* * *
It was still early in the evening by the time the six outlaws reached the foot of the trail that Luther felt sure was the one they sought. There was still daylight enough to follow the narrow game trail, but he and Jeb decided it was not the best of plans to start out now when darkness might overtake them halfway to the falls. The risks were two: if they ran up on Tanner, he might see them before they saw him, and there was also the possibility of getting shot at by Preacher McCoy and his men if Tanner had not found the cave. So they made their camp at the foot of the mountain and waited until morning to start up the trail.
Eager to start the next morning, they were in the saddle before breakfast and already following the winding trail up the mountain. Liam, being the more skillful in tracking, was sent on ahead by his father to scout the trail before them. “He’ll let us know if we’re about to run up on somethin’,” Luther assured Jeb. They soon lost sight of Liam, but continued on up the path. After a lengthy climb, they came to the clearing and the pond at the base of the waterfall to find Liam standing by the mouth of the cave.
“They were here, all right,” Liam announced when the others rode into the clearing. “There are plenty of tracks to see. Can’t tell what happened, though. Whoever was here has done gone. There ain’t nobody in the cave, but they left some stuff in there. Musta left in a hurry.”
The others dismounted and searched the cave for themselves. Jeb sent Cecil and Emmett to scout the trees outside the clearing. It was they who discovered the remains of Slick Towsen in the bottom of a gully. That was enough to convince Jeb that Tanner had found the cave and the rest of Preacher’s gang must have run, with the deputy still after them. “It ain’t likely they ran back down the way he came up after ’em,” Jeb figured. “So they musta gone out the back somewhere.” It didn’t take Liam long to find the escape trail down the back side of the slope and they followed it down to the bottom where they stopped to decide what to do. “There ain’t no decision to make,” Jeb informed Luther. “Ain’t nothin’ changed. We’re still goin’ after that son of a bitch, even if he follows Preacher all the way to Canada. At least, me and my boys are.”
Luther quickly responded. “We’re all goin’ after him. Like I said before, Billy was family, and we take care of family.” He shrugged and said, “Besides, the direction that trail is headed is the way we wanta go, anyway, more or less in the direction of our camp on the Cimarron. So we ain’t losin’ nothin’ if we stay on it.”
Still kneeling beside the tracks of the horses, Liam remarked, “You know, these tracks ain’t really that old. We might not be as far behind that jasper as we thought.” That thought was enough to prompt Jeb Cotton to hustle everyone to start out at once.
* * *
“That son of a bitch!” Preacher swore when he examined the worn cinch latigo on the saddle he had given forty dollars for. When he gave it a firm tug to tighten it up, it had almost torn loose and was now held on by a small portion of the strap. Another tug and he might have broken it. He wished now that he had left the saddle on the horse when he had stopped to rest him. With half a day left to ride before reaching Scully’s, he was not at all confident that he wouldn’t end up on his backside in the middle of the prairie before he got there. Although he cursed Slim for his predicament, he was really angry at himself for offering him so much for the saddle. “Coulda had it for five bucks,” he grumbled as he placed his boot in the stirrup and carefully pulled himself up to settle as gently as he could in the saddle. He nudged the roan with his heels and started out again, following a frequently used trail leading north.
The latigo held until within about five miles of the river when it suddenly broke. Preacher grabbed the roan’s neck in an effort to remain upright when the saddle started to shift sideways. He kicked his boot out of the stirrup in time to keep the saddle from pulling him off with it while reining the horse back hard. When the horse stopped, Preacher wound up on the ground with his forty-dollar saddle. With fleeting thoughts of going back to take forty dollars’ worth of satisfaction out of Slim’s hide, he gathered himself together. Slim had told him that the saddle was old, so he knew what he was getting when he bought it. Still he was reluctant to take the responsibility for the poor decision. “You’re damn lucky it’s only about four or five miles to Scully’s,” he said, thinking of Slim Branch, “or I’d go back and kick your skinny ass.” He gathered up his scant possessions and his saddlebags full of stolen bank money and prepared to ride bareback again, hoping he could get a saddle at Scully’s. It would be a long shot because Clem Scully ran a typical trading post, selling general supplies and whiskey under the counter. He was not likely to carry saddles unless he traded for one. It was not without considerable effort that he finally got underway again; bareback, his saddlebags across his shoulders, a canvas sack in his lap, holding the overflow of cash that was too much for the saddlebags, and his rifle across his thighs. He was not in a genial mood when he arrived at Scully’s.
