Evil Never Sleeps

by William W. Johnstone

  “Is that a fact?” Moon came back, obviously perturbed. “I reckon I’d best be the judge of whether I oughta help you flush this gang of polecats or not. This gray hair growin’ outta my head oughta tell you I ain’t that easy to kill and I didn’t come with you all this way just to take a long ride. Tell you the truth, you need somebody to help you. You’re the only deputy I ever heard of that works by hisself. That’s the reason it was just luck that I came along and kept you from gettin’ shot in the Rattlesnake Saloon. And, hell, that’s the reason you’re achin’ now with a load of buckshot in your back. You need a posse man to ride with you and I reckon I’m him on this trip.”

  “Damn!” Will exclaimed, fairly well astonished by the wizened little man. “That was one helluva speech. I believe I really got you riled up.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I guess we’ll go partners on this one.”

  “Damn right,” Moon grunted.

  “All right, then,” Will said. “I expect the only thing to do right now is to lay low here and watch the cabin. It won’t be much longer before they’re gonna start thinkin’ about cookin’ some supper. Somebody’s gotta come outta that cabin sometime, if it’s just to take a leak. I’d like it a lot better if somebody would come out and build a fire in that fire pit in the yard, there. Then maybe all of ’em would come out and we’d know how many we’ve gotta deal with.”

  “Are you thinkin’ about arrestin’ all of ’em?” Moon couldn’t help asking.

  “Hell, no,” Will answered. “I’m here to get one man, Preacher McCoy. The two of us can’t handle more than two, three at the most.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Moon remarked.

  “Besides,” Will continued, “I don’t know who these other men are, or if they’re even wanted anywhere. I’m lookin’ for a way to get to Preacher and hopin’ the rest of ’em don’t wanna help him out.”

  As Will had figured, it wasn’t long before someone came outside to build a fire in the stone-encircled fire pit, causing him to blink several times to be sure he was seeing accurately. It was one of the brothers, Treadwell or Cotton, he didn’t know which, but he remembered him as the one who started to react when he surprised them under the riverbank. “Well, I’ll be . . .” he murmured. A few minutes later, Jebediah Cotton limped outside, his wounded leg evidently slow in healing.

  Aware of Will’s surprised reaction, Moon asked, “You know them fellers?”

  “Yeah, I know ’em,” Will answered. “Two families in the cattle-rustlin’ business down in Texas. I had a little run-in with ’em on the Arkansas River a short while back and had to shoot two of ’em before we came to an understandin’.” He went on to explain exactly what had taken place and the terms under which they agreed to back down.

  “So there’s six of them, seven countin’ Preacher?” Moon replied. “You reckon they’ll throw in with him?”

  “I don’t know. They might decide they want another chance to shoot me. If they find out how much money Preacher is carryin’, they might throw in with him. It’s hard to figure what they’ll do.” The discussion continued as they sat watching the outlaws from the cover of the trees. “There he is!” Will suddenly whispered, when the tall, broad-shouldered man came out to join the others.

  “Preacher McCoy?” Moon asked. When Will nodded, while keeping his eyes on Preacher, Moon whispered, “He’s a big’un, ain’t he?”

  Unwilling to simply thin out their numbers by laying down a barrage of rifle fire while the seven were easy targets and unaware of their peril, Will was still of the opinion that his responsibility was the arrest of one person. In spite of the fact that they had trailed him before with the intention of killing him, their real crime was cattle rustling and didn’t justify cold-blooded execution. He could forgive them for coming after him to avenge Billy Cotton’s murder. In their position, he would have done the same. There was still the possibility that the six cattle rustlers might throw in with Preacher, so the problem was how to catch Preacher alone. “What we need is an Indian attack,” he muttered as he watched Preacher help himself to more of the beef haunch roasting over the fire.

  CHAPTER 15

  “I’d like to get a look at what he’s carryin’ in those saddlebags,” Luther Treadwell said to Jebediah Cotton when Preacher came out of the cabin. “He don’t never get very far away from ’em.”

