Powder Burn

by William W. Johnstone

  Will lengthened his stride to make sure he cut the wagon off before it came any closer to his camp. Although many people camped here, this was the first time he had ever run into anyone else. And it would have to be today, wouldn’t it? he thought. He looked back over his shoulder as he approached the wagon and noted that his two prisoners could not be seen under the trees on the bank of the stream. Good, he thought, ain’t no use in alarming the lady. He assumed they had left the common wagon road because they wanted to rest their mules, but it might be better if they didn’t know about the two dangerous outlaws by the stream. “Howdy, folks,” he called out. The driver pulled his mules to a stop, and Will could see the definite signs of concern in both man and woman. “You lookin’ to rest your mules?”

  “Well, I had that in mind,” Merle said. “But I was thinkin’ about headin’ a little farther upstream.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Will said. “There’s a nice little clearin’ about a hundred yards up that way where you can most likely drive your wagon closer to the water. Most of the firewood here where I’m camped has been used up.”

  “Yes, sir,” Merle replied. “I reckon that’s what we’ll do.”

  The uncertainty was so evident in their faces that Will decided he should ease their apprehensions. He pulled his coat aside to reveal his badge. “I’m a deputy marshal on my way back to Fort Smith. You folks got a place around here?”

  His comments seemed to immediately remove the frowns from both their faces. “Yes, sir,” Merle replied, “about ten miles south of here.” His whiskered face broke into a wide smile. “A marshal, huh? For a while there, you had me worried.”

  “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about,” Will said. “Go on upstream and make your camp, and good day to you.” He stood watching them as they pulled off, waiting to make sure they pulled on out of sight before he returned to his fire and his coffee.

  * * *

  “What’s he doin’?” Tater asked, unable to see beyond the fire Will had built. “He sounds like he’s talkin’ to somebody.”

  “I can’t see much better’n you,” Lynch answered. “I think it’s a wagon and he’s talkin’ to whoever’s drivin’ it.” They listened for a clue, but in a little while, they saw Will return to sit by the fire. “I reckon he sent ’em on their way.”

  “Wonder how long he’s gonna keep us tied up on this damn bank?” Tater groaned after another quarter of an hour or so had passed. “My behind’s already gone to sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Lynch replied, “I noticed it was snorin’.”

  “I can’t help it,” Tater complained. “It’s that damn hardtack he’s feedin’ us. You fry it in that grease and . . .” That was as far as he got before Lynch stopped him.

  “Sssh,” he whispered. “What the hell is that?”

  “Where?” Tater asked, also whispering.

  “Yonder, on the other side of the stream.” He nodded toward a clump of laurel.

  Following the direction of the nod, Tater squinted to peer at the bushes. After a moment, he saw movement in the leaves. “Somethin’s in them bushes,” he whispered, “and it’s comin’ this way. Maybe a deer.”

  They both stared at the bushes for a few moments, then suddenly Lynch grinned as he caught a glimpse of a calico skirt and a thought immediately occurred to him. “It ain’t no deer,” he said. “It’s an angel come to save us. Just be real quiet and let me do the talkin’.” And hope to hell she don’t scream, he thought.

  She didn’t. In fact, when Winona parted the branches and saw the two men tied to the trees, she was too startled to make a sound. Much like a deer, she stopped, dead still, her eyes wide as saucers. She was so stunned that she forgot the reason she had sought the privacy of the laurel bushes. “Don’t be scared, ma’am,” Lynch said, speaking softly so as not to be heard by the deputy seated by the fire some distance away. “I’m Deputy Marshal Tanner, and this is my partner. I’m afraid we’ve run into some bad luck.” He glanced back at the fire, but Will was still sitting there, unaware of the visitor to his prisoners. “Me and my partner were sent to arrest that man you talked to,” he said. But he ambushed us, shot me, and captured us both. He hid us down here, so nobody could see us from the trail.”

  Finally able to find her voice, although still in a state approaching shock, Winona stammered, “But he was wearin’ a badge.”

