Jacks shook his head. “Not me. I ain’t so stuck on staying in Fort Smith any longer, but I’d like to cut out for California. I ain’t huntin’ for Vic Perrago, that’s for sure.”
“I think that just shows your good sense, Dobie,” Conn Bailey nodded. “But I think I just figgered out a way to get the money and the supplies to pull outta here.” He winked broadly at his partner. “Let’s go find that there couple. Try to look as much like a tough guide as you can, will you?”
They had no trouble finding out that the lady’s name was Winslow and the man’s was Stone. And finding them was no trouble either; they just went to the “main hotel” and asked for them at the desk, and the clerk politely supplied the room numbers. They walked upstairs and knocked on one of the doors. When it opened they both pulled their hats off and Conn said, “Miss Winslow?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“My name’s Conn Bailey and this here’s Dobie Jacks. We heard tell you’re lookin’ for a couple of guides to go out and find Vic Perrago.”
Lanie’s eyes brightened and she said eagerly, “Yes, come in.” She stepped back, and as the two men entered she motioned to a tall man standing by the window. “This is Mr. Stone.” She made the proper introductions and then asked Bailey, “Do you think you can find Perrago?”
Conn was slow to answer. He turned his hat around in his hand two or three times and shifted back and forth. “Hard to say for sure. But if anybody can find him, it’s Dobie here. He can track better than a Indian. Best tracker I ever seen in my life. Once we cut their sign, it won’t be no trouble, ma’am.”
Dobie heard his cue and put in, “Naw, it won’t be no trouble, Miss Winslow. Not findin’ him, that is.” His eyes momentarily fixed on Bailey, then back to Lanie. “ ’Course, there’s only the two of us, and Perrago’s got eight or ten pretty tough hands. In a fight I don’t think we’d have a chance.”
“There won’t be any fighting,” Lanie said quickly. “All we want to do is talk to him. How much would you expect to be paid?”
Conn said deprecatingly, “Oh, Miss Winslow, we heard about the bad luck you had with your sister. We don’t want to overcharge a lady, especially one in your situation. Would twenty-five dollars apiece be too much?”
Lanie was surprised at the small figure and said, “Oh no, that would be fine.”
“Of course, you’d have to buy a couple of good horses and outfits for both of us. We’re a little shy at the minute. And also for yourself, of course. Saddles, guns, grub, supplies.” Bailey named off quite a few things and when he finished he said, “Be pretty expensive, I reckon. But when we get back you can sell the horses and get your money back.”
“When could we leave?” Lanie demanded.
Conn held his palms up. “Why, Miss Winslow, we’re ready any time you say.” He looked out the window and said speculatively, “Probably it’d be best to pick out some good outfits today and leave early in the morning.”
“Would you help me pick out the horses? Neither Mr. Stone nor I are really experts.”
“Be glad to do it, ma’am. You wanna go now? I think I could get you a good deal down at the blacksmith’s. He’s got some good stock there that he’s picked up pretty cheap,” Conn replied helpfully.
“Yes!” Lanie said excitedly. “Let’s go. Right now.” She jammed her hat on her head and the four left the hotel, Lanie talking animatedly and Bailey smiling and nodding.
They spent the rest of the day getting supplies. It was exciting to Lanie. She didn’t know much about horses, but Bailey and Jacks apparently did. She was well-satisfied with the small horse they picked for her, a pretty mare almost coal-black with an easy gait, which Lanie knew she’d need. She drew even more pleasure from going into the General Store and outfitting herself in a divided skirt, a white cotton blouse with a vest to go over it, and topping it off with a flat-crowned black hat with a cord that held it tightly in place.
Wesley bought himself two pairs of jeans, some blue chambray shirts, a pair of riding boots that hurt his feet as soon as he put them on, and a wide-brimmed hat. By the time they finished it was nearly dark. Bailey said, “If you’ll be here in the morning, before sunup, it’d be good to get an early start.”
