Will Tanner

by William W. Johnstone

  As he swept past the knoll from which the sniper had fired, Will tried to make sense of his adversary’s second attempt to kill him. If it were the horses he was out to steal, why didn’t he just try to slip in during the night and drive them off—and leave him on foot with no means to give pursuit? This thief was intent upon killing him. There had to be a reason, and he had to wonder if the gunman somehow knew that he was carrying a large amount of stolen money. These thoughts only added to his consternation, so he returned his focus to the job at hand. If he caught the son of a bitch, maybe his questions would be answered.

  Totally absorbed in his burning desire to catch his would-be assassin, and lost in the steady rhythm of Buster’s thundering hoofbeats on the hard ground, he forgot that the big buckskin was already in need of rest. Not until the faithful horse broke stride for just a moment did Will realize his negligence and rein him back to lope, and then to walk. “I’m sorry, boy,” he apologized, realizing that he was asking the horse for more than the animal was capable of giving. And knowing his horse as well as he did, he had no doubt that Buster would have run himself to death. He had no alternative other than to dismount and give up the chase. As he walked back to his camp, he couldn’t help wondering if he was going to be constantly assaulted every step of the way to Fort Smith, or at least until one of them managed to shoot the other.

  * * *

  Lying in ambush at the top of a low hill, Eli Stark waited for the hated lawman to ride up out of the swale he had just raced across. Unknown by the deputy, Eli had been faced with the same problem that caused him to break off the chase. Eli’s horse was weary, too, having been ridden just as hard as Will’s horses in an effort to keep up with them. The big Morgan had finally faltered while climbing the low hill where Eli now lay in wait. When he had retreated from his position in the scrub oaks, he had not planned to wait for Will to catch up with him. But the condition of his horse had made that decision for him. When he thought about it, it was the perfect setup to achieve his goal, so he was genuinely disappointed when Will suddenly broke off his pursuit. Apparently the deputy was planning to continue on the common wagon trail to Fort Smith, so Eli decided to try to parallel the trail and make another attempt when Will stopped for the night.

  * * *

  Will was pretty much of the same thinking as his adversary, and his patience was rapidly running out. He was feeling akin to a target in a shooting gallery, and sooner or later he was going to get hit. This jasper who was after him was going to keep up with him and keep picking places to dry-gulch him. He had an almost overwhelming desire to forget everything else and hunt the shooter down. That thought caused him to take a look at the awkward canvas bundle leaning against the tree. “If it wasn’t for your sorry ass,” he blurted, “I wouldn’t have to hurry.” He was still determined to deliver Tarbow’s corpse to Fort Smith before it began to rot, but he was convinced that, if he stayed on his present course, the gunman would be waiting to take another shot. The only choice he saw was to leave the common trail and try to lose the gunman, so when his horses were rested again, he struck out farther north toward the Sans Bois Mountains. He couldn’t be sure if his assassin was watching him, but he figured he’d find out soon enough.

  He started out on a course across a rolling terrain where there were no trails of any kind, his string of horses behind him. A question that came to him then concerned the grotesque canvas bundle lying across one of the horses. He wasn’t sure how long a body remained in that awkward stiff state, but he knew that it wasn’t forever. And he guessed that when it lost the stiffness, that would be the time it would become putrid. Changing directions now was going to add a little time to his journey, but he hoped not enough to make much difference in the condition of the evidence he was trying so hard to deliver.

  As the afternoon advanced, he began to believe that he had, in fact, lost his stalker, at least temporarily. He was riding across a wide valley that permitted him to see a fairly long distance on either side of him, and all afternoon he had spotted no one. Now, as the sun began to settle down on the horizon behind him, he looked for a place to camp that might offer some cover. So he turned his horse toward the low foothills that approached the Sans Bois Mountains. With a little luck, he might find a stream coming down from the mountains, hopefully before riding much farther, because his horses were needing rest. He had pushed them hard again, but the terrain had not been rough on them.

