he’s dead.” His words caused the air to become heavy in the dark room, the only light coming from the fire in the fireplace. The Cottons and the Treadwells were a lawless family, but up to now, their transgressions were confined to stealing cattle. The robbery of the store in McAlester by Joe and Barney Treadwell was one of the few times anyone in the family had departed from the cattle business. And their arrest served to indicate they should stick to the business they knew best. They had always sought to avoid gunplay unless absolutely necessary to insure their safety. Suddenly the carefree manner in which the boys had always regarded their rustling was replaced by the reality that they were now on a grim mission of assassination.
“What about them Rangers camped up on the ridge?” Emmett, one of the Cotton brothers asked. His question brought their collective minds back to the business that had called for the two families to meet at the Cotton ranch on the Sulphur River. For several days now, there had been a posse of Rangers camped on a long ridge about two hundred yards north of the house, watching the comings and goings around the ranch. They apparently thought no one at the ranch knew they were under surveillance. But Cecil had spotted a flash of light when the sun reflected off a field glass trained on the barn. It was a simple matter to get on his horse and ride down the riverbank until far enough to circle around the back of the ridge without being seen. Making his way up the back of the slope, he discovered the Rangers, four of them. There was no mystery as to why the Rangers were watching. Reasonably certain the Cottons and the Treadwells were responsible for the cattle rustling in Red River County, the Rangers, however, had never been able to catch them in the act. It struck the outlaws as highly humorous that the Rangers had been driven to the desperate practice of camping above the ranch in hopes of seeing them start out on a mission to steal cattle.
Expecting Luther Treadwell and his sons to come to his house to discuss plans for the immediate future, Jeb Cotton had been shaken by the news of his youngest son’s death and the arrest of Luther’s two sons. He had to force his mind back to answer Emmett’s question. “I think it’s time to leave this part of the country for a while,” he said, looking at Luther as he spoke. “I reckon you’ll agree that it’s got so that none of us can make a move without the damn law lookin’ over our shoulders. So I figure it’s time to let things cool down a little.”
“You thinkin’ about that camp up on the Cimarron?” Luther asked, referring to a hideout they had used on numerous occasions when raiding cattle ranches in Kansas Territory. The camp was actually located just south of the Kansas border in the Indian territory of Oklahoma.
“I was,” Jeb declared, “dependin’ on what you thought.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “This news about Billy has got to come first, though. I can’t rest peaceful till I know that son of a bitch that shot him is dead.”
“I understand that, Jeb,” Luther was quick to assure him, accompanied by grunts of agreement from his sons. “Tanner has to pay. That comes first. That boy was a blessin’ to you and Estelle.” He paused for everyone to nod their agreement, then said, “Like we were already thinkin’ about, though, it’s time to move out from under the eyes of the Texas Rangers. So why don’t we work on both things at the same time? Like you said, we could cross over to Injun Territory to Ramsey’s Store and see if we can pick up Tanner’s trail outta there. He came down there for some reason, so I expect he’s in the Nations somewhere. After we settle with him, we can lay low up on the Cimarron for a spell, maybe work our trade on some of those herds in Kansas.”
There was much to do before the men of the two families were ready to ride. Food had to be prepared for both the men heading for the Nations and the women who stayed behind. It was not the first time the women were left to shift for themselves, although for Estelle Cotton this would be the first time that her youngest, Billy, would not remain to take care of the chores. For the Treadwells, that position was usually filled by Joe, but Joe, along with his brother Barney, was presently residing in the jail in Fort Smith. Consequently, Estelle and Mary Belle decided they could make it best if they stayed together, each one looking out for the other. They were both handy with revolver and rifle, and not shy about using either. “Hell,” Mary Belle said, “I’m lookin’ forward to the vacation.” And it would no
doubt be a vacation for both women, long accustomed to waiting hand and foot on the men of the two families.
“I expect we’ll stay over winter,” Luther told her, “dependin’ on how our luck runs and what the cattle situation looks like up Kansas way. We’ll head straight up to the Cimarron camp as soon as we’ve settled with that deputy. If things look better up that way, I might send the boys to get you.”
