Evil Never Sleeps

by William W. Johnstone

  “Well, I didn’t have any notion to rile you, so pardon me,” Will calmly replied. “Does that satisfy you?” They were interrupted briefly when Lily came from the kitchen with Will’s supper. She was followed by Emma carrying a cup of coffee. Lily favored him with a shy smile, then returned to the kitchen, but Emma stood by the table for a few moments, waiting to see his reaction to the food.

  “No, it don’t satisfy me,” Pike muttered, barely over a whisper, then raised his voice to a warning. “It don’t satisfy me a-tall. I don’t think I like your smart-mouthin’ me. The only thing that’s gonna satisfy me is for you to get up from there and get your ass outta my sight. You can just leave that plate of food on the table and get out before I get mad. Do I make myself clear?” He walked over, shoved Emma aside, and stood over the table, his hand resting on his gun belt close to the handle of his .44.

  Will could not help a small sigh. He did not want to deal with a saloon loudmouth at this point, but it was obvious that he was not to have a choice in the matter. He could certainly see why Jack Bailey wanted the belligerent man to depart. Very patiently, he looked up to meet Pike’s surly gaze. “Yep, you make yourself very clear, so maybe I’d best do as you say. But first I’ll take a little taste of the stew, just to see what I’ll be missin’. That’d be all right, wouldn’t it?” The question only served to frustrate Pike, causing him to move right up against the side of the table. With his hand resting on the handle of his pistol, he hovered over Will in an obvious intent to intimidate him. Moving deliberately then, Will took his fork and stabbed a chunk of beef, put it in his mouth, and chewed it thoroughly before swallowing. He looked up at Pike and with a little shake of his head, he said, “I don’t know, that’s mighty good stew. I think I’m gonna have to stay right here and finish it. So I’m gonna need to have you back off a little bit and give me some room to eat.”

  “Why, you dumb jackass . . .” Pike started. Flustered, he made a move to draw his .44, only to cry out in pain when he was stabbed in the back of his hand with Will’s fork before he had time to draw the weapon. Yowling like a wounded calf, he stepped back from the table and shook his hand violently in an effort to dislodge the fork, but it had been driven in too solidly to fall. He had to yank it out with his other hand. It only took a few brief seconds, but that was all the time Will needed to come up out of his chair, grabbing his rifle as he did, and slam the butt of it squarely against the bridge of Pike’s nose. Pike dropped like a stone. Stunned by the vicious blow to his head, he lay still for a few seconds until he regained his senses. Still too groggy to get up, he uttered a low moan and slowly rotated his head back and forth. He made no effort to resist when Will pulled his pistol from his holster and emptied the cartridges out on the floor. Then, as if all at once, he realized what had happened and he opened his eyes to discover the muzzle of a Winchester rifle only inches from his face.

  With his other hand, Will reached inside his vest and pulled his badge from his shirt. “You know what this is?” Will demanded. “It’s a U.S. deputy marshal’s badge and I could lock you up for threatening an officer of the law. And I would, if I didn’t have business to take care of that’s a helluva lot more important than wastin’ time with you. So I’m gonna let you go, but I want you to clear out of this town and don’t come back. If you wanna give me trouble, I’ll just shoot you down. I don’t have time to haul you back to a jail cell somewhere.” He backed away from him then, but held the rifle on him. “So what’s it gonna be?” Will asked.

  Pike, in no position to object with the eye of the Winchester staring at him, rolled over to get to his hands and knees. He paused there for a few moments before trying to get to his feet as blood dripped from his crushed nose. Still groggy, he tried to wipe some of the blood off his face with the back of his hand, but only succeeded in smearing it with the blood coming from the puncture wounds on his hand. On his feet now, though still not steady, he took the hat that Emma handed him, having picked it up from the floor. Only then did he look Will in the eye defiantly.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Will said, “and I’m tellin’ you to forget it. You lost a little blood and a little pride, but you’re still alive and that’s out of the kindness of my heart. So count yourself lucky, get on your horse, and clear outta here.” He handed him his empty .44.

