Evil Never Sleeps

by William W. Johnstone

  “Sounds to me like you’re still working this case, even though I ordered you to leave it to the folks in Kansas.” Stone could already see where this was leading and he wasn’t inclined to go along with it. “Damn it, Will, it doesn’t make sense to send you all the way back out there. It’s hard for me to justify it when the man is in the state of Kansas. It’s now their problem and they’ve got capable men to handle it.”

  “Kansas wouldn’t have the problem if I’d stopped Preacher McCoy in Indian Territory,” Will insisted. “And it’s my fault I didn’t. I was just before arrestin’ him, but I didn’t get a gag tied in quick enough.” When Stone asked what he meant, Will told him about the setup with the cave having a front and rear door. He told about luring the outlaws out one by one until Elmo yelled a warning before Will could tie his gag in securely. “There wasn’t any way I could get Preacher then,” he explained. “If I try to rush him, I’ll get shot for sure. If I go in the front, he goes out the back and if I go in the back, he goes out the front and unties the other two to boot.”

  “I see what you mean,” Stone said. “I couldn’t picture that from that brief telegram you sent from Atoka.” He took a little time to think about the situation. He could certainly appreciate the frustration Will felt to have been so close to arresting all three, only to have the biggest fish slip through his fingers. Still reluctant to give him permission to go into Kansas, now that he had already alerted the Kansas authorities, he continued to stall.

  “I’ll get him,” Will stated, matter-of-factly, without emotion.

  “Damn it, you’d better!” Stone blurted, finally giving in to Will’s persistence. “But I’ll tell you this, if you don’t get him, you’ll be taking a little trip there and back without any pay whatsoever.”

  Will nodded. “Fair enough, I’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’.” It wasn’t for the money he stood to earn. He was sure Stone knew that, too. He also knew that Stone would love to find a way to justify the expense incurred from a trip that long because the marshal was paid twenty-five percent of every deputy’s earnings.

  He started out the door, but was stopped by a word from Stone. “Will . . . Be careful, damn it.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  * * *

  His first stop after leaving Stone’s office was at the stable to check on his horses and inventory what supplies he had left. After the extensive trip he had just completed, he had to go to the bank to withdraw some money from the little bit he had put aside. It would be some time before he realized any of the expense money he was due and his supplies were down to the point where he couldn’t wait to restock. When all his preparations were completed, it was later in the afternoon, but still a couple of hours before suppertime at Bennett House. His stomach was sending him signals reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast, so he considered stopping in at the Morning Glory Saloon on his way home. He decided against it, however, telling himself that he might be tempted to have a couple of drinks and maybe that wouldn’t be good on an empty stomach. Had he been willing to be honest with himself, he would have admitted that his talk with Sophie the night before was weighing heavily on his mind. I care for you, Will, she had said, but she was clearly concerned about committing herself to a man always in danger. Then he had talked about the ranch in Texas he was half owner of and thoughts he had had of returning to it if there was a possibility that she might consent to go with him. She seemed not to fully believe he could leave the marshal service. And now he was going to leave again right away and would be gone for a long time. In his heart, he knew that it was not fair to any woman to ask her to live the life of a deputy’s wife. So he would have to make a decision. When he thought about telling Dan Stone that he was going to quit, he realized that it would be a difficult thing for him to say.

  The problem was still swirling around in his mind when he reached the boardinghouse. For the first time, he was not anxious to see Sophie, so he went up the back stairs to his room. He was not anxious to tell her he was leaving the next morning. He busied himself laying out the extra shirt and underwear he would take with him. In a short while, she appeared at his open door. “Didn’t hear you come in,” she said. “Looks like you’re packing up to leave right away.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does at that.”

  “Leaving in the morning?” she asked.

  “Yep, most likely before breakfast.”

  “Be gone long?”

  “I reckon so,” he stammered. “Dan Stone is sendin’ me back to Wichita to finish up the job I started. Gotta bring this one outlaw to justice, gotta finish the job I started.”

