Thomas shrugged. “Lot of us officers is well acquainted with fellers on the owlhoot trail. Hell, we’re even related to some of ’em.”
“Must be awkward at times when it comes to bringing them in,” Stormwell said.
“Maybe,” Thomas agreed. Then he eyed Dace closely. “But we still bring ’em in when we have to. Don’t we, Dace?”
“Yeah.”
The door swung open and the telegraph clerk from the rail depot walked in and dropped a message on the clerk’s desk. “Some excitement up north, boys,” he said. Then he departed as quickly as he had arrived.
“Railroad men is too busy for a little palavering, I reckon,” Thomas said picking up the missive. He read it and wet his lips. “Says a bank was hit up in Caldwell. They want us to be on the alert for four men riding south.”
Dace laughed. “Hell, yes. We’ll just line up arm in arm across Oklahoma Territory and block ’em off.”
Thomas didn’t smile. “Says one of ’em is your old pal George McClary.”
Stormwell grinned. “Train and bank robbery, huh? Reckon there’ll be a reward out for him pretty quick.”
Thomas sneered. “And you’ll be first in line to try and collect it.”
“I reckon I will,” Stormwell said calmly. “Unless Dace Halston here gets in my way.”
Dace’s eyes narrowed in anger. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Nothing at all,” Stormwell said. “But you’d best remember the lesson you just learned. You give one of them sonsofbitches an inch, and he’ll put lead in your carcass. Just like Blevins tried to do. And that includes your friend McClary. You show him any consideration, and he’ll turn on you like a rattlesnake.”
Dace, frowning, looked at him. “If that day comes—”
“Oh, it’ll come,” Stormwell interrupted. “You can count on that, Halston. The one thing you ain’t gonna be able to avoid is a showdown with George McClary.”
Chapter Seven
The rooster scurried away as Harriet McClary angrily stamped her foot at the obtrusive fowl. Then she turned her attention back to gathering the eggs from the various nests the enterprising hens tried so hard to keep hidden in the barn.
“Pssst!”
Harriet almost dropped the basket. She backed slowly toward the door. “Who—who’s there?”
George McClary stepped out of a nearby stall and stood in the middle of the rambling structure. “It’s only me, darling. Don’t be ascared.”
“George!” She rushed to her husband and embraced him tightly. “I nearly lost my wits.”
“How’ve you been?” he asked kissing her hungrily. “Lordy, girl, I sure missed you.”
“Me too,” Harriet answered. “How come you’re out here in the barn?”
George smiled wryly. “I thought it’d be best if nobody knowed I was around.”
Harriet frowned. “Oh, George! You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“Sure am,” he acknowledged with an easy grin. “But nothing I cain’t handle with a little help from you.”
Harriet sighed. “This is all going to turn out bad, George. Why don’t you stop all this?”
“Why don’t you just wait ’til I tell you what I need,” George said. “Ever’thing is just fine, so there ain’t no reason for you to fret, hear?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Not too much,” George answered. “Me and the boys been perty busy lately. We figgered it best if we split up and lay low. I thought it’d be a good idee if I stayed here in the barn for about a week. All the rest o’ my pards is headed south. So it’ll be safe for me here at least for a little while.”
Harriet narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Somebody’s looking for you, aren’t they?”
“It’s only a little thing,” George said. “I’ll be just fine here. You could bring me supper ever’ night—and yourself too.” He patted her behind.
Harriet instinctively stepped back, her face reddening. “Don’t be so coarse, please, George.” She smiled at him. “Be gentle about it, darling. We’ve talked about that before.”
“Sure,” George said. He took her hand and started to lead her toward the ladder that provided the way up into the hayloft.
“Not now,” she protested. “I have to fix breakfast for Papa and the boys.” Her voice sounded sad. “This is the second time you’ve been here and not asked about them, George.”
“I was fixing to, darling. Damnation! When a man’s been away from his woman as long as I have, other things crowd into his mind.”
