As he guided the big buckskin along beside the creek, he thought about a time not long before when he had ridden up the Blue River on a search for Eli Stark. Lem Stark’s old trading post was no more than five or six miles from where he was now, but in the opposite direction from the trail he was following. The storekeeper, Dewey Sams, had said that Stark’s old store was still empty. Will was not surprised. It was not in a good location to do business with the farmers and cattlemen around Tishomingo, and that was why it was a favorite with outlaws on the run. Had he not been following the one lead he had on the possible movements of Jack Lynch and his men, he might have been inclined to take a ride up the river to get a look at the old store.
* * *
At almost the same time Will’s thoughts wandered momentarily to a time when he was pursuing Eli Stark, the present occupants of that infamous trading post were sitting down to devour a freshly butchered deer that Tater Smith had killed. Hannah Cheney had taken charge of the roasting of the meat in the huge fireplace, only after Tater proceeded to serve up slices of half-cooked venison. Although she was determined not to take on a woman’s chores for the gang of men, she was averse to eating meat that was almost raw. Mace Weaver winked at Tater when Hannah took over. He had boasted to Rafe and Tater that he would saddle-break the defiant woman before winter really set in. “Then we’ll get a lot more than cookin’ outta that big ol’ tough-talkin’ woman,” he promised.
“All right, you worthless bunch of coyotes,” Hannah said when the meat was done. “If you want any of this, you’d best get up off your lazy behinds and come get it. I ain’t gonna bring it to ya.” The men seated around the table dutifully got up and filed by the fireplace to receive a slice of the meat. Hannah set aside a couple of choice portions for herself and her brother.
“How long do you think it’s safe to hole up in this cabin before the law comes snoopin’ around here lookin’ for us?” Rafe Yeager asked. “They sure as hell know about this place.”
“We lost that posse when we left Kansas,” Jack Lynch answered. “And there ain’t been no sign of any Oklahoma deputy marshals on our tail since we crossed the border. So that tells me they don’t know which way we headed when we hit Injun Territory.”
“This place is too close to Tishomingo and Atoka,” Mace said. “And there’s them Injun police in both of those towns.”
“I thought they weren’t supposed to bother with nobody but Injuns,” Tater said. “Hell, if one of them shows up here, we’ll just shoot him.”
“And then the deputy marshals will be showin’ up next,” Lynch said. “Rafe’s right, though, we probably ought’n hole up here all winter. Too many folks know about this place. I’ve been thinkin’ maybe it would be a good idea to go up in those hills about a day and a half or two northwest of here. A few years ago, I spent a winter up there with a couple of ol’ boys from Texas. There’s a right sound little cabin up in those mountains, and there’s a helluva lot less folks that know about it.”
“Hell, if it ain’t no farther away than that, why didn’t we go on up there in the first place?” Tater asked.
“Because we’re gonna wait here till my son gets here,” Lynch said. “He knows about this place, and he oughta be showin’ up any day now.” He paused to think about it. “Matter of fact, he shoulda already showed up.” He got up from the table and walked over to the fireplace to pour himself another cup of coffee. “As soon as Mike gets here, we’ll take a ride up there and see if that cabin’s still fit to live in.” He watched the last little bit of coffee trickle out of the pot. “We’re about outta coffee, and we could use some flour, too. I’ve got a hankerin’ for some biscuits.” He grinned at Hannah. “Reckon you could see your way to makin’ some biscuits? I guarantee you, ain’t none of us can make a biscuit fit to eat.”
She couldn’t help a chuckle. “I reckon I might, as long as you don’t expect ’em every day.”
“’Preciate it,” he said. “Somebody can ride downriver to that store we passed the other day.”
“I’ll go,” Tater volunteered immediately. “I need to see if that feller carries any tabacky. I ain’t had a chew in a week.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rubin Cheney said. No one else spoke up, since they had already found out that Dewey Sams had no whiskey to sell.
* * *
“Mornin’, fellers,” Dewey Sams greeted the two men when they walked into his store the following day. “What can I do for you this mornin’?”
