Pray for Death

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Hawkins formed an insolent smile for him and took his time answering. “Until I feel like ridin’ on,” he said, ignoring the first question.

  It didn’t take but a second to determine the caliber of man Hawkins was. Of the two strangers, he was no doubt the one calling the shots. In contrast, the other one continued to sit motionless, saying nothing. He stared at Will under half-closed eyelids as if there was no one home behind the heavy eyebrows. Will decided he would be the first one to make a move in the event this face-off came to a violent end. Shifting his gaze back to Hawkins, he asked a question. “Are you aware of the law prohibiting the sale of alcoholic beverages in Oklahoma Territory?”

  Hawkins favored him with a tired smile. “Yes, I am, Deputy. But like my friend, here, said, I brought this whiskey with me for my own personal use. Just outta curiosity, let me ask you a question. Is it true what they say about the MKT Railroad bein’ the deadline, and it’s open season on any lawman caught west of that line?”

  Will answered his smile with one of his own. “Yeah, I have heard that old wives tale, but you’re settin’ east of that line where it’s open season on outlaws.”

  No one else said anything for a long moment, waiting to see if this boil was going to come to a head. Hawkins finally smiled again and said, “You’ve got a helluva lot of guts to come walkin’ in here like this, talkin’ about closin’ this place down. What are you gonna do if Tiny says To hell with you?”

  “Then I expect I’ll shut this place down and take Tiny to Fort Smith for trial,” Will answered.

  His answer brought a chuckle from Hawkins. He seemed to find enjoyment in the situation, considering the odds against the one lone lawman. “I swear, I’d like to know your name, Deputy, so I can remember you when anybody talks about damn fool moves, I can tell ’em about you.”

  “My name’s Will Tanner,” he said. “What’s yours? Or are you ridin’ under another name these days?”

  “Hell, no,” he said at once. “My name’s Ward Hawkins, and I’ve enjoyed this little chat with you, Will Tanner. But I wanna know what you’re gonna do now. Are you thinkin’ about arrestin’ me for takin’ a drink of whiskey with an old friend?”

  “No,” Will answered. “Like I reminded Tiny yesterday, he’s got till tomorrow to move outta here, and if he doesn’t, I will close this place down and take him to jail. As for you, I’ve got no reason to hold you and your talkative friend, there, since you’re just passin’ through this part of the territory. And in case you didn’t know it, you are just passin’ through.”

  Hawkins found the conversation downright entertaining, especially with what he had in mind to end it. Aware now that Tiny and Bill Todd were becoming antsy, wondering when he would have had his fun and would bring the discussion to a close, Hawkins finally asked a final question. “Tell me, Deputy Will Tanner, how are you gonna back outta here without gettin’ killed? There’s four of us. You’ll be lucky if you get off one shot, and I’m bettin’ you don’t get that one off before Bill Todd guns you down. I ain’t got no idea how fast you are with that rifle, but I know how fast Todd is.” The insolent smile returned to his face, this one even wider than before.

  “Well, since you asked,” Will calmly replied, “My rifle is cocked and loaded, so I feel like I can beat Mr. Todd, if he starts to draw. And I expect the fellow behind you will most likely pick you to shoot first. I’m willin’ to bet on myself to be fast enough to get a second shot off before I go down. And that leaves Jim behind you to finish it up. I like our odds.” Thinking he was bluffing, all four turned at once to find Jim Little Eagle standing with his rifle in one hand, his revolver in the other, both aimed at their backs.

  “What the hell?” Tiny McGee blurted. “How did you . . . ?” He could not understand how the Choctaw policeman could have gotten past the women in the kitchen without their raising an alarm.

  “All right,” Will said. “Now that everybody’s got the picture of what’s gonna happen if one of you makes the wrong move, I’m gonna say it again. This place is out of business. Sellin’ whiskey is against the law. When I come back here tomorrow, if you’re still open, you’re goin’ to jail.” He turned to address Hawkins. “And I expect you’ll be gone. If you’re not, I’ll consider it a refusal to obey the law and you’ll go to jail, too.” He paused a moment to judge their reaction to his orders. It was as he expected, so he said, “Damn it, man, I’m tryin’ to cut you some slack. You ain’t gonna like it if you don’t take advantage of it and get out of Indian Territory.”