“Don’t be in a rush to get back,” she said. “Me and Estelle will be all right.” She cocked her head to the side. “Ain’t that right, Estelle?”
“We sure as hell will,” Estelle replied. “Just make sure you take care of that bastard that killed my baby.”
All the preparations were completed by sundown the next day, so they departed that morning, six riders, on a trail that led straight north to the Red River. Behind them, two liberated women celebrated with a fresh pot of coffee, while a curious group of four Texas Rangers filed down the back slope of the ridge to follow them at a safe distance. It was to be another fruitless endeavor for the Rangers, hoping to at last be on hand when the outlaws moved to steal cattle from one of the ranches along the Red River. They followed the six outlaws until they struck the river, then watched frustrated when the outlaws went straight across and into Oklahoma Territory.
* * *
Louella Ramsey paused to look at the gang of riders approaching from the south. She propped her broom against the side of the door and stuck her head inside. “Buford! There’s a bunch of riders comin’ up from the river,” she warned. “Six of ’em, leadin’ packhorses—I ain’t seen any of ’em before.” She hesitated as the riders drew closer, then changed her mind. “Wait, I have seen two of ’em. They were in here the other day—on their way to Texas. Maybe they’re all right.”
“Maybe,” her husband said as he joined her at the door. He had taken the precaution to pick up his shotgun when she first called out, just in case. They had experienced very little trouble since building the trading post on the river, but when a gang of six approached, it was difficult not to feel some apprehension. The decision to be made now was whether to openly display the shotgun and show his concern. Buford quickly decided it was not going to be of much use against six men, so he propped it against the wall inside the door and stepped out on the porch to greet his visitors.
“Afternoon,” Buford called out as the men pulled their horses up in the yard and dismounted. “What can I do for you fellows?”
Luther Treadwell answered. “We’ll stop here and give the horses a rest—maybe build a fire down by the river to cook a little breakfast—if that’s all right with you. My boys told me you didn’t sell no cookin’ here. Otherwise, we mighta bought breakfast from you.”
“That’s right, we ain’t set up to sell meals,” Buford replied. “But I’ve got ham and sowbelly if you’re needin’ some to cook. Other staples, too, if you’re needin’.”
“We might need a few things we’re runnin’ low on,” Jeb Cotton said. “Chewin’ tobacco and coffee beans I can think of right off. You got any?” Buford replied that he sure did, and Jeb continued. “We’ll be needin’ some information, too.” He gestured toward their sons already leading the horses to water. “You see, we’re a special posse of Texas men and we were supposed to meet up with a U.S. deputy marshal at your store, name of Tanner. We ran into some trouble, so we got here a little late and I’m afraid we missed him. Have you seen him yet?”
“Will Tanner,” Buford said. “Yes, sir. He was here all right, but he never said a word about meetin’ up with anybody. And that was a few days ago.”
“Maybe you can tell us which way he went when he left here and maybe we’ll catch up with him,” Luther said.
“He left in the same direction you fellers just came from, south,” Buford replied. “Said he was on his way to Texas.”
“Texas?” Jeb blurted. “What the hell would he be goin’ to Texas for? He ain’t got no jurisdiction in Texas.”
“He most likely went down there lookin’ for us, since we weren’t here,” Luther quickly suggested, hoping Jeb wouldn’t let his emotions blow their story apart. He appreciated the fact that Jeb’s son was killed by the deputy, but it wouldn’t be wise to let word get back to Fort Smith that a gang of outlaws was after one of their deputies.
“Oh, sure,” Jeb replied, recovering at once. “That’s most likely what happened.”
Luther nodded. “Yeah, we can talk about it while we fix something to eat.” Turning back to Buford, he said, “We could use a little sip of corn whiskey to cut some of the Texas dust outta our mouths. I know you’ve got ajar or two under the counter there, so add that to my chewing tobacco and coffee beans.” Not bothering to deny the existence of the illegal whiskey in his store, Buford just did as he was instructed and set the jar on the counter. “Yes, sir,” Luther went on. “Ol’ Will Tanner, I ain’t seen him in a while. Is he still ridin’ that horse, I forget what he calls him?”
“The buckskin,” Buford supplied. “Least, that’s what he was ridin’ when he came through here. I don’t know what he calls him.”
