Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal

by William W. Johnstone

John Henry pulled his long gun out of the saddle holster. Then, leading his horse, he started climbing the pass. The floor of the pass was covered with wash gravel, and the horse’s hooves fell sharply on the stones, making enough noise to let anyone know he was here, and that he was coming through.

  The pass made a forty-five degree turn to the left just in front of him, so he stopped. Right before he got to the turn, he slapped his horse on the rump and sent it on through.

  There was a sudden explosion of gunfire as the Karnes brothers opened up on what they thought would be their pursuer. Instead, their bullets whizzed harmlessly over the empty saddle of the riderless horse.

  From his position just around the corner from the turn, John Henry located both of his ambushers. There was one on each side atop of the walls that flanked the pass.

  The firing stopped and, after a few seconds of dying echoes, it grew silent.

  “What the hell?” one of them shouted across the draw to the other. “Where did he go, Darrell? Did we shoot him off his horse?”

  Grabbing onto roots to help himself, John Henry, concealed from view by the turn in the gully, climbed up to the top. As soon as he reached the top, he looked north, toward the direction from which the shooting had come. He saw a man on one knee, leaning out over the edge of the bluff, looking down into the pass.

  “Do you see him, Abe?” Darrell called.

  “I don’t see hide nor hair of him,” Abe answered.

  “Where the hell is he?”

  “I’m right here,” John Henry said calmly, now no more than sixty feet from his would-be ambushers.

  “What the hell? How did you get here?”

  “I walked,” John Henry said. “Drop your gun and put up your hands.”

  “Darrell, drop to the ground, I’ve got a shot!” Abe shouted from the other side, and looking across the gully, John Henry saw someone drawing a bead on him with a rifle.

  John Henry dropped to one knee as Abe fired, and the bullet cracked through the air as it passed just over his head. John Henry fired back and Abe grabbed his chest, then pitched forward, falling over the edge and down into the pass about sixty feet below.

  “You son of a bitch! You killed my brother!” Darrell shouted, scrambling to recover his gun.

  “Don’t do it!” John Henry called out to him, but Darrell didn’t listen. Instead, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, and John Henry had no choice but to fire.

  Darrell Karnes fell on his back, his arms thrown to either side of him. John Henry approached, then looked down at him. He could tell by the opaque look in the eyes that the man was dead. Nevertheless, he kicked him once, just to make sure.

  Although white settlers were not allowed in Indian Territory, they could be there under the classification of “traders.” And the term, traders, covered a broad spectrum, including hotel keepers, livery stable operators, barbers, draymen, grocers, and suppliers of saddles, carbines, ammunition, wagon tongues, kitchen knives, sunbonnets, calico dresses, tobacco, and snuff.

  Whites could not own land, but they could lease land from the Indians on a year-by-year basis, so that, in essence, they did own it. Also, many whites married Indians, thus becoming members of the tribes and granted full rights of citizenship within the Indian Territory.

  Indians and whites alike turned out when John Henry came riding into Tahlequah with the two bodies thrown belly down over their saddles. Technically, the Indian police had no jurisdiction over the whites who lived with them so there were, in addition to the Indian police, white lawmen, Deputy U.S. Marshals, who handled crimes involving whites. Because the Karnes brothers were white, John Henry took them to the office of the white Deputy U.S. Marshal who, already alerted, was standing out in front of his office.

  “What do we have here, Sixkiller?” Deputy U.S. Marshal Dennis asked.

  “These are the men who murdered Harold and Mary Two Hills,” John Henry said. He swung down from his saddle and stood there, holding the reins to his horse, Iron Heart.

  “Well now, we aren’t going to ever know that, are we?” Dennis replied. “They didn’t get their time in court.”

  “That was their decision, Marshal. I attempted to bring them in, but they wouldn’t have it that way. They shot at me, so I shot back.”

  “Are they white, or Indian? You brought them here, so I’m assuming they are white.”

  “Yes, they’re white.”