“Well, just in case you care any, the kids have the grippe and Papa is slowing down some. Sign of old age, I imagine.”
George, not really interested, pointed up to the loft. “I’ll be staying up there. I put my horse in the last stall so nobody can spot him without coming in here. You keep folks outta this place, hear? Prob’ly a good thing the kids is sick. That way they won’t be poking around.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Harriet protested.
“What’s for supper tonight?”
“I can fix up some cornbread, beans and some bacon, I reckon,” Harriet said.
“You be careful and don’t let on what you’re doing,” George cautioned her. “And that includes your pa. He’s a nosy old bastard when he wants to be.”
“George!”
“It’s true, damn it! So you don’t say nothing about me, got that? Nothing! Your pa never did care about me. I wouldn’t be surprised that he’d turn me in if he had half a chance.”
“He’d never betray you,” Harriet insisted.
“I ain’t taking any chances with him,” George reiterated. “Don’t say nothing to the old man.”
“Of course I won’t, George,” Harriet said. “I should finish gathering the eggs. Papa will wonder what’s keeping me.”
“I reckon I’ll get me some shut-eye,” George said starting for the loft ladder. “I been doing a lot of traveling and moving around this past week.”
“Will you be warm enough up there?” Harriet asked, concerned.
“Sure,” George answered stepping up onto the rungs. “I’ll snuggle down into that hay in my blankets and be as toasty as a bug in a rug.”
“I’ll get you some extra covers out of the house,” Harriet said.
“Honey, you just bring yourself into this barn tonight,” George said with a wink. “That’s all I need to warm these bones o’ mine.”
Harriet, blushing again, turned away and carried the eggs back to the house.
~*~
Dace Halston, fully rested now for the first time in weeks, was once again in the U.S. marshal’s office. He had taken a chair at a single desk reserved for the field deputies and consumed a cup of coffee as he waited to see Marshal E. D. Nix.
The law enforcement establishment was empty now. All deputies were out on assignment and only the clerks, sorting through their various paperwork tasks, were visible as Dace relaxed.
Nix’s door opened and the marshal himself glanced out and waved to him. “Can you come in now, Dace?”
“You bet, Marshal,” he said agreeably.
“Keep your coffee,” Nix said. “And bring me in some, will you?”
“Right,” Dace said. He refreshed his own cup from the pot on the stove and poured a full one for his chief before going into the office at the far end of the large room.
Nix, his eyes betraying his own fatigue, took the coffee and enjoyed several sips before speaking. “That tasted good, believe me. How’ve you been, Dace?”
“Fine, thanks, Marshal. And you?”
“Putting in long days,” Nix replied. “But all of us are doing that, aren’t we?”
“I finally got a full night’s sleep,” Dace said, almost ashamed. “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
Nix grinned at him. “The simple things of life give us the greatest pleasure, don’t they?”
“Rest and food mean a lot when you don’t have ’em,” Dace said in way
of agreement.
“Lord knows the U.S. marshals in Oklahoma Territory are certainly experiencing deprivation in those departments,” Nix said. “I have enough work for half again as many men.”
“No doubt about that,” Dace said.
“There’s a new assignment we have and you’re the only deputy available for it,” Nix said.
“I’m ready to go,” Dace said.
“This is a touchy one,” Nix said seriously. “And I want to have a frank discussion about it with you, Dace. Law enforcement is difficult under even the best circumstances, so it doesn’t take much to make a tough job tougher in this precarious field of ours.”
Dace understood and nodded. “You’re talking about George McClary, aren’t you?”
Nix appreciated his candor. “Yes, Dace. He’s a wanted man now. Train robbery, bank robbery and murder. We have a warrant for him.”
Dace hesitated and swallowed hard before he spoke. “You’re gonna give it to me to serve, Marshal?”
“There are other warrants that cover several members of his gang,” Nix said shuffling through the documents. “Besides McClary there’s Leon Spalding, Alfred Durkins, and Edward Eastman.”
“Shorty,” Dace said.
“Beg pardon?”
