A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  He was thinking it over. He wanted more than anything else to finally put a stop to Will Tanner’s relentless search. And what better way to do it than to gun him down in a blaze of gunfire? “That’s a high price,” Larsen said, “since I’m the one that robbed the bank and damn near got shot gettin’ away.” He was well aware that he could normally hire a two-bit outlaw like Johnny Moody to kill someone for a lot less than a thousand—more like a couple hundred. “But, what the hell,” he said. “Fine by me. Course, all this depends on him findin’ me. After all, he might not.”

  “Oh, he’ll find you, all right,” Moody said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  That sounded an awful lot like a threat to Larsen, but he figured the money was worth it to better his odds against Tanner. And then there was always the possibility after the job was done that the same thing that happened to Ike could happen to Moody. “I reckon we’ve got a deal then,” he declared.

  “Good,” Moody said. “I say, let’s have us a drink on it. Then we can decide how we’re gonna set a trap for this jasper.”

  The planning went on for some time that evening, and when it was done, Larsen was satisfied that he could once and for all be rid of the menace of Will Tanner. He found that Johnny Moody was an enthusiastic conspirator, and he was satisfied that he could count on him to do his part. Moody seemed especially eager to get a chance to shoot a deputy marshal in the back, which would be his role while Larsen had the pleasure of facing Tanner. He was counting on Tanner to attempt to arrest him first. He would enjoy the confrontation. Before the planning was over, Roy managed to talk Larsen into a couple of hundred for using his saloon to stage Tanner’s assassination. Larsen agreed to it, because he intended to eliminate Moody when the job was done—and the same treatment was planned for Roy. When it was all taken care of, he would take his fortune and head for California.

  * * *

  After a hearty breakfast at the Parker House dining room, Will strapped on his pistol, picked up his rifle and saddlebag, and walked out on the street. He started to head down to the stable to get his horses when a heavyset man got up from a chair in front of the hotel and walked to intercept him. Will recognized him as the man the bartender in the Chisholm Saloon had been talking to the night before.

  “Mornin’,” Moody said as he approached. “You probably don’t remember me, but I was in the Chisholm Saloon last night when you came in.”

  “I remember,” Will said.

  “I know it ain’t none of my business, but I couldn’t help hearing you ask Barney about a feller named Brock Larsen. In spite of what Barney told you, he knows Brock Larsen. He was just scared to tell you, in case you was really a lawman lookin’ for Brock.”

  “Is that right?” Will responded, more than a little leery of anyone stepping forward to volunteer information about an outlaw, especially one who looked the part of an outlaw himself. “And you know Brock Larsen, too?” Will asked.

  “Well, I reckon so,” Moody replied, “and a meaner son of a bitch ain’t ever been born. I know him and I know where he is.”

  “Is that a fact?” Will asked, more suspicious than ever. “And I suppose you want some money to tell me.”

  “Not a red cent,” Moody replied at once. “I got a feelin’ you ain’t no friend of Larsen’s, and neither am I. If you’ve got a score to settle with that bastard, then I say, go to it and good luck. Me, I’m headin’ outta town right now, so I don’t care what happens to Mr. Larsen. Name’s Johnny Moody.”

  “Well, that’s mighty considerate of you to help a stranger like me, Mr. Moody,” Will said. “Where is Larsen?” He was playing along, but he figured he knew a scoundrel and a liar when he saw one. One thing he was now certain of was that Larsen knew he was in Wichita and he had evidently decided to face him, but on his terms. And the part of this jackass confronting him now was to set up the ambush.

  “He’s holed up at a saloon in that little town across the river, a place called the Rattlesnake Saloon,” Moody said.

  “How do you know he’s there?”

  “What?” Moody stammered, having to think quickly. “’Cause I just came from there, and he’s the reason I’m leavin’.” He could tell that Will was not prone to trust him. “Listen, you can do what you wanna. I don’t care. I just thought I’d tell you where Larsen is.” He turned abruptly and walked briskly toward one of the horses tied to the rail.