There were two horses tied at the hitching rail in front of Scully’s store. Preacher took special notice of the saddles on each horse; both appeared to be in good condition. I’ll damn sure ride out of here with a new saddle, whether Scully has one for sale or not, he told himself. He slid off his horse and tied the blue roan next to the two horses there, picked up all his possessions, and went inside the store. He stopped at the door to look things over before walking straight to the counter. “Evenin’,” Clem Scully greeted him, making no effort to disguise his curiosity when he saw the load Preacher brought in with him. “You figurin’ on sellin’ or buyin’?”
Preacher ignored Clem’s attempt at humor. “I’ll be needin’ some supplies,” he said. “To start, I need a saddle. I need a packhorse, too.”
“Whoa,” Clem interrupted. “Saddle? Packhorse? I don’t sell saddles or horses. Sometimes I’ll take a saddle in trade, but I don’t happen to have one right now.”
“I’ve got the money to pay you,” Preacher said.
“I’m sorry,” Clem replied. “I wish I could accommodate you, friend, but I ain’t got horses or saddles for sale.”
Preacher nodded toward the two cowhands sitting at a table at the other side of the store. They were working on a fruit jar holding corn liquor, but were watching with curiosity at the man who had walked in with all the baggage. “What about those two?”
Clem was not quite sure how to answer the question. “What about ’em? You mean, do they wanna sell their horses and saddles?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I reckon you could ask ’em.” He was beginning to worry about the possibility of some trouble from this formidable stranger, maybe a holdup or worse. That thought prompted him to move closer to the other end of the counter where his shotgun was propped when Preacher walked over to the table.
“Which one of you fellows is gonna sell me a horse and saddle?” Preacher asked, causing both men to look at each other slack-jawed with astonishment. When there was no reply right away from either, Preacher asked, “Are you both deaf and dumb, or don’t you speak English?”
“What are you talkin’ about?” one of the men spoke up then.
Past patience when he came in the door, Preacher repeated, “Plain enough question, which one of you is gonna sell me a horse and saddle?”
“We ain’t got no horses for sale,” the other cowhand said.
“Look, friend,” Preacher said. “You rode in here on a horse, didn’t you? Well you’ve got somethin’ I need more’n you do. You’re lucky ’cause I’m willin’ to pay you a fair price for the horse and saddle. So make up your mind which one gets the money. I ain’t got all night.”
“Mister, you’re talkin’ like a crazy man,” the first cowhand said. “I can’t sell you my horse and saddle. Neither can Bob, so go on back over there and leave us alone.” He looked over at Scully then. “Hey, Clem, bring us over another jar of this stuff you call likker.”
Preacher said nothing more, but remained for a long moment staring at the two
men before returning to the counter. When Clem returned to the counter, Preacher asked, “Have you got a rig for a packhorse?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve got that. I just don’t have any horses to sell,” he repeated.
Preacher waited a moment, then said, “Well, go get it.” He stood there until Clem came back from his storeroom with a pack harness and placed it on the counter.
“That’ll run you eight dollars,” he said. Preacher pulled a roll of money out and peeled off eight dollars. Then he called out a list of basic supplies he needed. Having seen the money, Clem jumped smartly to accommodate him.
“When you get all them supplies,” Preacher instructed, “bring ’em outside. I’ll be gettin’ my packhorse ready. And don’t forget that coffeepot.” He pointed to a small pot Scully had given him a price on.
