Pray for Death

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Her comments caused Caleb, her youngest, to chuckle. “That’s the reason we sent you out there, Fanny. So you could keep a lookout while we make sure we finish off all the coffee in the pot.” That brought a laugh from the other boys.

  “So, who was you talkin’ to?” Lemuel still wanted to know, afraid his mother might be getting to the age where she talked to people you couldn’t see. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have heard her speak his late father’s name as she was coming in the door.

  “Why, I weren’t talkin’ to nobody but your older brother,” she answered, then waited to see the reaction. She was not disappointed.

  “Who?” Arlie asked, not sure he had heard her.

  “Your older brother,” she repeated. “Ward.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Lemuel demanded. “You been smokin’ rotten tobacco or somethin’? You sure you didn’t just think you saw Ward? You most likely saw a shadow or somethin’.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, son, but I’m a helluva long way from goin’ crazy. And if that weren’t your brother Ward I was talkin’ to, then I reckon it weren’t him I just saw go in the bunkhouse.”

  She had them all worried then, much to her enjoyment, and she chuckled at Arlie when he went to look out the kitchen door toward the bunkhouse. She laughed heartily when he reacted. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “There’s smoke comin’ outta the bunkhouse stovepipe.” He was quickly joined by Lemuel and Caleb, wanting to see for themselves.

  “He’s right,” Lemuel said, and turned to face his mother again. “Who the hell’s down in the bunkhouse, Fanny?”

  “I told you who it was,” she answered. “Go see for yourself.”

  “I think I’ll just do that,” Lemuel said, and went out the back door with Arlie and Caleb right behind him.

  Inside the bunkhouse, Tiny looked out the open door and announced to Ward, “Looks like a welcomin’ party comin’.” He watched for a second more before commenting, “Maybe it looks more like a lynch mob.”

  Ward walked over beside him. “That’s my brothers. Fanny musta told them about us.” He unconsciously reached down to make sure his .44 was resting easy in his holster.

  Noticing the move, Tiny took his arm out of the sling and removed it from his neck. “You sure this was a good idea, comin’ back here?”

  “Nothin’ to worry about,” Ward assured him. “They’ve just gotta see for themselves. Course, it always pays to be ready. These ain’t the brightest boys ever stole a cow. I don’t mind sayin’ I got all the brains in the family.” With that said, he stepped away from the door and positioned himself beside the stove. Following his lead, Tiny took a position on the other side of the stove. He rotated his shoulder several times, testing it, in case he was forced to use it.

  After only a few seconds, Lemuel came through the door, stopped at once by the sight of Ward and Tiny standing there, waiting to receive their visitors. Caleb and Arlie pushed in behind Lemuel to stand there, uncertain as well. “I’ll be damned . . .” Lemuel finally drew out, startled by his brother’s obvious change. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he asked, just as his mother had.

  “Come to see my brothers,” Ward answered. “Wanted to see if you’d gotten any smarter since I left here.”

  “Things are different around here since you took off,” Lemuel declared. “So, you’re wastin’ your time if you think you can come back and take over. I’m runnin’ things now, and we’re likin’ it that way.” Caleb and Arlie nodded in support of his claim.

  Ward smirked. “You mean Fanny’s runnin’ things around here now, don’t you, little brother?” Before Lemuel could react, Ward continued. “I’ve got no notion to come back to this broke-down ranch, so don’t get yourself riled up. Me and Tiny are just gonna be here a couple of days, then we’ll move on. We’ve got bigger things to do. So, you might as well just keep a cool head and we’ll be gone before you know it.”

  There was a silent standoff for a few moments with none of the party really knowing what their reaction should be at this unexpected reunion. Arlie, who had always been the biggest and the strongest since they were all grown, was inclined to ask a question. Unable to ignore Tiny’s size, he wondered, “Who’s this feller with you?”

