Will Tanner

by William W. Johnstone

  “Maybe I oughta be the one to meet him at the door,” Eli snarled.

  “Go out the back door, like I told you,” Lem barked. “If you weren’t so quick to kill somebody, he wouldn’t be showin’ up at my place. Now, git!” He waited until Eli went out the back before warning Minnie to stay out of sight. Then he took one more gulp of coffee before leaving the kitchen to meet Little Eagle in the store.

  * * *

  “Well, Jim Little Eagle,” Lem said when the Choctaw policeman walked in the door. “What brings you out this way? Kinda long ride from Muddy Boggy Creek, ain’t it?”

  Jim didn’t answer right away. He took a moment to look around the large room to make sure there was no one behind either of the two long counters. When he replied, it was in his typical emotionless tone. “I heard your son Eli was back in this territory.”

  “Eli?” Lem exclaimed in fake surprise. “Why, who told you a thing like that? Eli’s long gone from these parts. I ain’t got no idea where that boy is. Montana Territory, like as not.”

  “Is that so?” Jim replied. “There’s somebody up in Switchback Creek who said he saw Eli and another fellow over that way the other night. I don’t suppose that other fellow was you, was it?”

  “Switchback Creek?” Lem responded. “What would I be doin’ up there? I don’t know that I’ve ever been there before. And like I said, Eli ain’t nowhere near these parts. What makes you come askin’, anyway? You think I’ve been sellin’ whiskey to some of them bucks over that way? ’Cause I ain’t.”

  “It’s a little more serious than selling whiskey,” Jim said. “Two men rode into that community and murdered the old medicine man, Walking Crow.”

  Lem gasped in fake shock. “Well, now, that is poor news for a fact. I’m right sorry to hear that.”

  “I figured you might be,” Jim said. “I don’t reckon you’d mind if I look around the place, just to do my duty. There might be somebody hiding around here without you knowing it. We’ve got a murdering dog running loose, and I wanna make sure he ain’t any threat to you and your woman.”

  Lem tried to affect a smile, but could not prevent favoring the Indian policeman with a smirk, knowing they were both playing a game of bluff. “Now, Jim,” he said, “you’re kinda oversteppin’ your authority, ain’t you? You Injun police ain’t really got no authority when it comes to dealin’ with white folks.”

  “I’m working with a U.S. Deputy Marshal on this,” Jim said. “So I reckon I’m not overstepping my authority. I was just gonna look around a little, figured you wouldn’t mind, since Eli ain’t hiding out here.”

  “That’s right,” Lem said, more than a little irritated at this point. “Eli ain’t nowhere near this place, and I don’t know nothin’ about that business with the old medicine man. I just don’t like anybody snoopin’ around my place for any reason.”

  “All right, Stark, if that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll take your word for it. I’ll be on my way, then. I’ll just tell the deputy that I made sure Eli wasn’t here.” He had found what he came to find. He was fairly sure Eli was there, the black Morgan in the corral was the first clue. He was also sure that, if he forced his way into the house behind the store, he would most likely walk right into the muzzle of a rifle. “Good day to you, then,” he said. “If you see any strangers that don’t look right, get in touch with me. All right?”

  More at ease, now, Lem fashioned a friendly smile. “I sure will—always ready to stand up for them that’s keepin’ the peace.” He walked outside with Jim and watched while he got on his horse, and remained there until the policeman disappeared down the river road. When he returned to the kitchen, he opened the door to find Eli sitting at the table, his arm steadied on the table with his .44 aimed at the door. “You can put that away,” Lem scolded. “I thought I told you to go hide in the shed.”

  “I thought it’d be better to cut him down if he walked in that door and be done with him,” Eli replied.

  “You thought?” Lem exclaimed. “If you could think, we wouldn’ta had that Injun here in the first place. I talked him outta searching the place for you, but I ain’t so sure he won’t be back with a marshal and a posse. So I expect you’d best not be here when he does.”

