Pray for Death

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  In the camp behind him, a totally dismayed Ward Hawkins sat on the ground, his hands still tied around the tree, his feet astraddle it, as he watched his wounded captor trying to tend to the wound in his back. “Untie my hands and I can help you with that wound,” Hawkins offered. Will thanked him for his offer, but declined as he took his spare shirt out of his war bag and tried to stuff it down his back to stop the bleeding. “You might as well decide to let me help you,” Hawkins persisted. “You’re gonna end up bleedin’ to death if you don’t. And I ain’t gonna double-cross you. Hell, you saved my life. Lemuel was fixin’ to shoot me, so I owe you for that.”

  Will paused to look him squarely in the eye. “Hawkins, let’s get one thing straight. You’re still under arrest. Ain’t nothin’ happened here tonight that changes that. I hurt, but I ain’t crippled by the bullet in my shoulder, so this is how we’re gonna play it from now on. When I tell you to do something, if you don’t do it, I shoot you. I just ain’t able to be bothered by taking any chances with you right now. So keep that in your head—you don’t do what I say, I put a bullet in you. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Hawkins grumbled, thinking Will was going to die if he kept bleeding and leave him tied to a tree somewhere between there and Fort Smith. Well, that ain’t gonna happen, he said to himself. Tanner was bound to become weaker and weaker and before long he wouldn’t be quick enough to tie his hands and keep a gun on him at the same time. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.

  “We’ve got a couple of hours before daylight,” Will said. “You might as well go on back to sleep if you can. We’ll be ridin’ to the crossroads come sunup.” With considerable effort, he got to his feet, took another look at Lemuel, then walked across the clearing to check on Arlie’s body. As he walked, he tried to walk as steadily as possible, for Hawkins’s benefit, knowing he was watching closely for signs of weakness. He found Arlie’s body lying facedown on the ground. From the dirt on his hands and clothes, it appeared that he had dragged himself some distance before he died. Will continued walking down the creek a little way until he came to the willows where the Hawkins brothers had tied their horses. He could tell by the fresh droppings left there. The surviving brother had taken the horses and run. Will had a gut feeling that it would be the last he saw of Caleb. On his way back to the camp, he checked to see that his horses were all right. He could feel his shoulder stiffening, so he cut off another piece of rope to help him in the morning. After a check on Hawkins, he returned to his blanket and proceeded to fashion a small loop in the length of rope before closing his eyes for a short nap.

  CHAPTER 19

  When Will awoke with the first rays of the new morning, Hawkins was already awake, anticipating the process of getting back in the saddle. He was anxious to see how Will had fared the night. Knowing this, Will made an effort to seem as able as he was before being shot. It was not easy, but it was convincing enough to disappoint his prisoner.

  With his shoulder throbbing in pain, he managed to saddle the horses and load the packhorse again. Conscious of Hawkins’s constant gaze upon him, he led the horses up ready to mount, knowing this was going to be the first test by his prisoner. “I’m gonna let you ride with your hands in front of you this mornin’ and we’ll see how you do. If you make trouble, they’ll be back behind you like before. Understand?” Hawkins nodded slowly in reply, anxious to see how Will was going to untie him from the tree, then retie his wrists and hold a gun on him at the same time. He would need three hands. Will drew his Colt and held it on Hawkins while he worked at the knot with his other hand. When the wrists were free, he let the ropes drop to the ground while he picked up the short piece of rope he had fashioned a loop in the night before. Hawkins’s intense gaze was locked on him as he made each move, waiting for the chance he felt sure was to come. “Back away from the tree, but keep your hands out straight in front of you,” Will ordered, with his Colt aimed squarely between Hawkins’s eyes. Hawkins did as he was told, convinced that the deputy would have to put the pistol down before he could retie his hands. When he was clear of the tree, Will, still holding the pistol on him, slipped the loop of the short rope over Hawkins’s left wrist. Then before Hawkins knew what he was up to, Will drew the loop closed and quickly lashed the free end of the rope around Hawkins’s right wrist, drawing both wrists tightly together. Then he thrust the Colt under his belt and quickly finished tying his prisoner’s hands together.