  “Then what were you doing trying to bring them in in the first place? They are white men. You are an Indian policeman; you have no authority over them.”

  “The Indian half of me tracked them, Marshal. But it is the white half of me that brought them in. You might say that I was making a citizen’s arrest.”

  “Who are they?” Dennis asked, stepping down from the porch to examine them.

  “You’ll recognize them.”

  Dennis grabbed one of the bodies by the hair, then lifted the head.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said. “It’s Darrell Karnes.” He stepped over to the other horse and examined that body as well. “And his brother Abe.”

  “I believe they are wanted men,” John Henry said.

  “You’re damn right, they are wanted. Not only here in The Nations, but in about half the states in the West. And you say they murdered Harold Two Hills and his wife?”

  “Yes. I tracked them from the Two Hills Mercantile to Coody’s Bluff.”

  “That was quite a job of tracking. Probably headed for Kansas, I would say,” Dennis said.

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to see ’em brought in, belly down like this. But there’s goin’ to have to be a hearing as to whether or not your killin’ ’em was justified.”

  “In whose court? Indian court, or white man’s court?”

  “White man’s court in Fort Smith,” Dennis said.

  “When is the hearing?”

  “More’n likely within the next two weeks. I’m not going to have to come get you, am I, Sixkiller? You’ll show up?”

  “I’ll be there,” John Henry promised.

  Leaving the sheriff’s office, John Henry went to the trading post and bought bacon, beans, coffee, corn meal, and flour. Then he took his purchases to his mother’s house.

  “John Henry!” his mother said, greeting him warmly when he came into the house. She saw the packages he was carrying. “John Henry, you don’t have to bring me gifts when you come. Just having you here is gift enough.”

  “That’s not it,” John Henry said. “I thought maybe you would make some beans and corn bread for me.”

  John Henry’s mother laughed. “Of course, I will. But I’ll have to put them on to soak. It’ll be tomorrow before I can fix them.”

  “That’s fine, Etsi, I can wait.” Etsi was Cherokee for mother.

  “John Henry, Sasha has been over to see me several times,” Elizabeth said.

  “Has she?”

  “She is such a sweet girl. She has been a big help to me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “She thinks a lot of you,” Elizabeth said, smiling at her son.

  “I think a lot of her as well.”

  “So?” Elizabeth pressed.

  “What do you mean, so?”

  “John Henry, you know what I mean. You aren’t getting any younger, you know. Most men your age, and many who are younger, are married. Don’t you think that is something you should consider?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to Sasha for me to take her as a wife.”

  “Why would you say such a thing? What isn’t fair to the poor girl is to keep her dangling like this.”

  “I’m not keeping her dangling. I’ve told her that my job will keep me away a lot of the time.”

  “Do you think she wouldn’t understand that?”

  “And, there is always the chance that . . .”

  “That what? That you could be killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “John Henry, do you think I didn’t wor
ry about your father, and you, when you went away to war?”

  “I’m sure you did, but . . .”

  “But nothing. You are not giving Sasha credit for being the strong woman she is. If a wife can handle her husband going to war, then a wife can certainly handle her husband being a policeman. Besides, if something like that is going to happen, it’s going to happen. Who would ever have thought that James would be killed as he was? James wasn’t a policeman, he was a rancher and businessman.”

  “Etsi . . . Mom . . . I know that you want only what is best for me, and I know that you think Sasha would make a good wife. I think she would, too. I’m just not ready to make that move, yet.”

  “Let me ask you this, John Henry. Suppose Sasha married another man? It could happen, you know. She is a beautiful and intelligent young woman with much to offer any man who might want to take her as his wife. Suppose that happened. How would you feel?”

  John Henry was quiet for a long moment.

  “I . . . I would hope that it would be a happy marriage for her.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “But you wouldn’t be all that happy about it, would you?”

  John Henry didn’t answer.

  “You can’t keep her dangling forever,” Elizabeth said. “I will invite her over for beans and corn bread tomorrow.”

