by Lydia Olson
Crane took a puff of his cigarette as he thought. “Whether Sarah Harris and David Bryant are alive or dead is a coin toss. But I need to know for sure.” He pointed at Adams. “I need you to fetch Dwyer and Trager. All of you deputies are going to start hitting every town east of here on the main road that runs into here from Oklahoma and Arkansas.”
“What about keeping an eye on people trying to leave town?” Adams asked. “You know, that list of people we have that are a threat? The ones that might squeal?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Crane said. “The three of you can go while I stand watch. Then I need you to talk to Fredericks, Alan, and Schmidt. Tell them to check out the towns in the west. Ask around and see if anyone has come into contact with the woman in the photo that I showed you. Tell them there’s a man with her, but I don’t know what he looks like.”
Adams went to retrieve his hat from the top of Crane’s desk. “Consider it done. What should we do if we find them?”
“If you,” Crane said, “or any of those other boys come across the two of them, you stay put and get word out to me somehow. Keep them where they are. Make up a story. Tell them the sheriff is on his way to take their statement. After that, I’ll deal with it accordingly.”
“What are you going to tell the sheriff?”
“Exactly what is going on—I sent the deputies to look for the passengers that went missing from that stagecoach. Once we find them, if we find them, I’ll make up another story from there.” Crane pulled his pocket watch and saw that the little hand on the clock was creeping up to the twelve o’clock hour. “Go now,” he said. “Get moving. I want this thing resolved as quickly as possible.”
Adams bid his goodbyes and hustled out the door. Crane took another few puffs on his cigarette, tossed it on the wooden floorboards, and crushed it with his heel. He stood up, huffing as he made his next stop over at Arthur Stedman’s place to have a little chat.
***
Arthur Stedman’s residence was at the far end of time. A recluse, the overweight Arthur Stedman had the biggest gut in all of Clarendon, greasy skin, and a bald head covered in mere wisps of gray hair. To complement it all, a pair of beady eyes were amplified by a pair of bifocals sporting slightly fogged lenses that looked like they had fit him back when he was much younger and much healthier.
The Stedman residence was a farm that formerly housed animals. Now, it was a dilapidated mess nestled in the middle of the woods. Overgrown bushes and weeds covered the property like moss, and Stedman managed to stay afloat by allowing criminals like Tucker Willis and others to pay a small price to hide out on his property. The money he earned certainly didn’t go into any kind of upkeep. It was most likely reserved for the gratuitous amount of alcohol he tended to imbibe.
Crane arrived at the front door, where the white paint with green trim was faded and chipped. He knocked twice, the faint smell of manure seeming to linger throughout the whole Stedman farm. The door opened. Arthur Stedman stood there, breathing through an open mouth. He peeked over the top of his lenses, and without saying a word, he stood aside and let Michael Crane in.
Crane headed to the back room. He could hear what sounded like bullets being loaded into guns from the familiar clink and clank sounds of metal on metal. He took a right down a hallway, and in an open room which was big enough to house a study were Tucker Willis and four other men. Each of them was cleaning and loading six-shooters, shotguns, and organizing sticks of dynamite arranged on a table with a broken leg.
Tucker looked up. “There you are,” he said. “Good timing.”
Crane crossed his arms and examined the arsenal on the table. “Is this for the train?”
Tucker nodded. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not a smart man, Crane.”
“Who are these men with you?” Crane asked, not recognizing a single face in the room, save for Tucker. “I haven’t seen them before.”
Tucker, loading a final round into his six-shooter, tested the hammer before spinning the weapon on his finger. He stuffed it into his hip holster, and then nodded for Crane to follow him outside. The two of them went into an area of tall grass outside the room they were in. Tucker pulled out a cigar, lit it, and began his trademark chomping.
Arms still crossed, Crane said, “So, what’s the plan?”
“It’s pretty simple,” Tucker said. “We’re robbing the train.”
“Don’t be cute with me—what is the plan?”
Tucker flashed a smile. “Easy there, lawman I’m just giving you a hard time.” He chewed cigar. “There’s a six-o-clock train coming into Clarendon tomorrow.”
“I know that. So what?”
“Well,” Tucker said, “it’s not just any normal passenger list that day. You see, I’ve got a man who took a look at the roster of the people on the train, and it turns out more than a few of them have money. Rich folks, Crane. Rich folks.”
Crane looked incredulous. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because there’s men from the U.S. Treasury on board,” Tucker said, “and they’re hauling quite a bit of money with them.”
The knots that formed in Crane’s stomach nearly made him double over. “The Treasury?” he said with an incredulous tone. “You can’t be serious.”
Tucker nodded. “I am. And they apparently have two giant bags worth of money with them. I guess they’re taking it to Arizona for some reason. Either way—it’s getting robbed.”