“We’ll be needin’ some coffee and some flour,” Rubin replied.
“And some tabacky, if you’ve got any,” Tater said.
“You talkin’ about chewin’ tobacco?” Dewey asked. “Plugs? ’Cause if you are, I just got some in yesterday. My brother just got in with a wagonload of supplies last night, and I know for sure there was supposed to be some tobacco in it. Right, Jake?”
“There sure is,” Jake answered, having heard the request just as he walked in from the back room. “Got some with some kinda wine mixed up in it, real fancy stuff.”
“I’m mighty glad to hear it,” Tater said. “I’ve had an awful cravin’.” Naturally curious, he asked, “Where do you haul goods in from?”
“Well, sometimes down in Texas, Fort Worth, mostly, but sometimes we’ll go over to Fort Smith,” Jake said.
Impatient with Tater’s tendency to make idle conversation, Rubin spoke up. “We’re needin’ coffee and flour for sure.”
“Yeah, coffee and flour,” Tater echoed. “What’s the news from over that way? I ain’t been to Fort Smith in I don’t know when.”
“Nothin’ much, I reckon. That town’s about as wild as ever, even with a U.S. Marshal and a hangin’ judge right there.” Jake said, then remembered what he’d heard. “Feller told me that a few days ago this lawman was bringin’ a young feller to that jail under the courthouse when all of a sudden he musta tried to run for it or something. And, bam! The deputy shot him down, right there in the street.”
“You don’t say,” Tater said.
“Yep,” Jake said. “He said the feller’s name was Lynch. I remember thinking it was a good name for him because he was most likely gonna get lynched if he went up before Judge Parker. But he got shot before they got the chance to lynch him.” He grinned, then paused before continuing his story, stopped by the sudden blanching of Tater’s face.
It was a few seconds before the color returned to the old outlaw’s face. But his eyes were still staring wide when he asked, “You sure about that? Who told you the feller’s name was Lynch?”
“I stopped for one last shot of whiskey at a saloon down by the ferry slips. I was askin’ the feller that owns the place about the shootin’ and he said he knew the young feller, and he said his name was Lynch. Can’t remember his first name, mighta been Mike or Matt, somethin’ like that. I just remember the part about lynchin’.” Jake looked from Tater to Rubin, whose eyes were also wide open in shocked surprise. His next statement brought an involuntary grunt from one of the two men. “I’ve heard of that lawman that shot him. Folks around this part of the Nations say he works here all the time, feller name of Will Tanner.”
“Now I’ll tell you something you don’t know,” Dewey said, interrupting his brother. “Will Tanner stopped by here just yesterday. He said he was on his way to Tishomingo to talk to Tom Spotted Horse. Bought a big sack of coffee beans.”
“You never said a thing about that,” Jake said.
“I never thought about it,” Dewey replied. “Didn’t think you’d care, anyway.”
Dewey exchanged glances of astonishment with his brother when their two customers seemed to suddenly be suspended in the grip of a speechless void. After an uncomfortable lapse lasting a long moment, Tater finally spoke, his seeming paralysis broken by a sense of urgency. “We’d best get on back to our camp,” he stuttered, and took a step toward the door.
“What about your goods?” Dewey asked, pointing to the sacks still sitting on the counter. “Did you change yo
ur mind?”
Just then remembering their purchases, Tater stopped and replied, “I reckon we’re still gonna need that stuff, all right.” He looked at Rubin. “Grab one of them sacks. Don’t make much sense to go back without what we come for.” Rubin did as he was told and picked up the flour and coffee beans, leaving the tobacco for Tater.
The two brothers walked outside and stood watching as Tater and Rubin hurriedly tied the sacks to their saddles. When their purchases were secure, they both climbed aboard and wheeled their horses away from the hitching rail. “’Preciate the business,” Dewey called after them as they hurried away at a fast lope. There was no response from either of the two.
“What the hell got into them?” Jake wondered. “They all of a sudden got tongue-tied when I told ’em about Will Tanner shootin’ that outlaw.”
