Will Tanner

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’m hopin’ a day and a half,” Will answered, “providin’ I can stay ahead of Eli Stark.”

  “That’d put him dead two and a half days,” Perley said. “That’s cuttin’ it pretty close. I killed a deer one time a year or two ago and didn’t get back to butcher it till two days later. I remember that meat had already started to turn. I ate it, anyway. I had a god-awful bellyache and the gallopin’ shits for a whole day after that. But the meat didn’t taste bad atall, kinda sweet, as a matter of fact. Now that I recollect, though, I had tried to drink a whole gallon jug of moonshine corn whiskey I’d got hold of. It mighta had somethin’ to do with my sick belly. Come to think of it, it was the reason I didn’t get back to butcher that deer for two days.” He shook his head and chuckled just thinking about it. “I don’t know, son . . .” He paused. “What is your name, Marshal?”

  “Will Tanner.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I don’t know, Will,” he went on. “Like I said, you might be cuttin’ it pretty close. If it was winter, wouldn’t be no problem, but it ain’t cold enough to keep meat from turnin’.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Speakin’ of meat, how ’bout that deer meat I offered? You want some?”

  Will couldn’t help grinning, almost forgetting the hazardous circumstances he found himself in. He was fascinated by the little man’s unbridled rambling. It occurred to him that Perley seldom ran into another human being to talk to, so he probably wasn’t aware that he was rattling on so. “I’m thinkin’ you live alone,” Will said.

  “I reckon I do,” Perley replied. “How’d you figure that?”

  “Just a lucky guess,” Will answered.

  “I lived with a Choctaw woman for the better part of three years,” Perley said. “She was a fine cook, ugly as homemade sin, but I reckon that’s the only reason she moved in with me in the first place. It’s been a little over a year now since she run off with a Chickasaw buck. He wasn’t no more particular than I was, I reckon, and he was a lot younger ’n me, so she took off. I expect I’da gone after her if she was a little better-lookin’. I miss her cookin’, though.” He paused for a moment, obviously recalling the woman, then he asked, “How ’bout you? You got a wife at home somewhere?”

  “Nope,” Will answered at once. “No wife.” For no reason he could explain, his thoughts went immediately to the last image he had of Sophie Bennett and her proper suitor. The young law clerk, what was his name—Garth something? She’d probably be fairly amused to think he had thoughts of her. He silently chided himself for cluttering his mind with meaningless thoughts when he had considerably more to concern himself with. “I appreciate the offer of some deer meat,” he said, returning to Perley’s question. “But I’ve got plenty of supplies in those packs, includin’ a couple of sacks of coffee beans. How ’bout I leave you one of ’em?”

  “Why, I surely would thank you for that,” Perley replied. “I ain’t got nothin’ to trade for it right now, except some of that deer meat.”

  “You don’t need to trade for it,” Will said. “I’ve got some extra, and you can owe me a favor sometime. That’ll be a fair trade.” He was thinking that he would call on him to lead him to the outlaws’ cave he had talked about.

  “I can do you one small favor right away, if you’re still set on gettin’ that carcass to Fort Smith in a day and a half—might cut a little time offa your trip,” Perley said, capturing Will’s interest right away. “I expect you’re thinkin’ ’bout cuttin’ back to the wagon road to Fort Smith when you leave here in the mornin’.”

  “I thought I would,” Will said, “after I get past the Sans Bois. I only cut up through here to try to lose that jasper tailin’ me.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Perley said. “I know an old Injun trail that the Choctaws used to ride between their villages. It ain’t got so many turns and bends as the wagon road, and the wagon road takes a wide swing to the south ’cause it has to find a place to ford the river. It’ll save you a little time. And maybe ol’ Eli’s waitin’ for you to show up on the wagon road somewhere down the line.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Will said. He was thinking that it might have been a real stroke of luck to run into Perley Gates. “I’m plannin’ on bein’ in the saddle before sunup in the mornin’. I’m not gonna eat breakfast till I have to stop to rest the horses.”

