Abandoning his crowbar, Will ran to his horse to get his rifle. While the horses in the stalls began to wander out into the barnyard, Jim went to the corral and opened it. Then he hurried back to the front of the saloon and untied the horses belonging to the two customers. By the time he returned to the back of the barn, Will had turned all the barrels upside down and their contents were slowly emptying. The fumes that began to fill the small storeroom were definitely not those of molasses. “I reckon we’re ready,” Will said, and Jim nodded, then let out an earsplitting Indian war cry that pierced the peaceful night. At the same time, both of them started firing their rifles—Jim, up into the sky, stampeding the horses in the corral—Will, standing in the doorway of the storeroom, firing at the barrels of whiskey. He was not really sure what the result of his next trick would be, but he thought it would do the job he envisioned. He had hoped his rifle fire into each barrel would ignite the fumes from the whiskey, but they had failed to this point. So he picked up a handful of hay, struck a match, and set it on fire. He started to take it over to the row of barrels, but halfway there, the fumes caught it and he was almost engulfed in the sudden fireball that resulted. In the meantime, Jim was still firing shot after shot into the air, accompanied by his piercing war cries, stampeding the horses across the yard and up toward the creek trail.
“Damn, Will,” Jim blurted when he saw the ball of fire that followed Will out the door. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Will answered, “but I thought I blew myself up for a moment there.” He looked back in the door and saw that the whiskey-soaked hay under the barrels had provided a perfect bed of kindling for the fire that was now catching the walls of the storeroom. In a matter of minutes, the entire barn would be ablaze. “I expect we’d best back away from here now and watch the show.”
* * *
Inside the saloon, there was an immediate reaction to the sudden scream of a savage Indian, causing several of the occupants to jump to their feet at the same time, knocking a whiskey bottle over on the table. The volley of rifle shots that followed, and the frightened squeals of the horses, brought Etta in from the kitchen to scream with Ida, while everyone else ran to the door. “Indians!” Tiny yelled when he saw the horses stampeding toward the trail above the creek. “They’re stealin’ the horses!”
“Head ’em off!” Hawkins bellowed at the two cowhands struck dumb by the sudden interruption in their evening of drinking.
“Oh hell,” one of the cowhands blurted, “they run ours off, too. We can’t head ’em off.”
In pure distress, Hawkins glared at Tiny. “We’ve got to do somethin’,” he wailed. “They’ve run off all the horses! Get after them, damn it! We can’t lose those horses.”
Every bit as shocked and confused as Hawkins, and everybody else in the room, Tiny could only stand in the middle of the room, blinking his eyes in response to Hawkins’s ranting. Finally, he brought himself back to his senses. “There can’t be many of ’em, and they ain’t shot at us yet, so they’re just after horses. We need to get out there and stop ’em before they get too far ahead with ’em! Bud, Teddy, grab your guns.” He turned to Ida then and barked, “Shut up that damn noise.”
Only after the men ran out on the porch did they realize that the barn was ablaze. Thinking to see renegade Indians riding after the horses, they were confused to see not a single rider going after them. No one was struck harder than Hawkins when he saw that the fire had started in the room where the whiskey was stored. The whole storeroom resembled a blazing furnace, and there was no hope of salvaging a drop of Tiny’s entire stock of whiskey. It represented the loss of the stolen cattle to buy the whiskey and the loss of the revenue expected in the sale of the whiskey. Hawkins was furious. He stood at the edge of the porch, staring at the blazing barn while Tiny, Bud, and Teddy ran around in frantic confusion, knowing the fire was already too far ahead of them for any hope of saving the barn or stable. Then it occurred to him. “Renegade Indians, my ass,” Hawkins roared. He turned to Tiny when his outburst caused the bewildered man to look his way. “U.S. Deputy Marshal Will Tanner,” Hawkins pronounced solemnly. “That’s who this little visit is from. It ain’t from nobody else. And it’s gonna cost him his life. He found out he couldn’t run us out, so he decided to burn us out. All right, he hurt us bad this time, but the fight’s just beginnin’.”
