This proved to be difficult. When they arrived at the courthouse, which was only a block from the Frisco Depot, they found it already stirring with activity. The streets swarmed with men, mostly white, with a plentiful sprinkling of Indians and black faces. The courthouse was not set square with the compass. Instead, it favored the Arkansas River, which meandered a few blocks away. The building itself ran from northeast to southeast. Half of the main floor, they discovered, was used for the courtroom. The other half was given to the minor court officers. The entire lower floor, a basement really, was used as the jail.
Wesley and Lanie entered the building, looked down the corridor to the left, and saw several offices. “We’d better go that way,” Wesley said, pointing. “I expect that’s where the judge’s office would be.”
They did find Judge Isaac Parker’s office, but their entrance was barred by one of the clerks. “The judge can’t be disturbed before court,” he told them sternly. But he had never faced a woman with the tenacity of Lanie Winslow, and somehow he found himself going inside with a promise to see if the judge would talk with them. He was back in a moment and said with some confusion, “Uh—yes, ma’am, you can go on in now.”
The man behind the desk was an imposing figure—over six feet tall and weighing about two hundred pounds. “I’m Judge Parker,” he said, indicating two chairs. “Won’t you sit down? I have just a few minutes, though.”
He was in his mid-thirties; and Lanie was surprised to find him an unusually handsome man with brown hair, blue eyes, and a neat, well-trimmed beard. He was genial and pleasant, and he listened politely as Lanie explained their mission. But when she finished he shook his head and said briefly, “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
“But surely, since Perrago is wanted—”
Judge Parker held up his hand, cutting off Lanie’s words. “I wish there were something I could do,” he said with obvious sincerity, a compassionate look in his eyes, “but even though I have two hundred marshals, they are covering an area about the size of New Jersey. The outlaws have banded together, striking fear into the people who live in the territory, including the Indians. Most people know only too well that if they give assistance to one of my marshals, they’re likely to be burned out, or shot, or both, in retribution.”
“But, Judge,” Stone said when he paused, “that doesn’t leave us any recourse! Only a federal marshal has authority to do this for us, isn’t that true? I mean, we can’t even hire a private detective to go in and look for this man and Miss Winslow’s sister.”
“That’s true,” Parker nodded. “It has to be that way. Actually, the Nations were set apart for the Indians, and tribal law governs there. But now, my court has been established because the area has become a haven for white renegades. The Indians really have no authority over a man like Perrago.”
Lanie tried to find a basis for reasoning with him, but she finally had to concede that there was nothing the judge could do. She stood up—and both Wesley and Judge Parker hastened to stand as she did. “I understand your position, Judge Parker—but my sister is out there somewhere. And somehow, I’m going to get her back!”
“Well might you labor to that end, Miss Winslow,” Parker said, and inclined his head as a gesture of respect. “I am truly sorry that I am unable to help you. However, I will do this much—I will alert my marshals to be on the lookout for Perrago and his band. But they’re a slippery bunch—vicious, unprincipled, and sly. Very hard to run down, they are. Even my best men haven’t been able to find them.”
“Thank you, Judge, I appreciate that very much,” Lanie said graciously; then she and Wesley left.
When they were back in the hall, she gritted her teeth. “Well, there’s no help there. We’ll have to do something else.”
Wesley Stone had no inkling of a suggestion. As they walked down the corridor he said, “Look, Lanie—court’s about to start. Let’s sit in on a little of it. Maybe we’ll get some kind of a feeling for this place, and for Judge Parker too. Who knows, we might find a way to get him to help us yet.”
They entered the courtroom and found the room filled—some people were even sitting on the windowsills. Lanie and Wes got their seats by the grace of a short, undersized man, about sixty, wearing a marshal’s badge. When he saw Lanie he stood up at once and said in a courtly manner, “Here, ma’am, you set down here.” He looked at a sloppily dressed man sitting in the next chair. “Fred,” he said tersely, “go stand over against the wall.” The man gave him a sullen look but immediately got up and slouched away.
“You’re one of Judge Parker’s marshals?” Lanie inquired of the man.
