“Son of a bitch!” Lon protested when they stopped before the rough structure with a handmade sign that read JAIL over the door. “This ain’t no jail. You might as well stick us in a hole in the ground.”
“That’ll come later,” Will commented drily, “after your trial, I expect.”
“Looks right cozy to me,” Elmo said, unable to resist japing Lon. Although still finding it hard to accept Preacher McCoy’s desertion of him and Lon, he was more inclined to accept whatever fate befell him. If the opportunity presented itself for escape, then he would be ready to attempt it. But he saw no good in constantly whining about the situation.
When the prisoners were locked up, Will and Jim drove the horses back to Jim’s place where they unloaded the packs and saddles and stored them in the barn. Will looked over the supplies that belonged to Lon and Elmo to supplement his own and invited Jim to look them over as well. When all was done, Will fixed a bed for himself on some hay in the barn. “Tell Mary I’ll be gone before breakfast. I wanna be in town to make arrangements with Lottie’s Kitchen to feed my prisoners, so I might as well take breakfast there. I wanna send a wire to Dan Stone to tell him where I’m goin’. He might send somebody over here to get those two before I get back. I’ll just tell him to contact you. You and I can settle up when I get back this way.”
* * *
Will was the first customer at Lottie’s in Atoka, which was next to a roominghouse owned by Doug Mabre and run by his wife. “Deputy Tanner, right?” Doug greeted him when he walked in.
“Mister Mabre,” Will returned.
“Set yourself down and we’ll have some coffee out here before you can get settled good,” Doug said. “Lottie,” he called out, “bring the coffeepot.”
“That sounds to my likin’,” Will said. “I’ll take a little breakfast and I’d like to make arrangements for you to feed a couple of prisoners locked up in the jail. Jim Little Eagle told me you’ve been workin’ with him to feed prisoners.”
“Indeed we have,” Doug responded. “Be glad to work with you. You want two or three meals a day?”
“Two,” Will said. “I don’t want ’em to get to thinkin’ they’re in a hotel. Just keep a record of the number of days and when I get back I’ll get you your money.”
After leaving Lottie’s Kitchen, satisfied that his prisoners would get decent meals, he went to the train depot and wired Dan Stone. That done, he went by the jail to check on his prisoners. Talking to them through a small barred window in the heavy wooden door, he told them that they would be fed with food from Lottie’s. “I hope you catch that son of a bitch,” Lon informed him, still angry over Preacher’s failure to help them.
Elmo evidently realized that Preacher had made no effort to come after them and was feeling the full effects of having been deserted by one he had counted as a friend. He surprised Will when he volunteered some information that caused Will to consider it. “I doubt you’ll be able to catch up with Preacher,” he said. “But he used to say if he ever really struck it rich, he’d likely go to Wichita and run a whorehouse. I reckon that’s outta your jurisdiction. You can’t follow him up there in Kansas Territory.” He paused to think about it, then said, “We’ve stopped at Sartain’s a couple of times, up on Muskrat Creek. You ever been there?” Will said that he had. Elmo said nothing more and retired to a corner of the small room, thinking he had retaliated in some fashion for Preacher’s desertion. He ignored the smug smile worn by his fellow prisoner, amused by the desertion of Preacher McCoy’s faithful disciple.
Satisfied that he had taken care of everything, Will set out again to ride to the Arbuckles, this time with mixed feelings. What Elmo had told him about the possibility that Preacher might have headed for Sartain’s on his way to Kansas was hard to ignore. But what if Elmo was wrong? What if Preacher took off for Texas instead? Elmo had been dead sure that Preacher would make an attempt to free him and Lon. And he had been wrong about that, so he told himself that he had to return to the cave to try to pick up Preacher’s trail down the backside of that mountain. It would cost him time, but it might mean the difference in eventually tracking him down and not. With that in mind, he started out, riding south of Jim Little Eagle’s place on Muddy Boggy Creek, heading straight back to the Arbuckle Mountains. With his bay packhorse heavily loaded, he was well supplied to remain on the trail for a long time before needing more.
