A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  When she caught sight of him, Annabel got to her feet and walked to the edge of the stream to meet him. She didn’t wait for him to dismount before she starting apologizing. “I’m so sorry I misjudged you,” she said, pleading for his understanding. “It’s all my fault, all of it, and I feel so miserable.” She felt some relief in seeing that he had found Caesar, but she was fearful to even mention it.

  “How long ago?” he asked, with no trace of emotion. When she appeared not to understand, he asked, “How long has he been gone?”

  His cold lack of expression frightened her more than had he reacted in violent anger. She trembled as she answered, her words halting and stumbling. “He’s been gone over an hour, I think.”

  Her answer was disappointing. Larsen had an hour’s start on him. It was too much for a chase. Now it was a matter of tracking him. “Which way did he go?” he repeated.

  She pointed toward the north. “He rode up the stream.” She hesitated. “In the water.”

  Although his face wore a blank facade, there was a fury growing inside him that he fought to control. He looked toward the tree then. “How did he chop the tree down?”

  “With an ax,” Annabel answered.

  “Where did he get an ax?” Will asked calmly.

  “I gave it to him,” she murmured fearfully, and pulled Bobby close to her as if to protect him from the violent storm certain to come.

  “You gave it to him,” he repeated, as if giving it a lot of thought. That was all he said for a long moment as he played the scene in his mind. His mind immediately flashed back to recall Larsen’s theatric attempts to gain Annabel’s sympathy, even to the extent of banging his head against a tree. She bought every bit of it, he thought, thinking then of the cold remarks she had made to him—that baffled him at the time. It was damn near impossible to understand how she could be so gullible.

  “He said he only wanted to chop off a small limb to make a walking stick,” she offered in her defense.

  “A walkin’ stick,” he repeated, his voice still calm, his face still a blank while he refrained from asking what in blue blazes did the man want a walking stick for. He stole my packhorse, too, he thought then, which added fuel to the fire already burning inside him. He glanced at Caesar. That damn horse, he cursed silently, thinking he should have shot it back at Sallisaw Creek. Without another word, he left her and walked over to the felled tree as if to take a look at the stump. The real reason was to take a few minutes to think, to decide what to do. His inclination was to jump on Buster and go after Larsen—and tell Annabel she could drive her wagon on in to Fort Smith by herself. There was another option: he could tell her to wait right there while he went after Larsen. He considered that for a moment, then rejected it because she would still be sitting in Indian Territory alone. The fact that she had made it to this point without being harmed did not count. She had been lucky, but now it was up to him to see that she reached Fort Smith still unharmed. He could not escape the thought that, along with his job to catch outlaws, it was his duty to protect the citizens of the territory.

  It frustrated him to do so, but in the end, he knew what he had to do. He turned abruptly and walked back to the wagon. “You and Bobby get in the wagon. We’re headin’ out.” He did not offer his assistance this time, nor did she wait for it, but scrambled up on the wagon seat immediately. He stepped up into the saddle and rode over to the roan still standing in the trees, took hold of its reins, and led it back to tie onto the wagon again. This time, he tied Caesar onto the tailgate as well. Ready to get under way then, he turned Buster toward Fort Smith. His plan was simple—make as many more miles on this day as possible before having to rest the horses, then one more camp and a short ride into town tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 11

  Will led Annabel’s wagon onto the ferry and they crossed the Arkansas River at Fort Smith close to midday. Once across, he led them up to the head of Garrison Avenue before pulling to a halt. She watched him solemnly as he went around to the tailgate and untied the roan. There had not been much conversation between them since leaving their camp of the night before. But when she gave it some thought, she recalled that he had wasted very few words even before she set his prisoner free. Had she known him better, she would have realized that he was not a man to dwell on misfortune. He was angry when first finding out what part she had played in Larsen’s escape. But in a little while, he looked upon it as simply an unfortunate delay in the chase, much as a horse going lame, or a heavy snowfall to slow him down.