  “Tiny McGee,” Ward answered with a grin, knowing his brother could not resist comparing himself to his giant-sized companion. “He’s a big ’un, ain’t he?” He chuckled then and made a show of introducing them. “Tiny, these are my brothers, Lemuel, Caleb, and Arlie,” he said, pointing to each one when he said the name. “Now, I’ll tell you how it’s gonna be for the next few days around here. Me and Tiny will mind our own business, and you can mind yours. We’ll take our meals with you in the house, Fanny’s already said that, so there shouldn’t be no trouble between us. Anybody got any problem with that?” He aimed his gaze at Lemuel, since he knew he was the one who would feel challenged.

  “I reckon not,” Lemuel replied after a moment’s pause to decide if there was any problem. “Long as you know who’s runnin’ things around here and don’t try to stick your foot in it.”

  “Fair enough,” Ward responded. “Now, me and Tiny ain’t had no supper. So, since this stove has finally started to heat up, we’re gonna make some coffee and find somethin’ to eat in our packs. You boys are welcome to hang around if you want to. Ain’t no reason we can’t be neighborly.”

  In spite of the bad feelings that had been generated when Ward decided to leave the family band of rustlers, there was a natural curiosity about their oldest brother. Caleb, the youngest, was the first to express it openly. “Where have you been for three years?”

  “It’d be an easier question to answer if you’da asked, Where haven’t you been?” Ward said. “I’ve been all over the state of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, too.”

  “We know you’ve still been sellin’ some cattle in Houston,” Arlie commented. “Thought you didn’t like rustlin’ cattle.”

  “I never said I didn’t like rustlin’ cattle. I just didn’t like doin’ it on the small scale you boys are doin’ it. But I’m into bigger operations, too. Me and Tiny just opened up a big hotel-saloon operation in Indian Territory.” He didn’t see fit to mention its fate at the hands of the U.S. Marshals Service.

  “Well, this cattle operation is plenty big enough for us,” Lemuel remarked. He was not comfortable with any sign of a reunion with his older brother. “We’re doin’ all right with the way things are right now.” He took a step toward the door. “I expect we’ll go on back to the house.” He didn’t leave, however, until Arlie started for the door and Caleb followed him, just to be sure they didn’t linger while he wasn’t there. No matter what Ward had said, Lemuel was wary of an attempt by him to take over the top spot.

  CHAPTER 17

  Following the directions given to him by Cal and Sonny Wiggins, Will came upon the fledgling town of Wichita Falls. They had been accurate in their estimation of the distance as well, at about fifteen miles from his campsite of the night before. There were only a few buildings on the main street, but he saw posts driven in the ground that served to stake out the whole street in building lots. At present, he saw what appeared to be a store selling general merchandise, a blacksmith next to a stable, what appeared to be a saloon, and that was all. He decided to try the saloon, thinking he might be able to buy breakfast there, since he had started out that morning without eating. Although almost midmorning, there was no activity on the street that he could see. As he rode along the deserted street, a hound dog ran out from the blacksmith shop and started snapping at his packhorse’s hooves, causing the sorrel to hop around in response. When the dog left the sorrel’s heels, he made a pass at Buster’s and received a solid kick that sent him flying. Will nudged the buckskin into a trot and they went on to the Wichita Saloon, a large tent, faced with a wooden facade. Will stepped down and went inside.

  There was no one inside the tent, so he stood next to the bar and waited. After a minute, a sandy-haired l
ittle woman came in the back and stopped when she saw him. She stuck her head back through a canvas opening and called, “Howard, you’ve got a customer in here.” When she heard Howard answer her, she turned to Will and said, “He’ll be right in.”

  “Maybe you can help me, ma’am,” Will replied. “Any chance I could get some breakfast here?” She didn’t answer at once but looked at him as if he was asking for a handout, so he explained. “I’d like to buy breakfast, if you sell it.”

  “If you’ll settle for corn cakes and coffee,” she replied. “We ain’t got our kitchen set up yet and we ain’t got any eggs. But I can fix you up with some good coffee and corn cakes I fried up this morning.” She just finished talking when her husband came from the smaller tent behind. “Fellow here is wantin’ somethin’ to eat,” she said to him. “I told him I’d fix him some corn cakes and coffee.” She turned to Will again. “You reckon that’ll do ya?”

