Blood for Blood

by William W. Johnstone

  “How can they be sure it was me?” Ike blurted. “I was wearin’ a bandanna on my face.” A pregnant moment of silence followed immediately after he said it. “Uh . . .” he stumbled, an expression of utter frustration cramping his whiskered face. “I mean, he was most likely wearin’ a mask, weren’t he?”

  “Yeah, he was wearin’ a red bandanna, like the one you’re wearin’ around your neck,” Will said. “Now, you’ve rode with me before, so you know I don’t give you any trouble as long as you don’t cause me any.” He turned to the somber woman still sitting there, watching impassively. “How ’bout you, Miss Birdsong? There weren’t any reports that Ike had anybody with him when he held up the railroad offices. I’m guessin’ Ike just picked you up last night. Is that right?” She looked up to meet his gaze, but did not answer his question. “I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Will said, “so you’re free to go on back home.” He watched her carefully while she considered what he had just said. “Ike’s gonna be gone for a long spell,” he added.

  “I go,” she spoke finally, and got to her feet. It would have been hard to miss the reluctance in her tone. Will could easily understand why. Lyla had an ugly scar on her nose that testified to her having been marked with a knife for entertaining too many men. Almost certainly, she saw Ike Skinner as her only chance to escape her father’s cabin, for no men of her tribe would have anything to do with her. No doubt her father would be disappointed to see her return home just as much as she would be.

  When she started toward her horse, Ike pleaded, “Lyla, honey, don’t leave me. I came to get you as soon as I got outta prison. We was gonna make it down in Texas.”

  “You not go to Texas,” Lyla said. “You go to jail. I not go to jail with you. I go home.”

  “I reckon this just ain’t your day, Ike,” Will said. “She wouldn’t have stayed with you for very long, anyway.” He pointed to a small tree close by. “You know how this works.” Ike knew it was useless to balk, so he walked over and put his arms around the tree. Will clamped his wrists together with his handcuffs, then went to help Lyla saddle her horse and get her things together. When she had packed up her few belongings and ridden away, he saddled Ike’s horse, then went to retrieve Buster. In a short time, he rode up from the river, leading Ike and his packhorse behind him. Ike didn’t have a packhorse. Will suspected that was Ike’s packhorse that Lyla was now riding. The makeshift Indian saddle had led him to believe that to be the case. Her father might not have gotten rid of her, but at least he gained a horse.

  Will figured three and a half to four days to make the trip to Fort Smith, barring any interruptions along the way, and he didn’t expect much trouble from Ike. When he was working in this part of the Nations, and headed home, he usually camped overnight at Jim Little Eagle’s cabin on Muddy Boggy Creek near Atoka. He decided there was enough daylight left to make it to Jim’s before dark, and the horses were already rested. Jim, the Choctaw policeman, was a good friend of Will’s, and his wife, Mary Light Walker, was always a gracious hostess. With that in mind, he started out with thoughts of maybe a couple of biscuits from Mary’s oven for him and his prisoner.

  They rode for only about thirty minutes before striking a trail that ran between Atoka and the Arbuckle Mountains, a trail that Will had ridden many times before. Following the familiar trail, they approached a low line of hills and a stream that ran through a shallow pass between them. Will usually paused there to let the horses drink and that was his intention on this day. Sensing the water ahead, Buster quickened his pace in anticipation of a drink. Will leaned forward on the big buckskin’s neck to give him a playful pat, instantly hearing the snap of a rifle slug passing directly over his back. It was followed almost at the same time by the report of the rifle that fired it. Acting on instinct, he didn’t wait to hear the next shot. Hugging Buster’s neck, he shifted to the side as much as possible while giving the buckskin his heels. There was no time to worry about Ike following behind him. His reins were tied to a lead rope behind Will’s saddle. His first thought was to find cover, so he drove Buster into the trees beside the stream as a second shot whined through the leaves of the trees. He pulled up only when he felt he had put enough trees between himself and the shooter, who he figured was on the other side of the stream.

  That was mighty damn careless of me, he thought as he told Ike to dismount. He had a pretty good idea who the shooter was. “Hug that tree!” he ordered.

