Lovell bent backwards to relieve the stiffness in his back. "The boys are to be charged with cattle rustling; Cassidy with a misdemeanor illegal whisky vending charge. The other two go with me back to Fort Smith for rustling and attempted murder charges."
"I have a telegram for all deputy marshals from Fort Smith. You need to read it before going on," Lonetree said.
"Alright, let's take a look," Lovell said as he pulled his daybook from his saddlebags. He tossed the keys to the handcuffs to one of the policemen as Lonetree handed him the telegram. He read slowly and spoke to Lonetree without looking up. "Did you read this?"
"Yes."
Lovell read the telegram aloud. "Bank holdup on the 14th, Wagonza, Pottawattamie Nation. Seven killed, four wounded. At least ten involved. Leader reported as Trace Nodine. Last seen riding south toward Chickasaw Nation. All deputy marshals in the vicinity are to meet at Fort Arbuckle or Stonewall by the 17th." Lovell looked up at Lonetree. "This is the 16th ain't it?"
Lonetree nodded. "It is over a hundred miles to Fort Arbuckle. They will not expect you to be there."
Lovell nodded, staring at the floor and returned the telegram. "I'm not going to Arbuckle. I'm riding northeast to Stonewall. I figure Nodine will make for the Shawnee Hills in the Choctaw Nation once he's crossed the Canadian. From there he'll make for the Sans Bois Mountains and then cross the Black Fork River and ride for the Black Fork Mountains. I need a good horse with plenty of stamina. My gelding is played out. I need to go on tonight."
"I will find you a good horse while you eat."
"Appreciate it. You'll have to baby sit these two until I get back. The Chickasaw boys and the barkeep, you can handle yourselves. I just need a verification of arrest and expense when I return."
"When will you return?"
Lovell gave Lonetree a determined look. "As far as I'm concerned, I won't be back until Nodine is dead." He sat at a desk and began writing his charges and reports.
Lonetree left for the stables.
An hour later Lonetree returned with a nice buckskin stallion nearing sixteen hands in height. Lovell nodded as he threw his saddle on the stallion. "I am impressed. Where did you get this animal?"
"He is mine. I could not find a good enough one at the stables. I want fifty dollars and your gelding for him."
Lovell grinned as he tightened the cinch. "That's a hefty sum."
"He is the best stallion I have ever seen. He is worth the price. I know it even if you don't."
Lovell examined the stallion's teeth. He was no more than four years old, in the prime of his life. "Why are you selling me such a horse?"
"I want Nodine caught as much as you. You are the only one who can catch him. Your plan is good. If I were Nodine I would ride for the Shawnee Hills, just as you have said. This horse will carry you there and beyond."
"He got a name?"
"He is a horse…big dog."
Lovell nodded. "Big Dog. I like it. I will give you fifty dollars but you will have to wait on twenty of it until I am paid. I can't run myself too short of cash. I'll sign a contract in case I'm killed."
Lonetree nodded. "I will do this."
Lovell went back into the station and wrote up a contract, paid Lonetree thirty dollars in cash and rode out of town. Stonewall was a bit further away than Fort Arbuckle but he didn't have to cross nearly as many creeks to get there. He knew he couldn't make it in a day but hoped that the posse forming at Stonewall would be slow. He crossed the Blue River late the next day and made camp. He was in the saddle before dawn and was fording Middle Boggy River by midafternoon. Lonetree had been correct about the buckskin. Massive shoulders and rump, solid legs and a deep chest allowed the big stallion to carry him with ease. The stallion moved with an effortless gait and was well broken. Nothing seemed to spook him and he was bridle wise. Lovell decided that fifty dollars and his gelding was a bargain for such an animal.
Two hours after crossing Middle Boggy, Lovell rode into Stonewall. He figured he had ridden nearly a hundred miles in 48 hours and his stallion was still in good shape, even if Lovell was tense and sore. He dismounted and stiffly entered the local sheriff's office. A jailhouse janitor informed him that he had missed the posse by a day. Sheriff Pat Stoner had ridden out with deputy marshals Dave Mathews and Alex Cross. They were going to rendezvous with Ned Bells and Bass Reeves at Cherokee Town.
