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AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS
PRAY FOR DEATH
A WILL TANNER, U.S. DEPUTY MARSHAL WESTERN
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND J.A. JOHNSTONE
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
Teaser chapter
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 J. A. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-4364-4
Electronic edition:
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4365-1 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4365-2 (e-book)
CHAPTER 1
Jim Little Eagle reined his paint gelding to a halt on the bank of Muddy Boggy Creek about fifty yards upstream of the log building bearing the crudely lettered sign that identified it as MAMA’S KITCHEN. The Choctaw policeman had been watching the comings and goings of the typical clientele of the dining room and gambling hall just recently built three miles outside of town. And from what he had observed, there was no doubt that the owner, a man calling himself Tiny McGee, was selling whiskey and employing a prostitute as well. Jim figured it was time to remind McGee that it was illegal to sell whiskey in the Nations. There was little doubt in Jim’s mind that the recent complaints from the merchants in town were caused by patrons of Mama’s Kitchen. On more than one occasion in the past week, three white drifters had amused themselves by racing their horses through the center of town, firing their firearms and scaring the people. He was not confident that his visit to Mama’s Kitchen would stop the harassment of the citizens of Atoka, because his authority was limited to the policing of the Indian population. He knew that McGee knew this, as all outlaws did, but he felt it his duty to give him notice, anyway.
Inside the log building, Bob Atkins and Stump Grissom sat talking to Tiny McGee at one of the four small tables. A door that led to several rooms in the back of the building opened and Bob’s brother Raymond came out, pretending to stagger as he hitched up his trousers and buckled his belt. His antics caused a round of guffaws from the table and a loud response from Bob. “I swear, Raymond, damned if I don’t believe Mama’s Baby done wore you out!”
Coming out behind him, Ida Simpson commented, “Don’t pay no attention to him. He’s as rutty as a bull in matin’ season.” A working girl with signs of wear, but uncertain age, Ida had adopted the name of Baby because it was so appropriate for Mama’s Kitchen. Although Mama’s was, in effect, a saloon, there was a kitchen and Tiny did sell meals. His cook was a well-traveled woman named Etta Grise, now too old to do the work Baby did. Tiny hoped the name of his establishment might disguise his actual business interests. His plan was to make Boggy Town, the name already given to it by outlaws, a separate little town where outlaws on the run could hole up. And, so far, he had not been visited by any deputy marshals out of Fort Smith.
“I expect Baby’s up to givin’ you a ride now, Stump,” Raymond japed as he sat down at the table.
“Not me,” Stump responded. “I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ but supper right now.” He was about to say more but stopped when he realized everyone was looking past him toward the door. He turned then to see what had captured their attention.
“Well, well,” Tiny said, “if it ain’t Jim Little Eagle.” He sneered openly at the Choctaw policeman standing in the doorway, his rifle cradled in his arms. “What brings you down to Boggy Town? Course, I expect you know I don’t serve no Injuns in here.”
“I think you sell whiskey to Indians out your back door,” Jim answered him. “I come to give you notice that it is illegal to sell whiskey in the Nations, to white man or Indian. I think you already know this. I don’t want to put any more drunken Indians in my jail. I think you better stop selling whiskey.”
“Damned if he ain’t mighty uppity for an Injun,” Bob said. “You gonna let him talk to you like that?”
Tiny laughed. “He’s the local Choctaw policeman. He knows damn well he ain’t got no say-so about anything a white man does.” He sneered at Little Eagle. “Ain’t that right, Jim?”
“I think you would be wise to take my warning and stop selling whiskey,” Jim insisted. “Maybe it would be best if you move your business someplace else. Atoka is a peaceful town.”
“This ain’t Atoka, this is Boggy Town, and I got as much right to be here as any of them stores in town,” Tiny said. “Maybe it’d be best if you take your Injun ass outta here before somebody’s gun goes off accidentally.” His warning prompted the other three at the table to push their chairs back, preparing for a possible shooting.
With no change in the solemn expression on his face to reveal his frustration, Jim Little Eagle replied, “That would be an unfortunate thing to happen, because my rifle fires by itself when accidents happen. And you are such a big target, white man,
you would be hard to miss.” When Stump Grissom started to react, Jim whipped his rifle around, ready to fire.
“Let him go, Stump,” Tiny warned. “You shoot one of them Injun policemen and there’ll be a whole slew of deputy marshals down here.” He looked back at Jim. “All right, you’ve said your peace, so get on outta here and let us get back to mindin’ our own business.”