“Edward Eastman is knowed as ‘Shorty’,” Dace explained. “He’s a little feller.”
“You know him too?”
“Yes, sir. And Leon Spalding too. I throwed him in jail for disturbing the peace. And I know Al Durkins. He used to ride for your business partner Halsell on his spread back when he was in ranching.”
“Oklahoma Territory is a closer knit place than I thought,” Nix said smiling. “What about Earl Tolliver? Are you acquainted with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nix thoughtfully studied Dace’s face for a few long moments. “You’re in a hell of a position, aren’t you, Dace?”
Dace nodded and shrugged. “I knowed Norb Sullivan too, Marshal. He rode for me on the ranch me and George had. I handled him like it had to be done.”
“Yes, Dace. You certainly did.”
“I took an oath when you pinned this star to my vest, Marshal Nix,” Dace said seriously. “I promised to do the job to the best o’ my abilities. When I cain’t do that, sir, I reckon I’ll hand this piece o’ tin back to you. ’Cause that’s all it’ll mean if I reach that decision.”
“I understand, Dace.”
“This here badge is important to me, Marshal. I don’t aim to disgrace it or any of the other deputies. That includes you, sir. I’ll always give this job my best shot.”
Nix didn’t hesitate further. He shoved the warrants across the desk to Dace. “Bring ’em in, Deputy.”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up the legal papers and carefully folded them before sticking them into his pocket. “Anything else?”
“Just a note of information that might prove helpful,” Nix said. “Earl Tolliver is in jail at Caldwell, Kansas, charged with bank robbery and murder. You might start with him and see if you can glean any information to get you started.”
“I will, Marshal,” Dace said. “Then I’ll try George’s father-in-law’s farm over by Arkansas City. His wife is there. She might help.”
“Do you think Mrs. McClary will give you any aid?”
“She will if I can convince her that I want to bring George in alive and kicking for a fair trial,” Dace said. “Better me than somebody else who don’t care if he lives or dies.”
“That’s your real reason for going after him, isn’t it, Dace? You don’t want to see him hurt.”
“I reckon.”
Nix’s eyes narrowed. “That might prove exceedingly dangerous for you, Dace. Don’t hesitate to use your gun if you have to. Even on a former friend.”
Dace made no reply. He merely nodded, then strode from the office through the building until he reached the steps outside. He paused and looked over the busy street.
He needed a drink—bad.
The Reeves Brothers Saloon contained its usual lunchtime crowd of businessmen and farmers visiting town. Dace walked in and made his way down the bar until he found an empty place. He ordered a double shot of rye whiskey. He tossed off the first one, letting the rotgut burn itself down his gullet in a painfully satisfactory way before he signaled for a refill. That one went down in two gulps. Then he settled down for some slow sipping on the third.
“Holiday today, Halston?”
Dace turned to see the Pinkerton detective Ward Stormwell sidle up to where he stood. Dace turned his attention back to the whiskey. “Howdy, Stormwell.”
“Hello.” Stormwell looked pointedly at the warrants poking above Dace’s coat pocket. “I suppose it really isn’t a holiday, is it? Got some work to do?”
“I do,” Dace replied.
“Involve the McClary gang?”
Dace, surprised that the detective would know, looked at him. “Yeah.”
“Mind if I ride along with you?” Stormwell asked.
“Yeah, I’d mind—plenty.”
Stormwell shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re so unfriendly, Halston. Hell, we’re on the same side. And I saved your life, remember? Emmet Blevins would’ve killed you if it hadn’t been for me.”
“You ain’t fooling nobody, Stormwell,” Dace said coldly. “If Blevins hadn’t had that gun on me, then you would’ve shot me first, then him for that reward money.”
Stormwell smiled easily. “Now what makes you think that?”
“I don’t like your comp’ny,” Dace stated. “Move on away from me.”
“Sure, Halston, I don’t want any trouble,” Stormwell said. “But, hell, it’s a free country. I’ll see you over in Caldwell anyhow.”
