Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden

by J. Lee Butts

  By the time everything finally quieted down, so much spent powder still hung in the air a body couldn’t see worth a damn. Didn’t realize we even had a problem. At first, thought for sure the whole violent dance had shaken out just as fine as frog hair, and that everyone, except members of the vicious Cougar gang, had survived in fine shape.

  Then, through the gradually thinning cloud of roiling, grayish-black gun smoke, spotted some of the other passengers as they began to nerve up and move about. Everyone who could walk hit his feet and headed for the nearest door. Sounded like a herd of stampeded cattle as they bolted for safety.

  Amidst all the yelling and door slamming, heard Nate Swords moan, then say, “Oh, sweet merciful Jesus. No. Not this. Please. Not this.”

  Holstered my pistol. Over one shoulder called out, “Carl, mine are either down or dead. Check on those two in back. Make sure they’re incapacitated or finished as well.” Didn’t wait for an answer. Knew he’d do what I said.

  Made my way into the aisle and found Nate down on both knees like a man beseeching God for eternal forgiveness at a traveling prayer meeting. Had his hat clutched against his chest with one hand. Kept running the fingers of the other hand through sweat-drenched hair. Groaned like he was badly wounded or dying. Thought sure he’d taken a bullet someplace important.

  Was so concerned, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Show me where you’re hit, Nate.”

  He didn’t look at me, just shook his head. Thought the man would weep when he mumbled, “Ain’t me, Tilden. It ain’t me that’s been shot.” He moved to one side and slid into a kind of awkward, half-sitting, half-squatting position up against the end of one of the day coach’s seats. Left plenty of room for a look at the horror his crouching figure had hidden.

  On the floor, between the seats he and the girl occupied but a few seconds earlier, twisted, as though somehow broken at the waist, that stunningly attractive Indian child lay motionless, misshapen, doll-like. Glazed and unblinking, her doe’s eyes stared, without seeing, at the train car’s bullet-riddled ceiling. A single tear traced a delicate, sparkling line from one fawnlike orb to a damp, red-besmeared ear. Drenched in fresh blood, the entire front of her glorious turquoise-and-white dress clung to a lifeless body as though plastered there like a layer of gore-drenched newspaper.

  Scrambled down. Rolled the child flat onto her back. Placed a shaky finger under an already cold jaw. No pulse at all. Nothing. Spark of life had been rudely snuffed out. Lifted the girl up and took a quick look at her back. Bullet appeared to have hit her at a slight downward angle. Most likely fired by Buford Cougar, at a range of no more than ten feet, the .45-caliber pistol slug had punched thorough the flimsy seat back, bored a deadly path through her childlike body, crushed bone, sliced through muscle and nerves, then exited by way of a considerable, gaping hole in an unmoving chest.

  Gently laid her back down. Closed those beautiful brown eyes with my fingertips, then glanced over at Nate. What I saw on that boy’s face came nigh on to breaking my heart. If all the tortured souls of those condemned to the lowest levels of Satan’s playground could have walked down that rail car’s center aisle, not a single face of those tormented beings would have matched the pain etched across that boy’s sad countenance.

  Seemingly bereft of hope, he beat at one leg with his hat. Turned away from me and stared at the floor. “Just can’t believe it, Tilden. Simply beyond all understanding. Few minutes ago she was beautiful, vibrant, sittin’ here talking with me. Few seconds ago she looked into my eyes as though pleading for me to take care of her. And I told her I would. Said I’d protect her from any harm.”

  Rested a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder just as Carl eased up beside the two of us. Know for a fact that it didn’t help much, but I said, “What happened here today’s not your fault. Did all a man could be expected to do, Nate. No way to avoid this one. Given the Cougar gang’s reputation, if we had let this lunacy go any farther, she might well have suffered at the hands of these bastards in ways none of us can even begin to imagine. If Buster Lucky’d had his way, well, I personally don’t even want to think about it.”

  Nate squeezed out a single enormous tear. Wiped it away with the back of one bloody hand. Said, “Her name was Little Cloud. Rachael Little Cloud. Soon’s she told me that I thought, my, oh, my, her name’s as beautiful as she is. And now, God Almighty, sweet God Almighty.”

  Carl tapped me on the shoulder with his still-smoking pistol barrel. “Boy’s bleedin’, Hayden. Look.”