“How, Tucker?” Crane asked.
“Well, smart man, I assumed I’d be using a gun.”
“But they’re Treasury men. Even if you do take care of them, the pressure from the department will fall down on us hard and fast.”
Tucker held up a finger. “If they know who we are, yes,” he said. “But this time, I plan on wearing the mask, even though I can’t stand it. You’re welcome in advance, for that, by the way.”
Crane flared his nostrils. He couldn’t believe (though part of him was not surprised) that Tucker was trying to rob the government. He’ll do it with or without my blessing, he thought.
“Fine and fair,” Crane said, resigning to Tucker’s plan. “So, what do you plan on doing once you get on the train?”
“I plan on getting on the train in Clarendon,” Tucker said, “waiting for it to depart, then robbing everyone at gunpoint, including the Treasury men.”
“What happens after you rob the Treasury men?”
Tucker sighed. “Do you really want to know?”
Crane shook his head. “No. I do not.”
“After they’re dealt with,” Tucker continued, “we’ll force the train to stop, get off, then go on horses that will be waiting for us at a rendezvous point about eighty miles from Oklahoma. It’ll buy us time to get to Oklahoma City. That’s where you’ll meet me. We’ll divide up our cut, then we go our separate ways.”
“And those men with you? What about them?”
Tucker shifted the cigar in his mouth. “What about them?” he asked.
“You’re planning on having them with you?” Crane asked.
“It’s not a one man job.”
“That’s a lot of money going out to hired hands. How much is on the train, estimated?”
“According to what I’ve been told,” Tucker said, “close to something with six zeros will be in those bags the Treasury men have with them.”
“And what about Reilly?” Crane asked. “Where the heck is he?”
Tucker winked. “He outlived his purpose. Don’t worry—I disposed of him well and good.”
Crane shook his head. “Good heavens, Tucker. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep leaving bodies all over the place.”
“I told you that I took care of it. Rest easy.”
“And what about these newcomers? You’ve got two of them, and you’re supposed to cut me and yourself in on the take you score from the train.”
Crane shook his head. “And you want to waste that on hired hands? You’ve got four of them,
and you’re supposed to cut me and yourself in on the take.”
Tucker showed off a devious and lecherous smile. He leaned in, lowered his voice to a whisper, and said, “Who said I was planning on paying those men inside?”
He’s going to kill them when the job is finished, Crane thought. The man really is deranged. “Tucker,” he said before he spit on the ground. “You’re a real savage, you know that?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tucker slapped Crane on the arm. “I have it all figured out. I have a friend in Oklahoma who’s going to help me on that end.”
Crane held up his hands. “I don’t care to hear how you’re going to handle that,” he said. “When will I meet you in Oklahoma?”
“A day-and-a-half,” Tucker said. “Go to Oklahoma City and stay at the big hotel that’s there. I’ll find you.”
Crane took a step forward. “I pray this isn’t a plan or a promise you intend on breaking. You know what I can do to you if you try to run off with my money.”
“Take it easy, Crane. I’m not going to go back on our deal. I know you’ll just sic the law on me, and I want to get as far away from you as possible when this job is finished.” He puffed his cigar. “What about the woman and that man from the stagecoach? You find them yet?”
“Not yet,” Crane said. “I sent the other deputies, and some of those I’ve got working for me on the side, to go looking for them.”
Tucker clicked his teeth. “You better found out if they’re dead or alive, Crane.”
“I’m working on it. And I wouldn’t have had to do this in the first place if you had been smarter about it.”
Tucker cocked his head to the side. He didn’t say a word as he stared at Crane, but Crane could see the disrespect and defiance Tucker had for him in his eyes.
“Take a load off, Deputy Crane,” Tucker gave him a thumbs-up and began walking away. “All is well.”
Crane watched as Tucker left. It felt as though every word that had just come out of Tucker’s mouth was a lie. Can I even trust him anymore? he thought. Was I even able to in the first place? He didn’t feel right about the situation, not in the slightest—and then an idea came into Crane’s head that felt like the simplest remedy to his problem.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Do you,” the preacher intoned, “Sarah Harris, take David Bryant to be your wedded husband? To have, to hold, to cherish, until death do you part?”
Sarah was dressed in a hand stitched gown. It was simple but elegant, flowing in the breeze as she stood in an open field with a handful of guests in attendance. The sun shone brightly overhead, though the wind that blew through it cooled the air to a pleasant temperature. She held David’s hands in her own as they stood before the preacher. David was in a suit, simple in nature like Sarah’s dress, but clean and pressed, making him appear more handsome than he already was.
