“Well, I’d like to rest my horse,” Will said. “In the mornin’, I reckon.”
Stone couldn’t help but laugh. “That long, huh? Tell you what, come back tomorrow morning and maybe I’ll know if we’re gonna be called on to help the Missouri office out.”
* * *
There were a lot of thoughts running through Will’s mind as he walked toward Bennett House, as Ruth liked to call her boardinghouse. Most of these thoughts circled around Ruth’s daughter, Sophie, and the fact that he never seemed to be in town for any length of time. He had not been around for any of the wedding plans, a fact that made him just as happy, but it seemed to irritate Sophie more and more. He had always thought that planning a wedding was usually the bride’s job, with little or no help from the groom. He figured he was like most men, preferring to just have a preacher tie the knot and be done with it.
Walking past the Morning Glory Saloon, he paused and looked at his watch. They would most likely be finished with supper at the boardinghouse by now and probably cleaning up the dishes. If he went home now, he was sure Sophie would insist that he should eat, and he didn’t want to cause her the trouble of fixing anything. He hesitated a moment longer, then decided to get something in the Morning Glory.
“Well, howdy, Will,” Gus Johnson greeted him from behind the bar. “I see you’re back in town.”
“You don’t miss a trick, do ya, Gus?” Will japed. “You think Mammy might have anything left for supper?”
“She usually does when she knows it’s you that’s wantin’ it,” a voice declared over his shoulder.
Recognizing the husky tone of Lucy Tyler, Will turned to say hello. “How you doin’, Lucy?”
“I’ve been better,” the prostitute replied. “Ain’t seen you in a while. You been outta town, or have you just given up associatin’ with the common folk?”
“I’ve been outta town,” he answered.
“Will’s wantin’ some supper,” Gus said, and winked at Lucy. “I’ll go see.” He walked over to the kitchen door and stood just outside it. “Hey, Mammy, somebody’s wantin’ some supper. Is it too late to get a plate?” He turned back toward Will and Lucy, a wide grin plastered across his face, and waited for the expected response.
“Hell, yes, it’s too damn late!” the scrawny little woman screamed back. “I’m already cleanin’ up my kitchen.” Gus remained by the door and waited, still grinning. After a long moment, another screech came from the kitchen. “Who is it wantin’ to eat?”
“Will Tanner,” Gus answered, trying to keep from chuckling. “I’ll tell him it’s too late.” He walked back to the bar.
In a moment, Mammy appeared in the doorway and craned her skinny neck toward them to make sure it was Will. When she saw him, she stuck her lower lip out and blew a thin strand of gray hair from in front of her eyes. “I’ve still got some soup beans and a chunk of ham. There’s a couple of biscuits to go with it. It’ll keep you from starvin’, I reckon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Will said. “I surely would appreciate it.”
When Mammy went back inside, Gus shook his head and marveled, “Ain’t nobody else in this town Mammy would do that for. Beats all I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe that’s the reason you don’t ever wanna go upstairs with me,” Lucy joked. “Maybe it ain’t that little gal at the boardin’house who’s got you buffaloed. Maybe all this time it was Mammy.”
“Could be, at that,” Will pretended to admit. “Most likely I remind her of her son, if she ever had one.” He hesitated to continue with what he started to admit, but decided they would know sooner or later. “You might as well know, I’m supposed to get married around Christmastime.”
They were both surprised, Lucy more so than Gus. “Well, I’ll be damned . . .” she drew out. “That little gal at the boardin’house, right?” She didn’t wait for Will to answer. “I knew that was bound to happen. Did you ask her, or was it her idea?”
“Of course I asked her,” Will replied. “At least, I think I did.” When confronted with the question, he wasn’t sure now.
Lucy continued to stare at him in shocked surprise, finding it hard to believe. She somehow never expected Will Tanner to get married. He seemed to have been bred a loner. Finally, she congratulated him and wished him a long and happy marriage. Then she returned to her teasing. “Christmas, huh? Well, I reckon me and Gus are gonna be invited to the wedding.”