“We’ll be here,” Lanie said firmly and bid the two men good-night. Lanie and Wesley returned to the hotel, stopping first at the front desk to make arrangements to keep their extra luggage and money in safe keeping while they were gone. Then they went to their rooms, talking, making plans, and admiring their clothes. Wesley was not as enthusiastic as Lanie, however. He was now realizing the enormity of what they were proposing to do. He had a lawyer’s mind and was able to analyze things better than Lanie, who acted and reacted mostly according to her emotions.
They went to the dining hall for supper, and when Wesley didn’t say much throughout the meal, Lanie asked, “What’s the matter, Wesley?” Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she looked very pretty in the light of the lamps that lined the walls. “I think we’re going to be all right!”
Stone hesitated. He had learned long ago that Lanie was impatient with anyone who interfered with what she had her mind made up to do. But he felt compelled to say, “Lanie, I think we ought to take some more men. Maybe one of the ex-marshals might go with us. After all, we don’t know these two. Maybe we ought to ask around.”
“Oh, there’s not time. Besides, they’ve been more than helpful,” Lanie replied impatiently. She flushed and then said imploringly, “I just have to go, Wesley! It just kills me to think of Betsy being out there with that awful man. And there’s no telling how he’s treating her.” She put her hand across the table and squeezed his. “Please, Wesley. This one time, don’t argue and analyze! For once in your life I’d like to see you do something out of pure impulse, just because you think it’s the thing to do!”
Stone flushed; he was aware that she thought he was too rigid, never spontaneous. He had no dash, no romantic flair that would catch a woman’s eye. The steadiness and evenness of temper that a woman would come to value long after romantic fevers had passed, Lanie Winslow had never been able to see. Now, feeling like a weakling, he caved in. “All right, Lanie,” he sighed, “have it your way. We’ll try it, and God help us once we leave this town, because I’ve got a bad feeling about the Nations.”
****
The first day out of Fort Smith, the small party followed the south bank of the Arkansas River as far as the Canadian River. They camped that night at the fork in the two rivers so they could get an early start the next morning. Bailey and Jacks set up the camp, which consisted merely of building a fire and throwing blankets down around it. Then they cooked some steaks they had brought along.
Lanie and Stone were too tired to do anything but sit down. Both of them had chafed thighs, almost blistered, and Lanie wondered how she could possibly stand days of this. She’d have to find some way to apply ointment—if she could find ointment.
She fell asleep as soon as she put her head down. More than once that night she woke to the cry of a lonesome wolf somewhere out in the hills.
They rose before daylight and Lanie splashed her face with water from the stream nearby, ate some cold beef left over from supper, and climbed into the saddle, stiff and aching in every joint.
They waded their horses across and followed the smaller stream, camping that night just past the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad.
The next day they crossed some of the most barren country Lanie had ever seen. They passed through no settlements, although several times Indians rode in the distance and there were occasional small villages outlined on the horizon.
At dark they made camp again, and once more Stone and Lanie were so tired they could hardly talk. They pulled their blankets close around them, discouraged, aching all over, and slept like logs. The next morning when Lanie awoke, she moved very carefully to avoid pain from the stiffness in her joints. Sitting up, she looked over to where their two guides had slept and saw that their blankets
were gone. She whirled around to where the horses had been picketed. Gone!
Fear shot through her like lightning. “Wesley!” she cried. “Wesley, wake up!”
Stone sat up abruptly. He rubbed his eyes and finally focused on Lanie. “What is it?”
“They’re gone! Look!”
Stone looked over to where the horses were supposed to be picketed and exclaimed, “Where are they?” He scrambled out of his blankets and hobbled over to where the horses had been, but even the rope that had held them was gone. He turned around, wildly searching for some sign of the men. His heart sank. All they had left were the two blankets he and Lanie had slept in.
Lanie got to her feet and looked across the open distance in every direction. It seemed more lonely than any country she’d ever seen. “Maybe they just went hunting!”
“I don’t think so.” Stone was no tracker, but in the dusty earth the marks of the horses’ hooves were evident. He followed them as they led out of camp, and looked to the west. He walked back and said quietly, “They’ve left us, Lanie.”
