A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  Noticing the sudden weariness in the woman’s eyes, Will knew he was faced with a decision he had just as soon not have to make. At the same time, he knew that he could not abandon the lady to make her way to Fort Smith alone. He didn’t know the story behind her situation, but it was already obvious to him that she was not the kind of woman who took bold undertakings by her own choice. In fact, she seemed more of a fragile nature. Damn, he thought, I figured on getting to Fort Smith tomorrow. That wagon, especially with that worn-out horse pulling it, will take two, maybe three days to make Fort Smith. He could hitch one of his horses to the wagon and cut the time to two days possibly. “Well,” he finally said. “I expect it would be best if we rode along with you to Fort Smith. I’ll admit we ain’t the best company for a lady and her child, but you won’t have anything to fear.”

  She was at once relieved. He seemed like a decent man, and he was a deputy marshal. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Tanner. I greatly appreciate it.”

  “No trouble a-tall, ma’am,” Will lied. “I’ll build us a good fire as soon as I take care of the horses, and we’ll see about findin’ us something to eat.”

  “Why don’t you let me build the fire,” Annabel said. “And I’ll cook supper for us. That’s the least I can do for your trouble. If they didn’t turn over in the wagon, I’ve got a pot of beans soaking. I usually like to let them simmer all day, but I’ll just boil them for supper, and maybe they’ll still be fit to eat. I’ve got coffee and some salt pork and I’ll make some biscuits.”

  “That sounds like a real feast,” Will said. “But I don’t wanna eat up all your provisions.”

  “Never you mind,” she said. “Provisions are the one thing I do have.”

  “If you’re sure about that,” he said. “I reckon I can repay you for some of your supplies when we get to Fort Smith.” He got up then. “Why don’t you build your fire right here?” he suggested, and indicated a spot not too far from the tree where his prisoner was chained.

  * * *

  While she watched over her pot of beans, she couldn’t help sneaking sidelong glances at the sullen man chained to the tree. She wondered what crime he had committed. He didn’t look like such a bad man. In fact, he seemed to be a rather nice-looking man when she imagined what he might look like without the growth of whiskers he wore. The deputy had said that his prisoner had done a lot of bad things. It struck her that Robert might have been just such a character under different circumstances. She turned to watch him when the deputy unlocked his chain and walked him into the woods—to relieve himself, she supposed. After several minutes, they returned. “Supper’s ready,” she sang out. “Better hurry before Bobby eats it all up.” She reached over and playfully ruffled her son’s hair.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will responded. He walked Larsen back to his tree and clamped the leg iron around his ankle. “I’m gonna let you eat without your handcuffs as long as you behave yourself in front of the lady and her son,” he said to Larsen. He was feeling no sympathy for his prisoner’s situation, but he thought it might be less disturbing to Annabel and Bobby. The youngster was already nearly bug-eyed from staring at Larsen. He felt it necessary to caution Annabel to keep her distance from the prisoner, however, telling her that he preferred to take Larsen his plate and cup.

  Annabel did as she was told, but she could not help feeling compassion for the poor man, chained to a tree like a dog. At Will’s request, she instructed Bobby to stay away from Larsen. “And for goodness’ sake, stop staring at the poor man, or your eyes are gonna fall out.” Sneaking a sideways glance at him, herself, she was prompted to ask Will, “What is your prisoner’s name?”

  About to take another gulp of hot coffee, Will paused. “His name’s Larsen, ma’am, Brock Larsen.”

  “Is he such a dangerous man that you have to keep him chained like that?” Annabel asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, he is, and I expect it’s best if you and your son don’t get to feeling sorry for him,” Will said. “It’s my job to take him to court, and if I don’t keep him chained up, he’ll sure as shootin’ run away.” He hoped that he had repeated the warning enough for the lady to take it to heart.

  “I could sure use another cup of that coffee, if it would be all right,” Larsen announced. His polite request amazed Will. He was hard put to believe Larsen capable of minding his manners. Maybe it was a good thing Annabel and her son had joined them. Maybe Larsen was going to be a lot less troublesome to travel with. As soon as he thought it, he realized the odds against that. More likely, Larsen was up to something.