  “You tryin’ to get us both kilt?” Ike complained. “You can’t leave me locked to a damn tree with somebody tryin’ to shoot us!”

  “Hurry up and get down off that horse,” Will demanded. “I don’t wanna have to shoot you outta that saddle.” He waited just a moment to make sure Ike did as he ordered. “I don’t think you’ve got much to worry about. I’m pretty sure I’m the target.” Once he was satisfied that Ike was secured to a tall pine tree, he made his way back toward the bank of the stream, where he could scan the other side. There had been no more shots fired after the first two, so all he could do was try to guess where the sniper was hiding. As he shifted his eyes back and forth along the stream, he decided that the best place for the shooter to hide was a narrow ravine that led up the slope. He figured the sniper, having missed the kill shot, might be inclined to depart, so he decided to try to keep that from happening. “You just sit tight,” he said to Ike when he came back into the trees and started trotting downstream.

  “Where the hell are you goin’?” Ike blurted.

  “Just sit tight,” Will repeated without turning his head. “I’ll be back to get you.”

  In a matter of seconds, he was lost from Ike’s sight, and when he decided he was far enough downstream not to be seen, he crossed over the stream and climbed up the hill on the other side. With his Winchester in hand, he hurried along the top of the hill, back toward the ravine he had spotted. He paused briefly when he suddenly heard a wailing from the trees he had just left across the stream. “Lyla, honey!” Ike’s mournful voice called out. “Is that you? Be careful, he’s comin’ to get you!”

  “I shoulda stuffed a rag in his mouth,” Will mumbled, and started running along the crest of the hill, thinking he’d have to hurry to catch her before she ran. Then he spotted Lyla’s horse still tied behind the hill. More careful now, he slowed down as he approached the top of the ravine, expecting to meet her climbing up out of it. There was no sign of her, however, so with his rifle at the ready, he started making his way down the narrow ravine. He had not gone halfway down when he saw her. She had not run at all, but had remained sitting behind a low shoulder of the ravine, her old Spencer carbine still aimed at the trees across from her.

  Taking pains to be as quiet as possible, he inched down the ravine until he was no more than thirty feet from the unsuspecting woman. “Make a move and you’re dead,” he suddenly announced, causing her to freeze for a few moments, afraid to turn around. “Lyla, forget about it,” Will warned when she hesitated, as if trying to decide to act or not. “I’ll cut you down before you have a chance to turn around. Now, drop that rifle and raise your hands in the air.” She hesitated a few moments more, painfully reluctant to admit defeat, then she finally realized she had no chance and did as he instructed. “Doggone it, Lyla, I let you go before, because you hadn’t committed any crime. Now you’ve gone and tried to shoot me, and all to free that worthless saddle tramp, Ike Skinner. So I’m gonna have to arrest you, and I reckon I oughta warn you, white, Indian, man, or woman, it doesn’t matter to me. If you don’t do like I tell you, or try to run away, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. You understand?” She did not reply, as was her custom, so he asked her again, this time a little more forcefully.

  “I understand,” she said. “I no run.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now we’ll go get your horse. Start climbin’ up outta this ravine.” He followed her up, carrying her old Spencer as well as his Winchester. Once out of the ravine, they went down the backside of the hill and got her horse. She went along
without protest, knowing she had been arrested for trying to kill a U.S. Deputy Marshal and would most likely go to jail for it. She had failed in her attempt to free Ike Skinner, but she had managed to complicate the deputy’s job of transporting his prisoner. He didn’t want to bother with Lyla, even if she did take a shot at him. I’ll decide what to do with her after I get to Atoka, he told himself.

  Upon approaching the spot where he had left Ike and the horses, Will stopped short and dropped the carbine to free both hands to fire his rifle. He was looking at the tree where he had handcuffed Ike, but Ike was gone. Then he noticed a few broken limbs and branches at the base of the tree. They prompted him to look up to discover Ike about fifteen feet up the trunk, clinging to a limb that was obviously too big to break off. Will was frankly amazed. Ike had climbed up the trunk like a telegraph lineman until reaching the limb that stopped him. As insane as it was, Will had to ask, “What the hell were you tryin’ to do? Did you think you could climb right up over the top of the tree?”

