by J. Lee Butts
“Well, once they’d got done with her, yeah. They’re crazy. Craziest living men I done ever seen or heard of. Honest to God, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that child’s passing.” His speech had become slow, halting, and more difficult to understand. Didn’t matter, he’d said all he was gonna say.
Pinky Coody’s pistol went off less than five feet from my ear. Blast stood me up in surprise like God himself had grabbed my shirtfront and jerked me to my feet. Big .45 slug delivered from an 1875-model Remington ripped though the wretched Elmer LaGrone’s worthless noggin and killed him deader than Andy By-God Jackson. Geyser of bright red blood spewed from the hole in his head and sprayed all over the legs of my canvas breeches and boots.
Turned on Coody and started to bless him out good and proper, but noticed a strange, crazed look in the man’s eyes. He shoved the pistol back into a crossover holster he wore high on his belly.
“Sorry piece of scum might not have had a hand in that poor child’s unfortunate passing, but he was here and didn’t stop it. Makes him just as guilty, as far as I’m concerned. Besides, I’d heard all the whining from the bastard I was willing to listen at.”
Couldn’t do anything but shake my head. I wanted to tell him he could have at least waited until we’d pumped ole Elmer dry of all the information he was willing to give up. But then I had to admit that I planned to kill the wounded ambusher myself, if he didn’t die on his own.
Figured the best way to get Pinky’s mind off more murder was to put him to work. Set the example by dragging one of Elmer’s dead friends over to his side. Pinky took the hint and, pretty quick, we had all those lifeless brigands lined up side by side.
We dug a hole for Hamish, Crazy Snake, and the little girl under a magnolia tree near the water. Made it deep and covered it with rocks. I was too tired and beat up to read over them.
And when the question of what to do about the others came around, Pinky ended the conversation when he said, “Well, you can bury them it you want, but I ain’t gonna help you. Far as I’m concerned the wolves can take care of ’em.”
Couldn’t blame him much. But I thought it over and came up with a better plan. I pulled some old wanted posters and wrote on the blank side of each, “Ambushing Drygulcher—Killed In The Act.” Attached the signs to their vests. Strung all four up from the limbs of two cottonwood trees. I’d done as much before for Comanche Jack Duer and his bunch out on Kingfisher Creek.
Pinky was awestruck. “Now there’s a right scary sight. Should be a warnin’ to any who’d think about followin’ their lead into an outlaw life.”
“Well, I hope so. But you just never know. Been my experience, so far, that once a man gets on the owlhoot trail, especially if he descends to rape and murder, ain’t nothin’ can take him off it but death.”
“We a-goin’ after them others, Marshal?”
“No, Pinky. Too many of ’em, and I’m whipped. We’ll head back to Chickasha. Visit with the sawbones there. Fine feller named Stillwell. Let him check the patchwork we’ve done on my head. Rest up a few days. Send some telegrams to Fort Smith. Wait and see what works out.”
“Sounds good to me. Wasn’t lookin’ forward to the two of us a-tryin’ to bring down the five of Dawson’s bunch that’s left alive. Hell, by the time we can catch up with ’em, they could well meet with another crew of knot heads like these we just rubbed out. Nine or ten agin’ two ain’t exactly my idea of comfortable odds.”
Pinky took up a dead man’s animal for the one he’d lost—long-legged, bald-faced, blood bay. We struck out for Chickasha soon as we got reloaded and situated. Have to admit, both of us were more than glad to ride away from a bad day at Boiling Springs. I’d seen as many men die at one time before. But the child added an element of horror that didn’t want to let go of a seething vengeance growing in my heart. At least we were still alive. More than I could say for those we left behind.
8
“WELL, LET’S GO KILL THE HELL OUT OF ALL THEM BAD BOYS . . .”
DOC STILLWELL DID a good job of patching us up when we stopped over in Chickasha. He insisted we stay for a spell at his home and recuperate. The robust Mrs. Stillwell, who appeared not to have ever met a biscuit she didn’t like, fed us till we almost burst. Hearty lady also made sure we had plenty of water and soap, and even washed all our spare duds. Spent two days loafing around their airy, well-kept home, but by the third morning, I figured it best we be on our way. Pinky agreed.
