Evil Never Sleeps

by William W. Johnstone

  Preacher laughed, he was well acquainted with men like Oscar Moon. “Next time he shows up, I’ll have to talk to him about messin’ up my breakfast this mornin’. We need to celebrate an occasion, anyway. Feller by the name of Frank Welch oughta show up here today or tomorrow to start work on the new Prairie Palace.” He glanced over at Dolly and gave her a wide smile. She returned it with a little girlish touch. Witnessing what looked to her like flirtatious smiles, Rena experienced the sour taste of disgust. She was going to have to give her a mother-daughter talk, in spite of the fact that she was only a half dozen years older than Dolly.

  * * *

  “’Mornin’,” Will called out to the man driving the wagon when he overtook him less than a mile out of Wichita.

  “’Mornin’,” Frank returned. “You’re the feller I talked to in Baine’s Store last night. You headin’ to El Dorado?”

  “Yep, I’ve got a little piece of business over there. I ain’t ever been there before. Does this trail lead all the way to El Dorado?”

  “Sure does,” Frank replied. “The road’s pretty well traveled, just stay on it and it’ll take you to the Walnut River. Then the road runs right up beside the river and you’ll strike El Dorado in just a few miles. I’d invite you to ride along with me, but I’d slow you down too much.”

  “I expect so,” Will came back. “Thanks just the same.” He nudged Buster into an easy pace and loped off ahead of the wagon.

  “Maybe I’ll see you over there,” Frank called out after him. Will responded with a wave of his hand.

  * * *

  He figured he couldn’t be more than ten miles from El Dorado when he tried to decide whether to ride on into town without stopping to rest his horses. Although he usually made it a rule to rest the horses after twenty or twenty-five miles, he would not hesitate to push Buster and the bay farther if there was a need. There was no particular strain on them, traveling over this mostly flat terrain, so they could make the entire thirty miles to El Dorado without his asking too much of them. Knowing with certainty that Preacher McCoy was only thirty miles away, he was anxious to get there as soon as possible. Still, when another five miles brought him to the first good creek he had seen all morning, he had second thoughts about resting the horses. He had to remind himself that Preacher was no longer on the run, he’d be there no matter when he got to town. And it would be better not to arrive with horses tired and thirsty, in case there was a need to call upon them again right away. “What the hell,” he muttered, “I ain’t had no breakfast. I could use a cup of coffee.”

  While the horses drank at the edge of the creek, he kindled a fire large enough to heat some water for coffee. Then he sat down to watch the pot while he tried to frame a mental picture of this saloon-whorehouse he had never seen before. It might not be as simple as walking in the front door to find Preacher waiting for him. Preacher might be in another part of the building, away from areas where customers gathered. It would not be so difficult if he could go in pretending to be a passing stranger. But Preacher might recognize him, even though he had, at best, gotten no more than a hazy glimpse of him from inside that cave in the Arbuckles. Will had not found him the first time he searched for him in Wichita, trying to find Preacher McCoy, but had Preacher gotten a look at him? He must have figured Will would be back looking for Gaylord Pressley this time in Wichita. Most likely the telegram Will sent spooked him, causing him to decide to leave town. These were the thoughts occupying Will’s mind as he watched the horses munching on the grass near the creek bank. Maybe, he thought, his best option would be to wait until dark to call on the Prairie Palace.

  When he felt the horses were fresh and ready to go again, he took his time to get underway. Frank had told him that the little town lay on the west bank of the Walnut River, so he decided to leave the wagon road and follow the creek to its conjunction with the river. He figured he would strike the river about five miles south of the town. And from that point, he planned to enter the town from the south, hopefully unnoticed.

  After a short ride, the tiny gathering of buildings came into view through the oak trees that lined the banks of the river. He continued on until within a hundred yards of the settlement, stopping then where he still had the cover of the trees. As it was early in the afternoon, he had time to study the town, if he waited until dark. Seeing the drab, two-story building sitting a little distance apart from the others, he figured that it was most likely the Prairie Palace. It was the only two-story building in town. There was a sign out front, but from that distance, he couldn’t read what it said. With the simple layout of the town, it would be almost impossible to ride in without being noticed right away, so he decided to wait.