  “You noticed that, too,” Cotton replied. “I’m thinkin’ that tale he told us about losin’ all that bank money was somethin’ he just made up. And he don’t never take that .44 off. I swear he even sleeps with it in his hand. It’s a wonder he ain’t shot one of us in our sleep on accident.”

  Preacher had showed up at the cabin on the Cimarron, surprising them as well as himself, for both parties expected to find the cabin empty. Crowded though it was, they welcomed him to claim a few feet of cabin space for himself when he explained that he was on the run from Deputy Will Tanner. “Tanner!” Jeb Cotton had exclaimed at the time. “He’s the reason I’m limpin’ and my boy Cecil’s shoulder is still stiff.” Preacher had sympathized with him and told him that he had lost his three partners to Tanner, so that gave them a bond against the ruthless deputy.

  As for Preacher, he didn’t trust Luther or Jeb, or the four boys, but he made a lot of talk about how outlaws always stood together against the law. “That’s why I’ll stand with you folks if he comes after you again,” he had said.

  “I reckon you got a pretty fair payday at that bank,” Luther had remarked.

  “Not as good as you might think,” was the answer he received from Preacher. “There wasn’t but about four thousand dollars in that vault,” Preacher lied. “And there was four of us, so it wasn’t all that worthwhile. I’ve already spent most of my share and I’ve run all the way from Texas clear up to Wichita before I lit here. When Tanner jumped us, we had to leave that bank money behind. Maybe I can go back and look for it one of these days after they give up lookin’ for me. I need to find somethin’ else I can do, maybe cattle rustlin’, like you boys.”

  And now, while the brother-in-law team of rustlers watched the poor-mouthing bank robber sitting on the porch steps, helping himself to the roasting beef they had provided, they were wondering if there was a word of truth in anything he said. “If he’s as poor as he claims,” Luther finally decided, “it’s because he’s buried that money somewhere. Maybe if we just play along with his game for a while, he’ll lead us to it.” Their conversation was interrupted then, when Preacher got up from the step and walked over to join them.

  “I surely do appreciate you boys sharin’ your meat with me,” he said. “I’ve got enough bacon and flour to carry us for a while that I’ll gladly share with you. I’ll take a little ride tomorrow to see if I can’t find somethin’ to shoot. There oughta be some deer around this river somewhere.”

  “We’re glad to share with you,” Luther said. “A little venison would be right tasty at that.” And I’ll have Liam on your tail to see where you go to hunt that deer, he thought.

  “I’m pretty lucky when I’m huntin’,” Preacher boasted. “The boys that used to ride with me would always start raggin’ me to go huntin’ when they got sick of bacon. I’d ask ’em to come along with me, but they said I was always luckier when I hunted by myself.”

  “Well, maybe you’d best go by yourself tomorrow then,” Jeb said. To himself, he thought, You lying son of a bitch.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” Preacher said, “tomorrow after breakfast. So I think I’m about ready to turn in for the night.” He rinsed his plate in the river, then went inside the cabin.

  “He’s fixin’ to take off tomorrow,” Luther said to Jeb after Preacher was gone. “Sure as hell, he’s gonna go dig up that money and he ain’t comin’ back here. I’ll put Liam on his tail. There ain’t no tellin’ how much money he’s got buried somewhere.”

  Luther and Jeb weren’t far behind Preacher, leaving their young sons to sit around the fire until one after another got sleepy enough to ca
ll it a night. Liam and Cecil took it upon themselves to check on the horses before joining the others. Satisfied that the horses were bunched close by the riverbank and would probably not wander far from there, the two cousins retired for the night.

  * * *

  Sometime after midnight, a three-quarter moon rose high over the peaceful Cimarron River to peek through a scattering of low clouds. The only sounds of the night came from the crickets and frogs at the river and the chorus of snoring inside the cabin. The fire in the fireplace had burned away all but a bed of glowing embers as the snoring competition deepened to a steady hum. Suddenly all were awakened by the sound of a piercing scream. Startled and confused in the empty space between sleep and consciousness, they all bolted upright when the cry went out again, this time from more than one voice. “Injuns!” Jeb sang out. “They’re after the horses!” There was no doubt now, the screams that had awakened them were Indian war cries to stampede the horses.