“He did more than hurt us,” Tiny complained. “He damn nigh wiped us out. We sure as hell can’t hang on here servin’ nothin’ but Etta’s meat loaf. Our main business was gonna be from outlaws on the run, that and the sale of whiskey to the locals, includin’ the damn Injuns.” Helpless to save the barn and stables, Hawkins walked back inside. Tiny followed him, still complaining bitterly. “Where we gonna get the money to rebuild the barn and get more whiskey?” He looked at the bottle on its side on the table, half of the whiskey spilled out on the table. In a fit of rage, he suddenly kicked the table over, sending the bottle flying.
“The same place we got the money for the whiskey we just lost,” Hawkins calmly answered the question. “Rustlin’ cattle. But first, we need to take care of Will Tanner.”
* * *
On the far side of the creek, their horses standing in a willow thicket, Will and Jim Little Eagle watched the results of their raid from a sandy bank. “I don’t know if we finally run them outta here for good, or if we just open a big can of trouble,” Jim commented. “Maybe they think it was Indians stealing horses, I don’t know.”
“I don’t know, either,” Will answered. “One thing for sure, though, they’re sure as hell not gonna sell that whiskey to anybody. Maybe Tiny and Hawkins will think it ain’t worth it to try to stay here. If they don’t, then I expect I’ll arrest ’em. We didn’t know about Tiny and Hawkins when Dan Stone sent Ed and me down here. If he’d known how big a problem this was, he’d most likely have called in some other deputies to go with us.”
“You told me you wire Stone to send a jail wagon,” Jim said. “You gonna take those prisoners you got back to Fort Smith when that wagon comes?”
Will knew what Jim’s concern was. “No, I expect I’ll send them back with whoever comes with the wagon. After the hornet’s nest we stirred up tonight, I intend to stay around to try to handle any trouble that comes because of that ‘Indian’ raid.”
“I think that Tiny fellow got no brains, but Hawkins, maybe I think he might be smart enough to know who did that,” Jim said as they saw Teddy and Bud walking around the burning buildings, helpless to do anything about the fire.
“I expect you may be right,” was all Will could say. “Now, we’ll have to wait and see what he’s gonna do about it—pack up and leave, I hope. If not, I’m gonna have to arrest him.”
“I think you’d best be mighty careful,” Jim said. “I think maybe we put a target on your back tonight, you and me.”
“You keep a careful eye from now on, too,” Will replied. They watched the healthy fire for a little while longer before Will said, “I reckon the show’s over for tonight. You’d best get along home before Mary finds out what I’ve put you up to tonight.”
* * *
It was late when Will returned to his office in the temporary jail. There were no sounds coming from the room where his prisoners slept except for some snoring. Sounds like they’re getting along pretty well, he thought, and decided he wouldn’t bother checking on them until morning. He unrolled his bedroll and was asleep within minutes.
He was awakened the next morning by Harley, yelling to see if he was there. “Yeah, I’m here,” Will answered. “Whaddaya want, Harley?”
“It stinks like hell in here,” Harley replied. “This slop bucket needs emptyin’, and we need some fresh water. There’s three of us now, you know.”
“All right, just hold your nose for a minute,” Will said while he got up and strapped on his gun belt. “Back away from the door,” he ordered, then unlocked the door and opened it wide so he could see all three prisoners before he stood in the do
orway. He decided right away that Harley’s complaint was legitimate. “Pick up the buckets, both of ’em,” he said to Harley, “and bring ’em on outside.” He drew his Colt and stepped back to give him room.
“Hey, don’t get them buckets mixed up,” Pete Jessup called after Harley as he went out the door.
“You don’t have to worry ’bout that,” Harley called back as Will closed the door, locked it, and picked up his coffeepot as he followed Harley out the door. Harley started walking toward a clump of bushes about thirty yards from the back of the jail when Will pointed them out. “You don’t have to walk all the way down there with me,” Harley said. “I ain’t likely to try to run.”