  Will watched him ride away, thinking, Well, I know for sure that I’m being set up for Larsen to take a shot at me. Still, there was no thought of not going to the Rattlesnake Saloon to seek him out. The fellow whipping his horse into a fast lope up the street was no doubt to be a part of the bushwhacking. How many more would he be facing? It was such a pathetically obvious ambush that he felt he would be playing the fool to walk into it. But he wanted to settle with Brock Larsen too much to play it safe. He was going to Delano, but he would go with his eyes open and his rifle cocked. It was time to bring this thing to a close, capture or kill, he no longer cared. It had become a personal matter between them.

  * * *

  He stood in the trees that lined the bank of the river above the old two-story building with a weathered sign that read RATTLESNAKE SALOON. He had been watching the saloon for a good while since having circled around the little settlement to approach it from the north. In the corral behind the saloon, next to a small barn, he recognized the sorrel Larsen had ridden, as well as his packhorse, so he knew Larsen was there. The question to be answered was if Larsen was waiting inside to face him, or was he hiding somewhere to bushwhack him? The next question was to determine the whereabouts of the man who had come to him at the Parker House, because Will was convinced he was still a part of it. In the approximately thirty minutes he had watched the saloon, there had been no sign of anyone entering or leaving, and there were no horses tied at the rail in front. He looked again at the corral. In addition to the two horses he recognized, there were two others, but neither was the ragged paint that Johnny Moody had ridden from the hotel that morning. Could he have been wrong—and Moody had not been lying? The only way to know for sure was to go in the saloon and find out.

  Before riding down to the saloon, he scanned the riverbank in front of it to spot any likely spots for a sniper, and decided there was no place where a gunman could hide. So he nudged Buster to a fast walk, coming out of the trees directly in front of the saloon, his rifle held ready before him, prepared to shoot. Still there was no sign of anyone. He dismounted at the rail and stepped quickly to the door. Before entering, he pushed the door open with the barrel of his rifle and scanned the room. An old man stood behind the bar, and at a table at the far end of the room, his back to the wall, sat Brock Larsen, his hands in his lap.

  Thinking the top of the stairs at the side of the room to be the logical place for the back-shooter, Will checked to make sure there was no one there before going in. That left the old man at the bar as the potential bushwhacker. So Will stepped just inside the door and motioned for Roy to walk out from behind the bar, while covering Larsen with his rifle and keeping an eye on the top of the stairs. “Go on over against the wall and sit down,” he told Roy, who obediently did as he was told. To this point, those were the first words spoken in the tension-filled room. Addressing Larsen then, he said, “I can’t see for sure, so I’m thinkin’ you’ve got a weapon in your lap. If I see you so much as blink an eye, I’m gonna cut you in two.” Larsen’s only response was a wry smile. “I’m willin’ to give you a chance to surrender peacefully, and I’ll take you back for trial. But if I don’t see both your hands on top of that table right now, I’m gonna open fire. And I mean do it slow.”

  Larsen brought his hands up and placed them on the table, smiling cynically as he did. “So you finally caught up with me,” he said. “You know, you ain’t got no authority to arrest me here in Kansas. Up here, you ain’t nothin’ but a pain in the ass. Not only that, you’re a damn fool to walk in here to face me all by yourself—especially with that Sp
encer carbine aimed right between your shoulder blades.”

  Will felt the blood in his veins freeze, stunned to think someone had managed to get behind him. He realized at that moment, too late, that he had failed to make sure there was no one hiding behind the counter. “You walked right into it, didn’t you, lawman?” Johnny Moody scoffed.

  “I expect you’d best drop that Winchester on the floor,” Larsen said, “while I decide what to do with you. You’ve caused me a helluva lot of trouble.” It was obvious he intended to amuse himself since he had the advantage. “Maybe we’ll give you a trial, then hang you. Whadda you think, Johnny?”

  “I say we just go ahead and shoot him down, if he don’t drop that rifle like you said,” Moody replied.

