by J. Lee Butts
“One of the men tortured and killed was Captain Roland Gatewood. The Judge considered him a valued friend.”
My surprise at Magruder’s reappearance almost kept me from speaking. “Mr. Wilton, sir, inform the Judge that if there’s any way under heaven, I’ll find Magruder and bring him in—or kill him. Whichever the sorry bastard chooses.”
The handsomely dressed bailiff clasped my hand again. “Good luck, Mr. Tilden. Do take care. The Judge would be crushed if anything wayward happened to his favorite marshal.” He smiled, placed a sealed envelope in my hand, then turned and left me to read alone.
The note reinforced what Mr. Wilton had already told me. But it also included a telling sentence near the end of the text: Additionally, Hayden, I have supplied you with an executable warrant of death for one Saginaw Bob Magruder to be enforced at your convenience.
My previous departures from Elizabeth had been difficult. That one almost broke both of us, But she held up well, and put on a face I knew she’d prepared just for the occasion. Hated that it came so quickly on the heels of our wedding, but I would have left in the middle of the ceremony for a chance at Magruder—and she knew it. Less than half an hour after I kissed her good-bye, Harry, Billy, and I tore through the Nations as if all the yellow-toothed demons of the netherworld were snapping at our heels. We were trailed, at a comfortable distance, by an old man and a huge yellow dog.
Billy led the way. He had more experience in the western Territories than Harry or me. We deferred to his judgment. Time we reached Minco Springs, the mischief committed there was almost two weeks old. By then, I’d come to the conclusion Magruder’s trail would probably be as cold as a Montana winter.
The rugged stage stop sat on a grassless piece of land about five miles south of the Canadian, right on the border between the Chickasaw and Comanche Nations. As we rode in, Billy said, “I knew the men who worked here. Fine fellers, all four of ’em.”
A lanky white man came out on the weather-beaten porch as we rode up. His face lit up in a big toothless smile. He ran to Billy, grabbed his hand, and shook it like he feared we’d all disappear if he didn’t hold on.
“Mighty glad to see you, Billy. You other marshals, too. We had some bad doing’s out here.” His raspy voice sounded like he spoke from the bottom of a half-filled rain barrel.
Billy placed his arm around the shoulders of his friend. “Boys, this is Percy Billings. Percy, the young feller there is Hayden Tilden. The ugly one wearing the beaver hat’s Harry Tate.” I swear the man almost cried. He put both hands on Billy’s shoulders and, for a minute, I thought sure he’d collapse.
“You men tie your animals and come on inside. I’ll tell you all about it.”
We sat down at a rough, oblong table and Percy poured us up a steaming tin of the strongest coffee I’d ever put in my mouth. “Momma taught me to make it like that when I was a nubbin back in Kisatchie, Louisiana. It’ll put hair on you in places God never intended. But don’t get any of it on your clothes. Been known to eat holes in bat-wing chaps.” He laughed at his own joke and slid onto the bench next to his friend.
Billy swallowed hard, gritted his teeth, and set his cup on the table. “Zale Avery made it to Fort Smith.”
The ragged hostler’s head bobbed. “Glad to hear it.” The man’s hand shook as he tried to raise the cup to his lips again.
Harry lit one of his cigars. He always did that during our question-and-answer sessions. It seemed to help him think at what he liked to call “investigating.”
Between puffs he said, “What happened here, Percy? Zale told the chief marshal some wild stories.”
Percy’s head dipped again, and he started out talking to the top of the table. “’Bout two weeks ago these men rode up and asked if they could water their animals. Dog Face Freddy, the half-wit, tole ’um to go ’head and take all they needed. Joe Sweat, our station manager, didn’t care for the look of ’um, and tole me he didn’t understand why men’d come to us fer water when they’s a creek runs right ’hind this place and a river just a few miles up the trail.”
Harry blew smoke across the table. “Joe Sweat didn’t like the situation from the start?”
“No, sir. They all climbed down anyway and ’fore we knew it, they’s guns ever’ where. Ain’t ever seen that many guns ’pear on men so quick. The one they called Bob dressed like a preacher and pulled a pistol out’n a Bible.”
