Will Tanner

by William W. Johnstone

  Eli smiled at that. “I expect it might. I’ll bring it back for you.” Like the clothes he wore, his horse was black. He stepped up into the saddle, gave it a kick of his heels, and set out to find Will Tanner.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon Eli arrived at the scene of the shoot-out that Sam Deer Killer had described. Looking around the clearing where the stream cut through the little valley, he saw the remains of two bodies, at least what the buzzards had left of them, as well as the bones of two horses. He grunted indifferently and said, “Looks like they had a real party.” But there was no wagon, even though there were tracks that plainly showed him where it had been parked and which way it had gone when it had left the ravine. “Damn,” he swore, for he had hoped to find the wagon still there, thinking to wait in ambush for someone to come for it. Examining the tracks closely, he estimated that it had been no more than a couple of days since the wagon left. He figured that, as slow as a wagon traveled, he could catch up with it in one or two days. At least, he could have if he did not have to rest his horse. He cursed the horse as if it were to blame for delaying him. Since there was no choice for him, other than to camp there and start tracking the wagon in the morning, he rode up the stream a good distance to escape a smell of rotten flesh that still lingered in the ravine.

  * * *

  Morning broke clear and cooler, and he started out as soon as it was light enough to make out the wagon tracks. He soon decided that there were two horses trailing along behind the wagon, and after following for a short while, when the tracks headed straight west, he figured they were heading to Atoka. Maybe, he thought, if he was lucky, he could catch him before he reached that station. He had a much better chance of killing this deputy if that was possible, and he had come to think that it was most likely the deputy who had come back to get the wagon. If he got to Atoka, it might complicate things. Jim Little Eagle, Indian policeman for the Union Agency, worked out of Atoka, and he was often deputized to work with a U.S. Deputy Marshal. Eli had no knowledge of Will Tanner, but he recalled some close run-ins he had experienced with Jim Little Eagle when he was a Choctaw Lighthorseman. He preferred not to have to deal with him and the deputy together.

  CHAPTER 11

  Keeping a steady course due west, Will’s plan was to pick up the trail he and Pride had traveled from Fort Smith, once he reached Atoka. There was nothing on his mind now but the job of transporting Max Tarbow to stand trial in Judge Parker’s court. As best he could estimate, he had traveled a good forty miles after the second full day since leaving the little ravine where his journey had started. His team of horses was showing signs of weariness since resting them at noon, but he decided to push them a little farther in hopes of finding a stream. The two horses had performed satisfactorily teamed together, causing him to suspect it wasn’t the first time they had been hitched to a wagon. He had a long way to go before reaching Fort Smith and he had no intention of overworking them. But he also wanted to avoid the inconvenience of having to make a dry camp with no water to drink or cook with. Because of this, he was glad to see a line of trees about a mile ahead that surely indicated the presence of water.

  Luck was with him. When he reached the trees, he found that they bordered a fair-sized stream, as he had suspected, and it had an adequate flow of water, in spite of the dry conditions of the last few weeks. He was sure then that he had reached Clear Boggy Creek, and if that was the case, he could be only about another day’s drive from reaching Muddy Boggy Creek and Jim Little Eagle’s place. He planned to stop at Jim’s home to inform him of Fletcher Pride’s death and let him know that Max Tarbow’s gang was no longer a threat. He figured that it was information that Jim needed to know.

  Preferring a potential campsite he saw on the other side, he crossed over the creek and drove the wagon under a large cottonwood, where he parked it for the night. He glanced briefly at his prisoner, sitting sullen against the side of the wagon as he unhitched the team and turned them out with the other two horses to graze on the creek bank after drinking from the creek. Already accustomed to the defiant leering of his ominous captive, he was somewhat surprised when Tarbow broke a silence that had lasted since their last stop to rest the horses. “What are you aimin’ to do with all that money you got from me?” he asked.

  “Huh,” Will snorted, amused by the question. “Turn it over to the court.”

  “You’d be a damn fool if you do,” Tarbow said.

  “Maybe so,” Will replied, seeing no use for further discussion.