  He paused a moment to look at Caesar. The tired old horse had made it to Fort Smith, but Will wouldn’t have guaranteed the horse to make it all the way to Annabel’s sister’s place. He walked back to the front of the wagon. “You sure you’re gonna make it all right?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I know where I am now. It’s only a mile or so to my sister’s house.” He nodded and started to turn away, but she stopped him. “Please, Mr. Tanner . . .” she started.

  “Will,” he interrupted.

  She smiled. “Will, then,” she continued. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble. Are you going to go back after that man right away?”

  “I expect so,” he said, although he was still undecided whether to leave at once or wait until morning.

  “I was afraid you were going to arrest me for helping him escape,” she confessed.

  “I thought about it,” he said, halfway serious. He figured that he was going to be a long time tracking Larsen after this delay. But he should at least report in to Marshal Stone, even though he didn’t look forward to informing him that he was within twenty miles of Fort Smith when his prisoner escaped. He was sure Stone had expected him a day or two sooner, since he had telegraphed before he left Fort Gibson.

  “Well,” Annabel said, “I know it’s not much, but I wish you a successful and a safe journey. And I thank you again for seeing that Bobby and I reached Fort Smith safely. I pray I haven’t cost you too much time. I’ll see about returning your horse to you if you’ll just tell me where to take him.”

  You have no idea how much you’ve cost me, he thought, not only time, but that sorrel, money, and supplies, not to mention my damn packhorse. To her, he replied, “You’d better just keep that horse. I don’t think Caesar’s gonna be able to pull that wagon anymore. I hope all goes well for you and your son, and you find your sister in good health.” He nudged Buster and rode off toward the courthouse, relieved to be free of Annabel Downing.

  * * *

  “Hello, Will.” Dan Stone looked up from his desk in surprise. “I’ve been lookin’ for you to show up. You turn Brock Larsen over to Sid down at the jail?”

  “Nope,” Will answered. “I didn’t bring Larsen back with me.”

  Confused, Stone asked, “You didn’t? Why not?”

  “Because he got away about twenty miles back,” Will said. Then he went on to tell Stone the whole story, explaining his reasons for the decisions he had made. “I’m fixin’ to go back to find him,” he said in conclusion. “But I’ve gotta pick up some supplies and some more cartridges. He took that bay packhorse of mine with damn near everything I need on it.”

  After Will turned over the stolen money he had recovered, Stone listened to his report without commenting, confining his reactions to an occasional shake of his head until Will had finished with a shrug of his shoulders for final punctuation. “Well, if that ain’t the damnedest thing,” Stone said. “Sweet-talked the lady into givin’ him an ax.” He shook his head again, then said, “You did the right thing, though. I mean, escortin’ the lady and her child back here.”

  “It don’t make me feel any better about losing my prisoner,” Will said. “And I’m goin’ after him, if I have to chase him to California.”

  “I expect you’ll consider takin’ a posse rider and a wagon with you,” Stone said, figuring it was going to take a long time to track Larsen down this time. He should have known better.

  “I reckon not,
Dan,” Will replied. “I need to move fast. I don’t wanna mess with a cook and a wagon. I can travel better by myself.”

  Although he halfway expected Will’s response, it still brought a frown to Stone’s face. “Damn it, Will,” Stone reproached, “I can’t afford to lose another deputy. With Ed Pine laid up in the hospital at Fort Gibson, we’re short of men as it is. I don’t want you to go gettin’ yourself shot because you ain’t got anybody watchin’ your back.”

  “I ain’t plannin’ on gettin’ shot,” Will answered matter-of-factly.

  Stone knew it was useless to complain. Will was the best deputy riding for him, but it was just a matter of time before an outlaw got the jump on him. Exasperated, he settled for a mild warning. “Just be sure you don’t get careless.”

  “I won’t,” Will said.

  After leaving Stone’s office, he took his horses to the stable, where he met Vern Tuttle cleaning out a stall. “Howdy, Will,” Tuttle greeted him. “I was wonderin’ when you’d be back.”