  “I reckon it would, ma’am, dependin’ on how much you want for it,” Will answered. He figured if she asked too much, he’d just go ahead and cook his breakfast, himself, just like he typically did.

  “Is twenty-five cents too much?” she asked.

  “I reckon that’s fair enough,” Will said. He pulled his money out and laid two bits on the counter. She promptly picked it up and disappeared out the back of the tent.

  “You’ll have to bear with us a little, mister. We’re tryin’ to get the place set up. We ain’t been open but two weeks. When we get our permanent saloon built, we’ll serve regular meals. My name’s Howard Blaylock. That was my wife, Margie. ’Preciate you stoppin’ in. I’ve got rye whiskey and corn whiskey, if you’re wantin’ a drink.”

  “Will Tanner,” Will said in introduction. “I reckon it’s a little too early in the day for me—maybe later on sometime.”

  “You from around here, Will, one of the cattle ranches, maybe?”

  “Nope, I’m just passin’ through town, tryin’ to find somebody.” He was disappointed to hear that Howard and Margie were almost as new in town as he was. He was not likely to get much information about the Hawkins ranch from them. Maybe the general store would be a better bet. At least that building had been there long enough for the lumber used for the siding to weather. In the meantime, he could eat some corn cakes and drink some coffee. “I’m hopin’ to catch up with two other fellows. Any chance you mighta seen two other strangers come through town yesterday or last night?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” Blaylock said. “And I reckon I wouldn’t have unless they came in here for a drink. I’ve been workin’ out back, building tables and chairs, so there coulda been a whole parade pass down the street and I wouldn’t have known it.”

  “I reckon I woulda told you, if that had happened,” Margie cracked as she entered the big tent, carrying a plate of cakes and a cup of coffee. She set them down on the bar in front of Will. “I wish a parade would come through here. We could use some business.”

  “You know anybody named Hawkins that might have a ranch around here somewhere?” Will asked, just on the chance they might know. Both husband and wife said they did not, but reminded him that they had not been in town very long. They left him to eat his breakfast while they returned to their chores. He accepted a refill on his coffee when Margie came back with the coffeepot and he didn’t waste much time drinking it before saying good-bye and walking out the door.

  Outside on the street, Will led his horses toward the building standing alone that claimed to be Brown’s Store and advertised general merchandise. If the proprietor of this business had no knowledge of Hawkins, he didn’t have much confidence in ever finding the men he hunted. As he tied Buster’s reins to the rail in front of the store, he promised the buckskin, “As soon as I make a stop here, I’ll take you to water.”

  “Does he ever talk back to you?”

  Surprised, for he had not noticed when the slight feminine figure opened the door, he chuckled and replied, “Not so you’d recognize it as talkin’, but he definitely lets me know what he’s thinkin’.”

  “Well, I hope we’ve got whatever he needs,” she said. “What can we help you with?” She stepped back and held the door for him to enter. When he was inside, she said, “That’s my husband over behind the counter. We’re Frank and Frances Brown.” She paused to smile before adding, “I’m Frances, he’s Frank.”

  “Howdy, stranger,” Frank called out cordially. “Ain’t seen you in town before. You just passin’ through, or are you gonna be workin’ at one of the ranches?”

  “Will Tanner,” he said. “Just passin’ through, but I’m lookin’ for one of the ranches near here.”

  “That so?” Frank asked. “Which one you lookin’ for, the Double-D, the Broken Spur, the Rocking-T?”

  “Don’t know what they might call it,” Will said. “The fellow that owns it is a man named Hawkins.”

  “Oh,” Frank responded, and exchanged glances with his wife before answering. “I don’t know if the Hawkins ranch has an official name or brand. ’Fraid I can’t help you much.”

  Seeing how fast their tone went from cordial to stone cold and guarded at the mention of the Hawkins name, Will decided to take a chance and play it straight with them. “You folks seem like honest people, so I’m gonna lay my cards on the table.” He pulled his coat aside to reveal his badge. “I’m a U.S. Deputy Marshal out of Fort Smith, Arkansas. I was out of my jurisdiction the minute I crossed over the Red River. But I’m trailing a man named Ward Hawkins and another man with him. The two of ’em are wanted for some serious crimes in Oklahoma Territory. And I’m doin’ my best to see they don’t get away with ’em just because they crossed the river before I caught up with ’em.” He was pleased to see the Browns’ expressions transform back to the friendly facade he had seen at first.