  “I suppose you’re the only deputy Dan Stone could send to Wichita to arrest this man,” she replied. “It seems to me that if this outlaw is in Kansas, the Kansas marshal would take charge of his arrest.”

  “That’s right,” he replied. “That’s the way things usually work. But in this particular case, it would be better for me to go after him. I’m the only one who knows what this outlaw looks like and where to go to look for him right now. And since it’s my work that’s brought it to this last point, it makes sense for me to see it through.” He couldn’t confess that he had to go because he didn’t like to leave the job unfinished.

  She listened patiently and when he finished to stand there looking helpless, she remained silent for a long moment while she considered his words. While he stood there looking as if in a daze, she strode up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and reached up to kiss him. It was not a friendly peck on the cheek. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled his head down to receive a warm, passionate kiss. When she finally released him, she stood back a couple of steps to gaze at him for a moment before speaking again. “When you come back—if you come back—I’ll be your wife, if that’s what you want, but only if we’re planning to go to Texas right away. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, still in a state of shock and totally at a loss as to how he should react to her aggressive embrace. “But I might be gone a good while—at least as long as I was gone this time.” He was trying desperately to think of what he should do at this moment, a moment he had only dreamed of before. Should I tell her I love her? he wondered, but thought surely she must already know that.

  “I don’t want to think of the possibility of you getting shot or something like that. If you don’t come back, I’d rather think it’s because you decided you didn’t want to marry me.”

  “I’ll be back,” he stammered. “I wanna marry you, but I have to finish this thing.”

  “Good, that’s settled. Supper’s almost ready. Don’t be late.” She turned then and left his room and a completely flustered, but happy deputy marshal.

  * * *

  With about six or more days of riding between Fort Smith and Wichita, Will left before breakfast the following day. Sophie made him drink a cup of coffee and gave him a couple of biscuits to carry. They had just come out of the oven and he thought he could still feel the warmth of them inside his jacket as he rode down along the ferry slips by the river. His intention was to generally follow the Arkansas River most of the way. His first stop to rest the horses and to eat something himself would be Sallisaw Creek. That would be one of a dozen stops during the long days of hard riding before he reached Wichita.

  At the end of the first day, he rode his weary horses into Muskokee, thinking it common courtesy to check in with the Creek policeman when stopping in his town. He slow-walked Buster along the street in the fading light of evening, past the stone Council House that the Creek Indians had built to serve as the capitol for the Creek Nation. As he anticipated, Sam Black Crow was not there, so he continued on to Sam’s cabin, which was a short distance from the little town. The cabin was built beside a strong creek with plenty of grass for his horses. He had camped there several times before, about fifty or sixty yards from the cabin, far enough away so that Sam’s dogs didn’t aggravate his horses. Buster and the bay did not escape some harassment from the two hounds e
ntirely, however, when he rode up to the cabin to announce his presence.

  “Will Tanner!” Clara, Sam’s wife exclaimed when she looked out the cabin door to see what had set the dogs to barking.

  “Howdy, Clara,” Will greeted her. “Sorry to raise such a racket, but I thought if you didn’t mind, I’d make camp up the creek a ways.” He remained in the saddle and tried to steady Buster. The big buckskin was shifting back and forth, trying to keep the hounds away from his hooves.

  Sam Black Crow came storming out of the cabin then and threw a stick of firewood at the closest dog, yelling some words at the top of his voice that Will assumed were Creek swear words. It served to cause the dogs to cower a safe distance away. “Howdy, Will,” Sam said. “What brings you up this way tonight?”

  “Sam,” Will acknowledged. “Just passin’ through on my way up toward Kansas. Thought I’d camp in that little spot I camped at last time I was here.” He eased back on the reins when Buster steadied down a little. “Why don’t those dogs bother your horse like that?”

  Sam chuckled. “They used to, till my paint kicked one of ’em up against the side of the barn. They decided they could live in peace then, just like the white man and the Creek.”