  “I can’t wait to leave this sorry town,” Pike mumbled, glaring at Bailey, who had come to the steps that divided the two businesses. “Things woulda been a helluva lot different in a fair fight.” This he directed at Will.

  Will quickly brought his rifle up as if ready to shoot. “Are you threatenin’ a peace officer?”

  “I’m goin’, I’m goin!” Pike blurted. He started toward the door on unsteady feet with Will following right behind him to keep an eye on him until he climbed on his horse and rode out the end of the street. To be sure, Will remained on the saloon porch until Pike disappeared into the flat prairie of grass.

  “Maybe it’s the last you’ll see of him,” Will said to Emma and Bailey when they came outside to join him. When Pike was clearly out of sight, they went back inside. Will went directly to the table where his supper was waiting and sat down. “I’m gonna need another fork,” he said to Emma.

  She threw her head back and laughed delightedly. “I’ll get you another one right away.” She turned toward the kitchen and was back with a clean fork in a few seconds. “Deputy, if you ain’t something. I swear. What’s your name?”

  He hesitated a moment to decide, studying the smiling face. She was a large, sturdy woman, and he figured her to be in her late thirties or early forties with streaks of gray already appearing in her hair. He decided there was no reason he couldn’t tell her the truth. “My name’s Will Tanner,” he said. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I was a deputy marshal, but I ride outta Fort Smith, Arkansas. I was out of my jurisdiction as soon as I crossed the Kansas border.”

  “Well, I declare . . .” Bailey reacted, having overheard the conversation. “What are you doin’ so far from your territory?”

  “Like I said when I first came in,” Will answered, “I’m on Preacher McCoy’s trail.” He went on to give them a little more background on the outlaw out of Texas. When he had finished his supper, he prepared to leave, and Emma wondered what they would do if Bill Pike returned seeking revenge. “I reckon he could,” Will said. “But I doubt he’ll show up here again. A bully like him most times won’t wanna come back to a place where he got his bluff called. If he’s gonna think about revenge, I’ll be the one who has to worry.” It was not much to reassure them, but there wasn’t anything else he could do for them. As was his custom, he told Emma to tell Lily that he thought she was the best cook in the territory. Then he said, “So long,” climbed back in the saddle, and headed for Wichita. Although sounding unconcerned when he talked to Bailey and Emma, he did not discount the possibility of an ambush if he followed the common wagon road leading to Wichita. So he abandoned the road and set his own course across the prairie.

  * * *

  A ride of thirty miles brought him to the confluence of the Arkansas River and the Little Arkansas River and the town of Wichita. It was commonly called Cowtown because of the many herds of cattle driven up from Texas on the Chisholm Trail to be shipped east on the railroad. Starting out as a trading post created by Jesse Chisholm, it grew to be a thriving cattle town with the arrival of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad. Will could well imagine why Preacher McCoy was anxious to reach the bustling cattle town, but he expected to find him in the little town of Delano across the river. Delano was more suited to the outlaw’s taste, with its saloons and houses of prostitution and the total absence of law. Will was familiar with Delano, especially a corrupt establishment called the Rattlesnake Saloon where he had come close to cashing in his chips one night. That was another occasion when he had followed an outlaw over the line to Kansas. With that thought in mind, he decided he’d best go to the telegraph o
ffice and let Dan Stone know where he was. He had just as soon not, but it had been quite a few days now since he had telegraphed Dan to tell him about the two prisoners he had left in Jim Little Eagle’s jail in Atoka. First thing in the morning, he thought. At the present time, he was more interested in taking care of his horses, and after that, treating himself to a fine supper at the Parker House Hotel. This time of night, Dan’s probably gone home and it might upset his supper to get a telegram delivered at his house, telling him that his problem deputy had crossed the line again.

  He slow-walked Buster and his packhorse down the main street of the town. There were more than a few people on the street, in spite of the fact that it was suppertime and it was late in the season for Cowtown. The last herd had surely been delivered before now. That thought reminded him that the last time he was in Wichita it was the same time of year. Hope I have better luck finding Preacher than I did with Brock Larsen, he thought, and continued on up the street until he came to a stable.