  “Now that you see how it’s done,” Will said, “from now on, when I untie you from a tree, you can go ahead and stick your hand in that noose and lay the free end over your other wrists. And I’ll finish it up for you.”

  “You must really be scared that I’m gonna try to make a break for it,” Hawkins snarled. “It ain’t easy haulin’ a man to jail when you ain’t got but one good arm. Right, Tanner?”

  “The only thing I’m scared of is that you are gonna make that move and I’ll have to shoot you, then I won’t have any company for that long trip back.”

  Hawkins smirked and responded. “You are smug, ain’t you?” When Will simply smiled in reply, Hawkins reminded him, “It’s a long way from here to Fort Smith. You never know what you’re likely to run into.”

  “Climb up into that saddle,” Will said. “You don’t need my help now that you’ve got your hands in front of you.” Hawkins did so and watched to see Will grimace with pain when he climbed up on Buster. Hawkins was convinced his opportunity would come.

  * * *

  Erma Johnson looked up toward the road when something caught her attention in that direction. Riders, two of them, leading a couple of horses behind them, were approaching from the east–west road. She gave the edge of the porch a couple more swipes with her broom as she waited for the riders to get close enough to identify. After a few more moments, she went to the door, opened it, and called her husband. “Jasper, come here. It’s that deputy marshal, Will Tanner, comin’ back, and he’s got somebody with him.”

  Jasper came immediately. He stood staring at the two men approaching the store now. “It’s him, all right. And that’s one of those outlaws that robbed us ridin’ with him.” Not certain if that was a good or bad sign, he ran back inside to get his shotgun. But when he returned to the porch, Erma told him that the other man’s hands were tied, and the deputy was leading his horse by the reins. He was plainly a prisoner. “Well, that’s a good sign.” He exhaled a sigh of relief. “There’s more than a few lawmen workin’ both sides of the law.”

  Jasper walked down the steps to meet Will when he pulled the horses to a stop. “Will Tanner,” Jasper greeted him. “I see you caught up with one of those outlaws that robbed our store—his partner get away?”

  “Depends on how you look at it, I reckon,” Will returned. “He’s dead.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jasper said. “Any man that would strike a woman like he did oughta be dead. Too bad this one ain’t dead, too.”

  “I expect he’ll get what he deserves at his trial. Right now, I’d like to see if Mrs. Johnson could sell me a couple of plates of breakfast for me and my prisoner. I could use a good meal right now and it would save me the trouble of cookin’ something for him. I need to rest the horses, so I’ll be a while, anyway. How ’bout it, can I buy us breakfast?”

  Erma hesitated when her husband turned to get her reaction. “Well, I sure don’t mind fixin’ something for you, Deputy Tanner, but I ain’t too thrilled about feedin’ that animal.”

  “Would it help if we were bringin’ back the money he and his partner stole from you?” Will asked. “Least, I reckon it’s most of it, anyway. I don’t think they had a chance to spend any of it since they took it.”

  Both faces lit up at the same time. “Well, I reckon that does make a difference,” Jasper answered for him and his wife. “Erma will cook you up somethin’ in a jiffy, won’t you, hon?”

  “That I will,” Erma replied. “We didn’t think there was any chance we’d see that money again,
and we were hurtin’ pretty bad about it.”

  “Good,” Will said. “I’ll just go take care of the horses and find a good tree to leave Mr. Hawkins, here.” He threw a leg over and started to step down. It was only then, when his coat gapped open revealing his blood-soaked shirt, that the Johnsons realized he was wounded.

  “Good Lord in heaven!” Erma gasped. “You’ve been shot! You’re bleedin’ to death!”

  “Well, I hope not,” Will said. “I did get shot, but it ain’t too bad, more a nuisance than anything else.”

  Jasper turned to give Hawkins a harsh look. “Did he do that?”