  “That’s all right,” Perley said. “I’ll be back here before sunup to lead you through the hills to strike the Choctaw trail. It might be a little hard for you to find it in the dark. It don’t look like much more ’n a game trail till you get outta the trees in these hills. That’s ’cause that’s what it is, a game trail.” He got up then to rinse Will’s coffee cup in the stream. Handing it back to him, he said, “I expect I’d best get along now. I’ll be back to get you in the mornin’.” Will went to his packs to find the sack of coffee beans he had offered. When he gave them to Perley, he thanked the simple little man for his help.

  “No trouble atall,” Perley replied.

  CHAPTER 13

  Just as he had promised, Perley showed up riding a mule before dawn while Will was still loading his horses. When it came time to load Tarbow’s body on the horse, Perley offered to help, but Will said he had a loading procedure that worked out fine. “But it would help if you’d hold that horse steady while I load him. Sometimes he gets a little skittish.”

  “I reckon so,” Perley replied with a chuckle. He took the blue roan’s bridle in hand and watched as Will tilted the bizarre package away from the tree and onto his shoulder. “I swear,” he exclaimed. “That feller’s a load, ain’t he? How long’s he gonna stay stiff like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Will grunted as he dropped the corpse across the saddle and quickly looped a rope around the end of it. “But it sure makes it a hard load to tie on.” He passed the other end of the rope over to Perley when he reached for it. “He’ll bend a little bit when I draw down on this rope, but he don’t want to.”

  When he was ready to go, Perley got on his mule and led the procession straight up the ravine toward the top. Will wondered if he knew where he was going, because the ravine appeared to end at a solid rock wall. He had walked halfway up it when he drove his horses in behind his camp the night before. When he had seen the rock wall, he felt assured that no one would be able to sneak into his camp from above him. Now he was beginning to wonder if he should have walked all the way up to the wall. A few minutes later, he chided himself for being careless, because when Perley reached the rock face, he turned his mule sharply to the right and followed a narrow path down the side of the hill. Will realized then that this must have been the way Perley came into his camp the night before. Not willing to risk getting shot, he must have made his way down through the trees on the side of the ravine, so he could approach the camp from the mouth. He had been on foot, so his camp should not be too far away. That question was answered a few minutes later when the little man called back over his shoulder when they reached a small meadow at the bottom of the hill. “This here’s my domicile. If you warn’t in such a hurry, I’d invite you in.” Will looked all around him for a few seconds before he spotted a rough log cabin backed up against the foot of another hill on the other side of the meadow. On one side of the cabin, a partially enclosed shed was attached, no doubt for Perley’s mule. A thought occurred to Will that it seemed highly unlikely Perley could have smelled his campfire, much less the coffee, deep down in this valley.

  Perley continued to lead him along a narrow valley that wound snakelike through a series of hills until finally arriving on an open prairie, where he pulled his mule to a stop and waited for Will to pull up beside him. “I reckon I’ll let you go on from here.” He pointed to a low ridge, barely visible in the predawn light, about five or six miles in the distance. “If you’ll just put your nose on that ridge yonder and follow it, you oughta strike that Choctaw trail on the other side of the ridge. It’ll run right along the foot of it. Stay on that trail and it’ll lead you to a wi
de creek. That’s gonna be about twenty miles from here. Just follow the creek and it’ll take you to the Poteau River. You’ll still see the old Choctaw trail running along that creek. When you strike the Poteau, you won’t be but about twenty-five or thirty miles from Fort Smith.”

  Will reached over and offered his hand. “Much obliged, Perley, I ’preciate your help. I’m plannin’ to come back this way before long. Maybe I’ll bring you another sack of coffee beans.”

  “That’d be mighty fine,” Perley said. “You take care of yourself, young feller. Keep a sharp eye.”

  “You do the same,” Will said, and gave Buster a little nudge with his heels.