  “I ain’t surprised,” Lynch said. “I figured he wanted somethin’ with it when he took it off my shirt. Ain’t no tellin’ what he might do, so I want you to get somewhere safe. That man’s a murderer and he said the reason he’s got us tied up is because he wants to kill us real slow. But I’m worried ’bout you and your husband. I don’t want him doin’ you folks no harm. There ain’t nothin’ we can do to save ourselves, but I’ll feel better if I know you got away before he comes after you.”

  Winona was terrified, but she had always been a strong-willed woman. “Is there anythin’ I can do to help you?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Lynch answered. “The only way me and Tater could have a chance is if we had a gun and somebody cut us loose. Then we might could arrest him and take him back for a fair trial, maybe save some more innocent folks.”

  Winona’s mind was whirling, trying to digest all she had just been told. Deputy Tanner seemed genuine in his greater concern for her and Merle than any he had for himself. So her fighting spirit rose to combine with her Christian faith to bring her to a firm state of commitment. “I can get you a gun,” she avowed, “and I can cut you loose. My husband’s got a .44 Colt revolver in the wagon and a shotgun, too.”

  “Oh, ma’am,” Lynch said, “I surely wouldn’t want you to take any dangerous chances. Our job is to protect folks like you and your husband. It looks like me and my partner was careless, though, and let the outlaw turn the table on us.”

  “I couldn’t live with myself if I was to run off and leave you with that murderer,” Winona declared. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be right back.”

  “Bless you, ma’am,” Lynch praised. “You be careful. That .44 would be best. Make sure it’s loaded.” She was off at once, disappearing in the bushes again.

  “I wish you hadda told her I was a deputy marshal, too,” Tater said. “You reckon she’ll really come back?”

  * * *

  Merle was not sure what to believe when Winona returned, breathless from running through the bushes. He thought at first that something was after her, and he reached for the shotgun in the wagon. When he found out why she had really been running, he was more distressed than had it been a bear chasing her. “My Lord in heaven . . .” he exclaimed, immediately alarmed to find themselves in such a perilous situation. His initial impulse was to hitch up the mules again and drive like hell. But Winona was babbling something about coming to the aid of the law and preventing the murder of a deputy marshal, all the while fishing under the wagon seat for Merle’s pistol. When he was able to calm her down enough to explain, she told him of the encounter by the stream.

  He was not so ready to accept her belief in the two men she had met. “I don’t know, hon, that feller was wearin’ a badge, and he talked like a nice-enough man.”

  “I told you,” Winona insisted as she rummaged through her cookware for a butcher knife. “He said that murderer took his badge.” Finding the knife she searched for, she turned back to her husband. “A nice, polite feller. He said his name was Tanner. And that man with the badge sure was in a hurry to meet us and keep us from drivin’ on down by the creek back there. And he didn’t say anything about havin’ two fellers tied up in the trees.”

  Merle was not sure what to believe at that point. It could be that the situation was exactly as Winona thought. “You say he said his name was Tanner?” he questioned. “I’ve heard of a deputy named Tanner. This feller you just saw, was he a tall feller?”

  Winona said that he sure was. “And he was wounded. That outlaw had shot him.”

  “I don’t know,” Merle repeated, w
ishing they had stopped somewhere else to rest the mules, but reluctantly giving in to the possibility that they had, in fact, landed in the middle of an unlikely situation.

  Winona had made up her mind, thinking it was her Christian duty to do the right thing and possibly prevent two senseless murders. “Someday the law is gonna clean out all these outlaws that run to Indian Territory to hide out. And honest folks need to help ’em when we can.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Merle said. His wife’s instincts were good about most things, and the more he thought about the situation, the more plausible it became. There was also the damnable impression of fear he would give his wife if he chose to run. Assuming the responsible position then, he said, “Here, gimme the pistol. I’ll take it to the deputy. You’d best stay here.”

  “I’ll go with you and show you where they are,” Winona countered. Already enflamed with the passion to right a grievous wrong, she had no intention to remain with the wagon. Knowing it would be useless to protest, Merle made no attempt to do so. She plunged into the bank of laurel bushes and he followed right behind.

