Powder Burn

by William W. Johnstone

  “I reckon,” Gus said. He and Lucy watched Will eat until a couple of fellows drifted in and Gus went back to tend bar. Lucy remained until a few more of the regulars came in to drink and play cards. She got up then and paused to give Will an inquiring glance, even though he never had engaged her services. As usual, he gave her a smile and shook his head.

  “I hope somebody down at that boardin’house is takin’ care of your natural needs,” she said in parting. “’Cause if they ain’t, you’re gonna dry up worse than Mammy.”

  “Reckon so,” Will said. Her comment sent his thoughts to Sophie Bennett, for no reason he had a right to, for Sophie was committed to take care of another fellow’s needs. He had quit trying to tell himself that it didn’t bother him. He watched Lucy as she walked over to a table where a card game was getting started. One of these nights I might surprise you, he thought. He gulped down the last of his coffee, paid Gus, and left to go home.

  * * *

  “I heard you shot a man last evening,” Dan Stone said when Will walked into his office the next morning. “Any particular reason?”

  “He was gonna shoot me if I didn’t,” Will replied.

  “Always a good reason,” Stone said, “but I hope there’s more to the story than that.”

  Will went on to fill his boss in on the circumstances that led up to his having to cut his prisoner down on a public street right in the middle of town. “Out of all the farms and towns between here and Little Rock, that fellow was unlucky enough to steal a horse that belonged to a U.S. Deputy Marshal,” Stone said, shaking his head. “Well, since it seems pretty likely he just got out of prison, maybe we’ll find out who he is. I’ll wire Little Rock and see if they’ve had anybody released or escape during the last week or so. If he was released after serving his time, like he claimed, maybe they can identify him for us.” He looked at Will and grinned. “Wouldn’t it be something if his name really was John Smith?” Back to business again, he said, “Knowing those folks over at state prison, I’d say it’ll take a little time before they get word back to me. I expect there’ll have to be a hearing on the matter to satisfy Judge Parker, but I need somebody to ride down to Durant with Alvin Greeley to pick up a prisoner, and you showed up at the right time. There ain’t nobody else in town right now. Fellow named Jim Dockery, they say he killed a Choctaw woman he was living with. So they got him locked up in a smokehouse down in Durant.”

  “That’ll take three and a half days, maybe a little less, to get down there,” Will reminded him. “That’s if we don’t take a jail wagon. That would take a week.”

  “I know it, but I can get the judge to hold off on the hearing till you get back. There were witnesses that saw you had no choice but to shoot this fellow yesterday, right?”

  “Yep,” Will said, “two pretty good witnesses at that.”

  Dan smiled. “Yeah, I know. I talked to Sid Randolph this morning already and he said it was self-defense, pure and simple. He said if he and Roy hadn’t got in the way, the fellow wouldn’t have gotten his hand on a gun in the first place.”

  “None of us expected it,” Will said. “I was arrestin’ him for stealin’ a horse. I didn’t think he would take a chance like that. There might be more to this than we’ve found out so far.” He shrugged, then paused a moment while he thought about the assignment just given him. Alvin Greeley was a good man, as far as Will had heard. One of Stone’s more experienced deputies, Greeley had been in the Marshals Service a long time. Will didn’t mind going along as a posseman, even though he usually preferred working alone. Alvin would be sure to take a cook and a wagon to transport this Dockery fellow back to Fort Smith. He was pretty stringent about going by the rules. Maybe it’ll be nice to have a cook along for a change, Will thought.

  CHAPTER 3

  Will found Alvin Greeley waiting for him at Vern Tuttle’s stable early the next morning. Alvin had left word with Dan Stone for Will to meet him at half past six, so Will made it a point to be there a little earlier. In spite of that, he was greeted somewhat curtly with an air of impatience, as if he was late. They exchanged a brief howdy with a businesslike handshake. “I was hopin’ to get a decent start on the day,” Greeley complained first thing.

  Will got the impression that Greeley implied they were getting a late start because he was late. “We coulda left earlier,” he said. “Dan Stone told me to be here at six-thirty, and accordin’ to my railroad watch, that ain’t till fifteen minutes from now.” He nodded to Vern, who was coming from the back of the barn, then turned back to Greeley. “I figured you’d most likely take a cook with a wagon. I don’t see him nowhere.”