He scratched at a spot on top of the table. “They didn’t shoot nobody right off. They’s just after whatever they could get from outta the four of us, at first. But after they found Joe Sweat’s stash of corn squeezin’s and got good and ripped, they started beatin’ on Dog Face Freddy. One they called Zack Farmer seemed to take uncommon pleasure in torturin’ that pitiful wretch.”
I’d kept quiet till then. “You know Farmer, Harry?”
“Yep, smiles all the time. Likes to cut folks up with a butcher knife.”
Billings shook all over. “He cut Freddy’s ear off, Harry. Ain’t ever heard such screamin’ since the time my youngest brother grabbed a red-hot horseshoe off’n Pa’s anvil.” He chuckled half-heartedly at the childhood memory then stared at the door like Zack Farmer stood on the other side sharpening his bloody knife.
Billy tried to calm him. “You’re safe now, Percy. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Poor man took another swallow from his cup and started again. “Well, Freddy flopped around the room here a slangin’ blood all over ever’body. The one they called Albrect wanted to get in on the party. He whipped out a pistol and shot Freddy in the foot to stop ’im runnin’ ’round the room.”
Harry puffed on his cigar and scratched a name in his book. “Crouch Albrect? Did you hear the name Crouch?”
“Yeah. That’s him. Albrect hit Joe ’crost the face with his pistol. That’s when Freddy started babblin’ ’bout the gold.”
All three of us said, “Gold?”
Percy scratched his head. “Me and Joe was the only ones supposed to know ’bout that shipment fer sure.”
“What gold you talking about, Percy?” Billy put his hand on the man’s arm and squeezed.
“You know. That twice a year payout for all the Indian agents here in the Nations. Soon’s Freddy squealed ‘gold,’ Zack Farmer grabbed Joe Sweat by the throat. Scared Joe so bad he told ’em all ’bout how the army coach would come in next day, and how it be full of gold coin for the agents. Magruder’d been watching all of it up till then, but he got in Joe’s face and said, ‘If you’ve lied to us just remember this.’ Then he whirled ’round and shot Dog Face Freddy square in the right eye faster’n God could get here. Then, they drug ole Freddy outside and went after that liquor for a couple more hours.”
Billy kept things moving when he said, “Zale said Magruder preached for you.”
“He kept callin’ them boys his deacons. ’Round midnight, he jumped up on this here table and started to preach. Ain’t ever knowed any man what could preach like that one. Crouch got to screamin’ that demons from perdition’d entered his body and was a-gnawin’ on his brain. By mornin’ they was the drunkest, craziest bunch I’d ever seen—all ’cept for that Vander. He kept to the corner and smoked. Don’t think he ever even blinked.”
Percy tried to pour himself another cup of coffee, but his hand shook so much Billy had to take the pot and do it for him.
Harry leaned back and dropped his pencil on the table. “Vander Lamorette. He’s a bad one. When push comes to shove, you don’t want to be in front of that man’s guns when he pulls ’em.”
Poor ole Percy looked like a man on a runaway horse. The longer he went, the faster he talked. “When we heard the stage a-comin’, Magruder made us all shuffle around outside like we’s workin’. Coach rolled up, and a cloud of dust came a-swoopin’ in behind like a shroud. Captain of the U.S. Army stepped down and had to eat dirt when a wall of pistol fire knocked the driver off the box and killed his shotgun guard. ’Fore that soldier even had time to think, Mag
ruder ’uz on top of ’im and had a gun barrel shoved so deep in his ear it bled.”
Billy thumped his finger against the side of his cup. “Them other outlaws just standin’ ’round, or were they busy too?”
“They jumped up in the coach and dragged the express boxes out. Lamorette blasted the locks off. Threw the lids back—naught inside but a pile of lead washers. Zack and Crouch screeched like devils straight out of a nightmare. Both of ’em jumped on that captain so fast, Magruder had to fight ’em hisself to keep the man alive.” His hands shook so bad he had trouble setting the cup back on the table.
Billy said, “Calm down, Percy. Just tell it the way it happened.”
“Well, Magruder started a-screamin’ ’bout the money. Told the soldier he’d turn him over to Zack and Crouch if’n he didn’t come clean.”