  “Vern,” Will returned. “I ain’t gonna be here long. I need to leave again in the mornin’, so I’d like a portion of oats for both of these horses tonight, all right?”

  “Sure,” Vern replied, looking the roan over. “What happened to the bay you’ve been using as a packhorse?”

  “He’s one of the reasons I’m ridin’ out again in the mornin’,” Will said, “him and the man who stole him.”

  “That’s a fine-lookin’ double-rigged saddle on him,” Vern commented. “The previous owner musta been a cowhand.”

  “I doubt that,” Will said, picturing Brock Larsen in his mind. “I expect the feller he stole it from mighta worked cattle.” The double-rigged saddle was better than a single-rigged for roping cattle. “I’m fixin’ to leave it here and throw a pack saddle on the horse.”

  “I don’t reckon you’ll be wantin’ to keep two saddles,” Vern speculated. “You might be wantin’ to sell that one.”

  “I might at that,” Will said, not surprised by Vern’s interest, since he was always in the market to pick up a bargain. And Will was well aware that he usually came out on the short end of most trades with the wily stable owner. “We’ll talk about it when I come back.”

  “What if you don’t come back?” Vern asked. The short lifespan of the average deputy in Oklahoma Territory was a well-known fact. “No offense,” he quickly added.

  “None taken,” Will said. “But if I don’t, then I reckon you’ve got yourself a saddle.”

  “I druther pay you somethin’ for it,” Vern said, and meant it. In the short time since Will had signed on as a deputy marshal, Vern had come to like the young lawman.

  “You can be thinkin’ about what it’s worth, and we’ll talk about it when I come back from this trip,” Will said. “I’ve gotta get some supplies and be ready to leave first thing in the mornin’.” With that, he left the stable and headed for Floyd Meeks’s general merchandise store. After that, he planned to have supper at the Bennett House and sleep in his own bed that night.

  * * *

  “Is Garth calling on you tonight?” Ruth Bennett asked her daughter.

  “I don’t know,” Sophie replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if we should set a place for him,” Ruth said. Her daughter’s suitor had been showing up quite frequently in the last week, and usually in time for supper.

  “He didn’t say anything about it,” Sophie said. “I’d kinda like to see if he’s shaved off that skinny little mustache he’s tried so hard to grow. I’ve been trying to get him to get rid of it. It looks like somebody dipped a pen in an ink bottle and drew a line on his upper lip.” She laughed at the image. “If he shows up, we’ll get him a plate then.”

  “If you don’t mind, you can set one out for me.”

  Startled, for neither of the women had noticed the tall figure standing in the kitchen doorway, Sophie exclaimed, “Will!” Her first thought after her initial surprise was, had he overheard her remarks about Garth Pearson’s mustache?

  Sophie’s outburst caused her mother to start as well. “Goodness’ sakes, Will, you gave me a fright.”

  “Where did you come from?” Sophie asked. Then, without waiting for his answer, she implored, “Did you hear what we were talking about?”

  “Maybe . . . some of it,” he said. “There wasn’t anybody in the parlor, so I thought I’d best come back here and tell you I plan to take supper here tonight.”

  Still slightly flushed, Sophie said, “We’re gonna have to hang a cowbell around your neck, if you’re gonna keep moving around here like a ghost.”

  “Pay no attention to her, Will,” Ruth said, laughing at her daughter’s embarrassment. “Don’t worry, we’ll set a place for you. I’m glad to see you back safe and sound.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Will said. “I’m lookin’ forward to one of your fine suppers, and that’s a fact. I’ll just be here for tonight.” He turned about-face and headed for the stairs with the hint of a smile on his face, like Ruth, amused by Sophie’s embarrassment. It faded away before he reached the top of the stairs, however, with the return of an anxious thought of Brock Larsen vanishing into the hills. It seemed a sin to be wasting time here in Fort Smith while Larsen was getting farther and farther away. So he had to tell himself again that his horses needed to rest, and he had had to prepare for another hunting trip with new supplies and ammunition. And another night was not going to make that much difference. It was likely to be a long hunt.