News of Hamish Armstrong’s ambush murder, and the heinous crimes committed by the Dawson gang, traveled ahead of us like waves running in front of a ten-pound stone pitched into a stock pond. By the time we finally got back to Fort Smith, the entire town blazed with righteous indignation over the killings.
Respectable, God-fearing, Christian folk you’d never have suspected of it sought me out to whisper in my ear about how they hit their knees at night and prayed for the wrath of God to come down on Maynard Dawson and Charlie Storms like a biblical pestilence.
Pinky headed for Jonesborough and the bosom of an anxious family he genuinely missed. He shook my hand before taking his leave. “It was an honor to ride with you, Marshal Tilden. Should you ever need a posse man in the future, feel free to call on me. Be my great privilege to cover your back again, at your earliest convenience.”
I stopped over at the courthouse to deliver copies of my handwritten report on both bloody incidents to Mr. Wilton and the U.S. marshal. Marshal was in Washington seeing to the political aspects of a thankless job. Found Judge Parker’s chief bailiff in his office.
Wilton’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head often while reading my detailed description of the gruesome events prior to, and during, the killings at Boiling Springs. He pitched the papers on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation when finished. Pained expression, of sincere regret, washed over the man’s face concerning the whole murderous episode. He appeared especially despondent over Hamish’s death.
Wilton confessed he’d already heard most of what he read in my report. Then, the saddened court officer quietly assured me that he hoped for my quick return to the Nations for some first-class retribution.
“It is never good news to hear that another of our fine, brave men has died in the line of duty. Such information is doubly, perhaps triply, troubling when the man killed is of Hamish Armstrong’s caliber. I have, from the first days of Judge Parker’s term, always found it extremely difficult to accept such a disturbingly untimely and brutal death.”
He stopped, stood, and moved silently to his office window. My secret intermediary with Judge Parker appeared to go into deep thought for almost a minute. He continued to stare out the window, and finally said, as if to himself, “But the Nations is a dangerous place, and being the man who enforces the law of the land, out there, has always been a deadly proposition.”
“Hamish was well aware of the hazards he confronted, sir. He exhibited not a single second’s hesitation as we charged the Dawson gang. The man just happened to be in the wrong place at the worst possible time.”
Wilton pulled the curtain back with his finger. “I have no doubt, Marshal Tilden.” Then, he turned, motioned me to my feet, and escorted me to the door. He shook my hand warmly and said, “Get some rest, Hayden. Take it easy for a spell. Spend some time with your lovely wife. We’ll talk about this regrettable mess another day.”
Soon as I hit the door, and stepped out of his office, I started putting finishing touches on the plans in my head for how we’d dispatch those killers, when we finally caught up with them again. Ran slap into Billy Bird, as I made my way down the stairs. Memories of Hamish’s death, and thoughts on how to deal with the situation, had such a powerful hold on my mind I almost knocked him down.
Man hugged me around the neck like a long-lost brother who’d come back from the dead. Held my elbow and walked me to the door. We stopped in a pool of soul-refreshing sunlight on the courthouse porch that faced the river.
“Good
to see you back, Hayden,” he said. “Hear tell the Dawson bunch kicked the stuffin’s out of you, and them other boys, after me and Carlton had to leave you to your own devices. They even kilt Hamish Armstrong from the sad stories I’ve heard makin’ the rounds.”
“You heard right. Hamish died along with Samuel Crazy Snake. Brigands even murdered that poor Kill Deer youngster—after they’d had their way with her.”
“I’ll just be jiggered. Hadn’t heard about Snake. Kilt him, too, huh? And the little girl as well. Jesus H. Christ, what are some men in this world coming to?”
I pulled him to a more private spot behind one of the porch pillars. “Those cave-dwellin’ rats shot Carlton, killed Hamish, Crazy Snake, and the little girl, and left bodies nailed to trees all along their bloody trail.”
“True. All too true, Hayden. They done some of the worst murders I’ve seen since coming to this work. Would imagine you have plans in mind for ’em by now. Leastways, I sure hope you do.”