I pushed my cup to the center of the table. “Did the captain ever say anything, Percy?”
“Said they warn’t no money. All them crazy sons of bitches started yelling. Then the captain said somethin’ ’bout that there coach bein’ a decoy. That the money’d already passed through, or might come later. If’n he figured on better treatment, though, he wuz wrong.”
Billy shook his head again. “Go on, Percy. What happened next?”
“Magruder had ’em bring Joe over. Sat him down on the stoop beside the captain. Tole him to watch what happens when people lie ’bout things he wanted to know. Crooked his finger at that Zack and tole him to show the U.S.-by-God-Army just how serious they wuz.”
Harry muttered, “Sweet Jesus.”
“Zack jumped over and stuck his butcher knife in Joe’s leg. God almighty, he screamed loud. Soldier snapped. Started yellin’ ’bout how the army sent out three coaches, and that no one ever knowed for sure which one carried the real gold. Albrect hopped up on the porch and kicked Joe in the back. Then they stomped the hell out of him as he tried to crawl back onto the porch. Zack snatched him up by the hair and cut his throat. Blood spurted all over the captain’s boots. Last straw, I guess. That soldier’s hand darted down in his boot and popped back out with one of them Colt derringers. He was so close to Farmer when he fired, the muzzle couldn’t have been more’n a few inches from the man’s nose. Shot punched a hole just above Zack’s right eye. Blew his floppin’ body into a bloody heap right at Lamorette’s feet.”
For a minute or so, the poor agitated wretch couldn’t speak. His fingernails plowed furrows in the tabletop, and he scraped the floor with his boot heels like he might jump out of the chair and start screaming. Finally, he took a deep breath and told us a story the likes of which no one should ever have to hear.
“Magruder said, ‘Tie this blue bellied bastard to that gate like he’s on a cross.’ Them others drug the soldier to the corral and hung him up on the top rail just like Jesus. They made Zale and me bring this here table and a chair outside. Magruder sat down, dumped a saddlebag of cat-ridges on the table, and loaded his pistols. Then he shot the man in both knees, faster’n you could blow out an oil lamp. Sweet Jesus, the screamin’. Fer the next hour or so, he shot that poor soldier to bits—one little painful piece at a time. My God, but it were an awful thing to see and hear.”
“How come he didn’t kill you and Zale?”
“Don’t know for sure, Billy. When Magruder got tired of shootin’ they just hightailed it all of a sudden. Left us sittin’ out there on the steps with bodies scattered all over the place. We hid in the weeds and briars till the afternoon run came through. Harvey Boston drove the stage. Man’s harder than the barrel on a fifty caliber Sharps. Honest to God, boys, when he seen that poor soldier, he almost heaved his spurs up.”
Sometimes a man can remember too much of a bad thing. Percy pushed away from the table, stumbled to the door, and lifted the latch. He turned and said, “I done talked ’bout as much as I usually do in a month or two.” Then he ducked outside and left us there with the horror of it all lying on the table like Captain Roland Gate-wood’s bullet-riddled body had appeared out of thin air. For almost five minutes, no one said anything.
So I pointed out the obvious. “Harry, we need to get him back in here as quick as we can, and see if he remembers anything that might help us start in the right direction. Maybe one of the killers said something about where they were headed.”
My words still hung in the air, when Old Bear pushed the door open. Caesar snapped and growled behind him as he walked to the table and said, “Look. Dog found. Under the porch.” He dropped the Bible on the table and grinned. “The Dark Man’s luck.” He caressed the black leather cover like it was a living thing. “Now we have it. His time is running out. When we catch him, I take his heart. Hide it in place even his God can’t find.”
I flipped the book open. It fell neatly into two parts— the left side smaller than its mate. All the pages on the right had been cut in the shape of the pistol hiding there. I couldn’t believe it. The weapon that killed my father peeked from the edges of a page that started with Judges, chapter six, verse five. Billy read it aloud. “‘For they came up with their cattle, and their tents, and they came as grasshoppers for multitude; for both they and their camels were without number; and they entered into the land to destroy it.’”