  “How much to stable my horses for the night with a portion of grain for each?” Will asked the owner.

  Walter Hodge glanced over Will’s shoulder at the two horses, then answered, “Fifty cents apiece.”

  “How much if I sleep in there with ’em?”

  “Another fifty cents.”

  “Why as much as my horses? I don’t want any oats.”

  Hodge took a hard look at him then. “You were in here before. It was awhile back, though, a year maybe, right?” Will nodded. “I thought somethin’ about you looked familiar.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Walter Hodge,” he said. “I won’t charge you to sleep in the stall.”

  “Will Tanner,” he returned. “I ’preciate it.”

  “If I remember correctly, you didn’t come up with a herd,” Hodge said. “What brings you to Wichita? You just passin’ through?”

  “Matter of fact, I’m hopin’ to catch up with a fellow. Maybe you mighta seen him—big fellow, rides a solid black horse—goes by the name of Preacher McCoy.”

  Hodge shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve seen him in town,” he said. “But the town stays pretty busy now, even this time of year. So I coulda missed him. I know he didn’t bring his horse here. I’m sure of that.”

  After relieving his horses of their saddle and packs, Will walked up the street toward the Parker House at the opposite end of town. On the way, he came to the Chisholm Saloon, which was the first saloon he had checked when he hit town the last time he was here looking for Brock Larsen. He decided to check it again, even though he was still thinking that he would more likely find Preacher across the river in Delano. He paused at the door and looked the room over. As he expected, there was no sign of Preacher McCoy, so he walked over to the bar to ask the bartender if he had seen him. He remembered the bartender, but not his name. Barney Smith remembered him, however. “Been a good while since you came in,” he said. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “I’ll have a shot of rye whiskey if you’ve got some,” Will replied. “If you ain’t, I’ll take whatever you’re sellin’. I’m fixin’ to go get some supper and a shot of whiskey might help my appetite.”

  “I’ve got rye,” the bartender said, and reached behind him to pull a bottle off a shelf. Making idle conversation while he poured, he asked, “What brings you to Wichita?”

  “Supposed to meet a fellow here,” Will said. “Preacher McCoy, has he been in here?”

  “I remember you now,” Barney said. “Last time you were in here, you were lookin’ for some fellow. Did you ever find him?” Will nodded and the bartender continued. “Don’t recall anybody named Preacher McCoy. ’Course a lot of men come in and I don’t usually ask them their names, so he mighta been in.” Will shrugged, then tossed the drink of rye back. He was thinking if Preacher had been in the saloon recently, the bartender would have remembered him. Preacher was the kind of man who stood out anywhere he went. He paid Barney for his drink and promptly left for the Parker House where he got the same result when he asked there about Preacher. If his hunch was wrong, and Preacher was in Wichita, and not Delano, Will felt he would very likely have dined at the Parker House. It was the best place in town for a man of means to have supper, and based on his trail so far, Preacher favored the finer things that money can buy, courtesy of the Bank of Sherman, Texas. As in the Chisholm Saloon, however, no one remembered having seen Preacher McCoy. It was the same story everywhere else in town when he asked around after eating his supper.

  He allowed himself to enjoy his supper without the feeling of urgency he had felt in the days leading up to this and that was due to the belief that he had reached Preacher’s destination. He was convinced that he would find his man across the river in Delano, hopefully tomorrow. He felt now that he should have trusted Elmo Black when he said Preacher would head for Wichita. He could have saved a lot of time had he ridden straight to the town, instead of trying to catch up by trailing him. But at the time he wasn’t really sure Elmo felt he had been betrayed by his partner. When he had finished eating, he took a walk around town to see if anybody remembered seeing Preacher. Then he returned to the stable, planning to wire Dan Stone in the morning.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Wichita!” Dan Stone almost screamed. “What the hell is he doing in Wichita?” He read the telegram again to make sure he had not misread it. “Damn it! He’s crossed over into Kansas again,” he complained to no one in particular since he was alone in his office. That didn’t keep him from swearing at the innocent piece of paper a boy from the telegraph office had just delivered moments before. He had received Will’s wire from Atoka informing him of the two prisoners he had left in the jail there, but Dan had no one available to send over there to pick them up. He wired back to Atoka, telling Will that, but evidently Will didn’t wait around for a reply. Even so, Stone expected to see Will show up any day with the two prisoners. Unwilling to waste another minute to remind his deputy that his jurisdiction ended at the Kansas border, Dan slipped into his jacket and went out the door, locking it behind him. He headed straight to the telegraph office.