When Clem came outside with the first load of supplies, he found Preacher in the process of securing the pack harness on one of the other horses and the blue roan was already saddled. He was at a loss for words. “How much I owe you?” Preacher asked, then promptly paid him the amount he quoted. Clem thanked him but was still at a loss for words until returning to the store for the rest of Preacher’s purchases. Already having his money in hand, Clem was inclined to alert the two cowhands that it might be in their best interest to see to their horses. Seeing the look of warning in Clem’s face, they quickly got up and went outside to see what he was talking about.
“What tha hell . . . ?” the cowhand named Bob exclaimed when discovering his horse being stolen right before his eyes. “That’s my horse, you damn fool! Whaddaya think you’re doin’? You can’t steal my horse!”
“If I ain’t mistaken,” his partner said, “that’s your saddle on that black horse, too. Ain’t that right?”
Struck dumb for a moment by the audacity of the somber stranger, Bob could only sputter, “You can’t steal my horse!”
“I ain’t stealin’ your damn horse. I’m buyin’ him. I gave you a chance to trade inside, but you didn’t take it, so it’ll be at my price, forty dollars for the horse, thirty dollars for the saddle. I think that’s damn fair.”
“Hell no, it ain’t fair,” Bob replied. “I paid fifty dollars for that saddle, even if I was of a mind to sell it, and my horse ain’t for sale. Mister, you’ve gone loco in the head and I’m tired of foolin’ with you, so get that stuff offa my horse right now.” He went to Preacher’s horse then and started to loosen the cinch strap.
“I’m only gonna tell you once,” Preacher informed him. “Get away from my horse.”
Then Bob made the mistake that Preacher counted on. His pistol was only halfway out of his holster when Preacher cut him down, then quickly turned to level his .44 at Bob’s friend, who threw his hands up at once.
“Damn fool,” Preacher said. “He shoulda took my offer. Now you just set yourself down on that step. Take your weapon out with your left hand and toss it back on the porch, and me and you won’t have any problems.” When he was packed up and ready to go, he drew the rifle from the cowhand’s saddle and ejected all the cartridges before returning it to the saddle scabbard. “I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas till I get outta rifle range.” He climbed up into his new saddle and turned the roan away from the rail.
“What about the seventy dollars you offered for Bob’s horse and saddle?” the cowhand called after him.
“He passed on the deal,” Preacher called back. “I made the offer, but he decided to draw on me instead of taking the money—all the same to me—don’t reckon he could spend it where he is now. You just be glad I ain’t got no argument with you.” Then he gave his horse his heels and loped out of the yard and back on the north-south trail to the Kansas border.
* * *
Traveling the same old Osage trail Preacher had ridden some twelve hours before him, Will spotted what appeared to be a saddle lying in the middle of his path. When close enough to confirm it, he knew that Elmira had put him on the right track, for this couldn’t be anything but the old saddle Slim sold Preacher. She had been right when she doubted the saddle would make it to Scully’s. “Damn near,” he said aloud, “couldn’t be much more’n five miles from here.”
Clem Scully was standing in the door of his store when he saw the second stranger in as many days ride down the path toward his trading post. “I hope he ain’t as wild as the one last night,” he muttered. At least this one has a pack horse and he’s sitting in a saddle, he thought. It had been a little difficult getting his mind back to business as usual after Preacher McCoy’s call on his establishment. The young cowhand had been left with the sad task of riding back to the ranch he worked for with the body of his friend lying behind his saddle. Bob Dutton, he said his friend’s name was, and they had ridden over to Scully’s to celebrate Bob’s twentieth birthday. Clem hoped the incident wouldn’t discourage the young man from doing business with him in the future. “Hell, where else is he gonna go?” he blurted, knowing there was nothing closer than thirty miles. Wasn’t all bad, though, he thought, that jasper bought a hell of a lot of goods from me. He shrugged and returned to the counter to await the stranger. “It all evens out, I reckon.”