  “He’ll be here before long, I reckon,” Greeley said. “Somethin’ musta held him up. I know for a fact that he got all his supplies loaded yesterday.” He paused, then said, “I reckon you’ll be responsible for all your supplies.”

  “That’s right,” Will said. “I’ve got everything I’ll need right here in Vern’s back room. I’ll take a packhorse. Won’t take but a minute to load it, and then I reckon we’ll just lay around and wait for your cook to get here.” He studied the rangy deputy’s face, most of it hidden by a heavy black beard streaked with gray that bore witness to more than eleven years as a lawman. He had an angular body, lean with large bony hands. A broken shoulder, the result of a shoot-out some years back, had not healed correctly and caused him to slump to one side. Will had never had occasion to work with him before, but knew him by reputation. Greeley enjoyed the respect usually afforded a deputy who had survived long years of service. Will had formed no previous opinions about the man, preferring to judge him based upon his actual experience working with him. This was not the case with Greeley.

  Greeley wasn’t ready to trust a deputy marshal who always seemed to work alone, and Will Tanner had rapidly gained a reputation as a loner. There was something else about Tanner that bothered Greeley. It seemed to him that he had a high ratio of kills compared to arrests, considering he’d worn the badge for only a couple of years. That opinion was made even stronger when he heard about the shooting at the jail the night before. According to what he had been told, Tanner’s prisoner had stolen a horse. That didn’t seem a legitimate reason to shoot the man down. Come to find out, it was a horse that belonged to Tanner that the man had stolen. Maybe that was the real reason he got shot before he had a chance to stand before the judge. The incident didn’t seem to bother Dan Stone when Alvin said as much to him about it, however. He said Tanner had just happened to find himself in a desperate situation that had left little choice other than to shoot his way out or be gunned down himself. Stone didn’t disclose the fact that he purposely sent Will on jobs that were potentially more dangerous than the average arrest, especially if the perpetrator was a known gunman. In spite of the confidence Dan Stone apparently had in the younger deputy, Alvin was determined that Will would have to prove himself to him. Further thought on the matter was interrupted with the arrival of Horace Watson and his wagon.

  “Good mornin’,” Horace called out cheerfully. “You boys waitin’ for me?” He climbed down and extended his hand to Will. “You’re Will Tanner, ain’t you?” Will took the hand offered and said that he was. “Glad to meetcha.” He nodded to Greeley then. “You didn’t say Will was ridin’ with us.”

  “I didn’t know till yesterday,” Greeley said.

  “Well, I’ll cook you up some good chuck,” Horace said, directing his comment to Will.

  “I’ll be the deputy in charge,” Greeley was quick to advise. “Tanner’s comin’ along as a posseman.” He shifted his gaze toward Will to see his reaction, but there was none as Will busied himself loading his packhorse. He didn’t really care who was in charge, and if it was important to Greeley, Will was content to let him call the shots. It was a routine assignment at most. The Choctaw Lighthorse had arrested the offender and locked him up. The deputies’ job was a simple pick-up and transport assignment to bring the prisoner back for trial. Although Will thought it to be unnec
essary, Greeley obviously thought it best to go “by the book.” And that meant an extra man for backup plus a cook to feed the prisoner and deputies on the trip. With a wagon along, it was going to be a long trip, and it was going to seem longer if Greeley continued to assert his authority. At least Horace appeared to be a cheerful sort. Will supposed he could have turned the job down, but he could always use the extra money.

  They left Fort Smith a little after seven o’clock, following the Poteau River toward the Winding Stair Mountains on a trek that would take them more than twice as long as it would have had they not taken the wagon. For a man accustomed to working alone, it was a tiresome trip of a full week for Will before the party reached the dusty station called Durant. For reasons that Will never could figure out, Alvin Greeley never warmed up toward him at all and seemed to strive especially hard to maintain an air of command. Will wondered why Alvin had even considered working with him had not Dan Stone so ordered it. At least Horace Watson provided some sense of sociability.