  Ike didn’t answer at once. He had to rethink his failed attempt to escape. Still clinging to the limb fifteen feet up the trunk, he finally replied, “I weren’t sure it would work, but I figured I’d give it a try.”

  Will shook his head and shrugged. “Well, shinny back down. I brought you some company, and I’m plannin’ to ride awhile before we stop for the night, so hurry up.” He figured he had enough time to make it to Jim Little Eagle’s cabin before darkness really set in. He was sure he could count on Jim for some help with his prisoners. Since he had brought only one set of handcuffs with him, he had to tie Lyla’s hands with his rope. So he busied himself with getting her in the saddle to the accompaniment of little yelps of pain behind him as Ike descended the rough trunk of the pine. Having arrested the simple man before, Will was inclined not to be surprised by any harebrained plan Ike came up with. Lyla, on the other hand, could not be taken lightly. She had already proven to be more dangerous.

  The Chickasaw woman’s attempt to shoot a lawman in order to free her lover was a notable boost to the slow-witted outlaw’s confidence. “I knew you’d try to get me back, darlin’,” he said when they were both in the saddle. “I’m sorry we wound up in this fix after you waited so long for me.”

  The stoic woman replied with nothing more than a grunt. It was Will’s opinion that Lyla’s decision to take a shot at him was not an act of devotion toward Ike. It was more an attempt to avoid growing old in her father’s cabin. In view of her past indiscretions and unfortunate physical appearance, she was desperate to go with any male who would have her. In spite of what she had done, he felt sorry for her.

  * * *

  The sun was already about to drop below the far hills west of Atoka when Will and his prisoners entered the clearing on Muddy Boggy Creek where Jim Little Eagle had built his cabin. Will called out and identified himself before approaching the cabin. A moment later, Jim, carrying a lantern and his rifle, walked out of the barn. “That you, Will? I wondered who was coming to call this late in the day. Who’s that with you?”

  Will rode on in and reined Buster to a halt beside the Choctaw policeman. “I’ve got a couple of prisoners I’m transportin’ to jail. Sorry to be ridin’ in on you so late, but if you don’t mind, I’ll camp here on the creek tonight.”

  Jim walked back, holding his lantern up to get a better look at the prisoners. When he got to Lyla, he held the lantern up a little longer. Walking back beside Will’s horse, he commented, “One of them is a woman. One of our people?”

  “Chickasaw,” Will replied. “I was thinkin’ about turnin’ her over to you, her being an Indian. Figured it was more under your jurisdiction. I’ll take Ike back to Fort Smith for trial.”

  “What did she do?” Jim asked, and took a second look at the sullen woman.

  “Not much, really,” Will said. “Took a shot at me and that’s really the only reason I arrested her.” He went on then to tell Jim the whole story.

  Jim turned his gaze back on Ike then. “So this is the man that stuck a .44 in Sam Barnet’s face and rode off with twenty-two dollars.”

  “That’s the man,” Will replied. “Twenty-two dollars, huh? Is that all he got?”

  They both looked at Ike then, and Jim said, “Yeah, Sam just gave him the little bit in the cash drawer. He said the safe was sitting there with the door open and about twenty-five hundred dollars in it, but your man was in a hurry to run.” Ike hung his head, embarrassed upon hearing of his folly. Back to the other issue, Jim said he could put Lyla in jail, since there was no one presently occupying the small building that passed for the Atoka jail. She would be held there until the council could meet to decide her sentence. “Are you charging her with attempted murder?” Jim asked Will.

  Lowering his voice to keep Ike and Lyla from hearing, Will said, “I really don’t wanna charge her with anything. I’d just like you to keep her till I can get away from here in the mornin’ and not worry about her maybe taking another shot at me. Keep her a day, then turn her loose and tell her to go on home.”

  Jim nodded slowly. “I can do that.” He smiled and said, “You’re getting a little softhearted. Maybe you’ve been in this business too long.” That reminded him of another subject. “Ed Pine was over here a week ago. He said you were going to get married. Any truth to that?”

  “That’s a fact,” Will answered. “I finally got up the nerve to ask her and damned if she didn’t say she would.”

