Oklahoma Showdown (An Indian Territory Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “By God, George! You’re always thinking!” Spalding marveled. He motioned to Tom. “C’mon, kid, gimme a hand with this old bastard.”

  Together they dragged the cadaver to the door, then heaved it outside.

  “While we’re waiting for them fellers out there to figger things out, let’s tear this place apart and see if ol’ Kiowa hid any money in here,” George said. “Maybe this whole thing’ll turn out as a profit after all.”

  ~*~

  Dace, along with two other marshals and Ward Stormwell, crouched in the gully. All four men silently and nervously gripped their carbines as they waited for the far signal from Bill Tilghman that would herald the beginning of the Battle of Ingraham.

  The crack of a distant shot echoed through the early morning air. This was quickly followed by the pop-pop of more firing.

  “That’s it, boys,” Dace said crawling up to higher ground. “The west side o’ the town is our meat.”

  The group spread out as they approached the buildings of the small community. At first they could make out little of the action except for the sounds of a tremendous amount of firing. But the volume died quickly as the combatants on both sides settled down to serious, more painstaking shooting.

  “There’s one of ’em!” somebody shouted.

  The figure of a man could be seen leaping from the bottom story of the whorehouse and running toward them. Finally he spotted Dace and his crew, and suddenly stopped. He turned back, hesitated, then made a dash for a copse of trees nearby. Stormwell’s carbine cracked, and the fugitive stumbled under the impact of the slug, but he managed to keep to his feet as he laboriously stumbled for the cover he sought.

  A second shot slammed him to the earth, arms flailing.

  “Tough sonofabitch,” Stormwell remarked as they continued to move on.

  “How about keeping up with me, Stormwell,” Dace said. “I get nervous thinking about you behind my back.”

  Stormwell let the obvious insult slip by with his easy grin. “Hell, Halston, I don’t want to shoot you. I’m relying on you leading me to George McClary.”

  “I told you once before I’d lead you to hell,” Dace said.

  “Look out!”

  Four horsemen, evidently having saddled up in the stable right after the shooting started, suddenly burst through the door and charged down on the marshals.

  “Them bastards are gonna do or die!” Dace yelled bringing his Winchester to his shoulder. The carbine kicked back hard as he squeezed the trigger, but he missed. The air around Dace’s head whistled with flying bullets, and little spurts of dirt erupted a few yards behind him.

  “Get down, Dace!” one of the marshals hollered. “You’re drawing their fire.”

  Dace could hear the slugs of the charging riders still zipping around his ears, but he stood his ground and took deliberate, careful aim. The Winchester jumped again, but this time one of the riders rolled back over his horse’s rump and bounced three times along the ground before halting in a crumpled heap.

  Dace swung the muzzle to the left and fired again. The rider cringed as he was hit and hung onto the saddle horn. Dace turned his attention to the third horseman and cut loose with two quick shots.

  He missed.

  By then the second man slipped from his horse and landed in the prairie grass. Dace shot once more at the third man and this time blew the outlaw clear of the saddle with one shot.

  The fourth man went down, riddled by Stormwell and the two marshals. The Pinkerton detective shook his head. “Whew! I thought we’d lost you there for a minute, Halston.”

  “Yeah,” Dace said. “I can see the tears o’ joy running down your face.” He motioned to the others. “C’mon, let’s keep moving up.”

  The four men entered the town and immediately sought cover in the stable. They rushed through the door and found the building empty. Stormwell frowned at the rickety structure. “Hell, this won’t keep bullets out.”

  “Sure won’t,” Dace agreed. “But we’re outta sight for a bit.”

  Suddenly the side door burst open and Maude Pierson, owner of the whorehouse, burst in to find four carbines pointing at her. “Oh, hell!” she wailed. “Don’t shoot me, for the love o’ God!”

  “Howdy, Maude,” one of the marshals said.

  “Lordy! What’s going on around here?” the woman asked breathlessly. “We was eating breakfast, then it all of a sudden sounded like the Fourth o’ July in Saint Louis.”