  “Hell, Pa,” Eli said, “he ain’t gonna be comin’ back here. I heard him say he’d take your word for it.” He wasn’t anxious to go back to his hideout up in the Sans Bois Mountains and leave Minnie Three Toes’s cooking. He moved his arm up and down as if testing the range of motion. “My shoulder’s gettin’ dang nigh back to normal already. I’d like to stay here till it gets all the way back. That old Injun musta knew his stuff.”

  Impatient with his son’s lack of common sense, Lem said, “It don’t pay to take a chance on that Choctaw lawman. He’s a lot smarter than you think. You just do like I tell you. I don’t want a bunch of lawmen around here, shootin’ up the place.”

  “All right,” Eli said, knowing there was little to gain in arguing. “I’ll head out in the mornin’.”

  “You get your possibles together and head out now. You’ve still got about four hours of daylight. And don’t ride out the river road, in case that Injun’s waitin’ around to see if he flushed you out.”

  “Damn, Pa,” Eli protested, but said no more, knowing it was useless. He looked at the sullen Chickasaw woman, standing silently witnessing the discussion between her husband and his son. Eli had seldom had a kind word for the long-suffering woman, looking upon her as no more than a servant. He looked to her now for sympathy, hoping she would persuade his father to let him stay, at least long enough to cook something for him to take with him. She only looked at him with a tired smile, then turned away. Damn Injun, he thought. There was no sympathy from that quarter. He got his things together, packed his saddlebags, and saddled his horse.

  “Cross over the river and ride up the other side toward the hills,” Lem said. “No use takin’ a chance on that Injun waitin’ around to take a shot atcha.”

  “I know, you done told me once,” Eli replied, annoyed. “I’ll head to the Sans Bois, to that hideout up in the cave. I’ll lay up there for a spell, till I’m sure this wound is healed proper. Then when things die down a little, I’m aimin’ to get on that deputy’s tail.”

  “Good,” Lem said. “That’s somethin’ that needs gettin’ took care of.”

  * * *

  That’s what I thought, Jim Little Eagle said to himself when he saw the rider come up out of the river. The Choctaw policeman had positioned himself to watch the back of the house, suspecting that the outlaw would most likely make a run for it, and he didn’t think he would leave by the road. The big Morgan broke into a lope after it climbed up on the bank and started up the river. Jim led his horse out of the trees on the low rise beyond the river, stepped up into the saddle, and guided his horse along the other side of the rise. He planned to angle across the foot of the hill to cut Eli off.

  Still chafing over his father’s abusive dismissal of him, Eli held the Morgan to a steady lope as he approached a low hill that ran parallel to the slow-moving creek. So absorbed in his anger at having been sent to hide out in the mountains again, he did not realize the threat until he rode past the trees at the base of the hill. Startled, he pulled up short when he found himself facing Jim Little Eagle’s rifle aimed directly at him. He started to reach for his .44, but Jim warned him, “One move and I’ll cut you down.”

  Eli thought better of it and put his hands in the air. “You got no reason to point that rifle at me,” he snarled. “I ain’t no Injun.”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Walking Crow,” Jim said. “You can go peacefully, or over the saddle of your horse. I don’t care which. It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t know no Walkin’ Crow,” Eli replied. “I didn’t murder nobody.”

  “Is that right?” Jim asked. “How’d you get that bandage on your shoulder?”

  “None of your business, Injun,” Eli spat. “Now get outta my way. I
’ve got places to go to.” He started to nudge his horse, but stopped again when Jim brought his rifle up to his shoulder and prepared to shoot.

  “Damn it!” Eli blurted. “Hold on!” He put his hands up again and said, “You’re makin’ a mistake. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no murder.”

  “The judge in Fort Smith will decide that,” Jim said, and pulled his horse up beside Eli’s. “Now, take those pistols out, real slow, with just two fingers, and hand them to me handle first.”

  “All right,” Eli spat back at him, “but my left arm is still hurt some.” He made a big show of pulling the pistols one at a time, using only his right hand. When the weapon cleared his holster, he leaned forward as if about to drop it. Too late to react, Jim was caught reaching for the pistol at the moment when Eli suddenly drew the other one. The Choctaw policeman had no time to fire his rifle before Eli put a bullet in his chest. Jim dropped the rifle and slid off his horse to land hard on the ground. Eli didn’t wait to see if he was dead or not. He kicked his horse hard and galloped away.