“Yes, ma’am. Name’s Lorenzo Dawkins. Been with the judge from the very beginning.” He looked down and saw that an Indian was sitting in the next chair over and said, “Spotted Horse, go over there and stand with Fred. I need your chair.” The Indian grunted and left. Dawkins stepped past Wesley and Lanie, taking the chair the Indian had vacated.
“I’m very grateful to you, Marshal Dawkins,” Lanie said with a glowing smile. She turned on the charm, and though Wesley appeared to be idly looking around the courtroom, he was listening. He knew exactly what Lanie was doing—he’d seen it often enough before. She’s decided that this old man can tell us something we need to know, he thought. Reluctant admiration crept over him as he watched Lanie deftly use her charms to play on the marshal’s kindness.
The old man was obviously flattered by the attention of the beautiful young woman, and he talked freely until the bailiff came in and said loudly, “Hear ye, Hear ye! The Honorable District and Circuit Courts of the Western District of the Indian Territory is now in session! Judge Isaac Parker presiding!”
Judge Parker came in and sat in a high-backed, ornately carved walnut chair, then said, “First trial will now begin.”
The trial was rather simple. A boy was brought in on a whiskey charge. He pleaded guilty to buying whiskey at two dollars a gallon and selling it at ten. Judge Parker listened to the evidence, took into consideration the boy’s age, and gave him a light sentence and a severe lecture. When he finished he said, “I hope this will be a lesson to you, and that from now on you’ll try to be a good and honest citizen.”
The boy choked up, then said loudly, “As good and honest as you, Judge!”
Laughter ran around the court, and Lorenzo Dawkins leaned toward Lanie and whispered, “The judge liked that. You don’t see him smile often.”
There were several cases that went by quickly. Stone said once under his breath, just loudly enough for Lanie to hear, “He’s more like a king up there than a judge. That’s what I’ve heard about him.”
Lorenzo Dawkins overheard and fixed a sharp gaze on Wesley. “We’ve got so many cases here, he’s got to run ’em through quick, Mr. Stone. Ain’t no time for foolin’ around.”
A man was brought in for horse stealing, and Judge Parker asked, “Are you represented by an attorney?”
“No, sir,” the small, dingy-looking man said.
“Don’t you want someone to plead your cause?” the judge asked.
“Can’t I plead my own?” he said indignantly.
“Yes,” Parker said shortly and waited for the man to state his plea.
The man paused for a few minutes, then said, “Well, in that case, I’ll plead guilty.”
The most interesting case was one involving a woman. She was brought in by a lady bailiff and was identified as Connie Wright. The charge was horse stealing, and her husband was a co-defendant.
The trial proceeded with dispatch, and Lorenzo Dawkins gave a little background to Lanie and Wesley as the preliminaries were taking place. “That Connie, she’s a caution,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s been in and out of this courtroom seems like half a dozen times. But the judge, he’s always lenient to women. He believes they should be punished, but in a woman’s case—well, I don’t reckon he’d ever hang one.”
“That’s her husband, there with her?” Lan
ie asked.
“Well, that there’s one of ’em, I guess. Connie changes husbands pretty often. That one there’s the first half-breed she ever had, though,” Dawkins commented with the conscientious manner of a tour guide. “I think Connie adopted him, on a notion, don’t you see? Then wound up marrying him one day because it occurred to her.”
“She’d do that?” Lanie exclaimed. She was studying the woman closely. Connie Wright had a shapely figure, but her face was not pretty at all. Her mouth was pulled downward in a constant frown, and her small eyes flared with anger when the prosecuting attorney belittled her husband.
Dawkins listened to the trial and nudged Lanie with his arm. He seemed to be in the habit of touching people while speaking to them. “Yep. Well, looks like Connie and Sam’s goin’ away for a while—going where the dogs won’t bite ’em,” he commented sagely. “I’ve seen the judge a lot, and I can almost tell what he’s gonna do. You watch, now.”