  “You’re makin’ one helluva mistake, Tanner,” Hawkins said. “Me and Todd ain’t broke no laws in this territory, so you can’t tell us to move on. And as far as you threatenin’ Tiny, I expect it’ll be different the next time you show up here, now that we know what you’re gonna try to do. I’m thinkin’ it’s you that ain’t gonna like it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you say that, Hawkins. I’m doin’ my best to give you lawbreakers the chance to clear out. And I’ll still give you that chance. Jim and I are gonna let you think it over, just like I said I would, but I’m gonna need to have you take those weapons outta your holsters real easy-like, two fingers on the handle, like they were red-hot. Lay ’em on the table. Jim’ll pick ’em up, and we’ll leave ’em out by the porch when we leave.” With Will’s rifle staring them in the face, and the Indian behind them, Hawkins saw that he had no choice, so he pulled his .44, holding it with only his thumb and forefinger, as ordered. He laid it carefully on the table, his smile transformed into a smirk of defiance. Tiny, as was usually the case, was wearing no sidearm. Neither was Bud. They weren’t accustomed to wearing gun belts while they were working in the saloon. Bill Todd, however, was not inclined to go along, and he sensed a distraction when Hawkins surrendered his weapon. He slowly reached for his six-gun, but instead of pulling it with two fingers, he suddenly whipped it out of his holster to fire. He died with a stark expression of surprise on his face as Will’s .44 slug hit him square in his chest.

  Tiny and Hawkins jumped in response to the sudden firing of the weapon, both men expecting the killing to continue. They settled down when it was apparent that Will was not going to go back on his word and simply finish them off as well. A violent man, himself, Hawkins took it as a sign of weakness, and it encouraged him to regain his sarcastic manner. “Is that your penalty for takin’ a drink of whiskey? That’s the only crime he committed in your territory.”

  “You sayin’ I shoulda let him shoot me?” Will asked. “He thought he saw a chance and he took it. It was a stupid move, tryin’ to draw on a cocked rifle, and sittin’ in a chair at the time. Now, Jim, if you’d pick up Mr. Todd’s six-gun, I’ll get Mr. Hawkins’s gun and we’ll let these gentlemen get to work packin’ up to leave.”

  “You mighta just bit off a chew you ain’t big enough to swallow,” Tiny warned. “You’re all by yourself, you and that Injun. I’m waitin’ to see all them deputies and Texas Rangers you said were on their way here. You ain’t big enough to keep outlaws from comin’ here.”

  “You’ve got till tomorrow,” Will responded. “That’s my last word on the matter. Come on, Jim.” The Choctaw policeman walked around the table to stand beside Will, and the two of them backed slowly toward the door. “We’ll leave your weapons on the porch,” Will reminded them. Once Will and Jim were outside, they hustled quickly off the side of the porch where Will had left his horse. To give themselves a little more time, they pitched the two pistols under the porch. Will stepped up into the saddle and Jim jumped up behind him to direct him down along the creek bank to the spot where his horse was tied. Once they got there, they felt they were safe from any shots from the saloon.

  “Sometimes I think you a little bit crazy,” Jim felt the need to remark.

  “I can’t disagree with you,” Will said. “But we got outta there alive.”

  “When you shoot that man when he tried to shoot you, why you don’t go ahead and shoot the other three?” Jim asked. “They all outlaws. T
hey all say they gonna stay. We shoot ’em and no more problem.”

  “Well, I can’t say that wouldn’t solve the problem,” Will said after a moment’s thought. “But I reckon I didn’t just go ahead and shoot all four of ’em because, as a deputy marshal, it’s my job to arrest those breaking the law if I can. That way, they go before a judge and get the kind of sentence that fits the crime.” Thinking back on it, he asked, “You were a long time comin’ in there. You run into trouble?”

  “I was busy,” Jim said, then shook his head. “White man law, crazy law. Better you shoot them because later on, they shoot you, if they get the chance.” He climbed up on the paint gelding. “What you gonna do now?” He was convinced that McGee and Hawkins had no intention of packing up and running.

  “Well,” Will replied, “we tried a little white-man’s law today. I’m gonna give ’em till tomorrow night, then I’ll try a little Indian law.”

  That captured Jim’s interest. “If you do that, maybe you need an Indian to help you again.”

  “That’s up to you, but you might wind up with a better chance of gettin’ shot than you did today. I ain’t anxious to make Mary a widow.” He turned Buster toward town and rode off up the bank to hit the trail back to Atoka.

