“I hope so, Sergeant,” Will replied. “I’m U.S. Deputy Marshal Will Tanner, ridin’ outta Fort Smith.”
“Right, Deputy,” the sergeant responded, the expression of irritation disappearing when Will identified himself as a marshal. “I’m Sergeant Williams. What brings you to Fort Gibson?”
“I’ve got a prisoner out front that I’m hopin’ to leave in your guardhouse for a spell while I go down to Muskogee to fetch the deputy him and his partner shot.”
Williams wasn’t sure what the protocol was for a request such as that. “You’ve got a prisoner out front?” he asked.
“That’s right,” Will said. “Him and another man held up the MKT in Muskogee, killed a train guard, and shot a deputy marshal that came after them.”
“We heard about the train robbery,” Williams said, seeming now to respond to the deputy’s request. “Let me get Major Vancil. Wait right here.” He got up from his desk and walked down the hall to an open door, where he knocked and then entered. In a few minutes, he returned with an officer following.
“I’m Major Vancil,” he said. “Sergeant Williams tells me you want to leave a prisoner here.”
“Yes, sir,” Will replied. “I expect it wouldn’t be for much longer’n a couple of days. I’ve got a wounded deputy laid up in an old Creek woman’s tipi a little way west of Muskogee. I’d like to go see if I can bring him back here—thought maybe the army might let him rest up here in your hospital—that is, if he’s still alive when I get there. When I saw him last, he didn’t look like he could make it if I tried to take him all the way back to Fort Smith—especially while I’m transportin’ a prisoner at the same time and trailin’ extra horses.”
“I see,” Major Williams said. “What was your name again?” Will told him, and the major continued. “Well, Tanner, we’ve certainly held civilian prisoners for the Marshals Service to pick up before, so I see no problem with that.” He walked over to the window to take a look out at the prisoner. “What did you say you arrested him for?”
“He’s one of the two fellers that held up the train in Muskogee,” Will explained again. “They killed a train guard and mighta killed a deputy marshal. I won’t know for sure till I get back down there to check on the deputy, but he was in bad shape when I left him.” He repeated the request he had made of Sergeant Williams. “I was hopin’ your doctors could tend to the deputy,” he concluded.
“Yes, I think we certainly can,” Vancil replied at once, “especially for a U.S. Deputy Marshal. From what you tell me, though, it sounds like you might need an ambulance to pick your man up. Are you sure he can ride?”
“To be honest with you,” Will said, “I ain’t sure he’ll even be alive by the time I get back there. But Ed Pine’s a mighty determined man, and I know that old Creek woman’s doin’ the best she can for him. I reckon I can rig up a travois to pull him on, if he can’t stay on a horse.”
“We’ll send a detail back with you, driving an ambulance to pick your man up,” Vancil decided. He turned to the sergeant and told him to detail a couple of men to hitch up an ambulance to accompany Will. “They’ll be leaving right after breakfast in the morning.” He glanced at Will. “They won’t have time to drive an ambulance down there before dark, so you might as well stay here tonight.” Will nodded agreement and Vancil looked back at Williams. “Better have them take three days’ rations with them in case that Creek woman’s tipi is farther than he remembers.” Then he turned back to the corporal seated at the other desk. “Miller, take Deputy Tanner to the guardhouse and tell Sergeant Gossage to take his prisoner off his hands. Tell him he’s a dangerous man, so be careful with him.”
“Much obliged,” Will said to Vancil. “I hadn’t counted on an ambulance. That’ll sure make it a sight easier on ol’ Ed.”
“The army’s glad to help,” Vancil said. “You can come back here after you drop your prisoner off. Maybe we can find an empty bunk in the barracks for you tonight.”
“I appreciate it, sir” Will said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just ride up the river a piece and make a camp. That’ll make it easier for me to take care of my horses—get ’em watered and grazed.”
“Suit yourself,” Vancil said, “but you might as well be here in time to get breakfast with the troops.” Will thanked him again, then followed Miller out to escort Brock to the guardhouse.