“I do,” Sarah said as she smiled and looked at the preacher. She was the happiest she had ever been. She couldn’t recall how the tumultuous journey she shared on the trails with David had ended, but it was over. And now here they were, joined in holy matrimony with rings on their fingers and smiles all around.
The preacher turned to David. “And you,” he said, “David Bryant—do you take Sarah Harris to be your wedded wife? To have, to hold, to cherish, until death do you part?”
David reached up and grazed Sarah’s cheek with his index finger. His eyes watered, and he smiled at Sarah like he had never had before. “I do,” he said as the couple then grinned with delight.
The preacher, his palm flat on the Bible resting in his hand, said, “Then by the power vested in me, in the eyes of God, and the families of both Sarah and David—I now pronounce you man and wife. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.” He closed the Bible. “You may kiss the bride.”
David slowly wrapped his arms around Sarah’s waist and pulled her in close. He gently pressed his lips against hers. Sarah closed her eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. Applause and cheers broke out from the guests in attendance.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the preacher said, arms held out in a messianic pose. “I present to you—Mr. and Mrs. David Bryant.”
David held out his arm, and Sarah wrapped hers around his. He escorted her down the aisle where the guests were standing as Sarah counted the faces in attendance, a gallery of friendly faces celebrating the joy of her union with David. She saw her old neighbors back home. She saw Delores and Curtis Farley … and then she saw the natives, a peculiar sight standing out in the crowd. She saw the patrons in the bar in Little Rock that she and David had been in. And at the very end of the row, standing there with a joyous look on his face was her father, clapping and winking at her as she came to a stop.
Father? she thought. It cannot be …
It didn’t make sense to Sarah. So many people were here, so many guests she would have never in her wildest dreams would have guessed would attend. And then it occurred to Sarah, as she blinked her eyes and felt a soreness settle over her body, that what she had been experiencing was only a dream.
***
She awoke on the floor of the cave. She looked around, feeling as though she had been robbed of something wonderful. The stiffness and bruises that were on her body from the fall she had sustained that nearly tumbled her over the side of the mountain brought her back to reality, and she sighed in disappointment as she pushed up off of the ground.
David was at the entrance of the cave, standing guard with his rifle in hand. He looked disheveled but rested. The remnants of the fire that burned through the night was nothing more than smoke that trickled out through the mouth of the cave.
“Good morning,” Sarah said.
David turned around. His clothes were dirty. His stubble was now almost a full beard, and though he looked a little worse for the wear, he was smiling and looking at Sarah like she was the only person in the world that mattered.
Sarah simply stood there. She was so certain of how she felt for David that she was no longer questioning where her loyalties lay. I care for this man, she thought. That dream was no coincidence. It was a prophecy. I don’t want to be with Michael Crane. I want to be with David.
I am truly falling for this man.
“How did you sleep?” David asked.
“Very well,” Sarah said. “I’ve felt better, but I feel rested.”
“Good. Are you ready to ride? There’s a train Rolling Thunder told me about that’s not far from here. We’d be able to cut down on our time, and maybe, they’ll have a change of clothes for us as well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Sarah said as she looked around. “What do we have left to pack?”
David motioned with his rifle toward the horse. “I packed everything an hour ago,” he said. “I just wanted to let you sleep a little longer.”
Sarah smiled. “Thank you, David. I’m ready.” She approached the horse, ready to embark on the last part of their adventure—but when David said, “I need to tell you something,” in a soft, vulnerable tone, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him.
She knew exactly what it was he was going to say.
***
As Sarah looked at David, his nerves were shaken more than they had ever been. One time he had nearly been mauled by a mountain lion when he was six—but that was nothing compared to confessing to Sarah everything that he felt for her.
That morning, as Sarah lay sleeping on the floor of the cave, David awoke feeling fulfilled. Holding Sarah as he slept felt like something out of a wonderful dream. It didn’t matter how damp they were, how dirty their clothes were, or how much of a headache he had from nearly falling off the mountainside—he was happy.
She’s that woman, he thought. My parents were right when they said I might find a woman on my travels, and it’s her.
It was all so simple for David. The entire journey he had taken with Sarah was nothing more than a test, a test that they were both—by fate, or perhaps
by coincidence—facing together. If things could go so wrong for the two of them, if they could be robbed, nearly killed several times over, and still manage to have a bond that had grown so quickly, then their coming together was meant to be.
It has to be. I’m not meant to be her friend. I would do it on the off chance that she only wished to keep things platonic, but it’s so much more than that now. But what of Michael Crane? What of the mystery and uncertainty behind Tucker Willis?
David shook his head. He knew it didn’t matter. None of that mattered anymore. If Sarah felt for David what he surely felt for her, then all of that was nothing more than the past.
Tell her, David. Tell her.