  In the kitchen behind him, Ruth couldn’t resist asking, “Did he say he was just going to be here for tonight?” When her daughter said that was so, Ruth commented, “My goodness, I would certainly feel sorry for any girl he might take for a wife—gone for so much of the time, and never sure to come home at all.” Sophie made no response while she continued to set the table for supper, knowing that her mother was going to continue making comments like that until she saw her daughter successfully married to Garth Pearson.

  * * *

  As no surprise to any of the regular boarders at Bennett House, Garth showed up to call on his fi-ancée just at suppertime. He graciously accepted Ruth’s invitation to join them, and Sophie set a place for him at the opposite end of the table from Will. Having become familiar with all the boarders at the house by now, Garth exchanged friendly greetings with them all and offered Will a polite nod. Will returned it with little enthusiasm, for he still held a feeling of resentment toward the handsome young man. He almost smiled when he noticed that the thin mustache was still gracing his upper lip.

  After supper, Ruth insisted that Sophie should entertain Garth in the parlor, saying that she would clear the dishes away and clean up the kitchen. Since the evening was still young, Will decided he would take a walk down to the Morning Glory Saloon. For a reason he cared not to admit, he decided he would like a glass of beer. That would be better than sitting in his room all evening.

  * * *

  “Well, look who’s here,” Gus Johnson sang out when Will walked in. “Where you been, partner? I thought you’d took up drinkin’ at some other saloon.”

  “Hello, Gus,” Will replied. “I’ve been outta town for a while.”

  “What’s your poison?” Gus asked. “Whiskey?”

  “No, I think I’ll just have a glass of beer,” Will said. “I ain’t in a drinkin’ mood tonight—gotta get up early in the mornin’.” He watched while Gus filled a glass from a keg behind the bar, then set it on the bar before him.

  “Where you been, Will?” Gus asked.

  “Nowhere in particular,” Will answered, not really interested in sharing the details of his failed arrest attempt. “Just lookin’ for some fellers over in the Nations.” He felt someone rub up against his elbow and turned to find Lucy Tyler standing close beside him.

  “Hello, stranger,” Lucy greeted him. “Where you been keeping yourself?”

  “Evenin’, Lucy,” Will said. “You want a drink?”

&nbs
p; In response, she nodded to Gus, and he reached under the bar for a glass and filled it from a bottle of whiskey. “Thanks,” she said to Will, and proceeded to toss the shot back. Then she cozied up closer to him and asked, “You wanna go upstairs and visit a little while, honey?”

  “I reckon not tonight, Lucy. I need to get on back to the house. I’ve gotta get up early in the mornin’. I just thought I’d like a glass of beer before I turn in for the night.”

  She affected a pretty little pout for him. “That’s what you always say. When are you gonna come upstairs with me?”

  On Sophie’s wedding night, probably, he thought. To Lucy, he said, “Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t be no good for you tonight, anyway. Got too many things on my mind.” It was not just a lame excuse like those he usually came up with to decline Lucy’s invitations. He was still smoldering over his unfortunate encounter with Annabel Downing.

  Lucy gave him a tired sigh and thanked him for the drink. Then she went back to a table in the corner where two of the town’s bachelors were involved in killing a bottle of Gus’s rye whiskey. She had been assisting them in their efforts before Will walked in. She still had hopes of luring one or both of them upstairs when they got drunk enough.

  “Draw you another’n?” Gus asked when Will set his empty glass on the bar.

  “Reckon not,” Will answered. “I ain’t as thirsty as I thought I was.” He paid for his beer and Lucy’s shot, then headed for the door.

  Walking back to the boardinghouse, he saw Sophie and Garth sitting in the porch swing, both bundled up against the cold night air. Will guessed that two of the boarders, Leonard Dickens and Ron Sample, were probably playing cards in the parlor, and the two young people retreated to the cold of the porch for privacy. He decided he’d best announce his presence, since they might not notice him approaching in the dark. “Hello, the porch,” he called out when still a dozen yards away.