  Perley reined his mule back when it started to follow the string of horses, then he sat there for a long while watching the young lawman’s progress, his three horses trailing along behind him—one of them carrying the odd bundle. “Nice young feller,” he commented to his mule when the horses started to fade in the darkness. “I hope he lasts longer than a lot of those deputy marshals riding Indian Territory.” He turned the mule then to return to his cabin as he thought of making himself a fresh pot of coffee.

  * * *

  Riding across a rolling prairie that gradually took shape as the sun finally made an appearance on the eastern horizon, Will approached the ridge that he had set his course on. Directly ahead of him, there was a narrow gap that looked to be a good place to cross over to the other side. When he entered the gap, he stopped and dismounted, left the horses there, and went on foot to the top of the ridge to have a look around him. Checking his back trail first, he looked back as far as he could see. There was no one in sight. Looking ahead of him into the sun, the results were the same—no one in sight. He felt reasonably sure that his stalker had not been able to determine his route, so he returned to his horses and continued on through the gap to the creek.

  Upon reaching the creek, which was as easily identified as Perley had predicted, he pushed his horses on for another five miles or so before looking for a place to rest them. He picked a spot where there was a meadow about fifty yards wide with cottonwood trees on both sides. It suited him just fine. He unloaded the horses in the trees, then turned them out to drink and graze while he built his fire where he could watch them from the protection of the trees. When he was satisfied that his horses were ready to go again, he loaded up and continued following the trail beside the creek, planning to camp for the night when he reached the Poteau.

  With still no sign of Eli Stark, he pushed on until sunset, when he reached the Poteau River. Although there had been no threat for the entire distance between the Sans Bois Mountains and the river he now approached, he saw no reason to relax his vigilance, so he selected his campsite accordingly. Having come this far, he was more determined than ever to finish the task he had started. There appeared to be a trading post at the confluence of the creek and the river, but he chose to skirt it, preferring not to let his presence be known. As long as he was still in the Nations, he trusted very few people. It was best not to let people know he was hauling a corpse into Fort Smith. So he led his string of horses along the river for another mile or so before going into camp in the trees on the bank.

  When he began to unload his horses, he was surprised to discover the ropes tying Tarbow on the horse had gone slack, and the body was now hanging relaxed. He at once thought of putrefaction. How much time did he have before Mr. Tarbow was going to make his presence offensive to the nose? So far, there was no offensive odor, but he had half a day’s ride to Fort Smith, and the horses needed rest after a long day’s work.

  * * *

  The night passed peacefully enough, a fact he attributed to the short distance it was to Fort Smith. It made sense that Eli might not be bold enough to risk an attack on a deputy marshal this close to the marshal’s headquarters. Now, with only half a day’s ride left, and still no offensive odors from his traveling companion, he loaded his horses and prepared to complete his journey. With one foot in the stirrup, he was suddenly spun around when the .44 slug slammed into his shoulder. Down he went with the toe of his boot still caught in the stirrup. The sound of the rifle shot startled his horse, causing the buckskin to jump to the side, dragging Will several feet before his boot came free of the stirrup. He heard the scream of the packhorse when it was hit by a couple of slugs from the barrage of shots that followed.

  With no time to think, Will reacted instantly, rolling over the edge of a four-foot bluff that bordered the river. He drew his Colt .44 and lay flat on his back on the sandy river bank. His left shoulder, numb after the bullet’s impact, was now throbbing painfully, and there was nothing he could do to stop the bleeding, or even to know how bad it was. From his position on his back, he could not see above the low bluff to determine where the shooter was, and he scolded himself for having gotten so careless. Eli had evidently finally gotten onto his trail, and must have ridden through the night to overtake him. With a trail hard to see at night, he must have gambled on the probability that he would strike the Poteau somewhere close to the trading post at the confluence of the creek and the river.

  Well, I can’t just lie here on my back and wait for him to come finish it, he thought. But before he could roll over on his side, he heard the horse’s hooves on the bluff above him. A moment later he looked up at the smirking face of Eli Stark. The vengeance-seeking assassin leered down at him from the saddle of the dark Morgan gelding. Hesitating a moment to gloat was Eli’s mistake, for Will’s pistol was already cocked and in hand. Lying on his back, he was not that accurate with his pistol. His first shot grazed Eli’s neck, but the second struck him just below his collarbone. Eli jerked violently on the Morgan’s reins in an attempt to escape the deadly fire from under the bluff.