  * * *

  Will had barely finished his cup of coffee at the Chisholm Saloon when he looked up to see the boy from the telegraph office looking around the room to find him. He raised his hand to signal him. “If I need to reply, I’ll be over directly,” he told the boy and gave him a nickel for his trouble.

  YOUR AUTHORITY LIES IN THE WESTERN DISTRICT OF ARKANSAS STOP RETURN AT ONCE TO ATOKA TO TRANSPORT TWO PRISONERS TO FORT SMITH STOP KANSAS AUTHORITIES HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR TRACKING FUGITIVE STOP DO NOT DELAY RETURN STOP REPLY THIS WIRE AT ONCE STOP THIS IS AN ORDER STOP

  “Damn,” Will muttered when he read Stone’s telegram. He expected his boss to be upset to learn where he was, but he hadn’t counted on Stone’s being adamant about his returning to Oklahoma. Hell, I’m only a little way over the line, he thought. I reckon I’d best reply. The tone of Dan’s wire suggested that he was not to be disobeyed, but he felt he was so close to running Preacher to ground that he couldn’t abandon the hunt at this point. He paused to chew a generous bite of pork chop while he considered his options. Order or not, he decided, I ain’t leaving till I check over there in Delano. Satisfied then, he turned his attention back to his breakfast.

  When he had finished eating, he went directly to the telegraph office and sent the following wire:

  WILL COMPLY STOP SLIGHT DELAY STOP HORSES NEED SHOES STOP

  Then he promptly left the telegraph office in case Dan might respond to his wire right away. He wasn’t sure of the exact distance, but he guessed that he was over three hundred miles from Fort Smith, so Dan couldn’t be sure how long it would take him to return, especially since he had to go to Atoka first to pick up his two prisoners. And then there was the problem of transporting three prisoners from there to Fort Smith. That might be difficult without a jail wagon and the help of a posse man. With all that in mind, he determined to proceed to cross the river to Delano and
try to find Preacher McCoy. He felt pretty confident that Stone’s attitude would change if he came back with the notorious bank robber.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you doin’ back here again?” Roy Bates exclaimed when he saw Will walk into the Rattlesnake Saloon. “You ain’t got no business here. This ain’t Oklahoma.”

  “Howdy, Roy,” Will returned sarcastically. “Glad to see you again, too.” He would have expected nothing different in the form of a greeting from the owner of the saloon. The last time he had been there, a shooting had resulted that cost Roy two of his customers. “I was thinkin’ I might need a place to stay for a spell and I know you’ve got rooms to rent upstairs. So I thought I’d like to have a look at ’em to see if they’ll suit me. Let’s go see.” He started toward the stairs without waiting for a response from Roy.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” Roy yelled, and started after him. “You can’t just do what you want to in my saloon.”

  “I just wanna take a look at your rooms. I’ll try not to disturb any of your guests, unless one of ’em’s named Preacher McCoy.”

  “Who?” Roy responded, and Will repeated the name. “I don’t know nobody by that name,” Roy claimed. “And I can tell you for sure there ain’t nobody named Preacher McCoy in one of my rooms. Matter of fact, ain’t nobody upstairs right now. All my rooms are empty.”

  Already on the bottom step by then, Will stopped and said, “Well then, there ain’t no harm in just lookin’ at the rooms, is there?”

  Roy paused a moment to think. “No, go ahead and look for yourself, then get your ass outta my saloon, or I’ll call the sheriff to come throw you out.”