* * *
Another long day’s ride brought him back to the cave by the waterfall in time to allow him enough light to build a fire inside after unloading his horses and hobbling them. Buster would not ordinarily wander far from his master, but Will didn’t want to take a chance on having to look for the bay in the morning, so he hobbled both horses. With time on his hands, he took another look through the scattered packs strewn about the floor of the cave in case he had missed something important on his first hasty search. He found nothing that would be useful to him, so after a supper of sowbelly and hardtack, washed down with strong coffee, he rolled into his blanket and went to sleep.
He was awakened the next morning by the snuffling sounds of Buster as the big buckskin sniffed around the mouth of the cave. “You’re right,” Will said to him. “The sun’s already up and I got no business lyin’ in bed. But to be honest, I had to wait for daylight to see if I can cut that jasper’s trail.” The buckskin showed no interest in Will’s comments, so Will decided the horse was still insulted because he had hobbled him. By the time the light had filtered through the branches enough to see the ground below, Will was saddled up and ready to scout the slope behind the cave. He went directly to the spot where he had gotten his last glimpse of the fugitive galloping away in the darkness. He found the tracks he was looking for almost immediately and they pointed toward a gap between two huge boulders that formed a gateway into a thick pine forest. He rode past the boulders and entered the stand of pines to discover the tracks were gone due to the thick bed of pine straw on the floor of the forest.
He dismounted to examine the ground more closely and tried to put himself in Preacher’s place when he fled. As dark as it had been, especially in the pines, he would have had to slow his horse to a walk. Consequently, there would be no obvious tracks like there would have been if the horse was at a full gallop. To add to his problem, it was still fairly dark in the pines even with the sun rising higher. He had to think like Preacher again. It was doubtful if Preacher knew the slope behind the cave very well, or at all. It was the only way left to him to escape. With that in mind, Will looked at the trees ahead and tried to guess which way would seem the most likely exit from the trees. Possibly, Preacher let his horse find its way out. That seemed like a good idea to Will, so he climbed back into the saddle and gave Buster a gentle nudge with the reins lying limp in his hands. With no guidance, the big horse walked slowly ahead, making his way through the trees until coming to a wide-open meadow. Will reined him to a halt and dismounted again to search the ground for tracks. He found what he was looking for a short distance from the point where he had exited the trees. Judging by the toe of the hoofprint, Preacher had nudged the horse to pick up the pace when he found himself in the clear. Will walked ahead until he found another track, and a little farther on until he found another. Then he looked out across the meadow in the direction the tracks indicated and picked a spot on the other side. He climbed into the saddle and rode toward that spot.
Fortunately, he was able to find Preacher’s tracks and follow them down to the valley, even though the trail took a few changes in direction. He figured Preacher had to take a few detours in the darkness before coming upon the ravine that led him to the base of the slope. From that point, Preacher had ridden clear of the mountains, then turned straight north, causing Will to wonder if he had made a mistake in not heading straight to Sartain’s after all. Sartain’s was two full days from where he was now and he had lost a lot of time riding back here to pick up Preacher’s trail. But at this point, this was all he had, Preacher’s trail leading north a
nd Elmo’s suggestion that Preacher might go to Sartain’s.
He was able to follow the outlaw’s tracks along the western side of the Arbuckles until he had come to an old Indian trail leading north. It appeared that Preacher had decided to follow that trail. It led him to the Washita River after a ride of thirty miles where he stopped to rest his horses. Although it seemed a logical place to stop, he saw no signs that might tell him that the outlaw had stopped there. It didn’t surprise him. Traveling in the dead of night, there was no telling where Preacher might have decided to rest his horse. Will left the Washita, planning to rest his horses again when he camped beside the Canadian River that night.