  * * *

  Behind them, two angry men and one shaken bartender were trying to make sense of what had just happened. Wondering why neither Etta nor Ida had given them warning about Jim Little Eagle coming in the back door, Tiny stormed into the kitchen. Finding no one there, he opened the pantry and found both women tied up together, hand and foot, and gagged with dish towels. “How the hell did you let him do this, without makin’ a sound?” Tiny demanded.

  “He caught me comin’ outta the outhouse,” Etta explained. “He said he’d kill me if I made a sound. He looked like he meant it, so I did what he said. He had a big coil of rope and he tied me up. Then he went to the back door and tapped on it till Ida got up from the table to see what was the matter. When she opened the door, he grabbed her and pulled her out the door. She let out a little squeak, but he told her, if she made another sound, he was gonna kill her. We was both scared to death.”

  “How did you get in the pantry?” Hawkins asked.

  “He walked us in there, then tied us up together.”

  “And you still didn’t make a sound?” Tiny asked. “You coulda gave out a yell or somethin’, and everything woulda turned out a helluva lot different.”

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Etta responded sarcastically. “Me and Ida woulda had our throats cut.”

  Ward Hawkins stood there, staring in disbelief at the two shaken women. “Will Tanner,” he said, as if committing it to memory. “He’s a problem that needs fixin’. He got the jump on us this time, but he’s gonna pay hell when he tries it again.”

  “I ain’t worried about takin’ care of Tanner,” Tiny said. “What I’m worried about is him telegraphin’ Fort Smith to send a bunch of lawmen down here to help him. We might have to get outta here in a hurry.”

  “I ain’t ready to lose everything we’ve put into this place,” Hawkins stated. “I think that deputy ain’t got nobody but that damn Injun to help him. If he had a posse on the way, he wouldn’t be comin’ in here givin’ us warnin’s, like he did today. It just don’t make sense. He wouldn’ta showed his hand. He woulda waited till his posse got here, and they would have come down on us without any warnin’ a-tall. The fact is, he can’t close us down by himself, him and that Injun. He’s just tryin’ to bluff us into pullin’ up stakes and movin’ on outta his hair.”

  Hawkins’s argument began to make sense to Tiny. “You might be right about that ’cause he did take a damn fool chance comin’ in here today like he did. If it wasn’t for these two women too scared to yell, we’da shot him down and his Injun, too. And we’da been done with him.” He paused to consider that for a moment before confessing. “I shouldn’ta built this place here, so damn close to that town and the railroad. But I thought it would be a good spot, easier for men on the run to get to.”

  “I thought at the time you shoulda gone farther west, to the Arbuckles or beyond,” Hawkins said. “But there ain’t nothin’ we can do about that now.” He gave a shake of his head to emphasize his next statement. “We’ll be ready for him next time he shows his face in that door—just cut him down where he stands. Everybody knows those deputies outta Fort Smith are already spread too thin to send a bunch of ’em down here in Injun Territory.” He paused to consider another thought. “It’s a damn shame Bill Todd tried to make a move on Tanner. I’da sent him into town to do the job there.” That reminded him of another job. “Come on, we might as well drag Bill outta the saloon.” He didn’t confess to them that the loss of Bill Todd would mean he had to find another gunman he could trust to work with him in his “banking business.”

  When they went back in the saloon, Bud was already trying to sop up some of the blood that had gotten on the floor. When Tiny and Hawkins came from the kitchen, he said, “He’s done some bleedin’, but most of it’s on him. I went outside to fetch your guns. The fool threw ’em under the porch. I had to crawl under there to get ’em.”

  Hawkins picked his gun up from the table and returned it to his holster before asking Bud if he had searched Todd’s pockets. When Bud said he had not, Hawkins checked them, himself, finding some money in one of them. He unbuckled Todd’s gun belt and pulled it out from under the body. “Anything else you want, help yourself,” he said to Bud and Teddy Green, who had heard the shot and came from the barn. “Then you can drag him outta here.”

  “Dig a hole for him,” Tiny told them, “somewhere out back of the barn.”

  CHAPTER 7

  When they returned to town, Will and Jim Little Eagle rode down to the stable and Will turned Buster out in the corral. Jim left him after hearing what plans Will had in mind to follow up that morning’s visit to Boggy Town. “Count me in,” Jim told him. “I’ll be ready after I take care of anything I’ve got to do in my job.”