  * * *

  “Ha, I told you so,” Jack Lynch exclaimed softly to Tater when the bushes parted to reveal the man and woman. He instinctively took a quick look in the direction of the campfire and became even more confident when he saw Will walk over to check on the horses. With the deputy distracted for a few minutes, the timing couldn’t have worked out better. Looking back in the direction of the laurels, he nodded to Winona and Merle when they hesitated to come any closer. He winked in Tater’s direction when he saw the weapons the couple carried. Getting back into character, he greeted them gratefully when they hurried over to the trees. “Lord bless you, ma’am. You can go to work on these ropes.” While she attacked his bonds with her butcher knife, he nodded solemnly to Merle. “I’m right pleased to meet the husband of such a brave woman. I just want you to know you’re sure enough doin’ the right thing—and a righteous thing at that. Is that gun loaded?” Merle said that it was. “Good,” Lynch continued. “As soon as your wife saws through this rope, give me the gun, and you two get on back to your wagon. I’ll bring your gun back as soon as I arrest that gunman. I don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

  Silent to that point, Tater was unable to resist announcing, “I’m a deputy marshal, too. Ain’t that so, Lynch?”

  “Yeah, that’s so,” Lynch snapped, annoyed when his simple partner slipped and called him by his name.

  The slipup caused Merle to hesitate. He wasn’t sure what Deputy Tanner’s first name was, but when he had heard Tom Beamer refer to the lawman, he didn’t think it sounded anything like “Lynch.” It was of no consequence to what happened next, however, for Winona’s blade sawed through the rope at that instant, freeing the outlaw’s hands. Lynch reacted immediately and snatched the Colt from Merle’s hand. He cocked it and aimed it at the startled farmer. “So far, you’ve done real good. Don’t mess up now and get yourself killed. Get them ropes offa my feet.” Merle dropped to his knees immediately and began frantically untying Lynch’s ankles. Gesturing toward Tater, Lynch said to Winona. “Get over there and cut him loose, and don’t try nothin’ funny, or I’ll blow a hole in your husband’s head.”

  She did as he said, but not without comment. “You low-down son of a bitch. I hope you rot in hell.”

  Lynch snorted, amused. “I expect I might,” he said. “Now, hurry up, we ain’t got all day.”

  They wasted no time obeying his command. “Hurry, hon!” Merle implored as he herded Winona back the way they had come. She plunged headlong into the bank of thick laurel, never taking time to worry about the branches that thrashed her face and body. When they were well away from the two outlaws, she slowed to a less-punishing pace, and when she felt sure they were safely away, she stopped abruptly and screamed as loud as she could. “What the hell!” Merle exclaimed, thinking she must surely have lost her mind.

  “I’m tryin’ to warn that marshal,” she explained. “I’m afraid we just caused him to get shot, so we oughta try to let him know somethin’s wrong.” Before Merle could protest, she screamed again.

  “You’re gonna get us kilt,” Merle blurted. He grabbed her hand and charged through the young oaks beyond the bushes, heading for the wagon. The realization that he was left without a weapon to try to defend Winona and himself was enough to spur him to hitch the mules up and depart. “Throw that stuff in the wagon,” he ordered breathlessly, and ran to collect his mules.

  “What about the deputy?” Winona cried.

  “Ain’t nothin’ we can do to help him,” Merle yelled back at her. “Best now we worry ’bout savin’ our own hides!”

  * * *

  “That ol’ bitch!” Lynch cursed when he heard Winona’s scream ring out through the trees like the screech of a wounded hawk. “I shoulda took that knife and cut her throat. I oughta knowed she might do somethin’ like that.” He looked frantically back toward the campfire and the horses beyond. “You see him?” Peering toward the clearing as well, Tater strained to see. Like Lynch, he could see no sign of the deputy. “He sure as hell heard her yowlin’, but that don’t mean he knows what she was yowlin’ about,” Lynch reasoned. “Most likely he’ll think she come up on us and it scared her to scream.”

  “Maybe so!” Tater responded, still scanning the clearing in the trees where the fire had been built. “I still don’t see him, but he’s bound to be here pretty quick!” Their problem was compounded by the absence of heavy brush among the young pines where they had been bound. “There ain’t nothin’ to hide behind ’cept these skinny pine trees,” he said as he held Winona’s shotgun at the ready.