  CHAPTER 13

  With the setting of the sun on the far horizon, the usual sprinkling of patrons began to show up to drink and talk to Lola and Violet, which sometimes led to one or two with enough money left to go upstairs with one of the women. On this night, however, Violet would be their only choice, since as Angel had reported, Lola wasn’t feeling well. Occasionally, someone would want to buy something to eat, so Rena always prepared a big pot of stew, or soup, to handle that request. Leon Williams, who had a small farm on the eastern side of the river, came in every day about sundown to tend bar. His farm was really little more than a garden. He had no family, so he often slept in one of the rooms upstairs, instead of returning to his cabin across the river. Luke Barton had paid Leon a minimum amount of money to tend bar, but Leon also was allowed occasional visits with Lola or Violet, and he had free access to Rena’s cooking. Dolly felt sorry for the poor man’s plight and she dreaded to tell him he was scheduled to be fired along with the two women. I guess it just has to be, she thought, if Gaylord plans to make this the classiest house in the state. Maybe we’ll find another job that Leon can do. That thought prompted her to glance toward the door to the hallway. Gaylord and Frank Welch had been in the back office talking about the work to be done on the building for more than an hour. She wondered when they would come out.

  * * *

  From about one hundred yards away, his horses tied in the trees, Will decided it time to get on with the job he came to do. Earlier, he had watched Frank Welch when he drove his wagon into town and pulled up before the Palace. It occurred to him that thirty miles was a long haul for a horse pulling a wagon. He had halfway expected Frank to show up first thing in the morning and he would have preferred it that way. Just as long as he doesn’t get in the way, he thought as he stepped up into the saddle. He pulled Buster’s head around and headed him toward the Palace. The big buckskin padded slowly toward the building where Frank’s wagon was still tied out front.

  He took a long look down the nearly empty street after he dismounted. The little town seemed to have already gone to bed for the night. Satisfied that there should be nothing outside the Palace to interfere with what he had to do, he stepped inside the door. With his rifle in his right hand, he quickly scanned the room, searching for one he knew he would recognize as Preacher McCoy. Unlike a typical saloon, the room was more akin to a big parlor, but with a long bar across one end of it. There was no one in the room who would fit Preacher’s description. He glanced toward the bar where Rena was talking to Leon, after having brought him a plate of stew. He shifted his gaze to the other end of the bar where Dolly was standing, watching the room. Her gaze promptly shifted toward him when he paused in the doorway before entering.

  Certain now that he was going to have to search the building for Preacher, he walked across the parlor toward a door at the back wall, it apparently being the only door to the rest of the house. He was in the middle of the room when that door suddenly opened and Frank Welch walked out, immediately followed by Preacher. Outlaw and lawman reacted immediately, with Will a split second faster. His rifle up and cocked in an instant, Will leveled the Winchester at Preacher, who was caught without a weapon. His reaction was to grab Frank by the arm and pull the startled carpenter in front of himself, using him as a shield. �
��Don’t do anything stupid, Preacher,” Will warned moments before he was slammed in the back by a blast from the shotgun held by a terrified Dolly Plover. The impact dropped him to the floor immediately.

  “Shoot him again!” Preacher blurted. “Shoot him again! He ain’t dead!” He looked around him frantically searching for a weapon when Dolly seemed to be too deeply in shock to respond. When she continued to stand there, stunned by what she had just done, he shoved Frank aside and grabbed a handgun from a wide-eyed customer who had been visiting with Violet. By the time he had turned around again, he was to be confronted by Will’s Winchester rifle in the hands of Rena Peters and it was aimed directly at him.

  “Throw that gun down, or so help me, I’ll cut you down where you stand,” Rena commanded. “This man’s dying. There ain’t any use to shoot him again. I ain’t ever killed anybody, but by God, I’ll kill you if you don’t drop that gun and get your sorry ass out of here. And I mean out of this house and don’t ever come back.” Whether she meant everybody, or just him, the few customers there wasted no time in exiting the parlor, with the exception of Frank Welch, who was still standing petrified by the hallway door.