Parker had the two defendants brought before him. “I sentence both of you to a year in the federal penitentiary. You’re both guilty of crimes worse than horse stealing, but that’s all that’s been proven against you.” He gave Connie a severe look and said, “Connie Wright, if you keep on the way you’re going, you may be the first woman I’ve ever hanged.”
Connie looked up, smiled, and said boldly, “Then I’d be hung by one of the best-lookin’ judges I ever seed!”
CHAPTER FIVE
A Broken Plan
After two days of sitting in the sweltering hotel room, the monotony broken only by the activities in the courtroom, Lanie finally made up her mind that she was going to do something. Putting on her hat, she marched to Wesley’s room and knocked forcibly on the door.
When he opened it, she blurted out, “Come on, Wesley! We’ve got to do something! We can’t spend the rest of our lives in this awful place!”
His eyes widened and he grabbed his hat, then hurried along behind Lanie as she stalked down the hall. She kept up her fast pace, and he finally caught up with her as she reached the street. “What are you going to do?” he demanded.
Lanie answered brusquely, “I’m going to find someone who’ll go over into the Nations and pick up the trail of Perrago’s gang.”
“Find someone?” Stone looked at her in bewilderment. “What do you mean, ‘find someone,’ Lanie? You don’t know any bounty hunters around here! And the marshals won’t go; Judge Parker made that clear to both of us.”
“There must be someone,” Lanie said stubbornly. “I think I’ll go find that nice old man we talked to in court the first day. What was his name—”
“Lorenzo Dawkins,” Wesley said automatically.
“Yes. I’ve been listening, Wesley, and they say that in his day he was quite a marshal.”
“You’re not thinking he’ll go with you?”
“No. But he knows just about everyone in the Territory, and he can tell us who to hire.”
When they arrived in front of the courthouse, they found a large crowd gathered.
“What’s going on?” Stone asked a man standing nearby.
“Prison wagons coming in. The marshals are bringing in the men they caught out in the Territory,” he answered.
As the wagons approached, the scene looked a lot like a circus. Some of the bawdy girls from the houses of prostitution joined the parade, with a number of the men following after them. When they reached the jail, the prisoners inside pressed their faces against the bars, whooping and yelling like madmen. Lanie stared at them in bewilderment, not understanding why men in jail would be glad to see others join them.
The marshals unloaded the prisoners from the wagons, poking them sharply with their Winchesters. The men were all chained together like fish on a string. They were mostly white men, with a few Indians and half-breeds and Negroes.
“They look like a rough bunch, don’t they, Lanie,” Wesley murmured. “Murderers, robbers, train wreckers, and no telling what else. Tough-looking crew. If that’s what we’re facing to get Perrago—I just don’t know.”
Lanie didn’t reply, but set her mouth in an even tighter line. Her eyes scanned the crowd until she found the man she was looking for standing near one of the wagons, talking with a marshal who was dusty from head to foot after the long ride. “Come on, Wes. There he is,” she said and started weaving her way through the crowd. When they reached the two men, she said without preamble, “Marshal Dawkins, may I speak with you, please?”
Dawkins turned and at once snatched off his hat. “Why, shore you can, Missie. See you later, Box.” He took Lanie’s arm and guided her through the crowd, shoving his way roughly when one of the onlookers didn’t move fast enough to please him. Inevitably, when those in the crowd recognized the marshal, they stepped back quickly, according him a respect that made Wesley wonder as he trailed in their wake. Must be a pretty tough old codger, he thought, the way they back off from him like that. He sure doesn’t look like it. He followed the pair as they cleared the street and stepped up on the sidewalk to talk.
Lanie had decided to waste no more time. She said succinctly, “I want to hire someone to go into the Territory to find Vic Perrago.”
Dawkins cocked one eyebrow and asked, “Perrago? What do you want to find that one for? Most folks would just about rather do anything than go findin’ him!”
“He ran off with my sister,” Lanie said. She explained the situation briefly. Dawkins listening intently.