  “Mom, I’d rather you not do that.”

  “I’m not inviting her for you, John Henry. She is my friend, I am inviting her for myself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Even though John Henry thought he would be uncomfortable with Sasha as a dinner guest, he actually found that he enjoyed her company. Sasha was all smiles as she shared some good news with Elizabeth and John Henry.

  “I have been hired as a schoolteacher,” she said.

  “Oh, Sasha, that is wonderful,” Elizabeth said. “But, does that mean you will be leaving Sequoyah?”

  “No, that is the best part. I’ll be staying right here.”

  Elizabeth glanced over at John Henry and thought she saw relief on his face that Sasha would not be leaving.

  “You make the best beans, Elizabeth,” Sasha said. “You will have to teach me how to make them.”

  “There’s nothing to it—you just soak them overnight, then cook them about five hours with a big piece of fat pork, some onions, and a few cut-up potatoes. They are John Henry’s favorite, you know.”

  Sasha looked over toward John Henry and was surprised to see him crumbling some corn bread into a glass of milk.

  “What are you doing?” Sasha asked.

  “I like corn bread in milk,” John said unabashedly.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. I must try that,” Sasha said.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Believe me, dear, all you will be doing is wasting corn bread. You won’t like it. Honestly, I don’t know how John Henry can eat it that way.”

  Sasha broke up a piece of corn bread into her milk, then spooned some of it into her mouth.

  “Oh!” she said. “Oh, this is delicious! I don’t know why I’ve never heard of this before.”

  John Henry looked at her in surprise. “Wait a minute, you mean you actually like it? You aren’t saying that just to be nice to me?”

  “No, I really like it,” Sasha said.

  Elizabeth started to clear away the dishes from the table, and Sasha stood quickly.

  “Let me help,” Sasha said.

  “Oh, there’s no need for you to help,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t you two young people go into the living room where you can visit? I’ll take care of this.”

  “My mother is about as subtle as a sledgehammer,” John Henry said.

  “She means well,” Sasha replied with a smile.

  John Henry and Sasha went into the living room. John Henry sat in a chair rather than on the sofa. Though Sasha said nothing, John Henry could tell by the expression on her face that she would have preferred he sit on the sofa so she could join him.

  “My mother is trying to—”

  “I know what she is trying to do,” Sasha replied. “She has mentioned it to me several times.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I feel that you are the one who has to make a decision, not your mother.”

  “Sasha, please don’t think that I am averse to the idea of marriage. I’m like everyone else, I want to find a good wife, and have a family. And of all the people I know, I’ve never met a woman who I think would make a better wife than you. It’s just that, well for a while anyway . . .”

  “You want to continue being a hero,” Sasha said. The words were neither sarcastic nor challenging.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Why not? You are a hero, John Henry. Don’t you know that every young boy in the Territory looks up to you, and considers you a hero. But I’m not surprised. You have always been my hero, ever since the day you rescued me from Willie Buck.”

  John Henry chuckled. “Anyone who might have come along that day would have done the same thing. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Like Willie Buck, Hector Crow Dog, returned from the war unable, or unwilling, to become a law-abiding citizen. While riding with Quantrill’s Raiders, Crow Dog had developed a taste for murder and robbery, and it was a taste he continued to satisfy when the war was over. John Henry had not seen Crow Dog since the war, because Crow Dog had not returned to Indian Territory. He carried on most of his nefarious activity in Kansas. That activity soon made him one of the most wanted outlaws in all of Kansas.

  He was waiting at a bridge outside Coffeeville for the night stagecoach to Sedan. The coach had running lamps with mirror reflectors that cast twin light beams forward. The lamps helped Crow Dog track the coach as it was approaching, but he knew they would not be putting out enough light to see him, unless he was standing in the road, right in front of them.

  Crow Dog could hear the driver whistling and calling to his team as the coach got closer. Then, just as it slowed to pull up onto the bridge, Crow Dog jumped up from the side of the road.