* * *
After turning over a sulking Brock Larsen to Sergeant Gossage, Will had another chore in mind before he made his camp for the night. He asked Miller where the sutler’s store was located. Then, after thanking Miller, he led his string of horses over to the building pointed out to him.
“Howdy, neighbor,” Weldon Dean greeted Will when he walked inside. “What can I do for you?”
“I was thinkin’ you just might have what I’m lookin’ for,” Will replied, scanning the long counter briefly. “I was hopin’ you might have a pair of Indian moccasins for sale.” Not seeing any right away, he said, “I reckon you don’t sell anything like that.”
“Then you’d be wrong,” Weldon said. “I’ve got a whole passel of Injun handiwork for sale. Look on that table down at the end of the counter. Beaded shirts, breast plates—you say you’re lookin’ for moccasins? There’s several pairs, some of ’em with some mighty fancy stitchin’ and beads. Is that what you’re lookin’ for?”
“I’ll take the plainest ones you got,” Will said. He walked down to the table and started sorting through the moccasins. There were more than the several Weldon had claimed. “These oughta do,” he said, holding up a pair of moccasins with simple stitching and no decorative bead work. He paid Weldon, went back to his horse, and returned to the guardhouse with his purchase.
Sergeant Gossage looked up from his desk when Will walked in. “I thought you’d gone for the night, Deputy—you forget something?”
“Yeah, I did,” Will said. “I need to get that pair of boots my prisoner’s wearin’. They ain’t his.”
“They ain’t?” Gossage replied. “Whose are they?”
“He took ’em offa the man he left for dead,” Will answered. “And I reckon he’ll want ’em back.”
“Huh,” Gossage snorted, amused. “Well, come on and we’ll get ’em.” He got up from his desk and led Will into the cellblock. “Open up, Cecil,” he said to a guard, who promptly unlocked the door, then stood aside while Will and Gossage went in.
Stretched out on a bunk, Larsen made no effort to sit up, raising his head only slightly when he saw Will following the sergeant. “You come to tuck me in?” he mocked.
“Nope,” Will said. “I brought you a present.” He tossed the new pair of moccasins at Larsen, causing him to flinch when they landed on his belly. Will then grabbed one of his boots by the heel and jerked it off before Larsen realized what was happening.
An amused Sergeant Gossage took hold of the other boot before Larsen could try to react. He chuckled as he handed it to Will. “It came off awful easy. I believe they’re a little too big for him.”
“He ain’t nowhere near man enough to fill this pair of boots,” Will said.
“Hey, what the hell?” Larsen finally blurted. “I can’t wear no Injun moccasins—not and ride no horse!”
“Indians do it,” Will said, turned, and followed Gossage out of the cellblock. “Much obliged, Sergeant.”
* * *
Ready to call it a day, Will led his string of horses along the bank of the Neosho until he found a suitable spot to camp. Sheltered by a stand of cottonwoods with grass prairie beyond, it offered a peaceful place to spend the night without the scowling presence of Larsen. Hearing voices that sounded a short distance beyond the trees, he walked up the river until he could see past the cottonwoods. He was surprised to discover a mill of some sort with a large waterwheel. He remembered having heard of a corn mill at Fort Gibson, then, one of the first in the territory. If he remembered correctly, it was Ed Pine who had told him about it. According to Ed, settlers in the area cou
ld take their corn to the mill, where the river turned the wheel that drove the stones that ground the corn into meal. He also thought Ed had said you could buy ground meal from the army. I’ll bet Walking Bird would be tickled to get a sack of corn meal, he thought.
* * *
Early the next morning, Will turned his extra horses out to graze with the cavalry’s mounts. He figured the ambulance could carry any supplies he needed for the short trip. After a breakfast with the men of Company B of the Fifth Infantry, he met Corporal Lucas Ware and Private James Blunt in front of the headquarters building. They were driving a team of horses hitched to the ambulance. It was a welcome sight for Will because two horses would move the light wagon at a reasonable pace. Sergeant Williams gave the two men their simple orders, to go with Will and bring a wounded man back to the post hospital. That done, Will stepped up into the saddle and led the ambulance off the post, heading for the ferry across the Arkansas.