  “We’re paying your little town a visit,” Dace said. He grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her aside.

  “Leggo me!” Maude whimpered. “I don’t even know who you are, mister.”

  “I’m a United States deputy marshal,” Dace said. “That’s all you need to know. And keep your voice down.”

  “I don’t like to be pushed and pulled by nobody,” Maude said, narrowing her eyes in anger. “I don’t give a damn who—or what—you are.”

  “I ain’t taking no sass from you,” Dace hissed angrily. “And it’ll go a hell of a lot easier if you answer my questions, hear?”

  Maude could sense the angry determination in the lawman’s voice. “I’ll answer you,” she said.

  “Is George McClary in town?”

  “No,” she answered. “But his gal is.”

  “His gal?” Dace asked.

  “Yeah. Her name is Lilly Waring,” Maude explained. “She used to work for me ’til George got a lot of money and made her quit.”

  Anger swelled up in Dace as he thought of Harriet waiting faithfully for George, thinking he was conducting a misguided holy war against law and order in the Territory. Now Dace knew for sure that he’d have to get his former partner out of that part of the country.

  “Where is this here Lilly Waring at?” Dace demanded.

  “She run out with the rest o’ the girls,” Maude said. “I tried to go with ’em, but when ever’body busted into my place, I got caught. I was lucky I made it over here.”

  “What do you mean when ever’body busted into your place?” Dace asked.

  “There’s fellers coming in from the opposite direction,” Maude said meaning Bill Tilghman and his group. “They made their way through the other buildings and drove the boys into mine.”

  Dace started to say more when Tilghman and two other men came in through the back door. The senior lawman motioned to Dace. “We got ’em cornered next door, Dace. But they won’t give up.”

  “We gonna shoot it out with ’em?” Dace asked.

  “I’m not losing any more men,” Tilghman said. He indicated the closest marshal at his side. “Ed here has dynamite.”

  “Oh, God!” Maude wailed. “You ain’t gonna blow my place up, are you?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Tilghman said politely. He turned to his assistant. “Let ’er rip.”

  The lawman lit the fuse and waited as it burned down to what he considered the proper length. Then he eased up to the window and heaved it at Maude’s building.

  “Run like hell!” he yelled.

  Everyone in the stable took off out the back, but the dynamite’s fuse proved a trifle fast. The explosive cut loose throwing boards, dust and other matter through the air.

  Dace, Tilghman and the others ducked under the shower of debris. Then they turned and charged through the wreckage to find the former whorehouse a pile of sticks. The outlaws who had taken refuge in it were either dead, injured or dazed.

  A couple, shaking their heads from the effects of the concussion, stumbled out of the wreckage and were immediately handcuffed.

  Then the marshals waded into the remnants of the building to look for more survivors, as Maude Pierson started to weep.

  But Dace once again grabbed her arm.

  “Let’s go find this Lilly Waring. I want to talk to her,” Dace said.

  “All right,” Maude said weakly. “She’s prob’ly down by the creek hiding with the others.”

  As the two walked away, Ward Stormwell watched them. Once again he s
miled his sardonic smile, knowing that he was one step closer to getting George McClary—and that Dace Halston, willing or not, would be helping him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Herb Eldridge finished the last bite of pie and pushed the plate aside. He patted his belly and nodded to Dace Halston. “How was supper?”

  “Delicious,” Dace said smiling. “But I figgered it would be. Look who cooked it.”

  Harriet smiled. “Sounds like you’re angling for another piece of pie.”

  “Apple always has been my favorite,” Dace said.

  “Mine too!” little Joey McClary piped up.

  “And mine,” Georgie said. “It was my favorite before it was yours.”

  “Was not!” Joey countered.

  “Was too!”

  “Hush!” Harriet said. “You two pick the silliest things to argue over.”

  “Can I have another piece o’ pie?” Georgie asked.

  “No,” Harriet answered getting up. “You’ve had enough already.”

  “Uncle Dace is getting another’n,” Georgie protested.