  Jim Little Eagle, Choctaw policeman, had said in his wire to Fort Smith that the prisoner, Jim Dockery, was being held in a smokehouse behind Dixon Durant’s general store. That was the only place available and served quite often as Jim’s unofficial jail. So the posse rode directly to the store, where they found Little Eagle drinking coffee with Durant’s clerk, Leon Shipley. Jim’s face lit up with a wide smile when he saw his tall friend astride the big buckskin gelding, riding beside the wagon. “Hi-yo, Will Tanner,” Jim called out in greeting. “They didn’t tell me who was coming down to get this man.”

  The Choctaw’s friendly greeting to Will seemed to irritate Alvin Greeley and he was quick to inform Jim who was in charge of the arrest. “Jim,” he acknowledged, “I’ve come down here to take your prisoner in custody. Tanner, here, came along to help out.”

  “How you doing, Alvin?” Jim Little Eagle replied. “Ain’t seen you in a while.” He nodded to Horace, who came in the door then. Back to Will then, he said, “I reckon you brought enough men to take your prisoner.”

  “Where is my prisoner?” Greeley pressed.

  “He’s back of the store in the smokehouse,” Leon Shipley answered him. “And I wish you’d get him the hell outta there before he spoils the meat hanging in there. I had to leave the door open when I went back there just now.”

  His remark captured the attention of both deputies. “You left the door open?” Greeley responded. “Whaddaya mean? . . .” he stammered. “Is he tied up?”

  Jim shrugged. “There ain’t no worry about him going anywhere. You fellows might as well have some coffee and warm up a little.”

  “I don’t think so,” Greeley insisted, already impatient with the lax attitude of the Choctaw policeman and the store clerk. “We’d better take him into custody right now, before he decides to walk out of the place.” He started toward the door, pausing only a brief second to motion to Will. “Come on, Tanner.”

  “Oh, he ain’t gonna walk nowhere,” Leon said as they all went out after Greeley, who was already hurrying around the side of the store. He stopped abruptly when he rounded the rear corner of the building to find the smokehouse with the door open wide. He instinctively drew the .44 he wore and proceeded with caution, unsure of what foolishness had prompted the Indian policeman to be so careless.

  Like Greeley, Will was inclined to be cautious, too. He dropped his hand to the weapon on his hip, but a glance at Jim Little Eagle prompted him to hesitate. Jim seemed unconcerned and walked casually in the door of the smokehouse behind Greeley, who stopped so suddenly that Jim almost bumped into him. “What the—” Greeley blurted upon finding his prisoner hanging from the center beam of the roof. He turned to face Little Eagle and demanded, “You hung him?” Openly appalled, he exclaimed, “You have no authority to hang a man!”

  Jim shrugged. “I didn’t hang him. He hanged himself. I reckon he didn’t wanna wait for Judge Parker to hang him. And I reckon he was right in figuring a noose was waiting for him, ’cause there wasn’t much doubt that he killed his wife. I expect he just decided to have his own trial and found himself guilty. That woman must have meant something to him. He did the hanging night before last. I left him there so you could see him like I found him yesterday morning.”

  “And now that you’ve had a chance to see him, how about gettin’ him to hell outta my smokehouse?” Leon complained. “He dropped four hams on the floor to just lay in the dirt.”

  “He used the cords the hams were hanging on to make him a rope,” Jim explained to Will.

  “So we made a long trip down here for nothin’,” Greeley grumbled, thinking about the money it cost him. There was no mileage compensation for the trip back to Fort Smith with no prisoner. In addition, it would be the deputy’s job to take care of the burial of the prisoner. He looked quickly at Will, thinking it to his advantage to count him as a partner on the assignment at this stage.

  Will was a step ahead of him. “Well now, Alvin, that’s a helluva thing, ain’t it? Come all the way down here and find your prisoner swingin’ from the smokehouse ridgepole. I reckon, since this little job is all yours, you bein’ the man in charge, ol’ Jim Dockery cost you a helluva lot of compensation.”

  “That’s one way of lookin’ at it,” Greeley said. He had planned to collect all the mileage pay from Fort Smith and back, and only pay Will the daily rate for possemen. Maybe, he was now thinking, he could soften his coolness toward the man on the long trip back, and Will might volunteer to share expenses. “We’ll see how things work out on the way home,” he said.