Knowing there was nothing he could legally do to close the saloon, Jim backed out the door. With a keen eye still on the door, he climbed on his horse and rode away. He had at least accomplished one thing by making the visit. He verified the suspicion he had that Tiny McGee was operating a saloon. There had been no attempt to hide the whiskey bottle in the middle of the table. He would now notify the marshal in Fort Smith.
Behind him, the four men filed into the kitchen to eat supper. “Soon as we finish eatin’,” Bob Atkins suggested, “why don’t we take a little ride into town and make sure all them folks are awake.”
* * *
“Good morning, Will,” U.S. Marshal Dan Stone greeted his young deputy when he walked in the door of his office over the jail in Fort Smith. “Are you ready to get back to work?”
“Yes, sir, I surely am,” Will replied, and took a seat across from Stone’s desk. It was a truthful answer, for he had spent the last three days in town, most of it sitting around Bennett House drinking coffee and listening to Sophie Bennett and her mother talking about the wedding coming up. Out of desperation, he had excused himself from their discussions from time to time, telling them he had to check on his horses and tack. He found himself longing for the hills and open prairies, and that was something that troubled him. His on-again, then off-again, engagement to Sophie had been due to his job as a deputy marshal and the fact that it caused him to be gone most of the time. When he thought about it, he couldn’t really blame her for wanting him to go back to the ranch in Texas, a ranch she had never seen. That was another thing that upset her—he had promised to take her there three weeks ago but had to answer a call from Dan Stone to ride with eight other deputies to capture a gang of train robbers targeting the MKT Railroad.
Noticing a look of distraction in Will’s face, Stone commented, “You look like your mind’s off someplace else.” He flashed a smile and asked, “You thinking about that wedding? Is that where your mind was?”
“Yes, sir, I expect it mighta been, but it’s back on business now,” Will said. Stone had guessed right, but Will felt no inclination to tell his boss that he wasn’t sure about getting married. He knew he would, however, because he had asked Sophie to marry him, and she had said yes.
“Good,” Stone said. “I’m sending you and Ed Pine down to Atoka to arrest three men who’ve been terrorizing the town.” When he saw Will’s questioning expression, he paused before continuing. “I know, you’re thinking that sounds like a job for one deputy with a posseman and a cook, but Ed’s been pushing me to send him back in the field. So, I told him I would, but only in partnership with another deputy. He feels like he’s ready to ride again, but I think he’s still a little weak from that chest wound. He just won’t admit it.” He shook his head as if exasperated. “So, you’re the best man to ride with him. He likes you and he’s still beholden to you for going after him when he was left for dead over near Okmulkee. If those three men were in jail, I’d let Ed go without you, but you’re gonna have to arrest ’em.” He shrugged. “That is, if they’re still there by the time you get there, considering it’s gonna take you damn near a week.” He waited to hear Will’s objections, knowing how he disliked being slowed down by a wagon. When Will didn’t protest, Stone continued. “Ed’s getting the wagon and said he was gonna take Horace Watson to do the cooking.” That was fine with Will. He had worked with Horace before, when he was cooking for Alvin Greeley. Greeley was a useless sod, but Will had no complaints about Horace.
“I expect you want us to get started as soon as we can,” Will said. “Is Ed takin’ care of all the supplies we’ll need?” Stone said he was. Will nodded and commented, “Looks like I’ll just be his posseman on this trip.”
“Pretty much,” Stone replied. “You see any problem with that?”
“Nope,” Will answered. “Ed oughta know what he’s doin’. He’s been ridin’ with the Marshals Service longer than I have.”
“Good,” Stone responded. “I knew I could count on you.” Will stood up to leave. “Ed’s probably still over at the stable, if you want to check with him.”
“I’ll do that,” Will said, and walked out the door.
* * *
Will found Ed talking to Vern Tuttle, the owner, when he walked down the street to the stables. “Here’s Will Tanner now,” Vern announced when Will came in the door.
“Howdy, Will,” Ed Pine greeted him cheerfully. “Have you talked to Dan Stone about ridin’ with me?”
“Just came from there,” Will replied. “He told me I was fixin’ to go to Atoka, that you were in charge on this job, and that I damn sure better not mess up.”
Ed chuckled. “Well, I’m glad he laid it on the line for you, so I won’t have to do it.” Serious then, he said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d check over that list of supplies I loaded on the jail wagon. See if there’s anything else you think we’ll need.” Will took a quick check of the pile of supplies Ed had acquired and found them adequate. “Horace Watson’s gonna meet us here at six in the mornin’,” Ed informed him. “We can pack most of that food in his wagon.”
“Are you plannin’ to drive that jail wagon?” Will asked. “’Cause I ain’t. Whaddaya say we let Horace pile his cookin’ stuff on the jail wagon and he can drive it, instead of takin’ two wagons.” That sounded like a good idea to Ed. Like Will, he’d rather sit in the saddle than ride on a wagon seat. “It’ll take us just as long to get to Atoka, but we’ll be free to scout along the way for fresh game, or smoke out any trouble ahead.”