“Right now, I ain’t sure I’m on the invitation list,” Will said. The japing was cut short when Mammy came from the kitchen and placed a plate of food on one of the tables. Already sorry he had confessed to his impending trip to the altar, he quickly retreated to eat his supper. It failed to save him further embarrassment, however, for Lucy followed him to the table.
When she saw him place his saddlebags on a chair and prop his rifle against the wall before sitting down, it occurred to her that he was on his way home. It prompted her to ask to be sure. “Are you on your way home?” He nodded. “And you stopped here first?”
“I didn’t wanna put her to any trouble,” he explained.
“Well, she ain’t likely to be very happy if she finds out you stopped at a saloon before you came home to her. I swear, Will, I’m tellin’ you as a friend, you’d better eat that food quick and get your ass home. You gonna be in town for a while now?”
“I don’t know for sure till I see my boss again in the mornin’,” he answered, choking his food down as fast as he could chew it.
Gus laughed when he heard Will’s answer, and Lucy remarked, “Damn! You might be one helluva lawman, but you don’t know the first thing about women.”
“Well, it ain’t like I’ve got a choice,” Will said in his defense.
* * *
He paused at the gate in front of the rambling two-story house Ruth Bennett’s late husband had built shortly before he died of consumption some twenty years ago. Two of Ruth’s longtime borders were sitting on the porch, enjoying their usual after-supper smoke. “How do, Will?” Leonard Dickens greeted him. “Glad to see you got back all right again.”
“You were gone for a good while,” Ron Sample said. “You’d best hurry inside before the women clean up the kitchen.”
“No hurry,” Will replied. “I figured I was a little late, so I grabbed a bite at the Mornin’ Glory on my way back.”
“Just as well,” Leonard said. “Margaret fixed her special chicken and dumplin’s. I swear, that woman sure ruined a good chicken. She’s a pretty good cook with most things, but she don’t know a real dumplin’ from a lump of clabber dough. My late wife made the best dumplin’s I ever et.”
Will opened the front door when Ron took his cue from Leonard and began a testimonial on his late grandmother’s dumplings. Will found Sophie standing in the parlor, talking to her mother. “Will!” Sophie exclaimed, and moved quickly to greet him. He dropped his saddlebags and rifle when she stepped into his arms, ignoring his embarrassment when her mother witnessed her embrace. When she stepped back, she held him by his shoulders at arm’s length as if to examine a wayward child. “No new wounds,” she declared. “Thank goodness for that. You must be starving. I wish you could have gotten here when we had supper on the table, but I’ll fix you something.”
He took a moment to say hello to Ruth before telling Sophie it wasn’t necessary. “I knew I was too late for supper, so I got somethin’ at the Morning Glory on my way home.”
“You stopped at a saloon before you came home?” Sophie responded. He realized then that it would have been best left unsaid. He should have listened to Lucy Tyler’s comment. “Gone as long as you were, I would have thought you’d want to come to see me before anything else,” Sophie started, then reconsidered. “But never mind, at least you’re finally home. For a good while, I hope, because we’ve got a lot to discuss, a lot of planning for our wedding.” She glanced at her mother, and Ruth nodded to confirm it.
That was not particularly good news to him, but he supposed he was going to ha
ve to get involved with the wedding plans, so he tried to put on a good face for his bride-to-be. “Let me take a few minutes to clean up a little bit, and we’ll talk about it,” he said.
* * *
“Well, I must say you look a little better,” Sophie commented when Will walked into the kitchen to join her. “You were a little scruffy-looking when you came in the door. I wasn’t sure that was you under all those whiskers and dirt.”
He smiled and rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully before responding. “I reckon I did, at that, but a man doesn’t get a chance to take a bath when he’s transportin’ a prisoner across Indian Territory.” He pulled a chair back and sat down at the table, prompting her to get up and go quickly to get a cup of coffee for him.
“If you had come straight home to supper, instead of stopping at that broken-down saloon, you could have had a piece of apple pie with this coffee,” she chided, “but it’s all gone now.”
“I know,” he interrupted, “but I told you I didn’t want to cause you any extra work.” He had already been scolded for his stop in the saloon before coming home—he didn’t need more chiding.
She was about to continue, but Ron Sample came into the kitchen at that moment. “Excuse me for interruptin’, Will, but Jimmy Bradley’s out there on the porch lookin’ for you—says it’s important.”