Once across the river, Will turned Buster’s head toward the southwest, on a course he figured would take them north of Muskogee, instead of following the wagon road to the town. There was little more than gently rolling prairie, thick with grass before them, so he was sure the wagon could handle it very easily. This route would be much more direct to the distinct line of low hills where he had left Ed Pine.
The team of horses easily made close to ten miles before they needed a rest. Will reined Buster to a stop when they came to a narrow stream that looked to be ideal for the purpose. He waited for the wagon to pull up beside him and suggested a spot to park it. Then while he pulled his saddle off Buster and Private Ware unhitched the team, Corporal Blunt started gathering wood for a fire.
Giving the horses a good rest, the three men sat around a healthy campfire, eating their noon meal, which in the soldiers’ case was coffee, hardtack, and bacon. Will contributed more of his coffee supply as well as some additional salt pork. It was the first opportunity to know the two soldiers assigned to the detail, both of whom were comfortable with the duty. As Private Blunt put it, it was a couple of days’ vacation from the army routine of the fort and required nothing more than driving a wagon. Of the two, he was obviously much older than the corporal. During the casual conversation around the fire, which was mostly between the two soldiers, Will learned that Blunt had served since the beginning of the Civil War. He had risen to the rank of sergeant, but was busted back to the rank of private. When Will asked why, Blunt laughed and said he had been found passed-out drunk while on duty as sergeant of the guard. “I don’t drink as much as I did then,” he said. “My stomach can’t seem to handle it now like it did back when I was as young as Corporal Ware, here.”
Will figured the corporal not to be many years older than he, so he evidently worked harder at soldiering than Blunt had. “I’d like to know what calls a man to the Marshals Service,” Blunt asked when he grew tired of talking about himself.
“Lack of sense, I reckon,” Will replied.
His answer didn’t satisfy the talkative soldier. “Seems to me, ridin’ after outlaws in Injun country ain’t the best way to guarantee dyin’ of old age.”
“Maybe not,” Will said. “Maybe dyin’ of old age ain’t the best way to cash in, either.”
“It sure as hell beats gettin’ bushwhacked by some murderin’ skunk while you’re ridin’ through Injun country,” Blunt said. The high mortality rate for lawmen working in Indian Territory was no secret.
“I reckon,” Will conceded. Blunt’s remark brought to mind the image of Ed Pine when he had last seen him. He looked near death then, causing Will to wonder once more if they might find nothing more than a corpse when they arrived at Walking Bird’s camp. He got to his feet then and went to check on his horse, having tired of hearing the soldiers’ idle conversation.
“That was tactful as hell,” Corporal Ware commented after Will walked away.
“I was just tellin’ him the truth,” Blunt said. “I expect it ain’t nothin’ he don’t know already.”
* * *
When the horses were rested, the party got under way again. After a few miles, Will guided Buster toward the low line of hills now rising faintly on the horizon. They reached the northernmost slopes of the range in the late afternoon, amid a light flurry of snow, and rode south along the line until reaching the stream Will looked for. “This is it,” he announced when they pulled up beside him. “You can’t drive that ambulance up this stream, so you might as well go ahead and make your camp here for the night. I reckon I’ll leave my horse here, too. It ain’t that far to walk. And it wouldn’t hurt to be kinda quiet approaching the camp, in case Walkin’ Bird’s grandson gets a little touchy with that bow.”
“Should we go with you?” Ware asked. “You’re gonna need us to carry your man back down, aren’t you?” He looked around him then and reconsidered. “Or should one of us stay here to watch the horses?”
“That’s always a good idea in this country,” Will said. “Ain’t no need for either one of you to go with me right now, though. We ain’t headin’ back till mornin’, so there’s no use haulin’ Ed down here. He might as well sleep one more night where he is.”
“And that’ll give us more room to sleep in the ambulance,” Blunt said, always thinking of personal comfort.
“What if he’s dead?” Ware asked.
“Then I reckon he won’t care whether we bring him down tonight or in the mornin’,” Will answered. He left them to unhitch the horses while he started up the pathway beside the stream.