  “No, he woulda liked to,” Will said. “It was his little brother that done it. Anyway, it oughta hold all right till I can get back to Atoka. There’s a doctor there. I’ll have him take a look at it.”

  “You’d do well to let Erma take a look at it. Have you done anything to clean it up or anything?” When Will explained that he really couldn’t get to it to do anything but stuff a shirt down his back to try to stop the bleeding, Erma insisted that she take a look at it.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Will said. “But I’ve got a prisoner that I have to keep an eye on, and I wouldn’t want to be in any position where I couldn’t watch him.”

  “Hell,” Jasper suggested, “put him in the smokehouse and you won’t have to watch him.” That sounded like a good solution to the problem to Will, but still he hesitated. “He’d have to have some dynamite to break outta there,” Jasper declared. “Solid log smokehouse, it’s got a stout oak door and a damn good padlock.” He shot a sneering glance in Hawkins’s direction and added, “Course, there’s a couple of hams in there that might go bad, with the likes of him in there.” He looked back at Will. “But I’m willin’ to risk it to take care of a man that’s been so nice to us.”

  * * *

  After Hawkins was safely tucked away in the smokehouse, Will insisted on taking care of the horses before submitting his wounded shoulder to Erma Johnson’s care. It was not the first wound she had attended, but it was her first bullet wound. For that reason, she was keenly interested in examining it and trying to clean it as best she could. For his part, Will was grateful for the medical attention. And it was not his intention, but his pain and discomfort were much more in evidence with Ward Hawkins locked in the smokehouse. Erma cleaned the area around the wound, but the bullet was in too deep for her to try to get it out. So she poured some whiskey in the wound and fixed a bandage over it and tied it on with strips of the same old sheet from which the bandage came.

  When her first aid was completed, she went to the kitchen to cook something to feed him and his prisoner. Jasper invited him to stay on for a day or two to rest up before continuing on with his journey, but Will was bound to finish the job he had started and to see Hawkins stand trial for all the crimes he was guilty of. “No, I expect I’d best get along as soon as the horses are rested enough, but I do appreciate your kindness.”

  “We appreciate you goin’ after those outlaws,” Jasper told him, “and the return of our money.” He didn’t say it, but he was genuinely convinced that Will was a giant as far as character, for he felt certain any other lawman would have pocketed that money and claimed never to have recovered it.

  After he saw to the feeding of his prisoner, then ate the breakfast Erma fixed for him, Will was persuaded to sit down in a rocking chair to rest a little. Before he knew it, he was asleep, sitting in the rocker by the stove. His mind released him to get the much-needed rest that had eluded him, so much so, that he was not even aware that one of Jasper’s regular customers had visited while he slept. He would have been even more surprised had he known that Jasper had invited the customer to take a close look at Will while he related the story of the capture of Ward Hawkins.

  The solid rest did help, and maybe Erma’s nursing skills were partially responsible, too. But he had to admit that he felt more confident that he could go on. The problem was, they had let him sleep almost two hours longer than he had planned. And when he found out, he was in a panic to get his prisoner on his horse and get under way. It was a half-day’s ride to Tishomingo and he had planned to get there early in the afternoon. Now he would have to camp overnight there. “I reckon I have to apologize,” Jasper said, “but it was Erma’s fault. She wouldn’t let me wake you up—said it would help that wound to heal.”

  “I admit it,” she piped up. “I’m the guilty one, but you needed to rest that shoulder a little bit.” She shook her head and sighed. “We wish you luck—hope you get home safely. But it’s not a very happy way to spend Christmas, is it?”

  Her remark stunned him for a moment. “Christmas!” he responded. “What day is this?”

  “Why, it’s Christmas Eve,” she said, marveling that he had to ask. “December twenty-fourth. Don’t you even know what day it is?” Judging by his apparent distress, she had to ask, “Is it an important day for you?”