When she finished, Dawkins blew out a long breath. “Missie, you just don’t know what you’re asking. You ever hear tell of a bandit name of Ned Christie?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, he was a tough one. Ran marshals all over the Territory for a long spell. We got word where he was at, and we went out to get him, just him—Ned Christie. You know how many marshals rode? Seventeen—and it took every one of ’em to get Christie. And Perrago, he’s almost as big a rattlesnake as Christie, and he’s got a bunch with him. Ain’t no one man gonna take him, even s’posin’ he could find him.” He repeated adamantly, “Ain’t no one man gonna take him.”
Stubborn in her resolve, Lanie Winslow lifted her chin and said, “If I could talk to Perrago, I’m sure I could reason with him. Marshall Dawkins, please give me the name of a man that will just find Perrago’s crew.”
Dawkins scratched his head, then clapped his hat back on. He looked up and down the street. Finally he said resignedly, “I don’t know. Earl Waters might do it. But he’s gone way over on the other side of the Territory and won’t be back ’til tarnation knows when.” A half smile flickered over his face and his gaze met Lanie’s. “Lobo Smith could do it. But he’s in jail, of course.” He continued to name men, all of whom were either unavailable, unsuitable, or unreachable. He finished cheerfully, “Well, I guess you better leave this up to the marshals, Missie. We’ll run Perrago to the ground sooner or later.”
“I can’t wait, Marshal,” Lanie said stubbornly, “but thank you for your trouble.” She turned and walked away, not even looking at Wesley.
Feeling utterly frustrated and inept, Wesley sighed and hurried after her.
“What are you going to do now?” he demanded.
“I told you, Wesley, I’m going to find a man to take us to Perrago,” Lanie answered emphatically.
“Lanie!” Stone reached out and stopped her, pulling her around to meet his eyes. “You can’t do it! You’re not thinking of going out into the Nations yourself?”
“Yes, I am!” Lanie said fiercely. “But you don’t have to come along if you don’t want to, Wesley!”
This was all it took to fill Wesley Stone with do-or-die determination. If he had been alone, he would never even have thought of the wild scheme now running through his head—going into a place like the Indian Territory, which fairly bristled with outlaws, desperadoes, killers, and wild Indians. His back stiffened at her tone, and he retorted, “If you’re going, I’m going, and that’s all there is to it! Now, let’s hire the
se men!”
The grim expression on Lanie’s face wavered, then dissolved. Putting her hand on Wesley’s arm she said gently, “You are a jewel sometimes, Wesley. It’s glad I am that you came along!” Then in a brisk, businesslike tone she said, “So let’s find the man.”
****
Dobie Jacks and Conn Bailey made a strange-looking sight. Dobie was six foot two, knock-kneed, and lanky. Conn Bailey was five foot six, roly-poly, and bow-legged. Someone once remarked, “When Dobie and Conn stand together, they spell ‘ox.’ ” The pair had been drinking at the Cattleman’s Bar most of the day, and were now solemnly contemplating spending the rest of the day doing exactly the same.
The bouncer, a man aptly named Bulge Raymond, came over and said, “You hear about the girl trying to hire someone to take her into the Territory?”
Dobie glanced down at Bulge and asked owlishly, “What girl, Bulge?” He listened carefully as Raymond explained that a young woman and man were trying to find someone to guide them. Raymond grinned. “And you’ll never guess who she’s wantin’ this guide to find.”
“Who’s that, Bulge?” Conn Bailey asked. He had a round face and a pair of muddy brown eyes.
“Vic Perrago.”
The two men stared at Raymond; then Conn Bailey laughed harshly. “She’ll be sorry enough if she finds that one!”
“I guess so,” the bouncer shrugged, muscles rippling along his shoulders. “Just thought you two might like a job.”
“I don’t want no job tanglin’ with Perrago,” Dobie said flatly.
“Wait a minute,” Bailey jumped in, his brow wrinkling. He was the thinking one of the pair. “Mebbe there’s something in this after all. Thanks, Bulge.” The bouncer nodded and left. Bailey looked up at Jacks. “I’ve had about enough of this town for a while. Whaddya say we become jen-yoo-wine, cert-ee-fied guides?” he said slyly.
The Gallant Outlaw Page 6