Old Bear locked me in his gaze. “Hayden. The Dark Man goes to Fort Smith. Two days back our trails crossed north of Wewoka. Seminole lands. Didn’t know who they were, then. They probably made west for a time then doubled back trying to throw us off. We got lucky.”
Harry pulled his knife and scraped at the heel of his boot. “Why on earth would they go to Fort Smith? If you’re running from the law, why go where all of it lives?”
“I know why.” Percy stood in the open doorway. “When he wuz a-preachin’, Magruder tole as how he was gonna find the marshal he’d seen in Dodge that carried the big Winchester huntin’ rifle. Said he wuz gonna make that man pay for doggin’ his trail. Send him to a scorchin’ hell, or worse. You boys know someone like that?” Even Caesar turned toward me like he understood the question.
For a few seconds, everything in the room went out of focus. An ugly knot formed in my stomach. Thought I might just end up on the floor on my hands and knees. Then, the scar across my nose stared to burn, and the need for vengeance broke out of me like a branded bobcat. I jumped off the bench and bolted for the door. Harry and Billy chased me outside.
Harry grabbed my arm. “No, Hayden, listen. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours. Let’s wait till morning.”
“You can come later if you want, Harry. I’m going to Fort Smith. Who knows what Magruder might do when he gets there?”
Billy muscled his way between us. “If he’s looking for you, what could he do?”
“I can’t even hazard a guess, Billy. But I do know the man is unpredictable. The quicker we get back to town the better. Old Bear can take us to the spot where we crossed Magruder’s trail and if it leads toward Fort Smith we’ll run that way as fast as these horses will take us.”
“Hayden, the horses are tired. We’re tired. I still think we should put it off till morning.” Harry kicked dirt clods around. He stared at the ground like he understood my anger and felt embarrassed because his advice didn’t sit well with me.
Old Bear mounted his horse, turned north, and kicked into a run. The dog yelped and fell in behind him. Billy jumped into his saddle, pulled up beside Harry, and said, “Come on, Harry. We can sleep some other time. Those men need killing. I, for one, want to be there when Satan invites ’em into his parlor.” His horse spun around in a tight circle, and they fogged out behind the old man’s pinto. Harry watched as Billy disappeared. Then he turned his palms up, shrugged, climbed on that big yellow animal of his, and hoofed it after the others before I could say anything else.
Just after sunup a week or so later, about ten miles north of Okmulgee, we found a sight almost as awful as any I ever saw. His name was Dick Little. He and Billy had known each other for years. Billy broke down and cried. Only time I ever saw that happen to him.
Harry squinted through the lens at the smoldering wagon in a tight canyon just below us. Billy grabbed Harry’s long glass for a better look. Old Bear raced away from the fire and headed back toward us. I heard Caesar howling off in the distance.
“That’s Dick Little’s wagon.” Billy sounded like a man who couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“Who’s Dick Little?” I’d never heard the name till then.
Billy’s agitation was contagious and quickly spread to the rest of us. He handed the glass back to Harry and turned to me. “He’s a traveling blacksmith. I’ll tell you all about him later.”
It took Old Bear about a minute to negotiate the steep banks of the ravine. He pulled up between us. “Bad, very bad, Tilden. Magruder passed maybe six, eight hours ago.”
“Is Dick still alive?” Billy’s agitation bubbled out. He could barely stand to hold his horse back.
“Alive. When I left. Maybe gone now. No need to see him, Billy.”
Billy whipped his horse down the crumbling banks and galloped toward his fallen friend. We followed but at a considerably slower pace. I knew from what Old Bear said that our presence wouldn’t help.
But Harry wanted to talk to the man, if he could. “You have to get information where you can, Hayden. Even dying people can help. Besides, if he names his killers it’s same as if we saw ’em do it.”
Honest, I’d never been witness to anything like what waited for us. Someone had shot the poor man, then set him and the rig on fire. Don’t know how he’d managed to live, much less hang on for hours after it happened. Had to have been the toughest man I’ve seen in my whole life. His clothes had cooked to his skin and still smoked. He cried and moaned. We couldn’t touch him. Billy was the only one who could get close enough to hear the raspy, whispered story he told. Me, Harry, and Old Bear moved away and listened as Billy put his ear next to the burned-off lips and repeated everything he heard.