  Tarbow wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “I don’t know if you’ve took the time to count how much of that money’s left. A man could go a long way with that much money—about ten years of a lawman’s pay—maybe more ’n that. How much they pay you, anyway?” Will didn’t bother to reply as he proceeded to gather wood for a fire, leaving Tarbow to ramble on. “I’ll tell you somethin’ else to think about,” he said, raising his voice so Will could still hear him as he walked away from the wagon in search of dead limbs. “If you was smart enough to hook up with me, we could make a helluva lot more money than you’re holdin’ right now. I know some banks that are settin’ there just waitin’ for somebody to walk in and take the money. No rangers, no sheriffs, nobody to keep you from robbin’ ’em. You oughta think about that, Tanner, ’stead of wastin’ your life away doin’ the government’s work for nothin’ and endin’ up with worn-out boots and dust in your saddlebags.”

  Will walked back near the wagon to dump an armload of limbs on the ground. Then he turned to face Tarbow. “That’s a right interestin’ argument, Tarbow, but look where it’s landed you. Now, if you’re wantin’ to eat any supper, you’d best shut up now, ’cause I can’t cook when my ears are hurtin’. And I was plannin’ on cookin’ us up some beans to go with that sowbelly tonight.” Visibly irritated by the deputy’s apparent honesty, Tarbow said nothing more. Will figured he had attempted to entice him with promises of riches, and now he would return to his original plan, looking for an opportunity to overpower him.

  As he had the night before, Will unlocked one end of the chain while leaving the end around the rear axle locked, allowing Tarbow the freedom to get out of the wagon, even though his foot was still shackled to the chain. Will then built his fire just far enough from the wagon to permit Tarbow to reach one side of it before reaching the limit of the chain. He was careful to unload the packs with all the weapons and ammunition he had collected well out of the chain’s reach.

  Already sick of the chore of cooking, he thought back on his earlier decision not to travel with a cook. It would be damn nice to have one now, he thought. Should have shot the son of a bitch. He shrugged and went to the wagon for the bucket of water under the seat, where the dried beans had been soaking since morning.

  * * *

  The night passed peacefully with Tarbow returning to the sullen state he had affected before his unsuccessful pitch to Will to cross over to the other side of the law. After securing his prisoner in the wagon and hitching up, he started out again, heading for Muddy Boggy Creek with no thought of any further threat other than when Max Tarbow might attempt to escape. Jim Little Eagle’s cabin came into view a little before noon. Will recognized the short, stocky Indian policeman working with a hoe in a little garden patch next to the cabin. Jim saw him at about the same time and stood watching them approach. When he recognized Will on the wagon seat, he started walking toward the front of the cabin to meet them. He said nothing until Will pulled his team to a stop. With a brief nod of greeting, Jim took a hard look at the man chained in the back of the wagon before turning back to address Will. “That don’t look too good,” he said, fearing the worst.

  “It ain’t,” Will replied, and climbed down from the wagon.

  “Looks like you and Pride caught up with those men you were looking for,” Jim said, waiting patiently for the story.

  “You’re lookin’ at everything that’s left,” Will said, then went on to tell Jim all the events that had happ
ened to bring him to this point.

  The stoic Choctaw policeman listened with no show of emotion, nodding only occasionally while Will told him about the several confrontations that had happened on the ill-fated assignment. When he had finished, Jim nodded toward Tarbow, staring defiantly at him from the wagon. “That’s Tarbow?” he asked. Will said that it was. “You gonna take him back to Fort Smith?”

  “That’s what I’m figurin’ on,” Will answered.

  Still showing no emotion, Jim walked around to the rear of the wagon and looked at the chain and the method Will had used to secure the prisoner. He nodded his approval, then asked, “The others, all dead?”

  “Yep,” Will answered. “Me and him, we’re all that’s left of the whole damn mission.”

  “It’s a long way to Fort Smith,” Jim said. “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, that ain’t why I stopped by,” Will said. “I just wanted to let you know what happened to Pride—that and the fact you don’t need to be on the lookout for the Tarbow gang no more.”