  “Mister,” Frank declared, “I’d be happy to help you any way I can. That whole Hawkins clan is a pretty nasty bunch. We’ve had enough dealin’s with ’em to write the governor for help, but up to now, there hasn’t been any sign of the Rangers.”

  “Or anybody else,” Frances finished his sentence for him, “till you showed up.”

  “Well, there was one Ranger a while back that called on the Hawkins ranch and he ended up gettin’ shot on his way home,” Frank corrected his wife. “But it’s gonna take more than one lawman to do anything about that bunch of outlaws. Clive Smith, the blacksmith, told me there was an older brother that left the ranch a few years back—might be the man you’re chasin’. But the family’s run by the old man’s widow, Fanny Hawkins. She’s got three sons that do all the dirty work.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “Everybody around here knows they’re nothin’ but a gang of cattle rustlers and Fanny might be the toughest one of ’em.”

  “Tell him about the brand,” Frances prompted.

  “Right,” Frank responded. “I said I wasn’t sure what their brand was, but that ain’t exactly true. Folks around here say they’re the Full Moon Ranch. Their brand ain’t nothin’ but a round moon that covers any brand that was there before.”

  Will said nothing for a while, overwhelmed by the outpouring of information from the couple. He had never expected this much to be offered so freely. When they paused for breath, he asked, “Can you tell me how to find that ranch?”

  “Never been there, myself,” Frank replied. “But I’m told it’s on Bobcat Creek somewhere. So I reckon the best I can tell you is to find Bobcat Creek where it empties into the Wichita River and follow it till you get to the ranch.” Anticipating Will’s next question, he said, “Clive said Bobcat Creek is about two miles down the river from his stable. That’s about as much as I can tell you, but I feel like I have to warn you, that ranch is a dangerous place for a lawman. It might be a good idea to get some help from the Texas Rangers.”

  “You say downriver?” Will asked. When Frank confirmed that, then Will realized the creek was back the way he had just come, between the town and the Red River. He had evidently passed Bobcat Creek som
ewhere that morning, probably paused to let his horses drink there. “I’m much obliged for the information,” Will said. “Maybe at least I can find their ranch, Then we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” In a gesture of appreciation, he decided the least he could do was to buy something from them. “I could use five pounds of coffee, some sugar, and some salt.” He didn’t really need any of the three items, but he knew he would eventually use them up. Remembering his promise to Buster, he tied his purchases on his packhorse, bid the Browns farewell, and took his horses to water.

  * * *

  After his horses were rested, he started out on the same trail he had ridden in on, this time trying to estimate the distance traveled as he proceeded. In an effort not to miss it, he kept a sharp eye on the banks in case the confluence between the creek and the river was not that obvious. He found that not to be the case, however, when he came upon a creek emptying into the river at what he guessed to be close to two miles from the stable. With some idea now of what he was up against, he followed along the creek with a new sense of caution. From what he had learned from Frank Brown, he realized he faced not only Hawkins and Tiny, but also three more Hawkins brothers. He was going to have to be careful while he searched for some way to get to Hawkins and Tiny when they were away from the others. If he was found out before he made his move, it was going to turn into one big hunt and he would be the hunted. He couldn’t let that happen. The thought ran through his mind that Jim Little Eagle would call him crazy, and Will found it hard to disagree.

  He rode for a distance he judged to be about six miles, sighting small groups of stray cattle and no sign of anybody tending them. It was winter and everyone’s cattle were on winter range, but there should have been some sign of a line shack or feeding sites where hay was dropped to keep the cows from starving. It was apparent that the Hawkins ranch preferred to make the spring roundup on someone else’s herd. Out of curiosity, he rode into the midst of a group of six mangy-looking strays to check the brands. Four of the cows had different brands and two of them had the “Full Moon” brand, which was no more than a round, flat brand that burned out the previous one. It was not very sophisticated.