  “Why, of course you may have another cup of coffee,” Annabel replied to Larsen’s request, and started to get to her feet.

  Will was quicker. “I’ll get him his coffee,” he said to her, and picked up the pot.

  Larsen held out his cup when Will brought the pot. “I’da lot druther had that little honey bring me my coffee,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that Annabel could not hear—“instead of a big ol’ ugly deputy.” In response, Will splashed a little hot coffee on his hand. “Ow!” Larsen yelled as if in great pain. “You poured it on my hand. What did you do that for? I didn’t do nothin’.” He glanced toward the fire to see Annabel’s reaction, pleased when he saw her frown.

  “Whatever you got workin’ in that rotten mind of yours, you might as well forget it,” Will said. “There ain’t nothin’ that woman can do to help you.”

  “I’m just tryin’ to watch my manners around a lady,” Larsen claimed. “That’s all I’m tryin’ to do.”

  “The minute you forget to watch ’em, I expect I’ll tie you up and gag you,” Will told him.

  As the sun sank low on the western horizon, Annabel gathered up the pot and pans and the dishes she and Bobby had used and took them down to the creek to wash. With Larsen attached securely to the tree by his chain and leg iron, Will decided to gather the horses back up closer to the camp for the night. “Whaddaya say, Bobby,” he asked the boy, “you wanna help me round up the horses?” He thought it might be better to have him tag along than risk the chance he might decide to visit with Larsen. As he suspected, Bobby was eager to help him with the horses. He seemed like a nice enough kid. Will wondered how he happened to be without a father.

  Down by the creek, Annabel made short work of cleaning the dishes. Gathering them up in her apron, she started back to the wagon, pausing briefly to watch her son skipping along beside the tall, sandy-haired lawman. It was a scene she could not remember ever having seen with the boy’s father. She felt a pang of dire regret for being so naive as to believe in Robert Downing’s hollow promises. Her sister was right—she was so damn gullible. Helen had always been the pretty one. She had more choices between the young men who came courting in Little Rock. She never knew how desperate her plain sister had been to find someone genuinely interested in her. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a word from the prisoner.

  “Ma’am,” Larsen called out softly.

  Startled, Annabel looked quickly toward Will and Bobby, who were now too far away to overhear. She looked at Larsen then, not sure if she should acknowledge or not. The deputy had warned her not to. “Yes?” she finally answered, too gentle to be unkind, even to a criminal.

  “I just wanna say thank you for the fine supper you cooked for us,” Larsen said, raising his voice just enough so only she could hear. “It’s the first real food I’ve had ever since Tanner arrested me.”

  Perplexed as to whether or not she should respond to his gratitude or ignore it, she could not bring herself to be rude. She could at least accept a simple thank-you. “You’re welcome, although it really wasn’t a very fancy supper.” She started to hurry to her wagon, thinking it best not to engage the man in further conversation, as Will had advised. However, she paused again when Larsen quickly replied.

  “I beg to differ, ma’am,” he insisted. “It was a fine supper. I know it was special for me because Tanner don’t believe in wastin’ food on a prisoner.”

&nb
sp; Curious now, in spite of herself, she had to ask, “But he does feed you, isn’t that so? You mean he’s just not a very good cook.”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Larsen hastened to reply. “Most times, he don’t give me nothin’ to eat at all—says if I’m real hungry, I can eat grass like the horses. He likes to let me watch him eat, though.”

  “My goodness!” Annabel exclaimed. “That’s cruel.”

  “I reckon so,” Larsen said. “But please, ma’am, don’t let on to Tanner that I told you this. I shouldn’ta said anythin’. Tanner gets pretty riled up if I complain about anythin’, and I sure don’t want another whippin’ like the one I got last time I asked him for some coffee. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate you fixin’ food for me. It’d be bad manners and disrespectful of a lady if I didn’t.” The deep frown of distress on her face told him that she was at least uncertain about her initial impressions of the deputy. He was sure that he had guessed right when he figured she was a compassionate woman. And that kind was easier to sway than the kind he most often had occasion to meet in a saloon or bawdy house. Given a little more time out of Tanner’s earshot, he felt he might convert her sympathies to favor him. The real problem facing him was the short time it was going to take to reach Fort Smith.