  * * *

  Retracing the journey he had made with Max Tarbow’s body, Will left the creek he had been following and headed due west toward the Sans Bois Mountains. Ahead of him, he could see the line of hills where he had parted with Perley Gates, and he kept Buster pointed straight for a gap in the middle of them, certain that it was the pass Perley had led him through. Once he reached it, he backtracked along the narrow game trail that had led them to the gap. If he remembered correctly, the trail would lead him to Perley’s camp.

  Busy skinning a deer, Perley paused abruptly when he heard his mule whinny. The mule, though ornery, was as good as a watchdog whenever something or someone approached his camp. Always cautious, Perley put his skinning knife down and reached for the Henry rifle propped against the tree the deer’s carcass was hanging from. He didn’t get many visitors, and he wasn’t anxious to receive any now, since he had learned that Eli Stark was back in the territory. In a few minutes’ time, he spotted a rider leading a packhorse through the trees that circled the clearing at the base of the hill where his cabin stood. When the rider cleared the trees, Perley relaxed and set his rifle back against the tree again, for he recognized the man riding the buckskin horse. “Well, I’ll be . . .” he started, then called out, “Will, I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

  “Hello, Perley,” Will returned. “That’s a fine-lookin’ doe you’ve got hangin’ up there.”

  “Shot it this mornin’,” Perley said. “Step down and we’ll cook up some of it.” He waited for Will to step down before continuing. “Did you get that body to Fort Smith before it started to stink?”

  “Just barely,” Will replied. “The undertaker wasn’t very happy about it.”

  “Well, now that I see you back here, I reckon I don’t have to ask if you were able to give ol’ Eli the slip.”

  “That ain’t exactly the way it went,” Will said. Then he went on to tell Perley about the encounter at the Poteau River. “So he winged me and I winged him,” Will concluded. “And he hightailed it.”

  “So now you’re chasin’ him, instead of the other way around,” Perley said. “And I reckon you’re wantin’ me to lead you to that cave up in the mountains.”

  “That’s a fact,” Will said. “I figure he’s most likely gonna be at that cave, or at his father’s place in Tishomingo. So this is the first place I’m gonna look.” Perley nodded solemnly. “All I want from you is to take me to it, or if you’d rather, tell me how to find it. Will you do that?”

  “Why, sure,” Perley replied, “I’ll take you to it, but I hope to hell Eli ain’t up there. I’d just as soon have him a long way from here.” He hesitated and gave his deer carcass a glance. “Are you wantin’ to start out right now?”

  “No,” Will said. “My horses are tired, so I expect it’s best to wait till mornin’.”

  “Right,” Perley said, relieved. “I need to get this meat cured. I waited too long to get started on it as it is.”

  “You go on with your butcherin’,” Will said. “I’ll take care of my horses.” He started to lead his horses to the stream in front of Perley’s cabin and looked back to say, “By the way, I brought you some more coffee.” The grin on Perley’s face told him that he appreciated it.

  * * *

  The next morning, Will saddled Buster, Perley saddled his mule, and they set out for the outlaw cave up in the mountains. Will soon realized how skilled Perley was as a tracker. They stopped several times for him to take a closer look at the tracks they found on the game trails leading up into an area of looming boulders with hundreds of hidden crevices. He pointed out the more recent tracks that told him there had been a horse on the trail within the last two days. Perley insisted that tracks coming down from the rocks above them were fresher than the others, which caused him to speculate that whoever had been up to the cave was no longer there. Will considered himself a fair tracker, so he was not entirely convinced that Perley was accurate in his speculation. “I just don’t believe ol’ Eli is up there now,” Perley maintained. “Look at this track on the edge of this stream—big ol’ hoofprint, horse the size of that Morgan he rides. And they was made yesterday or the day before. They’re all headin’ down the mountain, and ain’t no new tracks goin’ back up.” He looked at Will as if unable to understand his uncertainty. “He was up there, but he ain’t up there now.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Will allowed, “but I want to get a look at that cave, anyway, in case I have to come lookin’ for him back here again when he is up there. It’s best to know what I’m walkin’ into, if that does happen. So let’s go on up and find this cave.” To himself, he thought, Nobody’s that damn good at reading a trail.