“I’ve had plenty of time to think on the subject, Billy. Soon as Carl’s up to it, the Brotherhood of Blood is going back out into the Nations after those bastards.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Be aware that I don’t care where we have to go, or how long it takes. I intend on bringing down the wrath of God on the heads of Dawson, Storms, Rix, Crow Dog, Coyle, Crowder, and the Doome boys, if they prove a part of this.”
“Even if we have to go to Texas, New Mexico, or other such places?”
“Even if we have to go to the front step of a smoldering hell. Those killers are gonna pay with their sorry lives for what they’ve done, if I have to ride into fiery Perdition myself and shoot the horns off a scarlet Satan. Tell you the truth, my friend, I’ve killed my share of men over the years, but this is the first time, since I watched Saginaw Bob swing from Maledon’s gallows and mess his pants in front of a thousand people, that I’m gonna take considerable pleasure in other men’s departures from this life.”
Billy fingered the walnut butts of his Schofield pistols and smiled. “Love it when you talk that way about rub-bin’ out human scum, Hayden.”
Of a sudden, the face of Moonlight Two Hatchets popped into my mind. “How’s the Two Hatchets girl doing?”
“Can’t say. She wouldn’t come to Fort Smith with me. Made me stop over in Minco Springs and drop her with some relatives. Has an uncle livin’ there.” He looked some distressed, for a second or so. “I know you told me to bring her to Elizabeth, Hayden. But she just wouldn’t come. And you know how it is with me and beautiful women. They get to cryin’ and I cain’t refuse ’em anything.”
“You sure she’s safe?”
“Oh, yeah. Her uncle was a stand-up feller name of John Little Wolf. Me and Carlton stayed over at his place for three days. Little Wolf helped Carlton out a bunch. Not sure he’d of made the whole trip without us stoppin’ along the way somewheres.”
“How’s Cecil doin’ these days, Billy?”
“Feelin’ right sparky. Hole in his side wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. He’s done went and got plenty of rest lately. Think maybe his wife loved him up pretty good, too. Another week, or so, and I figure he’ll be sloshin’ over with piss and vinegar—hotter’n a two-dollar pistol in a Fort Worth whorehouse and ready to ride again. And you know how he is when he gets that way. It’ll be Katie bar the door when we catch any of the devils that kilt Hamish.”
Guess the relief must have showed on my face. “That’s great news, Billy. Good to hear he’s doin’ so well and that Moonlight Two Hatchets got back to her family. Must admit, I have been some concerned about Carl.”
Billy grinned and patted me on the arm like he was my mother. “Ole Carlton’s been stewin’ over who put that hole in his hide ever since we got back. Told me he’ll kill the son of a bitch, soon as he finds out who done it. Knowin’ Carl, he just might even rub out a dozen more who didn’t have anything to do with the shootin’, just for the pure-dee ole Carlton-J.-Cecil-mean-assedness of it.”
“I’m heading over to the store to visit with my wife for a bit. Then, I’m gonna take her home and den up for two, or three, days. So don’t come looking for me until Friday or Saturday.”
As I stepped into the stirrup and hoisted myself up on Gunpowder’s back, Billy puffed a hand-rolled to life, and flicked the match away. “I’ll send some telegrams to all the Light Horse, sheriffs, and Indian police in the Nations, Hayden. We should be able to scare up some kind of information on the Dawson bunch between now and then. I’ll bring Carl with me when I come out.”
“Good. If you run across Carl before you boys make it out my way, tell him it had been my intention to come by to check on him to make sure he was all right. But, since you assured me as how he was alive, kicking, as bold as a six-time bigamist livin’ in the same house with three of ’em, and ready for a fight, I decided to wait.”
As I kicked away, Billy waved and yelled, “I’ll tell him.”
Made my way through all the hustle and bustle along Fort Smith’s Towson Avenue. Had to carve a path through a heavy cloud of drifting dust that hung in the air till I got to the store. It appeared as though Elizabeth’s permanently employed painter had taken a healthy swipe at the Colonial-style pillars out front. My God, but my wife kept that poor man running, what with all her different businesses.
Elizabeth had this thing about “shabbiness.” Always said there was just nothing like “shabbiness” to turn off the female shopper. Master painter Jimmy Osborn spent virtually every waking moment of his life slapping a new skin on something my wife owned.