“I don’t mind it at all,” Will replied. “It’s just that I need to keep in pistol range ’cause I ain’t gonna hesitate to shoot you, if you do take a notion to run.” He couldn’t hear Harley’s muffled response. After Harley emptied the slop bucket and rinsed it with water left in the fresh water bucket, Will walked him to the pump by the railroad depot to get fresh water and filled his coffeepot as well.
“Whaddaya plannin’ to do about Tiny and Boggy Town?” Harley asked on the way back to the jail.
“What do you wanna know that for?” Will replied. “You worried about Tiny?”
“You know you ain’t gonna stop outlaws from comin’ down here,” Harley said. “The word’s done got out about Boggy Town bein’ the place to hole up. That’s the reason me and Tom Freeman showed up here. And they’re gonna be mad as hell when they get here and find out Tiny’s been shut down. You ain’t but one man, Deputy. You’d do well to clear outta this town while you still can.”
“I swear, I appreciate your concern for my health,” Will responded. “I didn’t know you cared what happened to me. Move along now, if you wanna get any breakfast this mornin’.” He was already weary of the job of jailer, and he was very much aware that the job wasn’t going to end anytime soon. He marched Harley back to jail and locked him in again. “I’m goin’ to get it now,” he said, in answer to Pete’s question, asking when they would get breakfast.
* * *
There were only a couple of people in Lottie’s when Will walked in the door and Lottie came to greet him when she saw him. “Mornin’, Will,” she said cheerfully. “You want your usual?” He said that he did, then she asked, “We feedin’ prisoners this mornin’?”
“Yep,” he replied, “breakfasts for three. If things go the way I’m hopin’, you might need to cook for a couple more. And I expect I’ll need you to feed ’em for maybe a week. Is that any problem?”
“No, I can feed ’em, but we need to work out some kind of arrangement for paying me,” she said.
“How ’bout if I pay you a lump sum in advance? Then we won’t have to keep track of it every day. You just figure out what it’ll cost for these three, say, for a week, all right? If I add a couple more prisoners, I’ll make up the difference.”
“That’ll work,” she said, happy to hear she was sure to be compensated for her service. “It’ll be a little trouble for you to carry three plates over to your new jail. I’ll let Lou-Bell help you carry them when you’re ready to go.” Lou-Bell approached the table just then with a cup of coffee for him. Turning to her, Lottie joked, “That would be all right, wouldn’t it, Lou-Bell, if I sent you to jail with Will?”
“Be all right with me,” she replied. “I wouldn’t mind bein’ locked up with Will.”
“You’d be locked up with my three prisoners,” Will said.
“Now, that might be more’n I’d wanna handle,” Lou-Bell stated.
He laughed with the two women, then Lou-Bell left to wait on another table, and Lottie returned to the kitchen. It occurred to him that the playful conversation just passed with them caused him to think of Sophie Bennett. And that thought reminded him that he had not thought of her for a couple of days. He pictured her now, still planning and preparing with her mother for the wedding to take place on Christmas. He had denied it for weeks, but truth be known, he dreaded it almost as much as he dreaded having to arrest Hawkins and Tiny. He hadn’t even bought her a ring, and he knew his heart should be filled with excitement at the thought of the ceremony. I wish to hell we could just jump over a broom together and be done with it. His thoughts were then returned to Indian Territory with the arrival of Lottie and his breakfast.
His breakfast finished, he and Lou-Bell walked over to the railroad tracks to deliver the prisoners’ breakfasts. “Now, that’s what I call a first-class jail, when you serve women with your breakfast,” Harley remarked when he saw Lou-Bell.
“Watch your mouth, Harley,” Will warned, “or I’ll tell this lady to throw yours out the door.”
“That’s right, Harley,” Pete Jessup said, recognizing Lou-Bell from the dining room. “That ain’t no way to talk in front of a lady.”
Will handed the plates to them one by one, then locked the door again, after telling them he would boil some coffee as soon as he got the fire stirred up again in the stove. “I hope you weren’t offended by that impolite talk,” he said to Lou-Bell.