Cherokee Town was almost seventy miles straight west of Stonewall, exactly the wrong direction for the posse to be riding, in Lovell's mind. His guts told him that Nodine would not head for Texas but would follow the Canadian east into the Shawnee Hills. He left a message for the posse that he was going to continue north to the Canadian and try to cut trail. If he found nothing promising he was going northeast to Fort Holmes and rest up before swinging south into the Shawnee Hills. He grained and brushed his stallion before sleeping in the stable loft for the night. Before sunrise he was back in the saddle making for the Canadian. His only regret was that he did not have a second man to help cut trail on both sides of the Canadian as he worked his way to Fort Holmes.
Reasoning that Nodine would stay with the more open ground north of the Canadian, he forded the river the following day and began following its course northeast to Fort Holmes. He hadn't ridden more than four hours when he cut sign following a little-used Indian trail along the river. After some examination he figured that there were at least twenty horses, ten being ridden and ten led. The trail wasn't more than twenty-four hours old. It was Nodine's habit to relay fresh horses after raids in Kansas. It was too much of a coincidence for Lovell to ignore. He decided to gamble on this trail.
He crossed the Canadian by noon and rode up the slopes of the Shawnee Hills. The trail went right up over the ridge and followed the skyline; it was a perfect location for riders to watch the surrounding countryside and keep track of any posse riding the low roads. Lovell could see that the riders were changing mounts every six hours. He wished he had brought along a remount. His stallion would play out in another day or so if he didn't back off on his pace. He turned south to Coal Creek and made camp. He allowed the stallion eight hours' rest before pressing on. He had not cut trail soon enough and was now better off taking his time rather than ruining a good animal. If he wasn't following the right trail it didn't matter anyhow. Nodine would be long gone if Lovell had guessed incorrectly. Still he felt in his guts that he was right. If this bunch wasn't Nodine's they were riding like it. No matter who they were, they had something to hide and Lovell was going to check it out before giving up and returning to Tishomingo.
The trail broke west across the plains toward the Sans Bois Mountains. When it did Lovell smiled as he remembered Lucky Lucy and her cabin spit bath. Surely, he reasoned, Nodine would not chance returning to the same cabin he had been taken at the year before. No, he wouldn't do that but he would return to his old haunts in the Black Fork Mountains and that good-looking Cherokee squaw if he could. Nodine was clever, but Lucy was going to be his downfall if he didn't get her out of his system.
Lovell followed the trail for three days until a sudden storm hit with unusual ferocity. He held up under a limestone ledge huddled next to a meager campfire for twelve hours until nature got the storm out of its system. He hobbled the stallion and allowed him to graze on the good grass growing in the meadow between the front of the ledge and the shallow creek beyond. He thought of Amelia as he nursed the last of his coffee and beans. Running a rain camp alone causes a man to daydream and she kept running through his mind. He remembered her green eyes and dark hair, her easy laughter and friendly disposition…the soft toned color of her skin. He wondered if a man like Nodine could have the same stirrings for Lucy. A man on the run, no matter what he was, would naturally miss his woman.
It suddenly dawned on Lovell that he did consider Amelia to be his woman. Bonny had always been John Black's woman; no matter how close Lovell had been to her. He was taking something that wasn't rightfully his and he knew it. Yeah, it was her choice to sl
eep with him but it was his choice to accept her on her terms. He owed Black nothing but he owed himself some sort of a relationship with a future, a relationship with a woman who could appreciate what he had to give. He could never compete with Black and would always be a second rate provider compared to him. Lovell didn't like the idea of being second rate to anyone. He would be a step up for Amelia and she would appreciate him for it. That made for a much stronger relationship where he had a chance of succeeding rather than failing like he had in the past. Amelia had given him that future, a brighter future than he had known for years. When he returned…if he returned…he would ask her to marry him. But until Nodine was captured or put away for good, nothing else mattered. Lovell would not give up his badge until Nodine was locked up for good. If Amelia would accept him on those terms, he would give up his badge for her. He wondered if she would accept such a compromise. Maybe…maybe not. It would be her choice. If she couldn't understand or be willing to live with that choice then she needed to find another man. Another storekeeper like Black, with a fat wallet and fat ass to match. He smiled and leaned back against the wall of the ledge to take a nap.