Dace, startled, clenched his jaw. “How’d you know I was going there?”
“Don’t you know the Pinkerton Detective Agency slogan, Marshal?” Stormwell asked. “We Never Sleep.”
“Just make damn sure you never know too much when it comes to me, Stormwell.”
“I got my eye out for your boy George McClary,” Stormwell said. “And I’m going to let you lead me to him.”
Anger stirred deep in Dace’s belly. “The only place I’ll lead you is straight to hell, Stormwell.”
“You’ll lead me to your hell,” Stormwell said. “Because I think you’re going to find yourself in a position where McClary will gun you down and he’ll do it, Halston. Count on that.”
“I’ll tell you something you can count on,” Dace said. “I’ll be keeping a close eye out for you. So don’t try any of that fancy stuff you planned for me and Blevins.”
Stormwell once again displayed his laconic smile. “Then it looks to me like you got double-trouble, Halston. So long, Marshal. Like it or not—I’ll be seeing you.”
Dace watched as the detective disappeared into the crowd. Then he turned his attention back to his drink.
~*~
“George?”
“Yeah,” he softly called down from the loft. “I’m here, honey.”
Harriet waited while her husband descended the ladder and joined her. He pecked her cheek as he lit a lantern. “What’d you bring me?”
“Just like I promised,” she answered. “Bacon, beans and cornbread. Coffee too.”
“That’s my favorite gal!” George said as she served the meal on a barrel top. He gave the food his immediate attention and rapidly consumed it in greedy gulps. Finally he downed the coffee, blowing on the steamy liquid between sips to cool it while he finished the supper.
Harriet, her face grim in the lantern light, looked at him with a worried expression. “They’re talking all over town about what happened at Caldwell.”
“Yeah? What happened there?” he asked.
“A bank was robbed,” Harriet answered. “And two men were killed.”
“That’s terrible,” George said grinning.
“They said you were there, George,” Harriet said softly.
“Must’ve been somebody who looked like me.
”
“They caught one of the robbers—Earl Tolliver—don’t you remember him?”
“Just a cowboy I knowed once,” George said.
“The newspapers say he was one of the McClary Gang,” Harriet said. “They said you were the leader, George, and that isn’t all.”
George sighed in disgust. “I cain’t wait for you to tell me.”
“Harry Arnold was one of the men killed,” Harriet said keeping her strained voice under control. “We knew him, George. He visited us on the ranch lots o’ times.”
George said nothing as he stared at her in stony, angry silence.
“Why’d you shoot him, George. He was such a nice man.”
“Goddamn it! I didn’t shoot him. Shorty Eastman did. There wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it,” George protested. “If he hadn’t said anything to me, he’d be alive today.”
Harriet nodded. “Yeah. They said you weren’t wearing masks.”
“It’d be stupid to have charged in there with masks on,” George said. “They would have knowed right away what was going on.” He paused. “Anyhow, who says I shot Harry?”
“The newspapers.”
“Don’t believe nothing them damn newspapers say,” George snarled. “The dumb sonofabitches who print them things put any kind o’ lies they want in those rags just to sell ’em.”
Harriet sat down dejectedly on a nearby bale of hay. She was silent for a long time, and when she finally spoke, there was a hint of grief and foreboding in her voice. “Let’s get out of here, George. Maybe we could go to California or someplace like that.”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” George said. “Except back to the ranch in Oklahoma.”
“The ranch is gone.”
George’s eyes widened in anger. “No! It ain’t gone. There’s some dirt farming bastard squatting on it right now, but he won’t be there for long, believe me! As soon as the banks, the railroads and ever’body finally gets it through their heads that Oklahoma is going back to the way it used to be, that damn homesteader is gonna have to pull up stakes. He’ll drag hisself, his Goddamned woman and passel o’ snot-nosed brats the hell outta there! Then honest cowboys and ranchers is gonna move back and take up where they left off!”
Oklahoma Showdown (An Indian Territory Western Book 1) Page 7
