Will Tanner

by William W. Johnstone

  “I baked an apple pie, fresh this morning,” Winona said when John Carver wiped the last of the gravy from his plate with the last bite of a biscuit and abruptly pushed his chair back from the table. “No dessert?” she asked, surprised. “I thought you were fond of apple pie.”

  “Yes’m, I am,” Carver said. “I reckon I ate too much tonight. My stomach’s just too full for dessert. I’ve got some work to do at the stable before I’m done for the night, so I reckon I’d best get to it.” Not in a mood to linger, he immediately headed for the door.

  “That’s all right, neighbor,” Tarbow called after him. “I’ll eat your piece of pie.” Then he threw his head back and laughed. He had a pretty good idea what had killed Carver’s appetite. “I’ll be bringin’ my horse down to see you when I’m done here.”

  Barely three minutes after Carver went out the door, Seth Polzer, the blacksmith, finished his supper as well. “Well,” he muttered briefly, “I reckon I’ve et more ’n my stomach can hold, too.” He got to his feet. “Them was fine vittles as usual, Miz Monroe. I just can’t hold no more tonight.”

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Winona exclaimed. “You, too? I ain’t never known you or John to pass up my apple pie. I’m beginning to think you boys don’t like my cooking.”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Polzer was quick to reply. “Ain’t nobody can top your cookin’, and that’s a fact.” He took a nervous glance in Tarbow’s direction and noticed the wide grin of intimidation parting the bushy black beard. “I’m just mighty disappointed I can’t hold no more right now.”

  “Don’t fret yourself,” Tarbow said. “I’ll finish off the pie for you.” He guffawed as if he had made a hilarious joke.

  “I’ll save you a slice of pie,” Winona said, ignoring Tarbow’s crude behavior. “One for you and one for John, too. You just come by whenever you want it, and you can have a cup of coffee with it.”

  “Yes’m, thank you, ma’am,” Seth replied, then headed for the door. He truly hated to pass up a slice of Winona’s apple pie, but he knew he’d enjoy it a lot more after Tarbow had left town. So he left Wiley and Winona to deal with their obnoxious supper guest.

  “I’ll get your pie for you, Mr. . . .” Winona paused, realizing that Tarbow had never offered his name. “I’m sorry, you haven’t told us your name.”

  “That’s right, I ain’t,” Tarbow said with a smug grin, and offered nothing more.

  Winona waited, but after a few moments with no response, she began to tire of his obvious efforts to intimidate them all. “Well, I guess we’ll just call you Mr. Smith.” She got up from the table then and went to the counter to cut the apple pie. When she returned, she placed a piece of pie at her husband’s place and said, “You’d better not tell me you’re too full to eat dessert.” It was definitely a threat. Then she placed a piece before Tarbow. “Here’s your pie, Mr. Smith,” she said, emphasizing the alias.

  Tarbow chuckled with devilish delight for her purposefully snide remark. “I swear, Wiley, damned if you ain’t got yourself a right spunky little woman there. She don’t give a damn what she says, does she?” Ignoring the fork she had placed beside the plate, he picked the slice of pie up in his hand, took an enormous bite of it, and gulped it down like a dog might. Three more bites finished the whole slice. “Damn, Wiley, she does bake a good pie—good cook and a feisty little woman, too. Wiii-nona,” he bellowed, dragging out the first syllable, “You sure you’re man enough to handle a woman like that? Maybe I could give you a little help. Course, if I had a little go-round with her, she might kick you outta the bedroom.”

  “All right,” Winona said, having heard enough. “Supper’s over, and I’ve got to clean up my kitchen now. You can pay my husband back in the store.” She knew her husband well, and she saw him tensing up. She had to act quickly before he forced himself to defend her honor. “You two get on outta here, so I can finish up sometime tonight.” She had no desire to see Wiley confront the obvious bully, for it would be no match at all. “Go on,” she prodded when Wiley still sat there with his teeth clenched so tightly that she could see his jawbones pressing out.