That hard-working gal of mine claimed that lack of a “prestigious” appearance had the exact same effect on those who frequented the bank her father left us when he passed. As a consequence, Fort Smith’s Elk Horn First National presented the outward show, and the inward reality, of being one of the most celebrated financial institutions to be found anywhere in the entire nation. Sign over the president’s desk read, SAFEST BANK WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI. And I suppose it was. Elizabeth Tilden’s financial establishment had never been robbed, and no customer had ever lost a single cent in deposits. Mighty fine record, if you ask me.
Cute little flirt of a clerk at the store batted big blue eyes at me and cooed, “Oh, Mrs. Tilden went home for the day, Marshal. Said she felt like taking the afternoon off.” Girl ran her finger around on the counter and acted coy. “Can’t say as I blame her much. I’d take the afternoon off myself, if I could.”
“Well, Millie, if it was up to me, I’d let you have the rest of the day to do a picnic out on the bluff with your favorite feller. But, as you are probably well aware, my say around Miz Tilden’s businesses is about as worthless as trying to speak Chinese to a box full of rabbits.” She went into a giggling fit as I tipped my hat and headed for the door.
Elizabeth must have spotted me coming up the hill, a quarter of a mile from our house. She burst from the front door, sprinted across the deep, covered veranda, and ran down to meet me. Beautiful girl threw herself against me with such abandon, when I stepped off Gunpowder, she almost knocked me down. Then, she slapped a big wet kiss on my mouth that near turned me inside out. Rowels on my spurs went to spinning by themselves and, for a second, I would’ve sworn steam rose from the collar of my shirt.
She broke the kiss, snatched my hat off, and said, “Oh, my God, Hayden. Your telegram said you’d been injured, but darlin’, that is one nasty-looking crease in your scalp.” She pushed my head around with her finger and gently traced the black-scabbed wound on my neck. “Sweet Merciful Father. This one is almost as bad. Does it hurt?”
Hugged her close and said, “A little. But you needn’t worry, darlin’. Doc Stillwater, over in Chickasha, sewed me up just fine. He seemed pretty sure I’ll heal up so fast you won’t even remember these little dents in two or three weeks. I should be able to cut the stitches out in a few days.”
Her head fell on my chest and she sobbed. Knew I’d probably hear the “We’re the wealth
iest family in Fort Smith; you don’t have to put your life in jeopardy if you don’t want to” speech before everything calmed down some. But she didn’t say anything. Just let out a pair of muffled sobs, and then perked right back up and went to smiling again.
She shoved her hips forward and rubbed against me in the most provocative manner. Sultry as a summer night in New Orleans, she said, “Guess I should thank God those bad boys weren’t shooting low.” Then she bit me on the ear and whispered, “I’ll race you to the bedroom, handsome.”
That afternoon, and all that night, Elizabeth made love to me with an abandon that almost caused the wax to pop out of my ears. We’d been trying for over a year to have another baby. I truly thought that after our son, Tommy, passed, Elizabeth might not want another child for sometime to come. But she put that silly notion to rest in pretty short order. Most beautiful woman I knew informed me in smoky-eyed, passionate word, and deed, that most of my free time away from the Nations would likely be spent in blazingly carnal efforts designed specifically to produce another chubby-pink Tilden, as quickly as possible. Truth be told, it got to a point where it was impossible to keep clean sheets on our bed, anytime I managed to spend a few days at home. God Almighty, sometimes that beautiful gal’s unbridled passion seemed to have no limits.
But the next day, she tore herself out of our bed and went back to her businesses. Such behavior was typical of the girl. As she always said, “Love is love, and sex is sex, but business is business.”
Third day after I got back, Carlton and Billy moseyed up a few minutes before noon. I was really pleased to see Carl. Hugged him like family and looked him over real good to make sure he wasn’t just putting on a show of feeling better. We sat on the veranda, drank big glasses of lemonade in the shade, and feasted on the beef, onion, and tomato sandwiches Elizabeth made before she headed for town that morning.
Carlton provided the cigars, and I cooked some coffee after we ate. We were sprawled in our chairs and blowing smoke rings when I said, “You’re looking fine as dollar cotton, Carl. Guess that hole the Dawson bunch put in you didn’t do as much damage as we first thought.”