  “Put that shotgun down and back up against that tree again,” Lynch directed, thinking quickly. “Put your hands behind the tree, so’s he’ll think you’re still tied up. He won’t be able to tell we’re loose till he gets too close to run for it. Take some of them ropes and wrap ’em round your boots.” Doing likewise, Lynch jammed the Colt .44 in his belt behind his back and stepped back against the tree again. Their ambush set, they waited for the unsuspecting lawman to show up.

  Will was inspecting the hooves of the buckskin gelding when he was startled by the sudden scream that echoed through the trees by the stream. His first reaction was to drop to one knee and pick up his rifle, which was lying close by him. Motionless then, he waited and listened. There it was again, and he guessed that the woman had wandered down the stream and come upon his prisoners tied to the trees. “Damn,” he cursed softly, thinking that he’d rather that had not happened. Since he could not be sure that was the case, however, he decided he’d better be cautious when he went to find out for certain.

  He cranked a cartridge into the chamber of his Winchester and crossed over to the other side of the creek, then started working his way carefully up the bank of the stream toward the stand of young pines. When he was within about thirty yards of the spot where he had secured them, he could see them clearly, and they seemed to still be bound to the trees. And yet, there appeared to be something that didn’t look right. They had not sighted him, so he paused to study the scene. After a moment, he saw it. “All right,” he called out. “Both of you, step away from the trees and kneel on the ground.” He saw both men flinch, but they did not do as he instructed.

  “How the hell can we do that?” Lynch called back. “You got us tied up to these trees.” He looked toward the sound of Will’s voice, trying to spot him.

  “I’m not gonna tell you again before I start shootin’,” Will replied. When his warning was ignored, he raised his rifle and aimed it at a spot on the tree about a foot or two above Lynch’s head. When the Winchester spoke, sending a chunk of pine bark flying, it caused a chain reaction that Will had not foreseen. Frightened, Tater immediately lunged forward to land flat on the ground. Lynch, having seen the muzzle flash in the bushes, reached for the .44 jammed into the back of his trousers and started firing as fast as he could. Will had no choice but to cut him down before o
ne of the wild shots found their target. Struck in his chest, Lynch staggered backward until stopped by the tree. He managed to squeeze the trigger one last time, sending a harmless shot into the ground at his feet before he crumpled, mortally wounded.

  In a fit of panic, Tater scrambled backward to pick up the shotgun he had laid on the ground behind the tree. Will rose to his feet from behind the low bushes that had concealed him and stood ready to fire before the frightened outlaw could bring the shotgun to his shoulder. “Don’t try it,” he warned. “You’ll get the same as him.” Tater dropped the shotgun immediately. When he did, Will said, “Now back away from it.” Tater did as he was told, having no desire to test the somber lawman.

  Will pushed through the bushes, his rifle still trained on Tater. There was no sign of the woman or her husband. Will guessed that they had fled. He walked over to Lynch’s body, slumped over at the foot of the tree. Scorpion Jack Lynch had escaped the gallows after all. As Will was about to check to see if he was still alive, Lynch exhaled his last breath before listing over sideways. Will picked up the Colt and stuck it in his belt. This was not the way he wanted this to end. He had been determined to take Jack Lynch in to Fort Smith for trial, and with the outlaw’s death, he felt a sense of failure. Looking over at the wide-eyed countenance of Tater Smith, he couldn’t help thinking he was a poor symbol of the fierce reputation the Jack Lynch gang had earned throughout Colorado and Kansas territories. Well, he thought, if I can manage to transport him back without killing him, maybe that’ll count for something. Looking at Tater, he was reminded of a hound dog, staring at him with pleading eyes, wondering if he was going to get something to eat, or get a whipping. “Come on,” he said, motioning for him to start walking. “I’ll tell you the same as I told you when we started out. If you don’t make it hard on me, I won’t make it hard on you.” He nodded toward Lynch. “He made it hard on me.” He saw an immediate sense of relief in Tater’s eyes as he walked him over to the fire. “I reckon you’re the last of Scorpion Jack Lynch’s gang.”