  “That’s right,” the sullen Tarbow suddenly blurted. “We don’t need no damn Injun taggin’ along. You stay home and hoe your garden.”

  Still with no change in his stone-cold expression, Jim turned to Will and offered, “You want me to cut his tongue out, so he don’t make noise no more?”

  “Lemme think about it,” Will said with a smile. Judging by the indifferent expression on the Indian’s face, he wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “I think I’ll move on down the creek a ways to rest the horses and cook something to eat. Then I expect I’ll pick up the trail we rode when we came from Fort Smith.” He had an idea that he would be welcome to rest and water his horses there at Jim’s cabin, and maybe an offer from Jim’s wife to cook for them. But he didn’t think it the right thing to do. Maybe after he had worked with the Choctaw policeman a little more, he might be on a friendlier basis, similar to that Jim had shared with Pride. “So I reckon I’ll see you sometime,” he said, and climbed back up on the wagon seat.

  Jim stepped up close beside the seat and said, “Fletcher Pride was the best lawman I ever knew. I’m sorry he’s gone.” He stepped back away from the wagon.

  “I am, too,” Will said. “It’s gonna be mighty hard to follow in his footsteps.” He could appreciate the simple statement of mourning from the stoic Indian, knowing that it came from a deep respect for the larger-than-life lawman.

  * * *

  Eli Stark guided his horse over toward a low ridge, dismounted, and went on foot the rest of the way up the short incline to the top. He had ridden the big Morgan gelding hard in an effort to catch up with the man who killed his brother. Now, finally, he caught his first sighting of the wagon ahead of him. It had pulled up in front of a small log cabin by the creek ahead, and the man sitting in the wagon seat had to be Deputy Marshal Will Tanner. He was too far away to take a shot with the Henry rifle he carried in his saddle scabbard, and he wanted to be close enough to guarantee a sure hit. So he could only watch as a man came from beside the cabin to meet the deputy. “Damn,” he cursed under his breath, for the land between him and the cabin was mostly rolling prairie with few trees. Desperate for some way to get closer to his target without being seen, he looked toward the creek ahead of him. It looked like the banks of the creek might be high enough to hide a man running at a crouch behind them. That oughta work, he decided, and hurried back to get his rifle.

  He had no way of knowing how long Tanner would stop at the cabin, so he wasted no time in running across an open swale between the hill and the edge of the creek. He dropped below the bank and, running hunched over, he trotted along the creek, intent on getting to a small stand of cottonwood trees where the creek took a sharp turn to the north. That should just put him in fair range of his rifle. When he reached the bend in the creek, he found that this would have to be the spot, for to go farther would place the cabin between him and the two men talking by the wagon. Being careful to stay in the cover of the few trees beside the creek, he crawled up on the bank and moved up to kneel beside a large tree trunk. From his position beside the tree, he had a clear shot at Tanner as well as the man in the back of the wagon.

  Hesitating for a moment, he trained the Henry on the prisoner. Well I’ll be damned, he thought, Max Tarbow. That deputy caught him. The discovery made it even more satisfying to kill Tanner. He couldn’t help grinning when he thought about the wild ride Tarbow was going to experience when he started shooting and those horses bolted—because, even though he couldn’t tell from this distance, he was sure Tarbow was chained to the wagon. Suddenly the grin froze on his face when another thought struck him. If Tanner had Tarbow, then more than likely he had recovered a big part of the money Tarbow and his gang had stolen. His mind began to race with the prospects of suddenly becoming a very wealthy man. In fact, there was no reason to share the money with Tarbow after he killed Tanner. Hell, I’ll kill Tarbow, too, he thought. I never had any use for that one-eyed bigmouth, anyway. What had started out as a purely vengeful assassination had turned into a possible windfall of bank money. It occurred to him that his brother Jeb’s death might have been a lucky thing, after all. He felt no guilt in thinking such a thought as he returned his concentration to the job at hand.