  When they neared the mountain where the cave was located high up on a rocky cliff, they decided to proceed on foot in case someone was watching the trail. So they dismounted and left their horses on a low rise covered with oak and hickory trees. Watching the boulders and crevices above them, they approached the natural stone corral at the foot of the cliff. There were no horses in it, but there was sign that a horse had been there recently. After Perley examined the droppings, he said his original speculations were correct, Eli was gone. “I reckon you’re right,” Will conceded, “but I wanna take a look at that cave.”

  They climbed up the cliff and Will found that Perley had not exaggerated in his description of the cave. It was formed of solid rock, ran back a good forty feet into the mountain, and had a back door to escape if necessary. There was plenty of evidence that someone, presumably Eli, had been there, and Will was ready to admit that Perley was as good a tracker as he claimed. Eli Stark had gone. The question was where to, and Will figured Tishomingo was the most likely place.

  They descended the trail back to Perley’s camp, where Will had left his packhorse. He thanked Perley for his help and the supply of smoked venison he gave him, and prepared to set out at once for Tishomingo, planning to enlist the help of Jim Little Eagle to look for Eli Stark. It was at least seventy-five miles to Jim’s cabin on Muddy Boggy Creek, and most of the morning had been used up by the climb up to the cave. So he figured to look for a place to camp for the night somewhere south of the Jack Fork Mountains. Even from there, he would have a full day’s ride to reach Jim Little Eagle’s place. Perley wished him “good hunting” and stood watching him ride off toward the valley. A thought crossed his mind that it might be the last time he would ever see the young, sandy-haired deputy marshal. They didn’t come any meaner than Eli Stark. “That’d be a downright shame, too,” he muttered. “Seems like a right nice feller.” He turned to find his mule staring at him. “Never can tell, though. He’s got a way about him.”

  * * *

  It was almost dark when Will came to a stream southwest of the Jack Fork Mountains and decided he’d pushed his horses far enough for the day. After he had taken care of them, he set about building a fire to boil some coffee and cook some of the venison Perley had gi
ven him. While he ate the roasted meat, he thought about the task that lay before him and the likelihood that Eli was still in the territory. He didn’t know how badly Eli was hurt. Things had happened too fast to be sure. He knew he had wounded him, but he thought it was in the shoulder, so it could be bad, or no worse than his own wound. Stone had telegraphed Jim Little Eagle that Will was on his way to join him. He hoped Jim would have done a little scouting and might have discovered if Eli had returned to his father’s place on the Blue River.

  There was plenty of time to think before climbing into his blankets for the night. As he sat there drinking the last of the coffee he had made, thoughts of Fletcher Pride came to him. He still felt somewhat responsible for Pride’s death, even though his logical mind told him there was no way he could be. He had killed to avenge Pride’s death, but he had been cheated out of the satisfaction of seeing Max Tarbow hang for the murder. Eli Stark had cheated him out of that satisfaction, so Will had a natural desire to extract his vengeance from Eli. He found himself hoping Eli would resist capture. Then another thought came to him, one he had troubled over before. Did he have the patience and compassion to be a good deputy marshal? Without consciously thinking about it, he worked his arm up and down, testing the stiffness. It was a question that he had no answer for.

  * * *

  Starting early the next morning, he intended to camp that night at Jim Little Eagle’s cabin on Muddy Boggy Creek with one stop halfway to rest his horses. After leaving the rolling hills that led into the Jack Fork Mountains, he angled his course to intercept the common wagon road to Atoka to make it easier for the horses. The buckskin seemed in a mood to travel, so Will let him set the pace. As a result, they made good time, and before sunset, he arrived at Jim’s cabin to find a small group of people gathered there. A fire had been built outside the cabin and there were a couple of women cooking something in pots. If it was a celebration of some kind, it was not a joyous one, for the people standing around were not making much noise. Several men standing near the cabin turned to meet him as he rode up in the yard. Two older men walked out ahead of the others, and judging by their grave faces, he wondered if he had ridden in on a funeral.