  Reached down and pulled at Nate’s vest. Words just kind of slipped out. Couldn’t stop ’em. “Good God,” I said. “Thought you told me you weren’t hit. How bad are you hurt, son?”

  Swords pushed up, propped himself against the seat at his back. We both plucked at a blood-soaked shirttail. He pulled the garment aside and fingered a dark, deep, ugly gash across the ribs on his right side.

  “Bullet that killed Little Cloud must’ve scorched me a mite. Sweet Jesus, Tilden, swear I didn’t even feel it.” He ran a finger that shook along the dripping, angled slit that sliced across the bones of his rib cage. “Still don’t feel it. Nothin’ but a scratch, though. Been hurt worse more times than I can remember.”

  Must admit as how the rest of that afternoon is still something of a hazy blur in my cankered memory. Tend to bring those events to mind in bits and pieces. Do recollect that the train hadn’t been back on the main track again and rolling for very long when it slowed, pulled over, and made its regular stop in Atoka.

  ’Course the conductor, wiry scamp named Henry Bankhead, hopped off and went to running up and down the depot platform screaming at the top of his lungs about robbers, killers, death, and mayhem. Red-faced and nigh on apoplectic, he dragged the stunned station master over just as we were laying Little Cloud atop a baggage cart we found sitting just a few feet outside the depot’s busy waiting room.

  Dancing like a frog in a hot skillet, Bankhead hopped from foot to foot and said, “This here is Amos Studdard, station master, telegraph operator, and chief agent here at Atoka, Marshal Tilden.”

  Nate, Carl, and I removed our hats and backed away from Little Cloud’s limp body.

  Studdard stumbled as he came up beside the girl’s pitiful corpse. Snatched his leather visor off. Went to trembling all over like a man in the throes of some horrible affliction. Then, swear ’fore Jesus, he covered his face with both hands and wept like a baby. Conductor kept patting his friend on the shoulder, but Studdard appeared past consoling. Took near five minutes for the poor feller to get control of himself again.

  Twisted his visor between trembling fingers, cast a swollen-eyed gaze at me, and said, “This girl, Rachael Little Cloud, was a Choctaw princess, Marshal. Most beautiful Indian gal as I’ve ever seen. Beloved by all her people. Her father’s Chief Jacob Black Horse.”

  Tried to explain what had transpired, but I don’t think, to this very day, Studdard heard much, if any, of what I said. He kept staring down at Little Cloud, mumbling to himself, moaning and twisting at that visor.

  Soon as I finished up with the sad tale of Little Cloud’s unfortunate demise, a blank-faced Amos Studdard flicked a slack-jawed stare from the dead girl’s face to me and said, “Love of God, she’s just turned eighteen. Sweet. Smart. Beautiful. Really independent for a Choctaw girl, though. Her family didn’t want her traveling alone, you know. But she had close friends up in Vinita. I made personal assurances to Black Horse and her mother that the trip would be easy as pie, and she’d be fine.”

  Barely heard him when Carl offered, “No way you could have foreseen something like this.”

  Studdard grimaced like someone invisible had slapped him across the face. “Damn well gave my personal guarantee of the girl’s safety. Sweet Jesus, I told those folks she’d be as safe as a newborn babe while traveling on one of our trains. Assured those wonderful people they had nothing to concern themselves about. No need for a chaperon. God Almighty, what am I gonna tell ’em now?”


  Distressed station agent eventually did buck up and take charge of the situation. As if by magic, he suddenly grew steel in his spine. Started giving directions and orders like a battlefield general. Arranged for Nate to get patched up. Even assumed the responsibility of taking care of Little Cloud’s body for us. Mighty sad bunch that carried the poor girl’s shattered corpse inside the depot that day.

  We cleaned the child up, as best we could. Wrapped her in a spotless sheet. Not sure to this very moment where that sheet came from. Laid her out atop the mahogany desk in Studdard’s office. Somebody placed a bunch of the most beautiful yellow flowers I’d ever seen on her chest. Flowers just seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  Remember Nate stood next to the body, holding his hat in his hands. Devastated man couldn’t do much but shake his head. But I did hear him when he said, “My, oh, my, but she was a beauty, Tilden. Sweet natured, too. Told me about her family. Smart as whip. Fine company. Wish we could’ve had more time together. Hell, wish we’d . . . Oh, well, Lord God, but I do wish it.”