  “He’s bigger than you,” Harriet said. “He needs more.”

  “How about me?” Joey asked. “Can I have another?”

  “No!” Harriet exclaimed. “If Georgie can’t have any, what make you think you can?”

  “I was just asking,” Joey said dejectedly.

  “Sure,” Dace said grinning. “If a feller doesn’t ask, he cain’t find out, right?”

  “Right!” Joey said brightly.

  Little sister Amy, still working on her own hunk of pie, silently ate as her big blue eyes took in the activity around the table. Finally she looked at her brother Georgie. “You want the rest o’ my pie?” she asked.

  “Yes!” Georgie happily answered.

  “Well, you can’t have it,” Amy said sticking her tongue out at him.

  “Mama!”

  “Amy! That was naughty,” Harriet said.

  “If it was naughty, how come Uncle Dace laughed?” Amy asked.

  “You all are excused from the table,” Harriet said. She cut another piece of the apple delicacy for Dace and served him as the children scampered away to their play.

  “Reckon I’ll take a walk around outside,” Herb said getting up slowly. “Helps an old man’s digestion.”

  Dace took his pie. “I’ll talk to you later, Herb.”

  Harriet watched her father go out the front door, then she turned to Dace. “I guess you haven’t found George yet, have you?”

  “No,” Dace answered. He thought of the faithless husband and his paramour in Ingraham. “But I’m sure to catch up to him before long.”

  “Dace—” Harriet’s voice was hesitant. “There’s something you ought to know—about George.”

  “Yeah?” Dace took the last bite of pie, and turned his attention to the cup of coffee by the plate. “What should I know?”

  “He doesn’t want to get caught,” Harriet said.

  Dace laughed a little. “I reckon he don’t.”

  “What I mean to say is—well, he especially doesn’t want to get caught by you,” Harriet said.

  “You mean we ain’t friends no more, huh?”

  “It seems that way.” Harriet bowed her head and even though she was trying hard to hold back the tears, she began crying softly. “He’s—he’s changed so, Dace—you wouldn’t know him.”

  Dace’s face was sober. “I never figgered George would turn against me. No, I sure never figgered that.”

  Harriet wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what to do about him, Dace. He’s like an animal—so mean and suspicious. I can’t even reason with him.”

  Dace looked over at Harriet and realized how deeply he loved and cared for her. She had done up her hair in a bun, with gentle wisps of curls escaping the constrictions of the pins she used to hold the arrangement in place. The worry she was going through showed on her face, but the strain didn’t detract from her beauty. It seemed to mature her and make her appear more beautiful as a woman than the young, almost giddy, girl she used to be.

  Harriet was lovely, and Dace Halston wanted her so much it made his heart ache with a sweet longing that he knew would never be satisfied. He could only content himself with making her life as easy and happy as possible—and he was willing to devote every waking moment of his existence to that end.

  “George just needs a talking to, that’s all,” he said. “His days as an outlaw are numbered, Harriet, and sooner or later he’ll realize that.”

  “I surely hope so,” she said fervently.

  “Oklahoma is becoming a smaller place,” Dace explained. “It ain’t the way it used to be with wide open stretches and places to disappear into. There’s towns and farms popping up ever’where. Why, a man cain’t ride a full day without running into one or two settlements of one kind or another.”

  “Then what’s George to do?”

  “The only thing left is for him to get outta this part o’ the country,” Dace said. “Y’all can head west to Californy or up into Oregon where nobody knows him.”

  “Is there a safe way we can do that?” she asked.

  “I can help, I reckon,” Dace said. “If I could find George and hide him away somewhere for a spell, then things might cool down for him. Then you and the kids head west until he can join you.”

  “But, Dace, wouldn’t you be breaking the law to help us out that way?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes, Dace, you would,” she said laying a hand on his arm. “But you’re willing to do it to help us, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know what we’d do without you. It’d be—”

  “Hush!” he interrupted.

  “It’s true.”