As he checked his horses before starting out for the Canadian, he allowed himself to question the possibility of his tracking down Preacher McCoy. The odds were not good. He had started out trailing Preacher to the Washita, but he had not been certain he was on the same trail after that. For there were many tracks leading to the Washita, some shod and some not, so he had continued to assume that Preacher was planning to go on to Sartain’s. He finally accepted the fact that he was gambling on a hunch, and if he was wrong, Preacher McCoy would vanish from Oklahoma Territory. So the only thing he could do now was to bet all his chips on that hunch. With that settled in his mind, he left the Washita, heading for the Canadian, with still a full day and a half’s ride to strike the Cimarron River and the little three-house compound called Sartain’s on Muskrat Creek. He tried to keep himself from fretting about the time he had lost going back to the Arbuckles, but it was hard to forget that he would have gained a day and a half on Preacher, had he not gone back. There was no thought that the lost day and a half would be a day and a half gain for someone who might be trailing him.
* * *
When he approached the Canadian River, he was surprised to discover a ferry in operation. There had not been one the last time he had ridden this way and it was a small enterprise judging by the size of the ferryboat. “Howdy, partner,” a short, bald man with oxlike shoulders greeted him when he pulled Buster up to the bank. “You lookin’ to take the ferry across? I was just fixin’ to close her down for the night.”
“Looks like maybe I got here just in time,” Will said. “How much you charge to take me and my horses across?”
“Sixty cents,” he said, “ten cents for you, quarter apiece for the horses.” He waited for only a moment before pressing. “The river’s got a lot of quicksand in spots this time of year. It’ll save you a lotta trouble to let me take you across. Tell you what, since this is the last crossin’ tonight, I’ll take you and the horses across for fifty cents. Whaddaya say?”
“All right,” Will said. He had not planned to balk at the original price.
“Lead ’em on, partner, right up to the front of the boat.” When Will led his horses on, the man led his mule aboard behind them, untied the boat and picked up a cowbell and gave it a good clanging. It served to startle Will’s horses, causing him some trouble to calm them down, especially the bay. “Sorry ’bout that,” the ferryman said. In a few minutes, the ferry began to move slowly toward the other bank, guiding on a line stretched across the river. “My name’s Cal Berry. That’s my brother, Cleve, pullin’ us across.”
“Cowberry?” Will replied, not sure he had heard correctly.
“No, sir,” he replied patiently, accustomed to having to clarify. “My name’s Berry, first name of Calvin. Folks call me Cal.”
“Sorry,” Will apologized, “Will Tanner. You weren’t here last time I rode through this way. You gettin’ much ferryin’ business?”
“Some,” Cal replied. “Not a lotta folks know we’re here yet, but I expect we’ll catch on. Last week a feller tried to ford the river a couple dozen yards beyond that big oak yonder. He run into some quicksand. It was a devil of a job gettin’ his wagon and horses outta there. You can still see the ruts where we pulled him back up on the bank.” He paused to scratch his chin whiskers, obviously thinking about some extra money he charged for his help. “He was more’n ready to let me ferry him across then. A couple of days ago, a feller came through ridin’ a big ol’ black horse bareback—asked me if I had a saddle I’d like to sell. I ain’t got one. Wish I’da had one though, ’cause he looked like he’da give a lot for a decent saddle. I thought about askin’ him what happened to his’n, but he was a big feller, big as you, and he didn’t look like he was lookin’ for friendly conversation. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” Will answered. This was what he had hoped for, some sign that he was, in fact, still onto Preacher’s trail. “Which way did he go when he left here?”
His question caused Cal to pause before answering. He took another long look at Will. “Are you a lawman?”
“I am,” Will answered.
“I knew it!” Cal exclaimed. “I told Cleve I bet that jasper was on the run from the law. He just had a look about him. What did he do, steal that horse he was ridin’? Shoulda stole the saddle, too, I reckon. Well, I’ll be . . .”
“Which way did he go?” Will repeated, patiently.
“Rode straight up toward them hills in the distance yonder,” Cal said, pointing toward the northwest. Will stared out across the open plains between the river and the line of low hills pointed out. It would have been the general direction he would have taken if he was thinking about striking the Cimarron where Muskrat Creek flowed into it. “Ain’t that somethin’?” Cal went on, still picturing Preacher in his mind. “It ain’t all that unusual to see fellers on the run from the law up here in Osage country, but he was the kinda jasper that didn’t look like he’da run from anybody. Didn’t have no saddle—had to carry his rifle in his hand, and a saddlebag over his shoulder. Are you one of them marshals outta Fort Smith?”