  He didn’t answer right away, his brain fairly spinning around inside his head. So much had happened since he had arrested Hawkins the first time at Boggy Town that he had lost track of the days. Aware then of Erma’s intense gaze, he realized she had asked the question. “Ah yes, ma’am,” he said, stumbling on the words. “I’m supposed to get married tomorrow.” He paused. “About a hundred and seventy-five miles from here.”

  Their reaction was what he would have expected. Erma couldn’t find words, so she just placed her hands over her mouth and gasped, wide-eyed, in disbelief that anyone, even a man, could forget his wedding. Equally shocked, but being a man, Jasper grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he started. “Forgot your own weddin’. You might not wanna get back home a-tall. The most dangerous part of this trip might be when you get back.” He gave Erma a grin. “If she’s anythin’ like my wife,” he added.

  “Shut your mouth, Jasper,” Erma scolded. Back to Will then, she said, “If she’s the right kind of woman, she’ll understand.” Then thinking some more on it, she asked, “Were you and your lady just gonna get married when you get back? Or was there a regular marriage ceremony planned?” Will then told her of the planned ceremony Sophie and her mother had arranged, with invitations to several friends, including Miss Jean Hightower, who had been like a mother to Will. After hearing that, all Erma could say was, “Oh my.”

  As for Will, he felt like a dog for not keeping track of the days. It would be hard to explain to Sophie, and especially her mother, how important it was to apprehend Ward Hawkins and Tiny McGee. There was very little chance of convincing mother and daughter that anything was as important as his vow to marry Sophie. Knowing how much Ruth had worked against the marriage from the beginning, he figured this was the trump card she needed to stop it completely. Well, it is what it is, he thought. What’s done is done, and there ain’t anything I can do to change it. To Jasper and Erma, he said, “I reckon I’ve laid around here long enough. I’d best get goin’. I ’preciate your help.”

  Hawkins was more than ready to be released from the smokehouse, even though his incarceration was of short term. He complained that in the little log structure there were living things that you couldn’t see in the dark. He made no show of resistance when Will tied his hands again and got him seated in the saddle. His attitude was no doubt influenced by Jasper, standing by with his shotgun to watch the procedure. With Will and the Johnsons each wishing the other good luck, Will started out to Tishomingo, where he would rest the horses and eat supper. He had planned to go from there to Atoka, so he could put Hawkins in the railroad jail while he had Doc Lowell take the bullet out of his back. And he would have Jim Little Eagle to help him there as well. He decided he would hold to that plan, since he was already so late returning to Fort Smith, the extra time wouldn’t make that much difference. He was not looking forward to the reception awaiting his return.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when they reached Tishomingo, a ride of about twenty-five miles, and Will went to a spot beside Pennington Creek where he had camped be
fore. After he went through the usual routine of securing his prisoner, a process Hawkins had become familiar with, he took care of the horses. When they were grazing beside the creek, he gathered wood for a fire and soon coffee was boiling and bacon frying. To add a little to their supper, he used the last of the sack of flour he had to mix with water and some sugar to make slapjacks. He formed cakes with it and fried them like fritters in the bacon grease. There were other supplies he was getting short of and he would have called on Dewey Sams to buy them, since he had traded with Dewey and his wife oftentimes before. But with the ever-snarling Ward Hawkins to account for, he decided to wait until he reached Atoka. Hawkins had made very few comments throughout the afternoon. Will figured his mind was busy planning the best time to attempt an escape, but he appreciated the quiet, nonetheless. Hawkins was a dangerous man and not likely to accept a peaceful ride to the gallows. The test for Will was going to be how well he could prepare himself for whatever Hawkins tried. He wished he could honestly say that his arm and shoulder were better after Erma Johnson’s care. But the truth was, it was becoming more and more stiff and painful whenever he tried to move it to any degree. It was getting difficult to disguise it under Hawkins’s constant observation. He knew he could expect an attempt at the first sign of weakness. It came sooner than he expected, when Hawkins was eating his supper with his feet tied around the tree and his hands free.

  “What did you call this mess you gave me to eat?” Hawkins began.