  The tense moment was passed, however, when Tarbow got up and said, “All right, the boss has done spoke. We’d best get outta here before she starts flailin’ us with the broom.” He started toward the kitchen door, content with the effect that he had caused at the supper table. He had no interest in Wiley’s wife; his sole purpose was to entertain himself with the total discomfort of everyone at the table. “Come on, Wiley, and I’ll pay you for the supper. Your wife’s cookin’ is so good that I think I’ll take breakfast with you before I head out tomorrow.” Behind him, Winona gave her seething husband a stern look and shook her head slowly, lest he work himself up to say something. The look he returned was apologetic, and she smiled and nodded.

  Satisfied that there was much more he could take from the little town than the fifty-cent price of supper, Tarbow willingly paid Wiley for his meal. Afterward, he stepped out on the front step of the store and paused there for a few minutes. Looking from one end of the street to the other, he was reassured when he saw no sign of the deputy. I lost him, he thought. By God, I lost him. And now I’ve got a whole town that’s mine for the taking. It was a powerful feeling. Too bad ol’ Billy ain’t here, he thought then. It was the first time he had brought his brother to mind since he had ridden into town. Tarbow was incapable of feeling real grief for the loss of his brother, any more than he did for the loss of the three other men who had ridden with him. It was more a feeling of inconvenience, but then he really didn’t need any help in taking this small town. He could envision knocking over one of the three businesses after another, starting with the general store, cleaning it out of everything of value, and leaving two silent witnesses as he went to the next unsuspecting target. He didn’t figure the blacksmith for anything of value, but he would take care of him next, since he looked like he could use a rifle if he was forced to. If it went like he expected, the post office wouldn’t even know what was going on until he had already ridden out of town. Yes, sir, he thought, it was a lucky thing, landing in this little defenseless settlement.

  He climbed aboard the chestnut sorrel and rode the short distance down to the stables, where he stepped down and led the horse inside. He found John Carver coming out of the last stall. There was no horse in that stall, so he asked, “Whatcha doin’ back there?”

  “Nothin’,” Carver said. “Just cleanin’ up some stalls. Are you lookin’ to board your horse tonight?”

  “I reckon I am,” Tarbow said. “Me and my horse, too, since there ain’t no fancy hotel in town.”

  This was not good news to Carver, who had hoped the intimidating brute would be on his way after eating his supper. “Well, you can take that front stall. I just put some fresh hay in it, in case you did decide to stay.”

  “I think I’ll take that back stall,” Tarbow said. “What’s wrong with that one?” He was thinking that Carver looked kind of sheepish when he came out of that stall. It could be that he was just plain scared to see him, and it could be that the back stall was where he was hiding his operating cash. The latter wouldn’t surprise Tarbow. It wouldn’t hurt to look around in there a little at any rate.

  “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the back one,” Carver said. “It just ain’t as clean as that one up front. I think I got a leak in the roof back there and sometimes the hay gets a little rancid.”

  “Is that a fact?” Tarbow said. “Well, that don’t bother me none. I’ll take that one, and you’d best give my horse some grain. I’ll just throw my saddle in the corner of the stall and I’ll be just fine.”

  “Yes, sir,” Carver replied. “Either one—don’t make no difference to me.” He attempted to sound sincere, in spite of the fact that he had emptied all his extra cash out of his cash box into a carpetbag. He had just finished burying the carpetbag under the hay piled up in the corner of the back stall when Tarbow came in, almost catching him in the ac
t. He silently berated himself now for moving the bag from its usual place on a hook in the tack room. With Tarbow’s insistence on using the back stall, Carver had no choice but to try to appear unconcerned. He stood by while Tarbow led his horse into the stall. Looking the chestnut sorrel over as it was led by him, Carver couldn’t help thinking that the horse looked like the twin of Lester Coble’s sorrel. “Is that enough hay for you and the horse?” he asked. “If it ain’t, I can throw some more down in that corner.”

  “Looks like plenty to me,” Tarbow said. “I’ll lay my blanket right on that pile in the corner, make me a good bed.” He looked around him then, noticing that all but a couple of the stalls were empty. “You ain’t got many customers, have you?”

  “Right now, you’re the only one,” Carver said.

  “Ain’t hardly worthwhile, seems to me, but you must do enough to stay in business.” He was thinking of the slim prospects the stable offered him. “Well, it’s time for me to turn in.”