  Preacher hesitated for a brief second, thinking to test the woman’s bluster, but the cold look in her eye told him it would likely cost him his life. “All right, you crazy bitch,” he said, satisfied that Will was dying. “I’ll gladly leave this damn dump behind. It was a bad idea in the first place.” He was already thinking that the word would spread quickly and there would soon be another deputy, or a posse, showing up to look for him.

  Unable to believe all that had happened in the span of two minutes, Dolly recovered enough to scream, “Rena! What are you doin’? He came to kill Gaylord!”

  “Shut up, Dolly,” Rena snapped. “You just shot a U.S. deputy marshal—maybe killed him, I don’t know yet.” When Will went down, she had run to him, not to help him, but to get the rifle in case he was not dead, to prevent him from returning fire. When he struggled to turn over on his side, she saw the deputy’s badge under his vest. In that instant, she knew that every suspicion she had held about Gaylord Pressley was justified. Now she looked at Dolly for help, but realized right away that Dolly had gone into shock again, so she turned to the bartender. “Leon, help me drag him over behind the counter.” When they had done so, she said, “Get that shotgun from Dolly and we’ll stay behind the counter till we find out what Gaylord is planning to do.” In a very short time she found out, for he suddenly came through the door, carrying his rifle and his saddlebags over his shoulder.

  Seeing Rena and Leon behind the bar, their weapons pointed straight at him, he paused for only a moment before asking, “Where is he?”

  “He’s lying on the floor, dead,” Rena answered. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

  Preacher smiled, pleased. “Good, that’s where he oughta be.” He smiled at Dolly, who was still trying to understand what had just happened. “Thanks, Dolly, you done the world a favor when you shot that son of a bitch.” Finished then, he lingered only a moment longer to say, “You’re lucky I don’t care enough to break your neck before I go.” He directed this at Rena. “I shoulda done for you like I done for Luke, but I’m just glad I didn’t waste my money on this place. So we’ll call it square. Next time I see any of you, it’ll be in hell.” With that, he walked out the door, heading for the stable to get his horses, unwilling to waste any more time, in case there was a posse following Will Tanner.

  “Leon, look out the door. Is he gone?” Rena asked. Moving quickly now, she tried to take a closer look at the wounded deputy, who was struggling to get up on his hands and knees. “You just take it easy, young fellow,” she said when Leon said Preacher had gone. “We’re gonna take care of you.” She turned to Angel, who seemed to be the only one of the other women to show a sense of helping. “We need to get him on a bed while somebody goes for Tom Hawkins.” Leon volunteered and was out the door immediately. “Give us a hand!” Rena snapped at Dolly, who was still lost in the chaos caused by what she had done. Acting as if in a nightmare, she finally moved to help them carry Will. “We’ll take him to my room,” Rena directed. “It’s the closest to the kitchen.” With some effort, the three women carried the wounded man into Rena’s room. The job was made more difficult by Will’s struggles to help himself as he gradually became aware of what had happened. The impact of the shotgun blast at such close range had knocked the wind out of him and now that he could breathe again, his natural tendency was to fight. Finally when Rena yelled at him to be still, he realized that they were trying to help him.

  “He’s gonna get blood all over that quilt,” Angel said. “We’ d best get something to spread over that.”

  “You’re right,” Rena said. “That’s my good quilt. There’s an old one I was saving to cut up for patches in that dresser in the corner.” They lowered Will to the floor while Rena got the old quilt and spread it on the bed. Then they transferred him from the floor to the bed. “I’m glad that’s over,” Rena announced. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

  Before long, Leon returned with Tom Hawkins, who came in apologizing. “You know, I ain’t no doctor, I’m better at buryin’ ’em, but I have tended some gunshot wounds. I’ll do what I can.” With help from Rena, he rolled Will over on his side. “Shotgun,” he announced. “Sure made a mess of his back.” He glanced at Rena. “I reckon we’d better clean him up as best we can, then maybe we can see where to start on the wounds.”