“Same beard and mustache, I reckon. I ain’t seen him since before he shot young Billy Cotton in the back.”
Buford shrugged. “He was clean-shaven when he came in here and he said it was somebody else that done for Billy Cotton.”
“’Course he did,” Jeb sang out immediately. “He ain’t likely to own up to it, now is he, shootin’ an unarmed man in the back like that?”
Luther could see that Jeb was getting heated up again, so he settled up with Buford and said, “Pick up that jar of whiskey for me, Jeb, and we’ll go have us a drink before we eat. I’ll bet the boys could use one, too.” He was pretty sure after Jeb’s outburst that Ramsey would likely doubt his tale about Tanner meeting them, but it really didn’t matter now. There was little more they could learn from the store owner.
Still bristling over talk about Will Tanner, Jeb asked again as they walked back to join their sons, “What the hell is he goin’ to Texas for? He ain’t got no business across the Red.”
“How the hell do I know?” Luther came back. He was becoming a little impatient with Jeb’s inability to control his feelings. “I know how bad you wanna settle with Tanner and I promised we’d hunt him down—and we will. But we can’t go back and search all over Texas for him. His business is in Oklahoma, so he’ll show up back here in Injun Territory pretty soon. We’ll strike his trail somewhere. We just gotta be patient till we do. Now, while we’re waitin’ for him to show, we’d best see about settin’ up our camp up on the Cimarron. Winter ain’t that far away, so we need to make sure we’ve got everything we need up there.”
“I reckon you’re right, Luther. I ain’t been able to think straight ever since I heard about Billy and that damn deputy. We’ll get up there and set our camp up. We’ll have all winter to look for Will Tanner. He’s gonna leave a trail somewhere.”
After resting the horses and having a breakfast of coffee, sowbelly, and pan biscuits, the outlaw family climbed into the saddle again and started out on a trail that would lead them to Durant after a full two-day ride.
* * *
Before noon, Will Tanner guided the big buckskin along the short street that served as the center of the town of Durant, a settlement that showed considerable growth since he had last been there. He went first to a small shack down past the stables that served as the headquarters for the Choctaw Nation Police, which at the present time meant Jim Little Eagle. Jim was seldom there, since he lived in a cabin just north of Atoka, thirty-five miles away. It was no surprise to Will to find the cabin door padlocked, so he rode back up the street to Dixon Durant’s general store.
“Will Tanner!” Leon Shipley called out when he saw the rangy deputy walk in the door. “We was wonderin’ if it would be you that showed up—knew one of you deputies would.”
Overhearing his clerk’s greeting from the storeroom, Dixon Durant walked out to meet the deputy. “Will,” he acknowledged. “I e
xpect you’re looking for those two men who shot Joe Johnson.”
“Dixon,” Will greeted him. “That’s a fact. Did you say it was Joe Johnson that got shot? I’m sorry to hear that.” Johnson was the station master at the depot. Will knew who he was, but had never exchanged more than a handful of words with him. He knew, however, that he was not the kind of man to get mixed up in a gunfight. “The word I got was that they shot an Indian, too.”
“That’s right,” Leon replied. “Don’t know his name, but he used to hang around in front of the saloon.”
“Any chance you’ve seen Jim Little Eagle?” Will asked.
“Jim was here the next day, but he set out to track ’em and we ain’t seen him since,” Dixon said. “He said to tell you they headed out the road to Tishomingo.”
Will nodded, then asked, “Don’t reckon anybody knows their names?” As he expected, the two outlaws hadn’t dropped any names. “How’d Johnson happen to get shot?”
“Wrong place at the wrong time,” Dixon replied. “He just happened to walk out of his office to go home, and I guess he was just a convenient target.”
“Well, I reckon I’ll get along, then,” Will said, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more information from Dixon that might help him. From what little bit he had just learned, the two outlaws were a half-wild pair that would most likely account for more innocent victims unless they were stopped pretty quickly. Since he was not going anywhere until after his horses were rested, he decided he might as well see if anyone in the saloon had any useful information. As it stood now, he would be on a trail four days old, and he didn’t know who he was chasing. He hoped that by some chance, someone might know their names.
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