“They can’t have!”
Stone looked at her with pity. He walked over to his blanket, picked up the gun and holster he had hidden beneath it and strapped them on. “Pick up your blanket, Lanie. We’ve got to walk out of here.”
Lanie stared at him and licked her lips. She, who had never doubted her own abilities for a moment, suddenly felt small and defenseless and alone. The land stretched out in all directions, wild and unbroken. Any human form they might see could be more dangerous than a wild animal. She had only half listened to the stories of the wild, restless, and deadly men that prowled this area. But now that she was in the middle of it, stifling fear filled her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Come on,” Stone said. He picked up his blanket, then hers and tossed it to her. “We won’t get lost. We’ll just go back and find the river, and it’ll lead right into Fort Smith.”
“But—what if we—run into . . .” Lanie did not finish her sentence and knew there was no point in it anyway. So she just said nervously, “All right, Wes. Let’s go as quick as we can.”
They began the long trek back. Stone was counting in his head and after a while said, “We rode for three days. So that means it’ll probably take us six days to walk back—if our feet hold out.”
Lanie looked down at the riding boots she had been so proud of and knew they were not the proper footwear for walking across such broken country. Already they were pinching her feet.
An hour later they had to admit what deep trouble they were in.
****
Lanie’s throat was parched, and she was aching in every joint. She leaned back against the tree that offered the only shade from the burning sun and pulled off her boots, wincing as she did so. When she had pulled off one sock, she stared soberly at the huge blister that had formed on the heel of her foot. Then she pulled the other sock off and found a matching blister on her other foot. Carefully she lowered her feet into the tiny stream that seemed to rise out of the earth and trickle down between some huge rocks.
Wesley’s face was set. He took off his boots and sighed softly. His blisters were even worse than Lanie’s. “Next time,” he said evenly, “I’ll wear sensible shoes. Or carry some, at least.” He looked up, squinting at the merciless sun. “But there won’t be a next time. If I ever get out of this desert, I’ll never want to come back!”
They had walked all day and knew that they had not come far. There was little danger of their getting lost as long as they followed the river. Wesley thought they had reached the little stream just before they became totally exhausted. All day they had endured the blistering sun until their eyeballs seemed to crackle. The air entering their lungs was almost like fire. Now the sun was going down, giving a little relief. Stone sat by the stream, so tired he could hardly lift his head. He muttered, “We’ll make it, Lanie. The good Lord will help us.”
Lanie did not answer. She had never in her life been so tired—or so afraid. But there was still bitter anger inside her. “I’ll find those two swindlers!” she said viciously. “You wait! I’ll have the law on them, no matter how much it costs!” Her fair skin was burned by the sun, and her lips were cracked. Still she had enough energy to rail at the two who had robbed them.
“I wouldn’t worry about them if I were you,” Wesley said mildly. “I wish we had something to eat. Maybe we’ll find berries or something tomorrow. But I doubt it.”
They sat wearily, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking, letting the water soak their feet. They washed their faces again and drank until they were satisfied. The sun was fast setting, leaving a rosy glow in the west. “It’ll be cold tonight,” Wesley said. “We don’t have any matches to build a fire. Why don’t we—”
He broke off abruptly. A movement to his left had caught his eye. He jerked his head around, and his breath stopped. There, not twenty feet away, stood an Indian. Wesley swallowed hard and tried to speak, but nothing came out. Lanie, he saw, had turned to look at the Indian as well; her face seemed frozen.
“You lose horses?”
Both of them relaxed a little and Stone managed to squeak out, “You speak English?”
“I speak English good.” The Indian came forward. He was short and dark. His raven-black hair was tied behind his head with a leather strip. He wore doeskin breeches and moccasins, with a white man’s shirt, the shirttail hanging out. He had a .44 in a holster and carried a rifle in his left hand, loosely and pointed at the ground. He was a villainous-looking man—at least to Wesley and Lanie at the moment. His eyes were obsidian and half hidden in the deep crevices of his eye sockets. He stopped a few feet away, studying them, and waiting silently.