  “You take care of your horses,” Clara said. “I fix you something to eat.”

  “Thanks just the same, Clara,” Will replied. “I expect you and Sam have already had your supper. I don’t wanna put you to the trouble of fixin’ more. I’ll build me a little fire and make some coffee. I’ve got plenty of bacon and I’ve still got one of the biscuits Sophie Bennett gave me this mornin’.”

  Clara was not to be denied. “No such thing. We got plenty coffee left, corn cakes, too. I fix.”

  “No use to argue with her,” Sam said. “Come on, I’ll help you with your horses.”

  Not at all surprised by Clara’s reception, Will stepped down and opened a pack on the dun packhorse and pulled out a sack of flour and a sack of coffee beans, and handed them to her. He had anticipated their usual hospitality and added them to his supplies. Visibly pleased to receive the staples, she gave him a warm smile along with her thanks. He and Sam led the horses up the creek then.

  When they returned to the cabin, they found Clara frying up new corn cakes to go with some beans left over from their supper. She offered to fry some bacon as well, but Will insisted the beans, corn cakes, and coffee would be more than enough to satisfy him. When Sam decided he could eat a couple of the corn cakes, she gave him a playful frown. “You eat enough already. You get so fat, I have to help you on your horse.” She poured a couple more of the cakes in her big iron skillet, anyway.

  As usual, the conversation consisted mostly of what was going on in Sam’s district. And according to him, there had been no real disturbances during the past several weeks. An occasional fight, most often generated as a result of some illegal whiskey, was about all Sam had been called upon to handle. The evening passed quickly and soon Will announced it was time for him to retire for the night. He thanked them both for their hospitality and declined Clara’s invitation to have breakfast with them, claiming a need to be in the saddle early. “I’ve got a long ride ahead of me and I’m kinda anxious to get where I’m goin’,” he said. “I probably woulda rode a little farther today, but I haven’t been in your town for quite a while. So I thought I’d like to stop by and see how you’re doin’.” He said good night and retired for the evening. The next morning he was saddled up and on his way with the first rays of the sun.

  CHAPTER 11

  Preacher McCoy tied his horses at the rail in front of a two-story frame building, then took a few minutes to look down the street toward the main part of the little town where the saloons and retail stores were huddled. “El Dorado,” he mumbled critically, then turned and gave the weathered building before him a good looking over. It was in bad need of repair, with some broken windows, and the paint on the sign proclaiming it THE PRAIRIE PALACE was faded to the point where it would soon be illegible. Were it not for the rocking chairs on the wide front porch, all empty now because of the chilly weather, a person would doubt that the place was open for business. The thought caused him to chuckle to himself because patrons would come here to buy the product no matter the condition of the structure housing it. And when he completed what he planned to do, there would be a higher number of customers, and a higher class to boot. Yes, sir, he thought, this is just what I’m looking for. He stepped up on the porch and went in the door to find himself in a large parlor.

  A full-figured woman of taller than average height walked in from a hallway door to greet him, having heard the tiny bell attached to the front door. Preacher could well imagine that she had been a right comely woman when she was younger, for she wasn’t bad looking now. “Well, howdy, friend. Welcome to the Prairie Palace.” She took note of the solid build of the stranger, his shoulders almost as wide as the doorway, and his obviously tailored clothes. This was no ordinary cowpoke looking for companionship. “What brings you to our door this afternoon?”

  “I think I’m the man you’ve been waitin’ to see,” Preacher replied. “Are you the owner?”

  “I’m the manager,” she said, “Dolly Plover. Luke Barton owns the place, but I reckon I run it. What can I do for you? You lookin’ for some special lady companion for the night?”

  “Nope, I expect I’d need to talk to Mr. Barton, and from the looks of the place, I think he’ll wanna talk to me.”