  Being as how Nate’s mind was somewhere else, me and Carl made all the arrangements for Buford Cougar and his bunch of lethal varmints. Number of the Choctaw Light Horse showed up within a matter of minutes of the train coming to a stop. They were most cooperative in helping us out.

  Discovered that the three men who’d died with Cougar were for certain sure none other than Buster Lucky, Bartholomew January, and Samuel Boston. Given their recent outlaw history, considerable rewards existed for those boys. Time we totaled it all up, amounted to almost six thousand dollars. Get to killing, robbing, and raping people, the value of even the most worthless among us tends to go up.

  Conductor Bankhead stepped forward and offered as how, during the attempted robbery, he’d seen a feller standing near the caboose holding the reins on five horses. I figured Edgar Sampson must’ve bolted soon as the serious shooting started. Given the passage of a few days, Carl and I both felt sure he would disappear into the unassigned territories never to be seen again.

  Sent a short telegram to Mr. Wilton. Explained that we’d been unavoidably delayed. Said we’d lay over till the girl’s family came in to claim her body—which Amos Studdard made arrangement to have placed in a local ice house.

  Nate wanted to stick around Atoka and attend whatever went for a final service for Little Cloud. But after a day and a half of idle time in that train depot, with nothing to do but wear out a checkerboard, walk the floor, or play cards, Carlton was about ready to bite the head off a hammer. Unfortunately, Little Cloud’s kin never showed. Studdard pulled me aside and ventured the guess that the girl was unexpected, and that her family might take as much as a week to locate. Took some serious talking, but we finally persuaded Nate that we needed to be on our way—get on down to Fort Worth.

  Have not the slightest clue how he managed the feat, but before we got headed out again Amos Studdard put every M.K. & T. employee in Atoka to work cleaning up the mess in that shot-to-pieces passenger car. Arranged to have it parked on a siding and had everything except a bullet hole here and there repaired in right short order. Got it added onto a southbound rattler a little after noon a day and a half after we first arrived.

  Engineer laid the spur to that big ole Baldwin locomotive and by the time we reached Denison, felt as though we’d left most of the unexpected sorrow we’d encountered behind. Don’t think Nate said half a dozen words till after we crossed over the Red River.

  Even back in them days, I never was much of one for omens and such. But our fateful trip south had started out about as badly as it could have, and as we passed over the Red River I had a malevolent, prickling sensation run up and down the back of my neck. At the time, felt that watching a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her die in a friend’s arms might’ve had something to do with it. Not sure, and truth be told, it didn’t really matter. Was just that those events set me to wondering just how much worse things might get before we made it back home. By then I’d decided it was time that Nate Swords knew everything there was to know about the Brotherhood of Blood.

  11

  “. . . FIRED BOTH BARRELS INTO THE BACK OF JIMBO’S HEAD.”

  TRAIN CLATTERED ALONG between Denison and Denton. Soothing rhythm and vibration of the tracks surged up through the floor and set a man’s head to lolling back and forth. Rolling, hilly, tree-poor countryside of stunted bushes and dry grass slid by my window. Wedge-shaped, greenish-black thundercloud had crawled over the horizon in the west, and was rapidly turning daylight into near dark. That ugly, churning, morass of water-logged clouds further dampened our already depressed spirits and appeared on a course to blow directly over the top of us. Coming storm dropped glittering, pointed spikes of pitchfork lightning in every direction followed by distant, rumbling, earth-thumping thunder. Spotted terrified animals darting, here and there, out front of the rapidly approaching tempest.

  Elbowed Carl back into wakefulness, then said, “Well, you’ve been pushing me to do this for a spell now. Think it’s time we told Nate ’bout the Brotherhood.”

  He yawned, stretched, then flashed me a pleased grin. “ ’S good by me.”

  Jerked a thumb toward the back of the car. “Got up about ten minutes ago. Think he strolled out onto the platform. Might be having himself a smoke. Or maybe he just wanted to be alone. Why don’t you go round him up? We’ll sit the boy down and tell him the whole tale.”