“We—we were robbed,” Lanie said. “Two men took our horses and all we had. Can you help us get back to Fort Smith?”
Stone was hoping that, at best, the Indian wouldn’t kill them for their clothing and blankets. Stone had his hand close to his gun and was tempted to reach for it. But he knew he couldn’t possibly beat the speed of the Indian who watched them, his face impassive.
“I see tracks. Four horses, two men. That way,” the Indian said, pointing.
“That’s them!” Lanie cried. “Is there any way to catch them?”
The Indian regarded her gravely, then shook his head deliberately, first to the left, then to the right. Again his unwavering gaze fixed on them; he stood immobile, almost like a statue.
Lanie didn’t quite know how to speak to him, but she went ahead. “My name is Lanie Winslow, and this is Wesley Stone. If you’ll take us back to Fort Smith, we’ll be glad to pay you.”
A slight smile touched the stern lips of the Indian. “Men took your money,” he remarked.
“But I have more, in town,” Lanie said with desperation. “What’s your name?”
“Woman Killer.”
Lanie blinked and gulped convulsively. Stone’s hand brushed the butt of the .44. But the Indian smiled. “I good Indian. Good Christian Indian. Brought up in mission school.”
A long-held breath escaped Stone’s lips and he said, “Thank God, Woman Killer! I’ve been worried about how to get this lady back to Fort Smith. Can you help us?”
“I help.” The smile had disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and he turned and walked away without another word, vanishing behind the jutting rocks.
“Where’d he go?” Stone asked. Then came the faint sound of hoofbeats. The Indian came out, riding one horse and leading another.
“You ride. Woman Killer walk.”
The Indian guided them, walking silently, seemingly tireless, in front of the horses. They rode into Fort Smith at dusk. Lanie had to endure the stares of the townspeople, which was more humiliating than anything she had ever experienced. But in her heart she said, I’ll go back if it kills me!
CHAPTER SIX
Needed—One Killer
Lanie Winslow was not accustomed to failure. Her life had been one long series of successes, and t
he catastrophe with Jacks and Bailey left her crushed and despairing of ever finding Betsy. She kept to her room, refusing to see Wesley Stone. But on the second morning she came out, wearing a brown dress that set her figure off nicely, and her hair was done up stylishly. This told him that she was ready to go into action again.
“Wes,” she said decisively, “we can’t allow ourselves to dwell on what we’ve done wrong so far.” As always, her head held high and her eyes glinting with determination indicated she had fully made up her mind. “The thing to do is profit from what we’ve learned.”
“Well,” Wesley said cautiously, “I think we’ve established that finding Perrago is not going to be easy.” He looked out the window and nodded. “Look at that crowd out there.”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“A hanging,” he replied starkly. “It looks like everyone in this part of the world has come for it. Come along, let’s take a stroll.”
They walked outside to the overflowing streets. Garrison Avenue was crowded almost to capacity, with a sense of holiday atmosphere filling the air. They passed an ice wagon where a man was chipping ice from a three-hundred-pound block and passing chunks of it out to the young people. Grabbing the huge pieces, they ran along the sidewalks, sucking the ice, letting the cold water run down their arms.
“Just like back home,” Wesley murmured. “When I was a kid, the biggest treat I had was to get a piece of ice in the middle of summertime. That was even better than ice cream, I always thought.”
They walked along with the crowd. Abruptly Lanie said, “I want to see the hanging.”
“Whatever for?” Wesley exclaimed. “It’s not something a woman ought to see—or anybody else, for that matter! They ought to be held in private where people can’t watch.”
“That ain’t the way the judge figgers it,” a voice said noncommittally. Startled, Stone looked around and saw that Lorenzo Dawkins had joined them. He wore his big white hat pulled down almost over his eyes, his droopy mustache dripping with sweat. “The judge,” he continued in a lecturing voice, “figgers that the more of these outlaws the people in the Territory sees get hung, it’ll cut down on crime.”
The Gallant Outlaw Page 7