When he woke the rain had stopped and the sky was clearing. The setting sun broke through the crack between the earth and the clouds, giving the countryside a deep purple cast. An odd peaceful stillness seemed to settle over his camp. Lovell decided to wait for dawn before riding on. Big Dog could stand a night of rest and grazing. It was fifty miles to Black Fork River and another forty to Black Fork itself. He needed the stallion in good shape before pressing on.
Chapter 23
Lovell held up his stallion and studied the small, lean-to, clapboard, windowless cabin nestled along the narrow creek bed. It was a damn poor place to put any building, let alone a house. An inevitable heavy downpour would raise the creek and wash the place away. He could tell that by the lay of the land and the change line from willows to oaks and cedars above the cabin. Only some ignorant pilgrim would build a place in such a spot. The door was half open and a crude four-legged stool in front of the door was knocked over. The whole place looked like it had been slopped together in a matter of a couple of days.
"Hello to the house!" he called. "Hello to the house. I'm riding in."
He waited several moments for a response that didn't come. He felt uneasy and drew his revolver before dismounting and stepping to the door. He knocked then slowly pushed the door all the way open. The air exchange brought the dramatic odor of death and decay from within. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, dirt floor interior. He made out a body on a narrow cot next to the back wall. A black man was sprawled on the cot under a dirty, wool army blanket. Lovell pulled back the blanket to examine the body. The man had been wounded, a bullet in his shoulder, a second in his chest and his wounds had been dressed with makeshift bandages. He had been shot long before he came to this cabin. His clothes were trail worn. A well-used cap and ball '51 Colt rested by his right hand. If he wasn't a common cowboy then he was one of Nodine's riders left behind because he was too sick to ride.
Lovell stepped from the cabin and made a search of the surrounding area. The sound of flies and the putrid stench of rotting flesh drew him to an open area above the cabin on the slope. Two decaying bodies lay side by side—a grown man and an adolescent. Both had been shot in the head. The bodies were at least four days old, two days older than the body in the cabin. Maggots were working under the clothing.
"Damn," Lovell cursed. "Why did they do this? What could this poor bastard have had that made him worth killing?" But then Nodine liked killing, he thought. It was probably done for the pure wickedness of the deed.
He found a wooden shovel and dug a shallow grave for the bodies. He pulled them into the hole with his lariat. He could barely keep from vomiting. It was nasty business and he hated having to work with such decay. Rather than deal with the Negro, he set fire to the cabin. There was nothing inside it worth salvaging.
He held his stallion at a distance as he watched the cabin go up in flames. "Another trail of death," he said to the horse. "When will this come to an end?"
He found the faint tracks of the gang and followed them on toward Black Fork River. Midmorning of the next day, he rode into the burned out ruins of Black Fork. He found Tom Duncan's body nailed to the smoldering back wall of his store. He had been shot several times in the knees, hips and elbows. He reckoned that the smoldering corpse in the store was probably Delta. Gracie's nude body was draped over a fallen oak tree next to the river where she liked to fish. She had been tied over the tree, gagged with a rawhide strap, raped in the same position from behind by several men, then shot in the back of the head. Empty whisky bottles and crocks littered a cold campfire site on a sandy bank next to the fallen tree. They had had themselves quite a drunken orgy before they put the poor bitch out of her misery.