  Carl came erect like an unfolding carpenter’s rule. Slapped his hat on and said, “Good idea. Maybe what we’ve got to tell him will take his mind off Little Cloud for a few minutes.” He wobbled to the rear door of the day coach and, in less than a minute, he and Nate swayed back to our set of gear-laden seats. Overdose of supreme woe showed on our morose young friend’s face like a set of deep, self-imposed scars.

  He flopped down in the seat across from me and socked his hat onto one knee. “What is it? Whatta you want, Hayden?”

  Shot Carl a quick glance. He shook his head and shrugged, as if to say, “Swear ’fore Jesus I didn’t say nothin’, Tilden. Not a single enlightening word.”

  Fingers knitted in my lap, I leaned Nate’s direction and said, “Sure you recall the terrible circumstances surrounding my and Carlton’s decision to take you into our group.”

  Nate gifted me with an unenthusiastic tilt of the head. “Brought me on board when Selby Hillhouse murdered your friend, Billy Bird. The resulting search for Maynard Dawson, Charlie Storms, and Cotton Rix was my first trip to Fort Worth and Hell’s Half Acre. Still believe that jaunt was the serious beginning of my real, genuine education as a deputy U.S. marshal. Everything up till then didn’t amount to a hill of beans. Hadn’t been for you boys, I’d most likely still be spending the majority of my time chasing horse thieves and whiskey runners.”

  Slid onto the edge of my seat. “Thing you don’t know, mainly because Carl and I’ve had a bit of difficulty dealing with the death of our good friend Marshal Bird, is that the three of us made up a very select and special group of men. A trio of law bringers like none other in the whole of Judge Parker’s cadre of deputy marshals.”

  The spark of growing interest began to show in Nate’s eyes. As he pushed up in his seat, I shot a glance out the window over his shoulder and saw a knifelike blade of heavenly fire fall from thick, soot-black clouds five miles away. Rumble of thunder took several seconds to get to us. Window rattled when the wavelike bump of dense air finally hit.

  Elbows resting on his knees, Nate edged closer to me. Leather complained when he rearranged his pistol belt. “You know there’ve always been rumors about you boys, Tilden. Persistent, dark, strange rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “Oh, nothing definitive. Little more’n old ladies’ gossip, I always felt. All ’bout how you fellers rarely bring anyone back alive when you go out on a manhunt. Figured if such tales amounted to anything at all you’d let me in on the secret, when you got good and ready.” Then, as if fearing he might ha
ve overstepped his bounds an inch or two, he added, “That is what we’re talkin’ ’bout here, isn’t it?”

  Conversation fell into whispers when I said, “Before this goes any farther, Nate, I must insist that you swear on your honor that what we’re about say to you will never be repeated. And I do mean never. Even if you decide against inclusion, you must swear that you’ll not reveal what you hear from the two of us today. You’ve got to agree with this most important condition before we can continue and talk about anything else.”

  “Okay. Sure. I’ll . . .”

  “No. Don’t comply so quickly, so easily. This is, perhaps, the most serious matter to confront you in your entire life. I think that you, at the very least, should give it a few seconds’ thought. Because once you’ve heard what Carl and I are about to say, your life will never be the same again. You will be forever changed, and that’s not stretching this business in the least.”

  A nervous grin etched its way onto Nate’s twitching lips. “Well, damn, that sounds right ominous.”

  Carl perked up and added, “He’s not kidding, Nate. This is grave business. Story you’ll hear, and the life-changing proposition we’ll ask you to consider, could prove the most significant event in your life up till this very instant.”

  Fleeting look of momentary confusion flickered across Swords’s pinched brow. He pawed at the stubble on his chin, then stared at the day coach’s ceiling for near a minute. Wagged his head, like an old dog looking for someone to scratch the back of his neck, then said, “It sounds most intriguing, to say the least, Tilden. Can’t wait to hear what you boys have got to tell me. So, why don’t you go on ahead and spit it out.”

  Shook my head. “Not until you raise your hand and swear before God, Carlton J. Cecil, and me, that what you’re about to be told won’t go any farther than the seat where you sit.”

  Behind a sheepish grin, Nate raised his right hand. “I swear ’fore Almighty God, I won’t mention anything we talk about today to a living soul.” As his hand dropped back into his lap, he added, “That good enough. Work for you?”