  A couple of miles farther on brought him in sight of a double line of small trees and bushes, which indicated a stream coming down out of the hills. When he reached it, he decided to follow it back up into the hills a little way in search of a good place to camp. It didn’t take long before he found what looked to be the place he was hoping for. The stream led him to the mouth of a ravine leading up a low foothill about half a mile from the base of the closest mountain. There was plenty of grass for the horses at the mouth and protection provided by the trees on the steep sides of the ravine.

  It was his feeling that his stalker had not been within eyesight of him all afternoon, because he had not sighted anyone trailing him ever since he changed directions. He hoped that the shooter was searching for him along the common road, and if that was so, he’d have to be mighty lucky to find him in this ravine. Looking toward the back part of the ravine, he could see that it ran quite a long way before it closed to a point. In fact, he couldn’t actually see the end of it.

  He unloaded his horses, stood Tarbow up against another tree, then left the horses to graze by the mouth of the ravine while he gathered kindling to start a fire. By the time the sun disappeared behind the hills, Will had coffee ready and sowbelly strips cooking over the fire. He had the means to make pan bread, but lacked the initiative to bother with it, especially since there was a killer roaming around hoping to get a clear shot at him. As darkness started to settle into the hills, he went out and brought the horses into the narrow part of the ravine behind his campfire. He was about to return to the fire to have another cup of coffee when Buster whinnied, and his ears flickered nervously. One of the other horses answered with a whinny also. Will became immediately alert; he had always paid attention to the buckskin’s awareness of other creatures. Most of the time it was the appearance of another horse, or a coyote or wolf skulking about, and nothing to cause Will concern. But under the circumstances of the day just passed, he was not prone to take chances. So instead of returning to the campfire, he quickly drew his rifle from his saddle scabbard and climbed up the side of the ravine to seek a position over his camp.

  In a few moments, he saw a figure in the dark mouth of the ravine approaching cautiously. This was a departure from his stalker’s usual routine of sniping from a distance. Will raised the Winchester up against his shoulder and laid the front sight on the shadowy form and waited for his visitor to make the next move. To Will’s surprise, his visitor did not advance any farther. Instead, he suddenly called out, “Hello, the camp!”

  Not inclined to believe the man was merely an out-of-work cowhand riding the grub line and seeing an opportunity for some coffee and maybe a little food, Will did not respond. For one thing, the man was on foot, so Will carefully made his way down the side of the ravine until he was directly behind the man, who was now straining to look into the camp, even to the point of standing on his tiptoes in an effort to get a better look. “There’s a Winchester rifle aimed right between your shoulder blades,” Will announced matter-of-factly. “Make one move and it’ll be your last.”

  “Whoa!” the man yelped and jumped, almost stumbling. “Don’t shoot! I was just lookin’ for a cup of that coffee I smelled from back yonder. I didn’t mean to cause you no trouble. Just take it easy with that rifle, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Do what I tell you and you won’t get hurt,” Will said, having already determined that it was not the man dressed in black he had seen riding away after the ambush. “Let’s take a walk over by that fire, so I can take a look at you.”

  “Yes, si
r,” his visitor immediately replied, “whatever you say. I ain’t out to cause you no trouble.” He went at once to stand by the fire, so Will could see him.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Will asked, since there was no sign of a horse or wagon. A short man with a face full of curly white whiskers, he wore no weapon on his hip and carried no rifle.

  “Back yonder,” the man said, pointing toward the top of the ravine. “I got me a domicile on the backside of this hill, and I was just wantin’ to see who was makin’ a camp right on my front doorstep. My name’s Perley Gates. I’ve been outta coffee for over a month and I’ve got a powerful cravin’ for some. I’ve been watchin’ you make camp and when you fired up that coffeepot, I swear, I had to come on down. I ain’t sure if you’re one of them outlaws that hole up in that cave up there in the mountains or not. But I ain’t got nothin’ worth stealin’, so I figured it was worth a try. Are you an outlaw on the run? ’Cause if you are, and you’re lookin’ for that cave, I can tell you how to get there. It ain’t but about three miles yonder way.” He pointed toward the top of the ravine again.