Lovell became sick and went to the river to gather himself. Suddenly it was oppressively hot and he couldn't catch his breath. He removed his hat and doused his head and face with cold river water. He allowed himself to remember the bodies of Leah Walsh and her children when they were pulled from the cave. He finally succumbed to the urge to vomit. It was as if his body had to rid itself of every scene Nodine had left behind for him to clean up. He vomited hard and it felt good to purge himself of everything. He washed his face and drank from the river before going back to the buildings to see if he could find a shovel.
He found a pick and shovel blade in the ruins of Mitchell's barn and dug three more graves beside the others. By evening he had them buried and had searched out some salvageable coffee, pinto beans and beef tins from Duncan's store. He curled into his blankets for the night but struggled to sleep until early morning. He fixed himself a small sack of coffee, beans and some canned goods then proceeded to follow the trail to the north. The trail was no more than two days old and he hoped that Nodine would finally settle in for a spell so he could catch up with him.
He followed the trail through the day but he was numb with exhaustion and revulsion. In eight years of law enforcement he had never seen anything like the carnage left by Nodine. Whatever Nodine had been through in his lifetime could not justify the wicked sickness that was within him now. Lovell compared him to a mad dog that needed to be put out of its misery. He wondered where the other marshals were. Surely, they had given up on their searching and were following his trail. At least they should have figured to concentrate their search in the east by now. He didn't want to face this gang alone but he would do it. If need be he would kill them all rather than allow Nodine to escape.
Lucy's cabin was abandoned but Nodine had stopped there to dig something from the back yard. Lovell figured he had some loot stashed and was taking it with him. He was clearing his books. Nodine was going to leave the country. He had probably killed Tom Duncan to settle a score and tortured the women just for the pure misery of it. The trail turned east toward Arkansas.
Lovell found them in camp the following day. He saw the smoke of their campfire and made his way toward it on foot. They were settled into a shallow box canyon surrounded by low hills and scrub brush. It was sheltered by live oak and cedars providing good cover from the weather and passersby—a good temporary hideout. Seven men were sitting around the fire drinking and talking. He fetched his spyglass and studied each of the men. He recognized Nodine when he threw an empty whisky bottle into the fire. Nodine was sullen, drinking heavily and staring into the fire. Lovell did not recognize any of the other men—a mixed lot of whites, Indians and a mulatto.
Lovell considered going for help but felt that they would be long gone before he could assemble any men. He crept back to his horse and drew Pete's shotgun from the scabbard. He shoved several shotgun cartridges into his vest pocket, his extra Colt revolver into his belt and checked the loads in his Schofield. He decided simply to wade into them and start shooting. He wasn't interested in taking any of them alive and doubted he could get that many men back to Fort Smith by himself.
He crept back to his original position and counted the men again. There were still seven. The dead Negro would have been one of them but that left two others somewhere. He searched for them without luck. It was going to get dark soon and he wanted enough light to see to shoot. He sighed, took a deep breath and cocked the shotgun. He stood and walked quickly toward the campfire in a straight line.
The mulatto noticed him first and jumped to his feet. "Who's out there?" he called.
Lovell raised the shotgun to his shoulder and blew his head off. The body fell back on Nodine. A second man scrambled for the brush and Lovell shot him in the back, killing him instantly.
"Federal marshal! You're all under arrest," Lovell shouted as he broke the shotgun and replaced his rounds.
"The hell you say," a white yelled as he stood and drew his pistol. He got off a wild round before Lovell slammed the shotgun closed and blew a gaping hole in his chest.
None of the others moved. They seemed frozen in fear.
Lovell kept the shotgun raised hoping Nodine would try something, but he didn't.
"I want you to stand, throw down your weapons and raise your hands above your heads."
Two Indians, Nodine and white stood slowly. They carefully threw down their guns and knives.
Nodine smiled knowingly. "I jist should a knowed it a be you. You out here all by your own self?"
Lovell wanted to shoot. He wanted to wipe that grin off Nodine's face. He thought about his options very carefully. He felt he ought to murder him there and then, but he also wanted to see Nodine hang on the gallows in Fort Smith. If he murdered Nodine after a surrender, he'd have to murder them all to keep them from testifying against him.
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