  He swept his front sight back around to center on Tanner’s back. Now, you murdering son of a bitch, he thought, but at that moment, the other man stepped into the picture, and Eli hesitated, just then recognizing him. Jim Little Eagle, the thought struck him, the man who had driven him out of the Nations. He quickly brought his rifle to bear on the stocky Indian policeman, but still he hesitated, thinking that if he killed Little Eagle, he would chance missing Tanner. Another thought struck him. If I kill that Indian bastard, I’ll have the whole Indian Police Union on my tail again. He had only dared to return to the Choctaw Nation after a year because he thought they might have given up on him by now. He would not have risked it now except for his determination to avenge his brother. He lowered his rifle and questioned the risk he might take if he wasn’t successful in killing both men. He would become the hunted instead of the hunter; he preferred the latter role.

  Much to his frustration, his hesitation cost him to miss the opportunity to take a shot at either target, for Tanner drove the wagon out of the yard at that moment. Frustrated at having been thwarted in what he had first thought to be a perfect opportunity, he backed away from the tree in anger. He hurried back to retrieve his horse at the foot of the ridge, telling himself he would have a better chance later on, after Tanner had left Atoka Station and was all alone in the wilds between there and Fort Smith. “I ain’t in no hurry,” he counseled himself. “I’ve got a week to get the shot I want. Maybe I’ll play cat and mouse with him for a while.” The thought amused him. There was no sense in taking chances where there were possibly witnesses to tell the marshals who did the shooting, anyway. “If I had my choice,” he boasted to the dark Morgan he rode, “I’d meet him face-to-face.” Feeling better about the hesitation he had experienced, he turned the Morgan’s head in a more southerly direction, with the intention of circling around to pick up Tanner’s trail after he cleared Atoka.

  * * *

  Will drove the wagon another mile and a half before finding the spot he sought to rest his horses, a wide stretch of grassy prairie on both sides of a treeless stretch of creek. He parked the wagon on the bank of the creek and began what was already a routine for him. As he went through the motions, he thought about Fletcher Pride, and wondered how the man had been able to tolerate it all the years he was in the service. Now that the dirty work was done, and the prisoner captured, his job was no more than a cook and nursemaid until he could turn Tarbow over to the court. He turned to meet Tarbow’s eyes, and the grizzlylike villain’s smug gaze seemed to infer that he knew what Will was thinking. “I gotta take a leak,” he said, grinning.

  Will unlocked the length of chain that limited Tarbow’s movement in the wagon so he could climb down and move as
far from the wagon as the remaining chain would permit. While his prisoner was taking advantage of his limited freedom, Will unhitched the horses and took them down to the water. After they had been watered, he let them graze on the short-grass meadow that ran down to the creek. He wasn’t sure of the two horses pulling the wagon and his packhorse, so he hobbled them. As far as Buster, he wasn’t worried about him because he knew he wouldn’t wander. After tending the horses, he found enough dead branches around the berry bushes on the bank to build a small fire to cook some meat and boil some coffee for him and his prisoner. When it was ready, he set a plate down on Tarbow’s side of the fire. “Eat,” he said. “This is all you’ll get till dark.”

  “You’re gonna starve me to death,” Tarbow complained, looking at the salt pork on his plate. “They ain’t gonna have to hang me. You don’t give a man enough to eat to stay alive.” Will didn’t bother to respond to his grumbling, which tended to irritate him more. “Ain’t there somethin’ in the rule book that says you gotta feed a prisoner three meals a day? You ain’t feedin’ me but two times a day.”

  “I’m thinkin’ ’bout feedin’ you just once a day,” Will said, “if you don’t stop carpin’ about everything. If you wanted to be treated like a gentleman, you shoulda took up a different line of work.” He drained his coffee cup and went to get the horses, planning to make ten more miles before making camp.

  It was approaching sundown when they came to a narrow stream making its way through a gulch dividing a low ridge running along a line of tree-covered hills. Will felt the horses were good for another couple of miles, but with the rapidly fading light, he decided he’d best not gamble on finding another stream before darkness caught them. So he pulled the wagon over close to one side of the gulch and started the routine of making camp once again.