He had climbed only halfway up to the clearing where Walking Bird’s tipi was standing when he heard his name called. “Will Tanner,” Walter Strong Bow pronounced softly as he stepped out from behind a tree and relaxed the string on his bow.
“Walter,” Will acknowledged, hiding his annoyance at having been surprised.
“I heard the horses and the wagon down at the foot of the hill,” Walter said. “I wasn’t sure it was you.”
“It’s me, all right,” Will said. “What you heard was a couple of soldiers with an ambulance to carry Ed Pine to Fort Gibson. I’m hopin’ they didn’t make the trip for nothin’.” He paused, waiting for Walter to speak, but the boy said nothing. “Is Ed still alive?” Will had to ask.
“Yes,” Walter said.
When it was obvious the Creek boy was not prone to embellish, Will said, “Well, let’s go see him.” Walter nodded, turned, and led Will up the path to the clearing. When they reached the tipi, they found Walking Bird standing outside, watching. She had heard the horses and the voices of the men below, too. Like her grandson, she had been concerned that it might be the outlaws looking for Ed again. “Walking Bird,” Will called out when he saw the old woman.
“Will Tanner,” Walking Bird greeted him. “I am glad it is you.”
“How’s your patient?” Will asked.
“He lives,” she replied. “I think he is a little better, but the bullet in his chest makes him very sick.” She held the tipi flap open for him to go inside.
Will bent over and entered the tipi, where he found Ed Pine lying awake on a bed of blankets. “Will,” he greeted him, his voice weak, but steady.
“How you makin’ it, Ed?” Will asked. “You ready to take a little trip? I brought a couple of soldiers and an ambulance with me to take you to the hospital at Fort Gibson in fine style.”
Ed’s eyes opened a bit wider in response, the news evidently bringing him a ray of hope. “I’m ready to go,” he said. He knew that the bullet was going to have to be removed from his chest, or he was going under for certain. And he wasn’t enthusiastic about having Walking Bird attempt it. “Walking Bird and Strong Bow have took real good care of me, but I expect they’ll be glad to get rid of me,” he said.
“I figured they would,” Will said, and smiled at the old Creek woman standing behind him. “First thing in the mornin’, we’ll start back to Fort Gibson. One day’s ride oughta do it.”
“Did you catch up with those two that bushwhacked
me?” Ed wanted to know.
“Yep. One of ’em’s dead. He didn’t wanna go peacefully. The other one’s in the guardhouse at Fort Gibson. I expect I’ll take him back to Fort Smith while you’re layin’ up in the hospital. When you’re well enough to sit a horse, I’ll see about gettin’ you home.”
Ed exhaled heavily and nodded his head. It was the news he wanted to hear. “I’m much obliged,” he muttered. It was a simple thank-you, but Will could well imagine how Ed had lain suffering and uncertain about ever seeing the young deputy again—fearing he might be left to die in this lonely tipi.
“You rest up,” Will said. “I brought your boots with me. They’re down in the ambulance with the soldiers. I’m gonna go back down to help them set up our camp.” He didn’t tell him that he half expected to find him dead, but he had been determined to bury him with his boots on. Walking Bird followed him out of the tipi. Outside, Will turned to her. “I can’t thank you and Strong Bow enough for takin’ care of Ed. How are your food supplies holdin’ up?”
“I still have a little of the food you left me,” Walking Bird replied. “He does not eat much.”
Will was somewhat surprised; he had expected they would already be running out of basic supplies. “And neither do you, I think. I brought you some more beans, salt pork, coffee, sugar, salt, lard, and flour.” Her expression told him that it was a welcome surprise. “I also brought you a sack of cornmeal from that mill at Fort Gibson—thought maybe that was something you don’t get too often.” Her delighted smile told him he had guessed right. Turning to Walter then, he said, “Maybe I can get Strong Bow, here, to come with me and help carry some of that stuff up the hill.” The young boy stepped forward eagerly, causing Will to think he had been right in his initial assumption. Walking Bird and Strong Bow had been limiting their eating to be sure Ed would have the food he needed.
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