  “I expect you’ll have to talk to me,” Dolly replied. “Like I said, I run this establishment and Luke ain’t here right now, anyway. So whatever you’re sellin’, you’ll have to try to sell it to me.” She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was some kind of slicked-up drummer, hoping to sell something she didn’t need or want. Patience was not her strong suit by any measure and she was already becoming impatient to return to her sofa to finish her nap before the house got busy.

  “Lady,” Preacher started. “Dolly, was it?” She nodded. “Well, Dolly, I ain’t sellin’, I’m buyin’. I’m lookin’ for a place like this, only I’m thinkin’ this one needs a helluva lot of fixin’ up. But I’ve got the money to do it. I can build my own place, but it’ll save me a little to buy into this business as a partner with Luke, say a sixty-forty deal, with me being the sixty percent. So I need to talk some business with Luke. Where is he?”

  She hesitated before answering, reluctant to tell him that Luke was where he always was this time of day, upstairs in his room, sleeping off his afternoon drunk. “He ain’t here right now,” she finally said. “He’ll most likely be back in an hour or so.”

  “Well, where is he?” Preacher repeated. “I’ll go talk to him.” He waited, and while she still hesitated, he asked, “I wouldn’t be far wrong if I guessed ol’ Luke was drunk, or asleep, or both, would I?” She didn’t answer, but the expression on her face told him he was right. “Let me put it to you this way, Dolly. I picked this town to build a high-class gentleman’s club, with high-class women to entertain the cattle buyers. From the looks of this dump, Luke ain’t got the money to fix this place up. So he’s got a simple decision, take me as a partner, or have me across the street as his competition. And I guarantee you he ain’t gonna like that. So go wake his ass up. I wanna get the work started before hard winter sets in.”

  “Where does that leave me, if you build your high-class whorehouse?”

  “In a classier position,” he said with a smile. “You’re still gonna be my manager.”

  “I’ll go get him, Mr. . . .” She paused, realizing he had never introduced himself.

  “Pressley,” he said, “Gaylord Pressley.”

  She said nothing at first, her reaction a simple raising of one eyebrow. Then she repeated it. “Mr. Gaylord Pressley . . . I’ll go get Luke.”

  * * *

  Luke Barton was as astonished as Dolly had been by the unabashed frankness with which the total stranger told him that he was going to build the Prairie Palace into a classy establish
ment. One, that in a short time, will pull those owners and buyers over from Wichita to El Dorado. Still only half-awake from a typical afternoon of drinking, Luke was not in a receptive mood. “What the hell gave you the idea my place, or any part of it, was for sale? You come in here with your fancy getup and your big talk about all the money you’ve got. That’s all it is, just talk.”

  Preacher didn’t bother to respond to Luke’s comments. He was already satisfied that he had sized him up pretty accurately. Eager to see the rest of the building, he walked into the hallway, leaving Luke and Dolly no choice but to follow. Passing several doors, he went straight to the kitchen where a short, gray-haired woman was busy working over the stove. Across the hall from the kitchen, he saw a second parlor presently occupied by three tired and slovenly looking women in various stages of undress. More interested in them than he was the cook, he walked into the parlor. The women were drinking coffee, one of them eating a biscuit, evidently preparing for the coming evening. Preacher gave them no more than a glance, in contrast to the bored stares he received in return. When he turned back to face the two following him, he commented, “Might wanna keep the young one eatin’ the biscuit, maybe use her as a maid. We’re gonna need one.”

  Left slack-jawed in disbelief to this point, Luke was pressed to protest. “I done told you this place ain’t for sale. This is my business and it’s doin’ damn good without no fancy-dressin’ dude to run it.”

  “Is that a fact?” Preacher responded. “Then where is the dinin’ room? Over in Wichita at the Parker House a cattle buyer from Chicago gets a fine dinner and a decent room for him and his lady for the night. He sure as hell couldn’t get that here, could he? You got a washroom?” When Dolly suppressed a chuckle, he continued. “I didn’t think so. What you’ve got here, Luke, is a cheap, run-down whorehouse and I’m givin’ you a chance to pull yourself up to be a legitimate businessman.”