“Shucks, no,” she replied. “That’s the first time anybody’s called me a lady in a helluva long time—even if it was by a common outlaw.” She gave him a big smile and walked out the door, heading back to Lottie’s.
He had more important things to think about then, so while he waited for the prisoners to finish their breakfast, he walked over to Brant’s store. He needed more .44 cartridges. He had used up quite a few the night before. After returning the prisoners’ plates, he walked down to the stable and saddled Buster, checked his Winchester for the third time, then slid it into the saddle sling and climbed up on the patient buckskin. Once more, he set out to strike the trail leading east along Muddy Boggy Creek.
As before, he was not comfortable in riding boldly down the path to Mama’s Kitchen. This time, he felt even more likely to be the target of a rifle shot, after last night’s raid. When within a couple hundred yards of the path, he reined Buster back to a halt while he looked at the thin wisps of smoke floating up from the clearing ahead. After a moment, he nudged Buster and crossed over the creek to come up behind the main building where he and Jim Little Eagle had surveyed the damage the night before. It was even more devastating in the light of day, for there was nothing remaining of the barn and stable but a low pile of smoking timbers. He waited there for a while, watching the main building and the sleeping quarters behind. There was no activity outside the buildings at all. The horses had been recovered and were all in the corral, which had survived the fire, showing evidence of it in its scorched rails and gate. He had hoped to get a chance to isolate one of the two men he came for, but there appeared to be little chance for that. Everyone was evidently inside the main barroom.
He nudged Buster again and the big buckskin walked slowly across the creek, then along the side of the building until he reached the front porch. He was glad to see no horses tied at the hitching rail. What he was going to attempt to do might have been that much more difficult if he had to contend with customers. Piled on the far side of the porch, Will saw what appeared to be saddles and other tack that had been saved from the fire. Stepping out of the saddle and onto the porch, he grabbed the two sets of hand irons from his saddle horn and hung them on the back of his belt. Then he moved cautiously up to the same window he and Ed Pine had approached the first time they came. The thought crossed his mind that he might be about to make a foolish move, but there was no turning back at this point. Through the window, he could account for all four of the men. Tiny and Hawkins were sitting at a table drinking coffee. Over at the bar, Bud was talking to Teddy. With a live round already cranked in the chamber of his Winchester, he slid quickly past the window and grasped the handle of the front door. He paused there to listen for any sound from inside. There was none that suggested he had been spotted through the window. Slowly, he turned the door handle and eased the door open only a few inches at a time, continuing as long as there was no reac
tion from those inside. Finally, the door was open just wide enough for him to see all four men.
Ida Simpson came into the barroom from the kitchen, but stopped suddenly in the doorway, dropping the cup and saucer she had been holding, frozen by the sight of the man at the front door. The sound of the cup and saucer crashing to the floor caused all four men to jump, startled, as they jerked their heads around toward the sound. “What in the hell’s the matter with you?” Tiny barked when she said nothing, but continued to stare straight ahead, her eyes opened wide. “What?” Tiny asked again, then turned to see what she was staring at. He immediately reached for the handgun he was now wearing, only to cry out in pain when struck in the shoulder by the .44 slug from the Winchester. Hawkins had the same reaction but thought better of it when he realized Will had already cranked in another round, anticipating his move.
Bud and Teddy remained frozen in place, neither wearing a gun. “You two,” Will commanded, “get over there next to the table. Take a wide turn around the end of that bar,” he said, knowing there was a shotgun propped under it. Bud did as he was told and took an exaggerated turn around the end of the bar. “That’s close enough,” Will said when they were within a couple feet of the table. “Now, mister,” he said to Teddy, “I want you to show me how slowly you can lift those six-shooters outta both their holsters and bring ’em to me—one at a time, if you please.” With no recourse other than to obey, Teddy lifted the weapon out of Tiny’s holster, holding it by the handle as if it was hot. Tiny groaned in pain, even as he scowled menacingly in Will’s direction. Will took the weapon from Teddy and stuck it in his belt. “That’s fine. Now do the same for Hawkins, there.”
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