“That’s right,” Will answered.
Cal continued talking until the ferry was pulled up to the bank by a mule driven by Cal’s brother, Cleve. It didn’t seem to bother him that most of his questions were answered with one- and two-word answers. He introduced Will to his brother and immediately began telling Cleve about the rider on the blue roan with no saddle. “I figured he was on the run,” Cleve immediately claimed. “Had to be—no saddle, no packhorse, no food. He gave May a dollar for some breakfast and took some cornbread with him when he left. He must notta et for a while, the way he went after that sowbelly and eggs.”
Cleve’s last comment sparked Cal’s attention. “You never said nothin’ about him givin’ May a dollar.”
“Musta slipped my mind,” Cleve said, and immediately changed the subject. “How ’bout you, Mr. Tanner? It’s gettin’ on to about suppertime and my wife’s a fine cook. Cal can tell you that.”
“Reckon not,” Will replied. “I’ve got a long ride to strike the Cimarron tomorrow, so I think I’ll go a little farther tonight before I make camp. Thanks just the same.” He climbed back in the saddle and bid them both a good evening.
* * *
“You leavin’ so soon?” Elmira Tate asked when Preacher peeled off some money from a sizable roll he carried in his pocket, obviously thinking to settle his bill. “You just got here,” she went on. “I figured you’d stay with us a week or two at least.”
“There ain’t nothin’ I’d like better,” Preacher said. “But I expect I’d best keep movin’. I’m figurin’ on ridin’ clear of Indian Territory for a while—ain’t too healthy for me right now.”
She was at once suspicious. “I thought you said there weren’t nobody on your tail when you rode in yesterday. You weren’t japin’ me, were you? Is there gonna be a posse of lawmen showin’ up here lookin’ for you?”
“Hell, no, Elmira, I ain’t ever led no lawmen to your place,” Preacher was quick to insist. “I just decided it wouldn’t hurt to be a little extra careful.”
“Makes a body wonder,” she said, still in doubt. He was in an awful hurry to be on his way. “The way you came ridin’ in here with no saddle, or much of anything else, there musta been somebody chasin’ af
ter you.”
“I told you I couldn’t go back for my saddle or anything else when I found out them deputies had killed Elmo and them other two fellers we picked up down in Texas. I knew if I took a chance on goin’ back for my possibles, they’d get on my trail for sure. I figured I’d take what little bit of money I had and head for Kansas. There wasn’t anything I could do for them boys. They were already done in, or I’da sure as hell gone back to help ’em.”
“You oughta hang around here for a little while,” Slim Branch piped up. He had been listening with interest to the conversation between Elmira and Preacher. Already a beneficiary of Preacher’s resources, having sold him a saddle, Slim was hoping he’d stay a little longer. With eyes long accustomed to observing such things, Slim couldn’t help noticing that the roll of money Preacher pulled out never seemed to shrink in size. And this was even after he had peeled off forty dollars for a saddle Slim would have let him have for five, if he’d tried to bargain at all. He had a feeling Preacher had a story to tell, but he doubted it was the one he was selling. “I’m right sorry to hear about Elmo,” Slim offered. “He rode with you for a long time.”
“He sure did,” Preacher said. “It like to broke my heart when I heard them deputies raided our camp and shot ’em all, and me not bein’ able to help. I’da done anything for ol’ Elmo.” He looked up quickly when the door suddenly opened and Darlene Futch came in.
“Looks like I’m runnin’ a little late for breakfast,” Darlene announced, and headed straight for the coffeepot. After she poured herself a cup, she walked over to the table and placed a hand on Preacher’s shoulder. “You feelin’ any better, hon?”
“Sure,” he quickly replied, seeming slightly embarrassed. “I’m right as rain. I reckon I musta got ahold of somethin’ that didn’t set right in my belly yesterday.”
This caught Elmira’s attention right away. “Well, I hope it wasn’t nothin’ you ate here. That beef was fresh, wasn’t it, Slim?”
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