“Most likely just you mentionin’ Will Tanner,” Dewey speculated. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen those fellers before. Maybe they’re wanted somewhere, and they’re hidin’ out here in the Nations like so many outlaws. They sure got in a hurry when I told you about Tanner bein’ in here, though, didn’t they?”
“At least they paid cash money for those supplies,” Jake said, “instead of takin’ ’em at gunpoint.”
* * *
Tater and Rubin did not spare their horses in their rush to get back to the cabin with the news. By the time they reached the path that led down over the bluffs to the river, the horses were heavily lathered in spite of the cold temperature. Tater started yelling for Lynch even before reaching the small barn behind the cabin. His cries of alarm were enough to bring Lynch and the others out of the house with weapons drawn. “What is it?” Jack demanded, seeing no one chasing after the two. Standing with him, Mace and Rafe, their pistols ready to fire, quickly scanned the bluffs behind the riders, back and forth, expecting to see a posse storm into view at any second.
“They shot your son!” Tater blurted. “They shot Mike!”
Stunned, Jack Lynch responded. “What are you talkin’ about? Who shot my son?”
“A deputy marshal named Will Tanner!” Tater answered. “Shot him down dead, right in the middle of the street in broad daylight, right there in Fort Smith!”
“Who told you that?” Lynch demanded. “How do you know it was Mike?”
Tater related the story as Jake Sams had told it, including the reason Jake had no trouble remembering the victim’s name was Lynch. Stunned, Jack Lynch held on to the porch post for a moment to steady himself, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. By the time Tater had repeated every detail he could recall about the shooting, Lynch had recovered his usual stony demeanor, and his shock was replaced by anger and outrage. “And he’s here, this Tanner son of a bitch, he’s here in this territory?”
“That’s what that feller at the store said,” Tater replied. “Said he was on his way to Tishomingo to find the Indian policeman down there.”
“I want him!” Lynch exclaimed. “I’ll hang his guts on a fence post! Get ready to ride. We’re goin’ to Tishomingo and find the son of a bitch that killed my son. Rafe, saddle my horse.” Rafe and Mace responded immediately, running for the corral, but Tater and Rubin were still there, hesitating, their lathered horses standing, still saddled by the barn. Lynch, his face twisted in a black rage, looked at the two and demanded, “What are you standin’ here for? I told you to get ready to ride.”
“Our horses ain’t fit to ride, Jack,” Tater explained. “We damn near foundered ’em on the way back from that store.”
Tater’s answer seemed to further infuriate the already-enraged man. “I don’t give a damn if you run them into the ground,” he at first responded. Then struggling to calm himself, he said, “Take the packhorses.” Knowing neither of the two pack animals had ever been saddle-broken, he then glanced at Hannah Cheney, who had come out behind him. “Take her horse.”
“You’ll not take my horse,” Hannah stepped forth and stated calmly. “I’ll be goin’ with you.” She had stood silent during Tater’s entire accounting of Mike Lynch’s death, her eyes locked with Rubin’s as they exchanged solemn glances at the mention of Will Tanner’s name. Her hand had automatically found the small pebble she carried in her pocket to remind her of her vow for vengeance. And as she turned it over and over in her hand, feeling its smoothness, she recalled the crushing defeat and humiliation she had suffered in her first encounter with the hated lawman. She knew that this might be her chance to settle a debt she had vowed to pay.
Although Lynch had been amused by the young woman’s aggressive manner in the short time since they had agreed to join forces, he was not inclined to be bothered with her at this critical moment. “I ain’t got time for your foolishness right now,” he snapped. “We need your horse, so you can stay here and try to act like a woman.”
His remark served only to further inflame her. “Maybe we’d better get something straight right now,” she shot back. “Not you, nor any other man, can tell me how to act. I’ll act as I damn well please.” For emphasis, she dropped her hand to rest on the handle of the .44 she wore on her hip. “I’ve got a claim on Will Tanner’s life that came before you ever heard of him. And I ain’t plannin’ on lettin’ you, or the sorry lot ridin’ with you, stop me from doin’ what I’ve got to do.” She continued to glare at him, prepared to react to any move he might be inclined to make.