  Annabel was stunned by Larsen’s claims of abuse at the hands of the soft-spoken deputy. He had not impressed her as a cruel man. Perhaps he was just on his best behavior because of her and Bobby’s presence. She didn’t know how to respond to what Larsen had just told her, or if she should respond at all. Already, she had had more words with him than she had intended, but she couldn’t bring herself to simply ignore him and walk away. “No one should be treated that way,” she said, “if what you say is true.”

  “I don’t blame you if you think I’m lyin’,” he said in his most contrite manner. “Ain’t nobody believed me yet. I guess most folks don’t wanna believe a down-and-out cowboy just lookin’ to find honest work.” He studied her face for her reaction, encouraged by what he read there. After a quick glance to see where Will was, he continued to appeal to her sense of justice. “I reckon I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “It was an unlucky time for me when I rode into Muskogee that day and ran into a feller named Ben Trout. He seemed like a right nice feller—bought me a drink. It wasn’t an hour after that that he up and robbed the MKT train and killed a guard. I’ve been tryin’ to tell Deputy Tanner ever since that I was in the saloon when all that happened. But somebody told him me and Trout was drinkin’ together before the robbery. So I can’t convince Tanner that I didn’t even know the man. I can’t even talk him into goin’ to the saloon to ask the bartender if I was there when it all happened.” He paused again to judge her uncertainty. “He coulda asked Ben Trout if I was a friend of his, and maybe Trout woulda set him straight. But he couldn’t hardly do that since he shot and killed Trout before he had a chance to say anythin’. Now I reckon he thinks he’s gotta have somebody to take back to the hangin’ judge in Fort Smith, and I’m the unlucky one he picked. Don’t matter if I had anythin’ to do with it or not.”

  Annabel was appalled to hear Larsen’s story. If true, it would be a cruel miscarriage of justice and a sin against all that was righteous under the eyes of God. Could she believe him, however? At this moment, she did not know. Overwhelmed by his passionate appeal for empathy, she immediately wished she had not ventured close enough to have heard his plea. But what if it was true, and she turned her back, just as he claimed the deputy had? It was too much for her to handle, so the only recourse she had was to flee to her wagon and try not to think about the conversation that had just passed. Larsen grinned as he watched the enlightened woman scurry away, satisfied that he had stirred her sense of right and wrong into utter bewilderment. I can still sweet-talk the ladies, he thought. It might profit him nothing, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the woman’s sympathies riding with him. Given a little more time to work on her, he might be able to count on her help if Tanner should happen to get careless. Smug in that thought, he settled back against the tree and relaxed while Will and Bobby came walking back up the creek, driving the horses before them.

  CHAPTER 10

  The next morning they awoke to find a light covering of snow on the ground. Anticipating the possibility, Will had provided an oilskin ground cloth for Larsen to use for cover. It made an adequate tent to protect him from the snow. Will made his bed under the wagon, since he had only the one ground cloth. Before getting the horses saddled and loaded, he took Larsen back down the creek far enough to permit him to take care of nature’s call.

  “Be a helluva lot easier if you’d take these cuffs off my hands,” Larsen complained. “I ain’t hardly gonna try nothin’ with you holdin’ that Winchester on me.”

  “I expect you can manage,” Will said, “just like you’ve been doin’ all along.”

  Larsen snorted in reply as he took a few steps closer to a sizable oak tree. After he finished his business, he turned and appeared to lose his footing, lurching awkwardly against the tree trunk. Much to Will’s astonishment, Larsen banged his forehead on the rough bark of the oak, resulting in a large scrape above his eye that brought blood. “Damn it,” Larsen cursed. “It’s havin’ to walk draggin’ that damn chain on my ankle.”

  “I reckon your luck’s just run out,” Will commented, his tone dry and without sympathy, for it looked to him like an unusually clumsy accident. “You wanna walk on down to the water and wash that blood off?”

  “Nah,” Larsen snorted. “To hell with it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Will said.