  Will couldn’t help smiling. He felt that he could see the wheels turning in Greeley’s mind, and he was not inclined to put up with him all the way back when there was no prisoner to guard. He had been thinking about the proximity of Durant to his ranch in Texas, and the fact that he had not been back for quite a spell. He saw this as an opportunity to make a quick visit to see how Shorty and the boys on the J-Bar-J were getting along. He could make the ranch in a day and a half from here. “I’ll be leavin’ you and Horace here, since there ain’t no job to do, anymore,” he informed Greeley. “I’ve got other business to tend to down in this part of the territory.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Greeley responded, confused. “You can’t quit on me.”

  “Sure I can,” Will said. “I came along to help you transport a prisoner. You don’t need any help to bury your man, and you oughta be able to find your way home without me. I’ll wire Dan Stone and let him know where I am.” Done with it, he walked out of the smokehouse and left Alvin Greeley standing there flustered.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Horace started, then as Will walked past him, said, “It was nice ridin’ with you, Will.” He had heard tales that Will Tanner was a hard man to figure out. Now he had evidence of it firsthand.

  “Same here,” Will replied. “Have a good trip back.”

  Jim Little Eagle walked out beside him. “What’s up, Will? You need my help on something? I can hang around for a while if you want me to.”

  Will appreciated the offer. Jim had always been a good man to work with. “No, thanks, Jim, I’m just gonna take a ride down to Texas to visit my ranch while I’ve got a chance.”

  Jim nodded. “Greeley looks like he ain’t too happy about you leaving. You think he might cause you trouble with Dan Stone?”

  “Nah,” Will replied. “And what if he does? I might decide to go back to ranchin’ all the time.” He smiled and added, “And quit ridin’ all over hell and back to arrest dead men.”

  * * *

  Slim Rogers and Cal Perkins finished loading the wagon, then exchanged grins. “Reckon we’ve got time for a drink before we start back to the ranch?” Cal asked. The question was posed solely to razz his partner because he knew what the answer would be.

  “You dern tootin’,” Slim came back at once. “That’s the only reason I rode into town to help you load supplies.”

  “Is that so?” Cal joked. “You sure foole
d me. I’ve never known you to take a drink.”

  “Just climb up here and let’s drive up to The Cattleman’s,” Slim charged. “I’m gettin’ thirstier and thirstier while you’re standin’ there jawin’.”

  Cal chuckled as he climbed up on the wagon, barely able to settle in the seat before Slim slapped the reins across the horses’ rumps and the wagon lurched off toward the saloon at the north end of town. There was another saloon in Sulphur Springs on the south end of the street, but The Cattleman’s was the rowdiest. It also offered the opportunity to talk to a couple of women, and do more than talk if a man was so inclined and had the money to spare. With Slim and Cal, talking was more likely the prospect.

  Slim pulled the horses to a stop beside the saloon where the wagon would be out of the way of the hitching rail, which already seemed to be crowded, even this early in the afternoon. “Looks like Moe’s doin’ a lotta business today,” Cal commented as they walked into the noisy saloon. It was unusually busy for this time of year. The fall roundup was over, and the fat cows had been separated from the herd and driven to the railroad for shipment. That’s why it was surprising to see so many idle cowhands still hanging around town. Most of them were no doubt riding the grub line, out of a job until spring.

  A loud report of raucous laughter suddenly rose above the general buzz of the saloon, causing the two J-Bar-J hands to look toward a table against the back wall. “Cheneys,” Slim pronounced, his tone heavy with disgust. Two of Ike Cheney’s sons were sitting at the table, amusing themselves at the expense of Belle McClure, the younger of the two prostitutes who worked the saloon. It was typical behavior for all four of Cheney’s sons, so it came as no surprise to Slim and Cal. Slim looked around the room to see if all the brothers were there, but he saw no one but Levi and Buck. “Those coyotes usually hunt in a pack,” he said to Cal. “I reckon the rest of ’em are out stealin’ somebody’s cattle.” It was not an idle comment. Not only the J-Bar-J, but a couple of the other ranches close by had all complained of missing cattle recently. Maybe it was purely coincidence that the reports started soon after Ike Cheney and his family moved into the territory. Maybe not.