  It was clear now that the advantage had changed sides, so Will ignored his wounded shoulder and scrambled to his feet to send two more shots after the retreating gunman. The range was already too great for Will’s pistol, so he missed with both shots, but it was enough to convince Eli that he should best save his bacon. The amount of bleeding he was suffering from his wounded shoulder, plus the stinging gash across the side of his neck made him fear he was badly wounded. His thoughts in this moment of panic were that it was critical that he get his wounds doctored, and that meant to ride to his father’s place in Tishomingo.

  Will stood watching the dark assassin galloping away along the riverbank until he was sure he showed no sign of circling back. Then he turned to look at the horse lying mortally wounded behind his buckskin, the lead rope holding the horse’s head up as Buster stepped back and forth nervously. “That son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath to see the horse suffering. He had reason enough to go after Eli Stark already. This was just one more. He reloaded his Colt and walked over to calm Buster down. Then he stroked the dying horse’s face for a few moments before holding the .44 up close to its head and pulling the trigger, causing the other horses to start. After calming them down, he untied the lead rope from the back of his saddle and redistributed the load among the two remaining horses, with some of it tied to the saddle bearing Tarbow’s body. Only then did he pause to assess the damage to his shoulder. There was a good deal of bleeding that had soaked his left shirtsleeve, but not enough to overly concern him. He figured to heal rapidly, and then his priority was to go after Eli Stark, whether in an official capacity or on his own.

  * * *

  It was a little past noon when Will walked his horses down the street that fronted the courthouse, glad to complete his journey and anxious to rid himself of his unpleasant cargo. Upstairs, Marshal Dan Stone stood at his office window, looking down at the street, his curiosity having been aroused by the sight of a single rider leading two horses with what looked like a body draped across the saddle of one of them. As the rider drew closer, Stone took a harder look. “Look at this,” he said, calling Ed Pine over to the window. “That’s my new deputy, isn’t it?”

  Ed, who had been in Stone’s office the day Will was signed on as a
deputy, took a look and replied, “Yep, that’s him, but I don’t see Pride nowhere.”

  The two lawmen leaped to the same conclusion when they saw the body draped across the saddle on the blue roan. Stone was the first to say it. “Fletcher Pride,” he said in utter shock, thinking the body was that of the big deputy. “This is something I hoped I’d never see.”

  “I never believed it would ever happen,” Ed Pine lamented. “Just never believed it.” They both hurried out the door and headed for the stairs. Outside, they were in time to stand waiting when Will pulled the horses to a stop before the steps, realizing only then that Will was wounded.

  “Damn, boy,” Stone blurted, “you need a doctor.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Will said. “It can wait till after I get rid of him.”

  “Pride?” Stone responded curtly, thinking the young deputy’s tone a little brusque, considering the respect he thought Fletcher Pride deserved.

  “Fletcher Pride’s dead,” Will said. “Shot in the back of the head by that son of a bitch lyin’ across that saddle. I buried Pride and Charlie Tate at the foot of a hill in the Arbuckle Mountains.”

  “Damn,” Stone responded soberly. “Who is that?” He walked over to take a look at the corpse.

  “Max Tarbow,” Will said, “the outlaw you sent Pride and me after.”

  “What about the rest of the gang?” Stone asked. “Are they still on the run?”

  “No, sir, they’re all dead,” Will said. “Max’s brother, Billy, and the three fellers ridin’ with ’em. I never learned their names.”

  “All five of the gang dead?” Ed Pine felt compelled to ask. “None of ’em wanted to surrender?”

  “Nope. Tarbow didn’t want to surrender, either, but I had him under arrest, and I was bringin’ him back in the wagon. I didn’t kill him. He was shot by Eli Stark when Eli took a shot at me and hit Tarbow instead.”