  “All right, then,” Carver said as cordially as he could affect. “I reckon I’ll see you in the mornin’.” He left the grinning brute and went to the little room next to the tack room where he slept, thinking that Tarbow looked like he knew there was something hidden in that stall. There would be no sleeping for him on this night, not with the likes of Max Tarbow bedding down on top of the little bit of money he had managed to save. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat down on the floor beside the bed, with his back against the wall and his .44 in his lap, intending to remain awake all night.

  * * *

  Although Carver had no intention of dozing during the night, he was unable to keep his eyes open for longer and longer periods of time, until finally at a little past midnight, he surrendered totally to the urge. It didn’t come soon enough for the menacing figure watching him from the tack room door. Tarbow was losing his patience, and just about ready to simply step inside the room and shoot Carver, and risk the shot being heard. When he had realized that there was no one else in the stable but the two of them, he decided to go ahead and be done with Carver, but he wanted it to be done silently. At last the stable owner cooperated.

  Tarbow slowly pushed the door open and stepped silently into the room. He stood for a few seconds, grinning at the sleeping man, his chin resting on his chest. Sixty-five dollars, he thought, referring to the paltry sum he had found in the carpetbag under the hay. That’s all you’re worth, but I’ve killed for less. He reached down and carefully lifted the pistol from the sleeping man’s lap and stuck it in his belt. Then he drew a long skinning knife from a scabbard on his gun belt, grabbed a handful of Carver’s hair, jerked his head back, and brought the knife swiftly across his helpless victim’s throat. Carver’s eyes opened wide in shock as his killer held a huge hand over his mouth and thrust the cruel blade deep into his gut. The only sound he made came from the sucking of air from his severed windpipe. In a few short minutes, his body relaxed in death. Tarbow wiped his blade on his victim’s shirt and put it away. Then he pulled the body down flat from its sitting position and rolled it under the bed. His work finished, he went back to the stall where his horse was, and wrapped up in his blanket to get a little sleep before daylight. “Sixty-five dollars,” he grunted contemptuously before drifting off.

  * * *

  Tarbow was up with the first light of dawn. He saddled his horse in case he found it necessary to leave town in a hurry after he relieved Wiley Monroe of all his money. But first he intended to avail himself of the opportunity to enjoy another of Winona Monroe’s meals. There would be plenty of time afterward to rob the store. His time frame depended to some extent on who else came to breakfast at her kitchen. Before leaving for Monroe’s, he ransacked John Carver’s room, looking for anything he might fancy. When he was finished with that, he went into the tack room, looking for a rig for a packhorse, with the intention of taking one of Carver’s two horses with him. He chose a sturdy-looking gray gelding with a broad chest, being always partial to grays, and led his two horses up the street to Monroe’s store.

  Tarbow was tying his horses to the rail in front of the store when Seth Polzer came across the street from his blacksmith shop. “Mornin’,” Seth forced halfheartedly, having had to decide if he was too hungry for breakfast to avoid further contact with the obnoxious stranger. He turned to look back toward the stable, expecting to see John Carver on his way to breakfast.

  “Good mornin’,” Tarbow returned grandly, taking satisfaction from the fact that Seth was not wearing a gun. It would make his job much easier if Polzer lingered too long over breakfast.

  Since Seth knew he would feel a good deal more comfortable if Carver was at the breakfast table, too, he asked, “Ain’t John comin’ to eat?”

  Tarbow answered with a smug grin. “Nah, he ain’t. He didn’t feel much like eatin’ this mornin’—got a sore throat and a pain in his belly—musta et too much last night.”

  “I declare . . .” Seth muttered. “That don’t sound like John to miss breakfast.”

  “Just leaves more for me and you to eat, though, don’t it?” Tarbow said. “Let’s go on inside and see if Miss Wiii-nona has got our vittles ready.” He stepped aside at the door to permit Seth to precede him. Seth walked in, uncomfortable with the menacing-looking outlaw behind him, thinking that he was even more threatening when he purported to be in a jovial mood. He suspected Carver of faking an illness, so as to avoid breakfast with the belligerent visitor.

  Inside, they found Wiley standing behind the counter. Like Seth, he found it hard to disguise the disappointment in his face upon seeing Tarbow still in town. He gave them both a curt “Good morning” and said, “Winona’s putting it on the table now.” When Seth stepped to the counter and placed his money down, Wiley asked, “John’s not coming?”