In spite of his anger, he was stunned by the woman’s defiance. Thinking to call her bluff, he suddenly dropped his hand on the handle of his six-gun. Before he firmly gripped the pistol, her .44 had already cleared the holster and was aimed squarely at his midsection. “Whoa!” he blurted. “Hold on! There ain’t no call for you to draw on me. I wasn’t fixin’ to pull on you.” It was a lie, for he had intended to demonstrate how easily she could be facing sudden death, but he had never seen a weapon drawn that fast before, and it was he who was now facing death. Thoughts of Will Tanner were forgotten for that moment, replaced by the fear of losing his life. The woman was a little crazy, anyway, that was evident from the start. He realized now that she might just as easily pull the trigger on that .44 staring at his belly button. So he slowly raised his hand from the handle of his pistol. “Just take it easy with that pistol,” he said in a voice as calm as he could manage. “You got the wrong idea. Hell, I thought we was partners. I wouldn’t never draw on a partner. Ask any of the boys. Tell her, Tater.” He glanced at the grizzled old man, who was standing with his mouth agape, just then noticing that Rubin was watching him with his gun drawn as well. It was plain to see that he would have gone down, even had he drawn quick enough to beat her, for her brother was obviously ready to back her. As for Tater, he was still standing there with his lower jaw hanging open, dumbfounded by the woman’s speed with her handgun.
“I’ll be goin’ with you,” Hannah repeated calmly.
“Yes, ma’am, you sure will,” Lynch said, swallowing a large mouthful of humble pie. “I’ll be glad to have you.” He turned to Tater. “I don’t reckon we’ll need anybody else to go with us after one damn lawman. You and Rubin might as well stay here and look after our possibles while we’re gone.”
That suited Tater just fine. “Whatever you say, Jack.” He turned toward the barn to help with the saddling.
“I’ll saddle your horse for you,” Rubin said to his sister. “Me and Tater will look after things here,” he aimed at Lynch. His horse was spent, but that aside, it was just as well that he missed another encounter with the deputy marshal.
CHAPTER 10
Melva Sams paused after throwing out some potato peels for the two hogs to eat. She shielded her eyes against the rays of the afternoon sun as she tried to make out the riders approaching along the west bank of the river. There were four of them and they seemed to be in a hurry. That didn’t always mean good news to the folks scattered around the small settlement, so she hurried in the kitchen door to alert Dewey and Jake. She found the two brothers in the store at the front of the cabin, standing by the window
. “There’s some riders comin’ and they look like there’s somebody chasin’ ’em,” she said.
“Yeah, I saw ’em when they came down the bluff,” Dewey replied. “Looks like a bunch I saw ride through here a couple of days ago. At least three of ’em are. I don’t recognize the other ’un.”
“I thought them two that was in here a little while ago might be part of this bunch,” Jake said, “but I don’t see either one of ’em.”
“They do look like they’re in a big hurry to get here,” Dewey said. “Somethin’ about those men makes me think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be real careful when we’re dealin’ with ’em. Jake, why don’t you get over there at the end of the counter with that scattergun of yourn?” Dewey went back to the counter then and reached under it to get his gun belt and revolver. While he strapped it on, he said to Melva, “You go on back in the kitchen, hon, till we make sure these boys ain’t lookin’ to start no trouble.” She nodded and returned to the kitchen. He often felt a little guilty to have brought his wife to this part of the territory. It was well known that there were a good number of outlaws in the Nations to escape the law. But it was also common thought that while in Indian Territory, most of them behaved themselves, not wishing to call marshals down upon them. Whether or not there was any basis to that thought, Dewey couldn’t truthfully say, but he had counted on it when he moved his business from Durant to the remote riverbank near Tishomingo. Thinking they were about as prepared as they could get against the four, Dewey and Jake waited inside for their visitors to arrive.
Powder Burn Page 15