  In an instant, all seven bodies were in motion, snatching up weapons, pulling on boots, bumping into one another in the cramped space of the cabin as they all tried to go out the door at the same time. There was no need to give any orders. Every man there knew he could not afford to lose his horse. Outside, they looked all around them, expecting arrows or gunshots to be flying, but there were none. “They ain’t attackin’!” Luther exclaimed. “They’re just after the horses!”

  “They’re runnin’ ’em up the river!” Cecil yelled. Still the war cry continued and they saw most of the horses galloping away along the riverbank with only a few straying away from the bunch. “Go after ’em!” It was an unnecessary command. Without their horses, they were as good as lost.

  Frantic, like the others, Preacher ran after the galloping herd until he suddenly caught a glimpse of a dark horse higher up the bank when the moon peeked through the clouds again. It was the blue roan, he was sure of it, and it was moving at a slow trot toward the ring of oak trees. There were no thoughts about the other horses, he saw the chance to save his, so he ran after it, thinking the Indians were driving the main herd and not concerned with the strays. Running up the bank as fast as he could, he almost stumbled as he strained to run faster. With a glimpse of the horse’s rump as it trotted into a dark opening between two trees, he could see that he was beginning to catch up. Encouraged, he pushed himself even harder, plunging into the dark shadows between the trees. “Whoa, Samson, whoa,” he called the horse’s name brief moments before he was knocked to the ground by the butt of a Winchester rifle.

  Dazed and confused while his head seemed to ring like a bell, he was helpless to defend himself or prevent his assailant from rapidly tying his hands behind his back. He tried to force himself to recover his senses, certain that he had been captured by Indians until he heard the clear, sober voice command him. “You can have it either way, quiet with no trouble, or fight it and get a .44 slug in your skull. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  Still confused and his head aching as if it had been cracked open like a gourd, Preacher rolled over on his side, unable to get to his knees. “Who the hell are you?” he slurred.

  “Deputy Will Tanner,” was the response. “And I’m takin’ you back to Fort Smith. There’s a lotta folks there anxious to make your acquaintance.”

  “Tanner!” Preacher gasped, unable to hide the distress of being caught by the deputy he thought was dead. The last, and only, time he had seen Will Tanner, the deputy was lying facedown on a barroom floor, obviously dying. Slowly, Preacher’s brain began to function again and he was aware of the shouts of the men in the distance as they chased their horses, in contrast to the silence there among the trees.

  When it appeared that Preacher might be able to, Will commanded him to get on his feet. Desperate now, Preacher responded, “Hell, I can’t get up with my hands behind my back like this. You’re gonna have to help me.”

  Will considered that for a moment. Preacher was a big man. It was going to take an effort to get him up. And if he was recovered more than he let on, he might be thinking about trying something, hands behind his back, or not. “All right,” Will decided. “I’ll give you a hand.” He drew his pistol from his holster before propping his rifle up against a tree trunk. “Get on your knees,” he ordered. Preacher started to protest, claiming that he couldn’t. “Let’s get one thing straight,” Will said. “I’d just as soon put a bullet in your brain if you’re gonna cause me trouble. So you tell me if it’s worth dyin’ right where you lie.” He aimed the .44 at Preacher’s head.

  “All right! All right!” Preacher responded. “I’ll get on my knees, but you’re gonna have to give me a hand if you want me on my feet.”

  “I said I would,” Will replied. He stepped back to give Preacher room to struggle to his knees. When he had done so, Will stepped back close enough to take hold of his arm, at the same time jamming his pistol hard up against his ribs. “This Colt has got a hair trigger, in case you’re thinkin’ about showin’ me some tricks,” he warned. Preacher’s only reply was a grunt when the barrel of the pistol struck his ribs. With an assist from Will, Preacher was promptly on his feet. With one end of a long rope he had coiled, Will made a loop, put it over Preacher’s head, and drew it up tight around his neck. Then he picked up the rifle Preacher had been carrying, as well as his own, and started walking toward the blue roan standing patiently several yards away. Preacher had no choice but to stumble along after him.