  “Good for you,” Jim said, beaming at Will’s sudden blush. “Mary will want to know this. She said you’d never get married. You’re gone all the time. Not many women like that.” When Will shrugged, Jim went on, “Maybe you hang up your guns and settle down on that ranch you own in Texas.”

  “Maybe. At least I’m thinkin’ about it. I ain’t even sure she’d like it there in Texas.”

  “When’s the wedding?” Jim asked.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. She and her mama are makin’ a lotta fuss about planning a big weddin’. Her mama wants to have it around Christmas. I don’t care, myself. I’d just as soon jump a broom and be done with it.”

  “Christmas?” Jim responded. “That’s almost five months away.”

  “Yeah,” Will acknowledged with a chuckle. “I think her mama’s hopin’ Sophie will change her mind before Christmas.” He shrugged and said, “I’d best get my prisoners camped and comfortable. I’ll bed ’em down in that same spot I used before.”

  “Who are you talking to out here?” The voice came from the cabin, followed a few seconds later by the appearance of Mary Light Walker. Seeing Will, she answered her own question. “I thought it must be you, Will, so I mixed up some more biscuits. I just put them in the oven. They oughta be ready by the time you set up your camp.”

  “Howdy, Mary,” Will greeted her. “I apologize for showin’ up so late in the evenin’. I didn’t expect to bother you with fixin’ any food for me and my prisoners.”

  “You never were a good liar, Will Tanner,” Mary replied. “Go ahead and take care of your prisoners. Hurry up, or those biscuits will be cold.” As her husband had done, she took a second look at Lyla, but made no comment.

  “We can lock the woman up in the smokehouse,” Jim volunteered. Will had hoped he would. It would not be the first time they had used the smokehouse this way, and it would make it a lot easier on Will. It was a great deal more trouble to take care of a female prisoner, and even greater trouble to have to tend to a male and female. As they had done before, a blanket and a pallet were placed in the smokehouse for Lyla’s comfort, as well as a bucket for her convenience. After she was locked inside the smokehouse, Will made his camp by the creek, secured Ike to a tree, and took care of the horses. Even though Will insisted he would take care of feeding his prisoners, Mary fixed extra ham and biscuits for them. She was happy to do it because, during the time she and Jim had known Will, they had always been the recipients of his generous sharing of any spoils confiscated as a result of arrests and cap
tures.

  After everyone had finished supper, Will said good night to his friends and returned to his camp and his prisoner. “I’m damn glad you showed up again,” Ike greeted him when he returned. “I gotta get rid of that coffee I drank, and I can’t do nothin’ with my hands locked around this tree.” After that was taken care of, Will sat him down at the tree again, locked his hands, and tied his feet around the tree as well.

  When Jim Little Eagle got up the next morning, Will had already gone. He checked on his prisoner in the smokehouse and decided the Chickasaw woman had passed the night peacefully, for she was fast asleep. She was awake when he returned with Mary and her breakfast. “What will you do with me?” Lyla asked.

  “Will said he wouldn’t make any charges if you promise to go back home and behave yourself,” Jim told her. She promptly agreed to do so, but Jim kept her in the smokehouse until afternoon before releasing her.

  Chapter Two

  As he had figured, it took three days to ride from Atoka to Fort Smith and Will rode straight to the courthouse with his prisoner. Ron Horner, the night jailer, met him at the jail under the courthouse. “Whatcha got there, Will?” Ron greeted him.

  “Got another guest for your hotel,” Will answered. “This is Mr. Ike Skinner. He’s stayed here before. I hope he ain’t too late for supper.”

  “He’s just in time,” Ron said. “They’re just gettin’ ready to serve it. I’ll go ahead and check him in. What’s he in for?”

  “Robbery,” Will answered. “He won’t cause you any trouble. He ain’t mean, he just makes some bad decisions.” He stood there until Ron led Ike inside and closed the door behind him. He shook his head and sighed. He couldn’t help feeling a measure of compassion for the simple soul who was Ike Skinner. He’s probably better off locked up, he thought. Then he rode down to Vern Tuttle’s stable to leave the horses, and he left his saddle and packsaddle there as well. After a short conversation with Vern, he took his rifle and saddlebags and headed back to the courthouse to see if he could catch his boss before he went home for supper.