  “I’m a U.S. Deputy Marshal,” Will said, and pulled his vest aside far enough to show his badge. Perley’s reaction was a serious nod. Will couldn’t resist asking, “Perley Gates—is that your real name?”

  “Yes, sir, Marshal, Mama Gates gave me the name of Perley, all right. It sounds like that one in the Bible, just spelled different.”

  Will could see no threat in the elflike man, so he could see no harm in sharing some coffee with him. “All right, Perley, pour yourself a cup of coffee.” He picked up his coffee cup, emptied it, and tossed it to Perley.

  Perley wasted no time filling the cup. He backed a foot or two away from the fire and sipped the hot black liquid noisily. “Ahh,” he moaned. “I swear, that’s mighty fine coffee.” He sipped some more, then asked, “Mind if I set?”

  “No, go ahead and set,” Will said, and Perley crossed his feet and sat down Indian style. “You want something to eat?” Will asked. He figured the strange little man was a wandering beggar and most likely had not eaten in a while.

  “Thank you kindly, but I’ve done et,” Perley replied. “If I’da knowed you was a lawman, and not one of them outlaws, I’da brung you a slab off of a deer haunch I kilt this mornin’. I reckon I can still bring you some, if you want it.” He nursed a little more coffee out of the hot tin cup, then asked, “What are you doin’ in these parts, Marshal, chasin’ somebody?”

  “Tell you the truth, Perley, right now I’m bein’ chased,” Will said.

  “Come again?” Perley replied.

  “I said I’m bein’ chased,” Will repeated.

  “By who?”

  “That’s the problem,” Will said. “I don’t know who. All I know is he’s wearin’ all black clothes and rides a black horse.”

  “Eli Stark,” Perley blurted at once.

  “Who?” Will asked, immediately interested.

  “Eli Stark don’t wear nothin’ but black outfits,” Perley said. “They match his black heart—meaner man ain’t never been born.”

  Eli Stark, Will repeated to himself, Lem Stark’s eldest son. Pride had asked the old man where Eli was, and Lem said he was long gone from this territory. Everything started to make sense now. Eli was out for vengeance because he thought Will killed his brother. Perley might be right—his stalker could be Eli Stark. The irony of it was that Will didn’t kill Jeb Stark. One of Tarbow’s men killed him in a duel. Will shot the man who killed Jeb. He ought to be trying to thank me for killing his brother’s killer, he thought, instead of taking potshots at me. Pride had told him that Eli was long gone from Indian Territory. He wondered how Eli had gotten the news that his brother was dead. Maybe, he thought, news travels fast among outlaws, like it does with Indians. More likely Eli had been back in the Nations for quite a while. Turning his attention back to Perley, he asked, “When was the last time you saw Eli Stark?”

  Perley shrugged. “I don’t know. Two or three months ago, I reckon. I try not to see him if I can help it. Last time, if I recollect, was when I was huntin’ about two miles west of here. I was pretty close to a trail that leads up to that cave in the rocks, and I saw Eli on that black Morgan he rides, comin’ down that trail. He didn’t see me, so I stayed hid till he passed on by. He ain’t never give me no real trouble, but it don’t pay to hang around him on account of his hair-trigger temper.” He shook his head thoughtfully, then asked, “What’s he chasin’ after you for—just ’cause you’re a lawman?”

  “He thinks I shot his brother,” Will answered.

  “Jeb?” Perley responded. “I ain’t heard that Jeb was dead. I never saw him before, but I’ve heared tell of him. Did you shoot him?”

  “No, but I would have if I’d had to,” Will replied frankly. “It was one of the men he was ridin’ with that shot him. What is this cave you keep talkin’ about?”

  Perley hesitated before answering, thinking that maybe he had already said too much about the secret hideout for the few outlaws that knew of its location. “You ain’t gonna tell nobody I told you about it, are you? ’Cause, like I said, Eli and some of them others ain’t bothered me none, but if some of ’em was to find out I told a lawman about it, they might do a little more than just bother me a little.” After Will assured him that he wouldn’t tell, Perley continued. “I stumbled across that cave fifteen years ago. Solid rock all around it. I was chasin’ a doe I’d shot a little farther down the mountain, and she led me up to this openin’ to a cave in the stone side of the mountain, and she ran in the mouth of it. I figured I had her trapped in there. That cave ran a good forty feet back into the mountain, and when I got to the end of it, she was gone. Come to find out, there was a back door to it, and she slipped out of it.”