Surprised, Will asked, “Did he say what it’s about?” Jimmy was Clyde Bradley’s son. Clyde was the owner of the Morning Glory Saloon, and Jimmy liked to hang around the saloon doing odd jobs for Gus Johnson. Will had just seen Jimmy sweeping the floor behind the bar when he had stopped in earlier.
“No, he didn’t,” Ron answered, “just said it was important.”
Will looked apologetically at Sophie, who returned the look with one of exasperation. He shrugged as if helpless. “I’ll go see what he wants. I’ll be right back.” He pushed his chair back and followed Ron to the front porch. Sophie sighed and put his saucer on top of his cup to keep the coffee from cooling too fast.
“Jimmy,” Will said when he found him waiting by the bottom porch step. “What is it, boy? You lookin’ for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Jimmy replied, speaking almost in a whisper. “Gus sent me to get you. There’s some trouble at the Morning Glory.”
“What kinda trouble?” Will asked. Ron and Leonard Dickens, their conversation having stopped, leaned forward, straining to hear Jimmy’s message.
“That feller, Maurice, he was there when you came by this evenin’.” When this drew a blank expression from Will, Jimmy continued, “He was settin’ at a table with Lucy when you came in.”
“All right,” Will replied. “What about him?”
“He’s raisin’ hell in the saloon, throwin’ glasses at the wall and breakin’ chairs and I don’t know what all,” Jimmy reported, his eyes getting wider by the moment. “He pulled his pistol and shot a hole in the front window.”
“Gus sent you here?” Will asked. “Didn’t he tell you to go to the sheriff’s office?” He was somewhat puzzled. Gus would normally send for the sheriff and one of the sheriff’s deputies would handle a roughneck drunk.
“He said to go get you,” Jimmy maintained firmly. “Maurice dragged Lucy upstairs and said he was gonna kill her. He hit her, hard, busted her lip pretty bad, said he was gonna beat her to death. Now he’s holed up in her room with her and says he’ll shoot anybody who tries to come in.”
Will didn’t have to be told why Gus sent for him, then. This type of trouble in the city of Fort Smith was supposed to be handled by the Fort Smith sheriff’s office. Sometimes, however, the sheriff, as well as his deputies, was satisfied to let the saloons take care of their altercations themselves. And this time, the life of Lucy Tyler was involved. Gus knew that Lucy was a friend of Will’s and Will would come to her aid. “Tell Gus I’m on my way,” he said to Jimmy, and went back to the kitchen to tell Sophie.
Reading the look of concern on his face, Sophie asked at once, “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been some trouble I’ve gotta take care of,” Will answered.
“Right now?” she asked. “Where?”
“In town,” he answered. “I hope I won’t be long, but it’s important. I’ll see you when I get back.” With no desire to give her any details, he turned then and hurried out the door.
“Will?” she called after him, at first baffled by his behavior. Seconds later, exasperated by the infuriating habit he had of darting in and out of her life, she spat, “Your damn coffee! It’s getting cold!” Resisting the urge to throw the cup against the wall, she stood there until she heard his footsteps as he bounded down the back stairs. She ran to the kitchen window in time to see him run past outside. Seriously concerned now, she hurried out to the front porch, where Ron Sample and Leonard Dickens were still sitting. “What was that all about? Where’s he going?” she demanded.
“Gone to the Mornin’ Glory,” Leonard replied. “There’s a feller up there gone crazy drunk, threatenin’ to shoot the place up. They sent for Will.”
“The saloon?” Sophie exclaimed. “He’s going to the saloon to arrest a drunk? That’s not Will’s job! That’s not the job of a U.S. Deputy Marshal.”
“I expect that’s right,” Ron said, “but this is different. This feller has got Lucy Tyler locked up in the room with him, and he says he’s gonna kill her.”
Sophie was struck speechless. She knew who Lucy Tyler was, a common whore who preyed on the drunken drifters that frequented the Morning Glory Saloon. Gradually at first, but steadily picking up speed, the anger deep inside her began forcing its way to the surface of her emotions until she could no longer contain it. “Damn him!” she cursed. “He just left that hellhole of a saloon and now he’s running back to save a whore!” She looked around at the two men in the rocking chairs, staring at her, and realized she had lost her temper, so she spun on her heel and went back in the house.