  “Hold it right there!” he shouted. “Throw down the mail pouch!”

  The driver stopped, but the guard jumped up and pointed his shotgun at Crow Dog. He pulled the trigger, but the shotgun misfired.

  “Ha!” Crow Dog shouted. He fired twice, the flame pattern of the two shots painting the side of the coach like two flashes of lightning.

  Moses Garret was one of the passengers inside the coach. Garret was a Deputy U.S. Marshal, but tonight he was riding as a passenger on the way back to Sedan. As soon as he heard the demand to stop, he knew immediately what was going on, and putting his finger across his lips to caution the others to be quiet, he slipped out of the door on the opposite side of the coach from the robber. With his pistol in hand he came around the back of the coach just as Hector Crow Dog was climbing up to retrieve the mail pouch.

  Crow Dog had put his pistol back in the holster and, so intent was he on the task of getting the mail pouch, he didn’t see Garret come up behind him. His first indication that Garret was there, was when Garret spoke to him.

  “Come back down here,” Garret said.

  Crow Dog started to move his hand toward his pistol, but stopped when he heard Garret cocking his own pistol.

  “Oh, yeah,” Garret said easily. “Go for your gun. It’ll be a lot easier taking you back dead than it will alive.”

  When Crow Dog reached the ground, even before he turned around, Garret brought his pistol down hard on Crow Dog’s head, knocking him out.

  “Mr. Parkinson?” Garret called to the other male passenger in the coach. “Help me load him into the luggage boot. I’ll handcuff him in there.”

  Hector Crow Dog’s crime spree had come to an end, and because he had stolen U.S. Mail, it became a federal crime. Crow Dog was tried in Judge Isaac Parker’s court, and despite the long-ago promise of the medicine man that he would never be hanged, he was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged.

  T
hus it was that when John Henry arrived at Fort Smith for his hearing, he got there just in time to see Crow Dog about to be hanged. Crow Dog was standing on the gallows, his legs tied together, and his arms lashed to his side.

  U.S. Marshal John Sarber was standing beside the prisoner, sweating under the hot sun. There were several hundred spectators, standing in the same sun looking up at the gallows. There was one black cloud in the sky, but it wasn’t large enough to provide any relief from the sun. Outside the walls of the fort, over a hundred buckboards, spring wagons, and saddle horses bore witness to the distance so many had traveled to watch this hanging. Several had come the day before and spent the night on the ground so they would be here to see the hanging of Crow Dog, the man who had become infamous for murdering and plundering in Kansas, Arkansas, Colorado, and the Indian Territory.

  “Look at those dumb people standin’ there in the hot sun, sweatin’ like a run-out horse,” Crow Dog said.

  “You’re standin’ in the same sun,” Marshal Sarber said.

  “Yeah, but you forget, I ain’t goin’ to be here much longer,” Crow Dog replied with a loud, raucous laugh.

  Crow Dog was of muscular build, though he was quite short, standing only about five feet, four inches tall. As he looked out over the crowd he was surprised to see John Henry.

  “Well, look here. If it’s not my old friend John Henry Sixkiller,” he called down from the gallows. “Come to watch your old friend die, did you, John Henry?”

  “Looks like I got here just in time, Hector,” John Henry said.

  “Hey, John Henry, do you remember I told you once I wasn’t never goin’ to hang?” Crow Dog said.

  “I remember.”

  “That’s because Sam Blackhorse told me I wasn’t never goin’ to hang. You remember him, don’t you? The old medicine man?”

  “I remember him,” John Henry replied.

  “Yes, well I wish I could see the old son of a bitch now. I paid him a dollar to tell me I wasn’t goin’ to hang, and here I am, about to. I’d get my money back, that’s what I’d do,” Crow Dog said, then he laughed again. “Of course, that dollar wouldn’t do me much good now, would it? Still, I’d like to have it in my pocket when I swing. Maybe when I get to hell, I could buy myself a nice cold beer.”