  Will told him there was no need to come back until after supper. “I won’t need you till tonight, if I need you at all. I know you’ve got your own business to take care of. And I’m just goin’ to spend most of the afternoon keepin’ an eye on Mama’s Kitchen to see if there’s any chance they’re movin’ outta there, like I told ’em to.”

  Saying he’d be back to help him, Jim rode to his cabin west of town to see if anyone had come looking for him while he was away. After talking to Stanley Coons for a while, Will went to the jail to check on his prisoner. “I wish to hell you’d arrest somebody else,” Harley complained. “I need somebody to talk to. I’m goin’ crazy in here by myself.”

  While he could sympathize with him for the solitary confinement–like conditions, Will could offer nothing beyond advice. “Look at it like it’s a good opportunity to meditate and think about how you need to change your life to something more useful.”

  “Damn,” Harley muttered in disgust.

  * * *

  There was nothing for him to do at the jail by the railroad tracks, and he soon grew tired of listening to Harley’s constant conversation with himself. It was close to the time when Lottie would be opening her doors for the noon meal, so he decided he might as well have some coffee, maybe a piece of pie to go with it, before he rode out to Boggy Town. Lottie was in the process of turning her OPEN sign over when he walked up. “Well, hello again,” Lottie said, and held the door open for him. “You must be hungry. I thought I might not see you again till suppertime.”

  “I reckon I just had a cravin’ for a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of pie, if you’ve got any.”

  “Will apple do?” Lottie asked, knowing that it would. “Brant’s store got in a big barrel of dried apples yesterday, so I made sure I got me some. Lou-Bell made the pie. She bakes a pretty good apple pie. You sure you don’t want me to cook you a steak before you eat your pie?”

  It didn’t take much persuasion on her part. He hesitated
for only about thirty seconds before he said, “You talked me into it.”

  She laughed. “You’re awful easy. I’ll get you some coffee.” She turned and went to the kitchen.

  Will was finding it more and more inconvenient to perform his secondary job as a jailer for Harley. Primary among these duties was the feeding chores. He had made arrangements with Lottie to prepare Harley’s meals. But he had to be there every time they were delivered to unlock the door and keep an eye on Harley, lest he decided to make a try for freedom. There was no one in town to take a temporary job as jailer, and no one Will was willing to ask to risk their lives.

  In a matter of minutes, Lou-Bell came from the kitchen with his coffee. “Lottie said we had a special customer come to eat,” she joked. “How ya doin’, Will? Things have quieted down quite a bit since you came to town. I hope it’ll last for a while.”

  “I hope so, too,” he replied. Further conversation was interrupted when a couple of customers came in to eat. When Lou-Bell went to their table to greet them, he heard her welcome them as strangers. At this particular time, Will was interested in strangers in town, so he made it a point to take a good look and try to listen to their conversation. They were not loud in their talk, but catching a word here and there, he decided they might be freighters of some kind and were just passing through town.

  While he was eating his steak, he told Lottie to fix a plate for his prisoner, deciding that he might still be watching Mama’s Kitchen when suppertime rolled around and might not get back in time to feed Harley. So, when it was ready for him, he took the plate and complimented Lou-Bell on the pie. When he got outside, he saw a heavy freight wagon parked at the side of the dining room, so he was right about the two men in Lottie’s. It would have held no further interest to him, had it not been so obviously heavy-loaded. And the load was tied down tight under a canvas cover. It was enough to trigger his curiosity, so he decided to take a peek under that tarp to see what they were hauling. He walked around the wagon until he found a loose tuck in the canvas right behind the driver’s seat. Holding Harley’s dinner carefully in one hand, he pulled the canvas up enough to see with the other. The wagon was loaded with barrels, stacked one upon another. Painted on the barrels was the simple word MOLASSES. Now who in hell would be buying all that molasses in this part of Indian Territory? he asked himself, but he didn’t take long in making an assumption. He was willing to bet that wagonload of molasses was on its way to Boggy Town. Thinking he’d best make sure, he hurried down to the jail to deliver Harley’s meal. As he unlocked the door to the outer room that he was using as an office and bedroom, he could hear Harley in the other room carrying on a conversation with some imaginary person. Maybe he was right, and he is going crazy, Will thought.