  So this is the mistake that cost me my life, Will thought. It was bound to be some dumb-ass thing I should have been looking for. “Well,” he said, “I reckon I’d just as soon die from a bullet, so I’m gonna make sure I put one in you while you’re tryin’ to get that gun outta your lap.”

  Larsen suddenly realized he had overplayed his hand. “Shoot him, Moody!” he yelled.

  “You do and you’re dead, Moody,” a voice came from the door.

  Moody reacted without thinking. He whirled around and fired, his shot thudding into the doorjamb. At almost the same time, he staggered backward, knocked off balance by the .44 slug that cracked his chest. In a panic, Larsen reached for the pistol in his lap, only to fire a shot into the floor a second behind the slug from Will’s rifle that tore into his gut, followed by the lethal shot in his chest. In the span of a few seconds, the ambush was finished. As a precaution, Will looked at Roy to make sure he wasn’t armed, still not sure what had just happened. He turned then to confront a scowling Oscar Moon. For a long moment neither man spoke, until Will nodded and said, “Moon.”

  “Will,” Moon returned.

  “Glad you happened by,” Will said.

  “Me, too,” Moon allowed.

  “How in the hell did you happen to be here?” Will asked, still not believing the miracle that sent the gruff old trapper to watch his back.

  “I was just as surprised to see you as you was to see me,” Moon admitted. “I brought a side of meat for Flo. It resembles beef, but if you was to look real close, you could see that it’s really a fat deer. I bring her game from time to time and she gives me a little money for it, or trades some supplies.”

  Will couldn’t help laughing, even though his nerves hadn’t fully settled down from the close call he had just had. “Well, you picked a helluva good time to bring it.” He could readily guess that the venison Moon brought most likely had a strong beef flavor. He looked toward Roy, sitting with the passive expression of a man having just watched a cockfight. “Reckon we just cost you a couple of customers.”

  Roy shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. They wasn’t much more than trash. I never cared much for Moody in the first place.” He didn’t show it, but he truly mourned the loss of the two hundred dollars he had been promised. “What do you aim to do now? Ain’t none of this my doin’.”

  “Not even the part where that jasper was hidin’ up under your bar?” Will couldn’t resist asking. When Roy was at a loss for an answer, Will set him at ease. “Like Larsen said, I don’t have any authority in Kansas, so I don’t give a damn what goes on here after I’m gone. So I’m fixin’ to relieve Mr. Larsen of his weapons, pack up all his belongings on the horse he stole from me, and leave you to dig a grave for these two. You can keep whatever horse that one was ridin’ for pay.” He paused and winked at Moon. “But I expect you owe Mr. Moon, here, for that fine side of venison he brought for your wife to cook up.” Roy shrugged. At least he had gained a horse from the unsuccessful ambush.

  Will was pleased to find the missing bank money when he went through Larsen’s packs, while Moon remained in the saloon to make sure Roy had no ideas about causing more mischief. When he was packed up, he led the packhorse to the hitching rail along with the extra horses the outlaw had and waited for Moon to mount up. Larsen’s horses would compensate him a little for his trouble, since he would collect no mileage expense for transporting a prisoner back. When Moon was in the saddle, Will said, “I’m thinkin’ we need to ride into Wichita and get us a good supper at the Parker House.”

  “If you’re payin’, that surely goes to my likin’,” Moon replied.

  “Oscar,” Will said as he turned Buster away from the rail, “I think you and I are gonna be friends for a long time.”

  CHAPTER 18

  On the afternoon of the third day after bidding Oscar Moon so long, Will slow-walked Buster down the main street of Independence. His mind was on the thin, little man with his gray-streaked hair in braids, Indian style, and the bushy mustache to match. He owed a lot to Oscar Moon, not only the location of the hideout called Sartain’s, but his life as well. Thinking back, he realized that his chances of coming out of the Rattlesnake Saloon alive had not been worth a handful of the snow now accumulating on the muddy street he rode. He couldn’t help smiling when he thought Moon hardly looked like the angel he turned out to be on that day. Will made sure Moon was generously outfitted with supplies and ammunition when they parted, courtesy of the First Bank of Independence. He considered the money spent as simply the cost of doing the business of returning the rest of the bank’s money. Pulling Buster to a stop in front of that institution, he dismounted and untied the saddle packs that contained the stolen money.