  “And you say it’s a hideout for outlaws?” Will pressed.

  “Like I said, there ain’t many people that know about it,” Perley said. “After the war, a few army deserters hid out there, but after that a few outlaws on the run found it, and they’ve been usin’ it ever since. It’s hard to beat for a hideout, hard to find and easy to defend, and there’s a spring of fresh water runnin’ right through it. If you ain’t wantin’ to defend it, there’s a hidden door out the back. It’s even got a natural stone corral at the bottom of the cliff to keep your horses safe.”

  “You think Eli Stark is hidin’ out there now?” Will asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. I ain’t been up to the cave in quite a spell, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he ain’t.”

  Will paused while he thought about the possibility that Eli had been hiding out in the mountains above Perley’s camp. It wasn’t likely that he was up there now, since he had been trailing him ever since he had left Atoka. He glanced at the awkward bundle leaning against a pine tree and reminded himself of his priorities at the present time. Pride had told him that there were arrest warrants out for Eli from both Kansas and Missouri for murder and robbery. He would do well to scout this outlaw’s cave out, but only after he was successful in delivering Max Tarbow and the stolen money to Fort Smith. Eli would have to wait, he decided. Complete this job first, then think about Eli. There was a strong possibility that Eli was going to pick up his trail again. There was no doubt that he knew he was heading to Fort Smith. But if he did manage to get there without getting shot, he was damn sure going to return to look for Eli, whether Marshal Stone kept him on as a deputy or not. And he still considered the possibility he might not because of the heavy loss of lives suffered on his first official assignment. Perley could lead him to that cave Eli had been using as a hideout.

  Perley had not missed Will’s pensive glance at the large canvas bundle leaning against the pine. He drained his coffee and asked, “You mind if I have another cup of that coffee?” Will said that he didn’t, to help himself if there was any left in the pot, so Perley emptied it. “Much obliged,” he said, and set the empty pot away from the coals. “Ain’t none of my business, bu
t what’s in that big bundle standin’ up against that tree?”

  “A gentleman named Max Tarbow,” Will said. “And I figure I’ve got about a day and a half to two days to get him to the undertaker at Fort Smith before he starts to spoil.”

  “My stars . . .” Perley gasped. “What did he do?”

  “A helluva lot,” Will replied, “and all of it bad. For one thing, one of his men killed Jeb Stark, and that’s why Eli’s doggin’ my trail. He thinks I did it.”

  “Max Tarbow.” Perley pronounced the name slowly. “I ain’t never heared of him. How long’s he been dead?”

  “Since about this time last night,” Will said. “I was takin’ him in for trial, but your friend Eli took a shot at me and hit Tarbow instead. And now I’m tryin’ to get him to Fort Smith while he’s still in some kinda shape to identify him.”

  “Eli ain’t no friend of mine,” Perley quickly corrected. “Eli ain’t got no friends.” He got up and walked up next to the body. “He was a big feller, warn’t he? Why don’t you just bury him, instead of haulin’ him all the way to Fort Smith? Hell, I’ll help you dig a hole.” Will explained that he wanted the marshal, and anybody else that needed to verify it, to get a look at the corpse before it started to putrefy. He didn’t confess that he was a new deputy marshal, this was his first experience transporting a corpse, and he wasn’t sure they’d take his word that he had arrested Max Tarbow if he buried his body. So he wasn’t taking any chances on their doubting it.

  Intrigued by the challenge of transporting the corpse in time now, Perley scratched his whiskers as he contemplated the problem. “And you say he’s been dead since last night this time?” Will nodded. “That’s twenty-four hours, ain’t it?” Perley went on. “How long you figure it’s gonna take you to ride from here to Fort Smith?”