Ron looked at Leonard, his eyebrows raised, and shrugged. “I don’t think she took that too well,” he remarked.
“Didn’t seem to,” Leonard agreed.
* * *
Will covered the short distance to the Morning Glory at a trot. In his haste to respond, his rifle was the only weapon he’d taken. As he trotted, he checked to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. He stopped before the two swinging doors that Clyde Bradley had installed at the beginning of summer and peered over them before stepping inside. The barroom was empty of customers, all having fled when the shooting started. Only Gus Johnson remained and he stood behind the bar, his shotgun on the bar by his hand. Will didn’t see Lucy or her captor, so he pushed on through the doors. Gus turned when he heard Will come in and came at once to meet him. “I’m sorry as I can be to bother you, Will, but that crazy fool is gonna kill Lucy. I’da sent Jimmy to fetch the sheriff, but he mighta sent one of those two deputies workin’ for him, or he might notta sent nobody. I knew you’d come when you heard it was Lucy.”
“Where are they?” Will asked. “Up in Lucy’s room?”
“Yeah, he’s got her up there and the door locked,” Gus replied.
“Which room is it?” Will asked.
“I forgot, you ain’t ever been up to Lucy’s room with her.” Remembering then, he said, “That was what she was always complainin’ to you about.” He paused for a brief moment until he saw Will’s look of impatience. “Top of the stairs, first room on the right,” he blurted. When Will started toward the stairs, Gus caught his arm to stop him. “There’s somethin’ else, Will. He said he’s gonna kill her, but he said after he done for her, he was gonna kill you.” That was a surprise and Will had to ask why. “Lucy was settin’ at the table with Maurice when you came in,” Gus said. “When she saw you, she left him settin’ there and went to say hello to you, so Maurice thinks he’s got to kill you to make sure she don’t run to you again.”
“Why the hell didn’t somebody explain it to him?” Will replied. “Lucy and I are just friends. Somebody coulda told him that.�
��
“You ever try explainin’ somethin’ like that to a damn drunk?” Gus responded. “Especially when he thinks he’s in love and you’re standin’ between him and his lady.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Will said. “You don’t think this fellow’s just another loudmouth drunk with his whiskey doin’ the talkin’?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Gus shook his head slowly as he thought about him. “He fetched Lucy a pretty stout fist in the mouth when she told him to go to hell. Then he pulls his handgun and starts shootin’ the place up—ran all my customers out and shot a hole in the front window. I tell you, it’s a wonder there ain’t nobody got shot.”
“And now he’s locked himself up in Lucy’s room,” Will declared with a tired sigh. “I’ll go upstairs and see if I can talk to him.” He started up the steps, not certain what he could do to defuse the situation. If this Maurice fellow refused to open the door, he’d likely have to kick it in, and then he’d have to worry about what would happen to Lucy, once he did. Maurice might be the kind to take it out on Lucy, in the form of a bullet in the head.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused a moment to listen for any sounds coming from inside the room. All he could hear was a constant series of guttural mumbling, typical of a rambling drunk running his mouth. He decided that Maurice was in the bragging phase of his drunk, probably telling Lucy what a big man he was. This might be a good time to give him a chance to prove it to her, so he rapped sharply on the bedroom door. “All right, Maurice!” Will bellowed. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to back up your big talk!” The rambling voice stopped and Will challenged again. “That’s what I thought, all talk!” In a few seconds, he heard a piece of furniture crash when it hit the floor, and the shuffling of unsteady boots on the other side of the door.
Will heard the bolt slide open on the door and it opened to reveal the unsteady form of Maurice Cowart, a six-gun in hand. He stood there for a fraction of a second, snarling his drunken defiance, before Will planted his fist on the bridge of his nose. Maurice went down like a felled tree, his head slamming against the edge of the bedside table he had knocked over on his way to the door. He was out cold, stopped so suddenly that he had not had the time to pull the trigger in reaction to the blow from Will’s fist.
Stranglehold Page 28
