“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 st
opped 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.
Will kicked the pistol that dropped from Maurice’s hand across the floor before looking at Lucy, huddled in the corner of the room. Her mouth and nose were swollen and her clothes were torn from her captor’s abusive attempts to conquer her. She didn’t get up at once, just gazed at him until slowly, huge tears welled in her eyes. After a moment, she spoke when he walked over and extended his hand to help her up. “I’m glad he didn’t get to see me cry,” she said, defiantly. Then she looked up at Will. “I thought he was gonna kill me.” She put her arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze, like a mother hugs her child. “Thanks, Will, thanks for coming.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he held her by the shoulders while he took a look at her damaged face. “We might better get Doc Peters to take a look at those bruises,” he said. “First, I reckon I’d better take care of ol’ Maurice, here, before he takes a notion to wake up.”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, already beginning to regain some of her confidence. “He went down pretty hard, and he cracked his head on my good side table. I was hopin’ he was gonna talk himself to sleep before you came, ’cause he drank almost all of a quart of whiskey.”
“I’ll haul him outta here,” Will said. He grabbed Maurice’s boots and dragged him out the door into the hallway. “I swear, he weighs a ton.” He dragged him to the top of the stairs and then down several steps before he managed to take his arms and, using the angle of the steps, pulled the limp body over to settle on his shoulder. Gus ran up the steps to help him turn around and steady him as he carried his burden downstairs. “I reckon that’s his horse at the rail,” Will said. “It was the only one there when I came in.”
“Stop just a second,” Gus said. “Lemme look in his pockets to see if he’s got any money to pay for some of the damage he did.”
“Well, hurry up,” Will said. “He ain’t gettin’ any lighter.”
He carried the unconscious man outside, and with Gus’s help, plopped him across his saddle, just as Deputy Johnny Sikes walked up. Sikes watched silently until the body was resting on the horse. “Will,” he said, and nodded. “A feller came in the office and said he thought there was some trouble down here.”
“There was,” Gus answered. “There ain’t now.”
“His name’s Maurice Cowart,” Will said, and told Sikes what had happened, what Maurice had done to Lucy, and the damage he had done to the saloon. “So I reckon you might wanna put him in your jail for a while till he sobers up. Then you might wanna warn him not to come near the Mornin’ Glory or Lucy Tyler again.”
“I expect so,” Johnny replied. “I’ll take care of him, and much obliged.”
Gus stood with Will for a few moments, watching Johnny untie Maurice’s reins from the rail and lead the horse back up the street toward the jail. Then they went back inside to help Lucy. “I’ll walk you down to Doc Peters’s to let him take a look at you,” Will offered when he saw Mammy cleaning the blood from Lucy’s face.
“No need for that,” Lucy said. “Mammy’s took care of me before. This ain’t the first time I’ve been punched by a loudmouth drunk, besides, Doc Peters has already gone home by now.”
“Suit yourself,” Will said. “You’re in pretty good hands with Mammy, especially if she’s half as good a doctor as she is a cook,” he added, primarily to please Mammy. The only acknowledgment he received from the scrawny little woman was a snort of indifference. “I reckon I’ll say good evenin’, then.” He nodded to Gus, then looked at Lucy again when she called his name.
“Thank you again, Will,” she said. “When you come back, I’ll owe you a drink, or supper. And anything else you might want,” she added wistfully.
“’Preciate it, Lucy, but you don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad I could help a friend.”
* * *
He found Sophie waiting for him in the parlor when he returned and he knew without asking that he was in trouble. The frown she greeted him with seemed to be permanently etched on her face. “Trouble at the Mornin’ Glory,” he offered weakly. “I don’t know why Gus didn’t call the sheriff instead of me.” She said nothing, but continued to stare at him with eyes as cold as ice. “Fellow named Maurice,” he continued bravely, “shot a hole in the window and mighta killed somebody, if he wasn’t stopped. Had to put him in jail—got back as soon as I could.”
When he paused, finished with his explanation, she continued to stare icily at him for a long moment before asking, “Is Lucy Tyler all right?”