  When he walked in the bank, the first person he saw was John Seeger, the manager, who was stopped cold upon seeing the rangy deputy. Seeger had no doubt found out by now that Will was not a legal lawman in Kansas and probably never expected to see him or the bank’s money again. “I recovered most of it,” Will said. “What hadn’t been spent, anyway.” He dropped the packs on a table near the cages.

  Seeger was speechless for a few moments longer before he found his voice. “Well, I’ll be doggoned. I never expected to see you again.” As soon as he said it, he realized what it implied. “I didn’t mean to say I thought you were dishonest,” he quickly apologized.

  “Don’t matter,” Will said. “Hell, I did give it some thought. It’s a lot of money. Now, I’ll ask you to write me some kinda receipt, sayin’ that I gave it to you.”

  “Of course,” Seeger said, “but we’ll have to count it first, so it’ll say how much we received.”

  “Fair enough,” Will said. He took a seat by the window and waited while Seeger and one of his tellers counted the money.”

  Across the street, Marcy Taylor walked to the window to get a better look at the horses tied up at their competitor’s. The big buckskin looked like a horse she recognized. She stood there for a few moments until she saw Will come out of the bank, folding a piece of paper. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Hugh Franklin, and hurried out the door before her boss could ask where she was off to. “Will Tanner,” she called out just as he was stepping up into the saddle.

  “Marcy,” he acknowledged, and stepped back down.

  “I knew you’d come back,” she said. “Everyone said if you caught up with those bank robbers, you’d probably keep right on going. They said you had no obligations concerning Kansas, and the temptation to keep the money would be too much to resist. I told them they had not taken a true measure of you as a man true to his word. And I knew you’d be back.”

  Her statement of praise left Will not sure what to say in response. “I told Mr. Seeger what I was aimin’ to do,” he finally responded.

  She smiled at his modest response. “That you did,” she said. “Now, are you going to be in town for a while?”

  “Ah no, ma’am,” he said. “I expect my boss is about ready to mark me off as dead, so I’m leavin’ right away.”

  “Not even long enough to eat supper before you go?” she asked, obviously disappointed.

  “Reckon not,” Will said, suddenly aware of a desire to stay. “I expect I’d best get back to Fort Smith.”

  “Then I
guess we won’t see you up this way again,” Marcy said.

  He found that he didn’t want to say that was true. “I don’t know. I might get up here again one day.”

  She nodded, her eyes locked on his. “Don’t wait too long. Things change.” She stood back then, turned around, and marched back to the bank. “You be careful, Will Tanner,” she called back without turning her head.

  He stepped up onto Buster, feeling at home as he settled down in the saddle, and yet part of him wanted to extend his stay here awhile longer. Maybe her smile isn’t that much like Sophie’s after all, he thought. It struck him then that Independence could sure use a more capable sheriff than Leland Couch. It gave him a lot to think about on the long ride ahead of him, and where his road might eventually lead.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  In this book, the name of the town of Okmulgee is spelled Okmulkee, since this is the way it was spelled until November 15, 1883, when it was changed to the present-day spelling.

  Smoke Jensen Returns!

  Keep reading for a very special preview of

  Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

  coming this December.

  Big Rock, Colorado

  Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal had left Smoke’s ranch, Sugarloaf, earlier that morning, pushing a herd of one hundred cows to the railhead in town. Shortly after they left, Sally had gone into town as well, but she had gone in a buckboard so that she could make some purchases. Her shopping complete, she was now on Red Cliff Road, halfway back home. The road made a curve about fifty yards ahead, and for just an instant, she thought she saw the shadow of a man cast upon the ground. She had not seen anyone ahead of her, and the fact that no man materialized after the shadow put her on the alert. The average person would have paid no attention to the shadow, but one thing she had learned in all the years she had been married to Smoke was to always be vigilant.