  When they approached the horse, Preacher blurted, “What the hell . . . ?” He realized only at that moment that his horse was saddled. Will cranked the cartridges out of Preacher’s rifle until it was empty, then put it in the saddle sling. Preacher knew then that the saddle had to have been taken from the porch while they were all sleeping inside. Silently cursing the unlucky circumstances that caused his horse to stray off from the others, he was then further infuriated to discover the long rope tied to his horse’s reins. It wasn’t happenstance at all, Tanner had led the roan away from the others, tricking him into following. Although his head was still throbbing, he could think well enough to realize the deputy did all this because he didn’t want to chance having to fight everybody in the cabin. He wasn’t confident that they would be inclined to fight for him or not, but it was the only hope he had at the moment, so he started to yell out, “Luther! It’s the law! Come help me!” He started to yell again until Will gave the rope around his neck a strong yank, choking off a second attempt.

  “I thought I made myself clear,” Will stated. “You mighta just signed your death warrant, ’cause if they come to find us, you’re a dead man. I don’t have the patience to put up with any trouble from you. You’ve already caused me more trouble than your sorry hide is worth. You’re under arrest. If you behave yourself, you’ll go to trial. If you don’t, it’s easier for me to deliver your body and it costs me a helluva lot less. So it’s up to you how you wanna arrive in Fort Smith.”

  “All right,” Preacher grumbled, thoroughly convinced the deputy meant what he said. “I ain’t gonna cause no more trouble.”

  “Step up in that stirrup,” Will directed. “I’ll help you up.” It took no small effort to boost a man Preacher’s size up into the saddle when his hands were tied behind him, but Will managed. When his prisoner was seated, Will said, “I’m gonna let you ride while I lead your horse, but I think I oughta tell you how I’m gonna do it. You can see I’m leadin’ your horse by the reins in this hand. But I’m still holdin’ the rope around your neck in the other hand.” He held it up so Preacher could see it. “So if you take a notion to give the horse a kick, he might take off but it’s most likely gonna break your neck if he does.”

  Preacher sat, sullen, fully understanding, as Will started walking through the grove of trees in the opposite direction from that the horses had taken in stampede. Helpless to prevent his capture, the frustrated outlaw bit his lip in anguish over thoughts of close to nineteen thousand dollars disappearing. His only hope was to get an opportunity to escape som
ehow. At least he was confident that, if he failed to escape from this cursed lawman, no one else would benefit from that money. He had been smart enough to scout the cabin before riding in and it was a good thing that he did, for he had not expected it to be occupied. As soon as he had seen how many men were there, he promptly backtracked until deciding the best place to hide all but a few hundred dollars of the stolen money. He was satisfied that he had decided on a place that would be easy for him to find again, but not obvious to the occasional passerby. But for now, there was nothing to do but wait for an opportunity to overcome his captor.

  Out of the oaks and up a dry stream bed, Will walked close to a mile in the darkness before coming to a scraggly clump of trees where Buster and the two packhorses were tied. “You just sit right there,” he said to Preacher while he tied the roan to a tree. “We oughta be on our way pretty soon.” In a short time, they heard a horse approaching and Will grabbed his rifle in readiness.

  Seconds later, Moon rode up the dry stream. “I see he took the bait,” he crowed as he rode up beside them. “I drove them horses off toward the west before I let ’em scatter. It’ll take a while before them boys find all their horses.” He moved a little closer then to take a good look at Preacher, who scowled at him in return. “Damned if you didn’t lead us on a long ride,” he chided. “I believe if I was Will, I’d just shoot you instead of haulin’ you all the way to Fort Smith.”

  “Ain’t nobody asked you what you’d do, old man,” Preacher snapped back, regaining some of his usual bluster.

  Moon chuckled in response. “How ’bout all that bank money?” He directed this question toward Will. “I don’t reckon he was totin’ that with him, was he?”

  “Nope,” Will replied. “I reckon the Treadwells and the Cottons will split that money up. I was hopin’ to recover the bank’s money, but I’m not anxious to fight six of ’em for it. I’ve got the man I was sent to capture. So that’s just the Bank of Sherman’s loss.” He hesitated before adding, “And Preacher McCoy’s.”