“What? Oh . . . yeah, she’s all right, got roughed up a little, but she’s all right.” He had hoped Lucy’s name wouldn’t come up, but evidently Ron or Leonard had told Sophie what they had overheard on the porch. He would have preferred that she not know that he had been summoned primarily because Lucy was in danger, but now that he was facing her cold accusation, he decided it was time to stop acting like he was guilty of something. “Look, Sophie, Lucy Tyler’s a friend of mine, that’s all. I ain’t one of her customers, I never have been. I’ve also got other friends that are on the wrong side of the law.” Oscar Moon came to mind. “But they ain’t got nothin’ to do with you and me, and I sure as hell ain’t had nothin’ to do with any woman but you. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll keep thoughts like that outta your pretty head.”
She continued to look him hard in the eye, until she had to smile. It was the first time he had shown any side of himself other than an innocent confusion in her presence. “All right,” she said, “I accept it.” She took his hand then and led him to the sofa. “I just hope you’re going to be home for a while this time.”
“I hope so, too,” he said. “I reckon I’ll find out when I report in to Dan in the mornin’.” She raised an eyebrow at the remark, but gave him a big smile. The rest of his evening was spent listening to the plans she had for their wedding. When they finally said good night, he was finding it hard to believe it was going to happen to him. He could only imagine the look on Miss Jean Hightower’s face when she heard the news. Will could imagine it would seem to her like her son was taking a wife. As for Shorty and the boys at the J-Bar-J in Texas, they wouldn’t believe it until he showed up with Sophie on a lead rope.
Chapter 3
After breakfast the next morning, when Will walked into Dan Stone’s office, he was greeted with the words he often heard from his boss. “Will Tanner, just the man I wanna see. How soon can you be ready to ride?”
“Well, my horse is rested up, so I reckon whenever you say,” Will answered. “Where am I goin’?”
“Cherokee Nation, and you need to get up there as fast as you can. I’ve been contacted by both the Kansas and Missouri Marshals Services. They’re trying to track down a gang of outlaws that robbed the Missouri State Bank in Joplin and shot the bank guard down. They’re not sure, but they think the gang is led by a fellow named Ansel Beaudry and he’s leading five or six men. They’re not sure on the number, either. The gang crossed over the line into Kansas and two Kansas deputies picked up their trail, figured the outlaws would head down into Indian Territory, but they didn’t. Instead, they continued west on the Kansas side of the line, like they were headed to Coffeyville. Two days later, another Kansas deputy marshal found the bodies of the first two deputies following Beaudry. They’d been ambushed in a blind gulch. The deputy that found ’
em said he lost their tracks right after that, so he returned to take the bodies home. A day after that, the First Bank of Coffeyville was robbed. There were a couple of people killed when they tried to stop the outlaws, but they got away clean. Folks on the street said they rode north outta town on the road toward Independence.”
“I didn’t know Coffeyville had a bank,” Will said. “There wasn’t one there when I was up there about a year ago.” He remembered the two banks in Independence, however, all too well, for he had thwarted a bank robbery there and received a dressing down for his part, since he was not authorized to work in Kansas.
Stone paused to gauge Will’s reaction to all this. Satisfied that he was listening carefully, Stone continued. “I’ve got a feeling that gang is planning to drop down below the line and disappear in Indian Territory.”
“I’m thinkin’ the same thing,” Will said. “It looks like they planned to hit a couple of banks close to the Oklahoma line, so if the law got onto their trail, they could head for Osage territory in the Nations.”
“Exactly,” Stone responded, thinking he and his deputy were of the same mind. “That’s why I need somebody up in that territory to find ’em. I know you just got back from Atoka, but everybody else is out on assignment. You’re the only man here right now and we need to get an eye on this gang right away. They’re a mean bunch and nobody to take on by yourself, so all I’m charging you with is to find ’em and keep an eye on ’em till I can get more men up there to help you. We might have to get some help from the army at Fort Gibson.”
“What do you know about this fellow, Ansel Beaudry?” Will asked.
“Like I said, they think it’s Beaudry, but nobody has definitely identified him yet. It just looks like his work—hits a bank with enough men to take over the town, doesn’t hesitate to shoot anybody who gets in his way. He and two other prisoners broke outta prison up in Missouri about a year ago and they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them since.” Stone paused for effect. “Till now, so it looks like he’s had time to get up another gang of trigger-happy outlaws. I know, if it is Beaudry, we sure as hell don’t need him down here.”
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