They talked with Vern for a while afterward, then Will had a quick visit with his buckskin gelding before telling Ed he would see him in the morning. Ed walked out of the stables with him to say a final word. “Will, I ’preciate you goin’ along on this trip. I know Dan don’t think I’m ready to ride again.”
“Oh, I don’t think Dan thinks that at all,” Will quickly assured him. “He’s just concerned about these three jaspers raisin’ hell in Atoka. I think he figures they’re more than three harmless drifters. They might be wanted somewhere else and they might be a handful for one man to handle.”
“I reckon we’ll see, won’t we?” Ed declared.
“I reckon,” Will responded. “I’ll see you in the mornin’.”
* * *
As was their usual custom, Ron Sample and Leonard Dickens were sitting in their rocking chairs on the porch at Bennett House when Will walked up from the street. “Ain’t it gettin’ a little too cold for you boys to sit outside?” Will asked the two elderly boarders as he came up the steps. Never mind the coming of chilly fall weather, it seemed it might take a blizzard to run the two of them inside to smoke their pipes.
“There is a little nip in the air this afternoon,” Leonard conceded. “But thanks to Ron, Ruth ran us outta the parlor.”
Ron looked at Will and chuckled. “Yep, it didn’t set too well with Ruth when I burned a hole in that carpet by the davenport. She made us go set out here on the porch. It wasn’t much more’n a little scorched place in the carpet, was it, Leonard? I told her she could pull that rocker over a couple of inches and you wouldn’t even notice it. She went on about tryin’ to keep the house lookin’ decent for your weddin’.”
Will glanced at Leonard, who was looking at him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and he knew there was a little needling coming his way. “No, sir,” Leonard said, “we’d best not mess up that weddin’. Right, Will?”
“Hell,” Will shot back, “you two ol’ buzzards ain’t even invited.”
They both laughed at that. “Which one of us are you gonna pick to be your best man?” Ron asked.
“You’d be better off pickin’ me,” Leonard said. “I can still get into my suit I bought for my wife’s funeral. It’s just like new. I ain’t wore it since.”
“Maybe Leonard’s right,” Ron jumped in again. “There ain’t much difference in a weddin’ and a funeral, anyway. A feller gets his wings clipped at either one of ’em.”
He could still hear them laughing after he went inside and closed the door behind him to find Sophie coming down the stairs. “Oh, Will,” she said upon seeing him. “Good, you’re home. Supper’s about ready, so if you have to wash up, you’d best get about it.” She paused on the second step, so she could look him in the eye. “Did you go to see Dan Stone today?”
“Yep,” he responded. “I reported in, just like I was called to do.”
When there was no more from him beyond that simple statement, she gave him that accusing look that he had come to recognize. “You’re riding out again, aren’t you?”
“Not till tomorrow mornin’,” he answered, hoping she would think that at least they had tonight.
“Does he know you’re getting married soon?” she asked. “We have so many things to do before then, and it would be nice if you were here to help.”
“Sophie, there ain’t anything I know to do to help plan a weddin’. You and your mama are goin’ to plan everything, anyway. And in the meantime, I have to earn a livin’. So, I can’t just sit around Fort Smith every day. When we get married, we’re gonna go to Texas, like I told you, and live on the J-Bar-J. And I’ll be home all the time.” He gave her a smile. “And you’ll most likely wish I was back in the Marshals Service.”
She shook her head as if perplexed. “Just go wash up for supper.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before continuing on her way to the kitchen. After supper, she would find out where he was going in the morning and how long he could expect to be gone. In spite of her efforts not to, she was following right along in her mother’s footsteps. In love with a deputy marshal, she feared she was destined to realize the same heartbreak her mother suffered when Deputy Marshal Fletcher Pride was murdered by outlaws. Those thoughts brought her mind back to her mother. A strong woman, Ruth Bennett had operated her boardinghouse ever since the death of Sophie’s father with never a sign of dependence on anyone. But lately, her mother didn’t seem like the determined woman Sophie was accustomed to. Margaret, who had run the kitchen ever since Ruth took over the management of the boardinghouse, noticed a difference in Ruth’s demeanor as well, and had commented to Sophie about it. They decided that Sophie’s mother was probably working herself into a case of nerves over the upcoming wedding and would recover her old spunk when the knot was tied. Sophie’s thoughts were interrupted then when she walked into the kitchen and almost bumped into Margaret coming out into the hall to ring her little dinner bell.
Pray for Death Page 1