  “No, he ain’t feelin’ like eatin’ this mornin’,” Tarbow answered for him. He pulled out his money. “Here. I’ll pay you for mine and his, so you and the missus ain’t out no money.” He peeled a couple of dollars off and tossed them on the counter.

  “That’s too much,” Wiley said. “We don’t charge but fifty cents each.”

  “That’s all right,” Tarbow said. “I’m fixin’ to get a helluva lot more stuff to put on that packhorse after breakfast. Let’s go eat.” He stood there for a moment, a large grin parting his heavy whiskers, as he watched Wiley open his cash drawer and deposit the money.

  To Winona’s surprise, their unwelcome guest was not as crude in his remarks as he had been the evening before. In fact, she could almost say he was jovial. Like everyone else at the table, she had hoped he would have gotten an early start and gone on his way without subjecting them to his presence this morning. She decided to attribute his improper behavior at supper to a possible overindulgence in alcohol. Maybe the boorish brute did know how to behave after all.

  An equally amazed Seth found that he was comfortable enough to eat his eggs without a constant effort to keep his gaze locked on his plate to avoid eye contact with the one-eyed brute. He even lingered long enough to eat the piece of apple pie that Winona had saved for him. Tarbow, however, decided that breakfast was taking too long, so he informed Wiley that he had to get on his way, and there were a lot of things he needed to buy. “I reckon we’ve all got to get to work,” he said, looking at Seth.

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Seth allowed. “I’d best get back to the shop. I’ve gotta repair two bent rims for Lester Coble’s wagon before he comes into town tomorrow.” He got up and complimented Winona on the breakfast. “When I see John, I’ll tell him he missed a good ’un. I’ll be back tonight for supper,” he said, going out the door.

  Tarbow walked out of the kitchen behind him, followed him to the front door, and stood there watching him to make sure he went back to his shop and not down to the stable. When Wiley came into the store, Tarbow turned around, all business then, and started calling off things he needed. He scanned the shelves, pointing out items that caught his fancy, caus
ing Wiley to become excited as the costs piled up. When there was nothing more he could think of, he said, “That oughta do it. Now I need to get this stuff packed up on my horses.”

  Still beaming over the total he had added up for his biggest sale ever, Wiley was more than willing to help him carry his purchases out and tie them down on the gray packhorse. Before they were finished, Winona came from the kitchen and helped with some of the smaller items. Packed up and ready to go, Tarbow said, “That oughta do it. Let’s go back inside and settle up.” They followed him into the store again and went behind the counter, then Wiley slid the paper with the total bill across the counter to Tarbow. “I’m gonna need one more thing,” Tarbow said.

  “Yes, sir,” Wiley responded. “What’s that?”

  “I’m gonna need a sack to empty that cash drawer into,” Tarbow said, drew his .44, and aimed it directly in Wiley’s face. “And be quick about it. I’m ready to shake the dust of this little shithole off my boots.” Wiley was too stunned to move. He just stood there, his eyes and mouth all wide open and speechless. Winona uttered a little gasp of surprise, stunned as well. With no patience for their shock, Tarbow threatened her. “If you don’t reach behind you and get one of them sacks, I’m gonna blow a hole in that ugly head of yours.” It was enough to break Winona free of her paralysis. She turned immediately and picked up a sack from a stack on the shelf behind her. “Now, Wiley,” Tarbow ordered, “pull that drawer out and dump it into that sack.”

  Still frozen in a state of disbelief, Wiley did not move. Tarbow cocked the hammer back on his pistol, causing Winona to punch her husband on the shoulder and cry out, “Do it!” When he was still unable to respond, she shoved him out of the way, pulled the drawer out, and emptied it into the sack.

  “That was a smart thing to do, lady,” Tarbow said to her. “’Cause I was just before puttin’ a hole in that dumb head of his. I might yet—I ain’t decided. Reckon it depends on whether or not you do what I tell you. If you do, we’re all gonna be a lot happier when I leave here.” He pulled the sack of money over to him. “Now, where do you keep the big money? You got a safe? Where is it?”