  While Will hitched one of the extra horses up to the wagon, Larsen stood as close to it as the chain would let him, following Annabel’s every movement with his eyes until she finally turned to look at him. When she did, he affected the most pitiful expression he could manage. Satisfied to see the instant concern written on her face, he gazed forlornly at her for a long moment before hanging his head as if ashamed. It was hard to keep from smiling as he thought how easily he could work the woman’s emotions. As an added effect, he spoke to Will when he led the sorrel up for him to ride. “I learned my lesson, Deputy. I won’t drag my feet next time you take me to the bushes.”

  “All right,” Will replied after a pause, puzzled by the odd remark.

  It was too much for Annabel, having put two and two together and come up with the erroneous conclusion that Larsen implied. “Let me at least get a cloth and clean the blood from his forehead,” she demanded in disgust for the deputy’s apparent lack of compassion. Without waiting for Will’s permission, she picked up a cloth and took it to the water’s edge to wet it.

  When she brushed back by him, Will said, “I’d rather you didn’t get too close to my prisoner. Besides, I already asked him if he wanted to clean it up when he bumped his head on that tree, and he said he didn’t.” Ignoring him, she pushed on to render her assistance to the injured man, leaving Will even more perplexed by her actions. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going to have to tie her to the wagon to keep her from showering her compassion on his prisoner. One more night and a short day, he told himself, and I’ll be rid of her. It would certainly be a relief.

  “Bumped his head on a tree,” Annabel huffed loudly as she began cleaning the blood from Larsen’s forehead. There was no excuse for treating the man brutally, even if he was guilty of robbing a train. Her impression of the deputy was considerably less favorable than before. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she asked, “Did he do this to you?”

  “I’d druther not say, ma’am,” Larsen whispered his reply. “It’ll just make it worse on me.” Then raising his voice, he said, “I reckon I’d better be more careful where I’m walkin’. Thank you, ma’am, for your kindness.”

  Will permitted her to tend to Larsen’s wound, since his prisoner was making such a big show out of being so respectful. But he wasn’t fooled by Larsen’s pathetic performance to gain the woman’s sympathy. It evidently amused t
he conscienceless murderer, but Will couldn’t see that it was going to help his predicament—he was still going to jail. After a moment or two more, he decided the patient had had enough attention. “All right, we’ve got a ways to ride today, so let’s get movin’.” After hitching Coy Trainer’s sorrel to the wagon, he picked Bobby up and lifted him up on the seat of the wagon. Then he turned to Annabel. “Ma’am,” he said, and offered his hand to help her up, which she pointedly ignored. With an indifferent shrug, he went to unlock Larsen’s chain from the tree, never giving Annabel’s sudden coolness toward him a second thought. Sometimes it was just plain hard to figure women out. After unlocking the other end of the chain from Larsen’s handcuffs, he stood back while Larsen grabbed the saddle horn and stepped up into the saddle. “We’ll stop after a while to rest the horses and take time to eat,” he informed them. Then he climbed into the saddle and led his little caravan east—Larsen’s sorrel tied onto Buster’s saddle, Annabel driving the wagon behind them, with Will’s packhorse and Ben Trout’s roan tied onto the back of the wagon. Annabel’s horse, Caesar, was left to follow them at his own pace. Will figured the tired old horse would more than likely trail the others without having to be tied to the wagon.

  Their line of travel was more or less the same as Annabel’s husband had advised her to follow in the farewell note he left her. Will planned to continue southeast until they struck the Arkansas River, then follow it to Fort Smith. Since he figured they were only about thirty miles from Fort Smith, he planned to do it in two short days. Annabel’s wagon was loaded fairly heavily, however, and even with the change of horses, the going was pretty slow. It occurred to him that her horse Caesar’s near-foundering state might possibly have been somewhat caused by being driven beyond a sensible distance without rest. That, combined with the fact that the horse looked to be as old as the original Roman it was named for, was cause enough for the horse’s condition. Much to Will’s annoyance, the sorrel pulling the wagon showed signs of fatigue after about eight miles. So he stopped short of the ten miles he had planned to cover before stopping to eat and rest the horses at a small stream.