  Tom spent the better part of two hours digging shot out of Will’s back, most of it concentrated between his shoulder blades. Since it had been at such close range, the pattern had not had time to expand. There was a good number of shot that had driven too deeply in the muscles of his back to make it practical for Tom to try to dig them out. “I’d do more damage than good,” he explained when he’d extracted all that he safely could. “He needs to see a doctor,” he stated when he had finished.

  “Well, we ain’t got a doctor,” Rena said. “So I reckon he’s just gonna have to make it without one.” At Tom’s suggestion, she took an old sheet from the same drawer the quilt had come from and ripped it into bandages. Then after applying some lard lightly over the many wounds to keep the cloth from sticking to them, she wrapped the bandages around him.

  During the entire procedure, the patient did not make a sound, causing those administering to his surgery to wonder if their efforts were in vain. It was not until Rena asked him if he wanted to remain on his stomach, or switch to his side, that he spoke. “I reckon I’d do better on my side,” he answered, his voice calm and steady, surprising those attending him. “Is Preacher still here somewhere?”

  Misunderstanding, Tom answered, “No, I’m sorry, we ain’t got no preacher in town yet. We’re hopin’ to build a church one day soon.”

  Will winced with the pain caused by his efforts to talk. “No, Preacher,” he grunted, “Preacher McCoy, Gaylord. Is he still here?” He felt around him on the bed, searching for his rifle.

  A step ahead of the others from the start, Rena responded, “Preacher McCoy, is that his real name? No, he’s gone and I doubt he’ll be back. What I wanna know is who the hell are you? Are you really a deputy marshal, or did you take that badge off a dead man?”

  “Will Tanner,” he said, still finding it painful to talk. “I’m a deputy outta Fort Smith. Preacher robbed a bank in Texas and I’ve been chasing him all the way through Indian Territory.” He paused to catch his breath before continuing. “And he killed a couple of men.”

  “Three,” Angel interjected, recalling Preacher’s parting comment about Luke.

  “I’ve gotta get on my feet,” Will said, thinking he had to be prepared for Preacher’s return. “I’ve gotta see to my horses.” He dropped his leg over the side of the bed and tried to stand up, but found that he couldn’t do it.

  “Mister,” Tom said to him, “you ain’t in no shape to get outta that bed. You’ve lost about a gallon of blood. You’re gonna have to bui
ld your blood back up, and that’s gonna take a little while.” If you don’t die from blood poisoning, he thought to himself.

  They were distracted by a comment from the hallway, where Violet and Lola had stood watching through the open door. “Martin Weed came back lookin’ for his pistol,” Violet announced. “He found it where Gaylord dropped it in the parlor. He said Gaylord got his horses and hightailed it outta town.” Hearing her, Will lay back and relaxed his body, knowing he had no chance of stopping Preacher McCoy until he recovered. He was still in a fog regarding what had happened and who had shot him when he was so close to making an arrest.

  “We’d best let you get a little rest now,” Rena said. “I’m gonna go to the bar and fix you up a little drink to help you relax. You might just as well stop worrying and let those wounds heal up. Gaylord . . . or Preacher, is it? Anyway, he’s left town and there’s nothing you can do about him till you get better. Leon will take care of your horses for you. He can take ’em down to the stable and leave ’em with Paul.” She turned around and ordered, “All right, everybody out, he needs some sleep.” She waited until they all moved toward the door before turning back to Will. “I’ll be right back with a little shot of whiskey for you.”

  After she had taken care of Will, Rena left him to rest and went back to her kitchen where she found her next patient waiting for her. “What the hell have I done?” Dolly wailed when Rena walked in. “Gaylord told me that he came to El Dorado because there was an outlaw who had been trying to murder him and steal his money, and I thought that’s who that man in there was. What if he dies?”

  In the three years that Rena had known Dolly, this was the first time that the usually iron-willed, self-sufficient woman had ever broken down emotionally. “If he dies, then that’s just the way things were supposed to be. Maybe he won’t die. No matter, you did what you thought was right. Hell, it’s my fault, too. I shoulda given you a strong dose of my doubts about that son of a bitch.” She paused to give Dolly a smile. “I do wish you’da missed, though. I’d liked to have seen that lying bastard get arrested and hauled off to prison just for what he did to you.”