Will guided Buster toward the hitching rail and dismounted. He had seen a man he assumed was Scully watching him approach before turning to go inside. Although he had never actually been to the trading post before, he knew of its existence. The word he had been told was that Clem Scully tried to run a legitimate business, maybe selling a little moonshine, but was otherwise a man who would deal fairly with you. Will drew his rifle from the saddle sling and went inside. There was no one there except the one man standing behind the counter and a double-barrel shotgun lying on the countertop a few inches from the man’s hand. “Are you Scully?” Will asked.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Scully answered. “What can I do for you?”
Will walked over to face him. “You usually greet customers with a shotgun at hand?”
“After last night, I reckon so,” Scully responded, then asked, “You usually carry a rifle when you walk into a man’s store?”
Will smiled. “I reckon I most likely do,” he said. “Tell you the truth, I never gave it a thought—it’s just a habit.” He laid the Winchester down on the counter beside the shotgun. “You say something happened here last night?”
“Well, I reckon,” Clem started, somewhat reassured by the stranger’s attitude. “Damnest thing I’ve ever had happen. A man rode in here on a horse with no saddle, shot a young fellow down when he wouldn’t sell him his horse. Then he rode off with his horse and saddle.” He refrained from mentioning the load of merchandise he had sold the man.
“That man would be Preacher McCoy, I expect, outta Texas and now raisin’ hell in the Nations,” Will said. “Your young cowboy last night ain’t the first one he’s killed in Oklahoma Territory and I’m hopin’ to catch up with him before he kills many more.”
“So you’re a lawman?” Scully replied.
“That’s right,” he said. “Will Tanner, U.S. deputy marshal.”
“I had a feelin’,” Clem said. “You kinda looked like a lawman when you rode in.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Will said. “That ain’t always a good thing.” It brought a good-natured laugh from Scully. “What time did he leave here?” Will asked.
“It was suppertime, gettin’ dark before he rode outta here, and I was mighty glad to see him go.” He went over the whole episode then, telling Will about the cold, cruel way Preacher went about killing the man for his horse. “He was as calm about it as you would go about buyin’ a sack of flour.” When he had told him all he could remember, he asked Will if he was going to continue tracking Preacher. “You’re a long way outta Fort Smith,” he said. “And as far behind him as you are, he’ll be over in Kansas before you catch up with him.”
“You’re probably right,” Will admitted. “But I reckon I’ve come this far, I’ll track him a little farther. So as soon as I let my horses rest up a little, I’ll be on my way.�
�� He paused, then said, “A friend of mine, Oscar Moon, said a man could get a good meal at Scully’s. Any truth in that rumor?”
“You know Oscar Moon?” Clem exclaimed. “That ol’ coyote lies most of the time, but he’s right about that. My wife, Louise, is a dandy cook and we’ll be pleased to have you eat with us.” He shook his head then, somewhat surprised that Oscar had a friend who was a lawman. “I’ll be . . .” he started. “Oscar was up this way just this past week—brought me half a deer.”
“It didn’t have a strong beef flavor, did it?” Will joked. It brought another laugh from Scully, but he didn’t say yes or no. “I’d like to buy some oats for my horses from you. They’ve still got a long chore ahead of ’em.”
“Well, your timin’ is right on the money,” Clem said. “We were about to eat breakfast. It’s a little later than usual today, Louise musta known you were comin’. You go ahead and water your horses and we oughta be ready to eat by the time you get done.”
Clem hadn’t lied, Louise Scully was a good cook and she set a generous table, even though there were no more than the three of them to partake of the food she prepared. She seemed genuinely happy to have a guest at her table. Will guessed that she led a lonely life with little opportunity to meet anyone beyond the rough breed of customers that happened upon her husband’s store. She openly admitted as much and confessed to having spent most of the evening before hiding in the bedroom until she was sure Preacher had gone. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her and wondered what she would have done if something had happened to Clem. Those thoughts led him to thinking about Sophie Bennett, something he tried not to do too often, since it always led him to frustration. When he finished breakfast, he tried to pay for it, but they insisted that this first time was free. “You can pay next time you’re up this way,” Louise said. “We’ve enjoyed your company.” She shook his hand then and said, “You be careful, that man you’re after is pure evil.”
Evil Never Sleeps Page 13