  “No, it ain’t,” he said wanting to tell her the real feelings he had for her. His desire to embrace Harriet and hold her close and whisper words of affection and comfort in her ear was so strong he nearly trembled. Instead, he pushed his coffee cup forward. “Could I have some more, please?”

  “You sure can,” Harriet answered smiling. She went into the kitchen and in a few moments returned with a fresh, steaming cup. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” He sipped the coffee and looked at her. “If George shows up here again, you tell him to stay here and wait for me.”

  “If I can,” Harriet said.

  “You’ll be able to,” Dace explained. “Because he won’t be back again until things is real bad for him.”

  “Why would he wait until then?” Harriet asked. “After all, he’ll want to see his wife again.” Her face reddened as she realized what she had alluded to.

  Dace’s mouth took a grim set as he thought of Lilly Waring. “George’ll be back here when it’s too rough to go anywhere else, and you’ll have to convince him I’ll help him.”

  “I’ll try,” Harriet promised.

  The front door suddenly opened, and Herb Eldridge stepped into the dining room. “Feller here to see you, Dace. Says it’s important.”

  “Howdy, Marshal.” The local telegrapher nodded politely and handed him an unsealed envelope. “This just come in. I thought it best to bring it out to you.”

  Dace opened the message and read it. “Yeah, it is. Thanks. I reckon I’d best leave in the morning.”

  “We’re open all night if you want to send an answer,” the telegrapher said.

  “No, but I’m obliged,” Dace said.

  “I’ll walk you out to your horse,” Herb said to the visitor.

  After the two left, Dace showed the missive to Harriet. “It’s from the U.S. marshal’s office in Guthrie. They say they got a lead on George at a place called Kiowa Evans’ trading post.”

  “Do you think George will be there?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d best find out,” Dace said. “If he is, I’ll have him hid away by day after tomorrow.

  “You be careful, Dace,” Harriet warned him. “He’s just what I said he was—an animal.”

&nbs
p; ~*~

  “God damn!”

  George McClary stood in the stirrups and surveyed the wreckage of what had once been Ingraham, Oklahoma Territory.

  Shorty Eastman winced. “Wonder if a tornado hit this place. Looky there at Maude’s hotel.”

  Leon Spalding spat disgustedly. “Damn! Ever’thing’s going wrong in my life. First, them army shoes. Second, no money in Kiowa Evans’ cabin. And now my favorite whorehouse is blowed to hell.”

  They rode into the little town, but George suddenly reined up. “Hold it! Them’s bullet holes all over the saloon and them other buildings too.”

  Young Tom Batkins imitated the others and drew his pistol as they started to turn their horses. But a feminine voice shrieked out George’s name.

  “Who’s calling me?” he hollered.

  Lilly Waring’s slim figure appeared from the door of the stable, and she waved at them. “George! You come on over here!”

  He waved back and motioned to his men. “Looks like it’s all right. C’mon, let’s find out what happened here.”

  They spurred their horses and rode down the street. As they approached the stable, several other people came out of the other damaged buildings. George nodded to several of his acquaintances and grinned. “Looks like somebody got mad about something around here.”

  Maude Pierson didn’t return his smile. “A army o’ damn starpackers come in here and shot the hell outta the town. And a few of the fellers that was in it too.”

  “Any o’ your girls get it?” Spalding asked.

  “None of ’em, but most left anyhow,” Maude said with a heavy hint of complaint in her voice. “They’re skeered to death to stay in Ingraham.”

  “Whew!” Spalding said with relief. “Is Wanda still here?”

  “Yeah, I am,” came a husky female voice from the interior of the stable. “But I ain’t having nothing to do with you, Leon. I’m tard o’ you beating on me.”

  “Now, sugar pot, don’t you fret,” Spalding said dismounting. “Let’s you and me have a talk.” He went into the stable as his companions also set their boots to the ground.

  “I got to have a word with you,” Lilly said to George. She took his arm and led him over to the wrecked whorehouse out of earshot. “You got a friend name o’ Dace Halston, don’t you?”