A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  * * *

  With the first rays of morning light, he revived his dying campfire enough to boil some coffee before climbing into the saddle again. Coffee was all he needed before starting out. He would fix something to eat when he stopped to rest the horses. While he waited for the small metal pot to do its work, he studied the hoofprints around the stream—some looked to be recent. He could not say for sure how many horses had been there. And he was equally uncertain if they had all been at this camp at the same time. But he was assuming that some of the tracks belonged to Ben Trout and Brock Larsen and the others were made by Ed Pine at a later time. It seemed the only situation that offered him any chance of catching up with Pine, so he decided to follow the trail until he caught up with whoever had left it and hope his hunch was right.

  He had not ridden far from the camp when the tracks he followed veered away from the stream. Looking in the new direction, he spotted a line of hills in the distance and guessed the tracks were heading toward a gulch perhaps two or more miles away. It was some trouble to follow the trail across the prairie, even though the broken stems of dry grass had not had time to recover due to the cold fall weather. The direction never varied, taking him to the entrance of a narrow gulch. From habit, he paused before the entrance and scanned the two steep sides of the gulch before urging Buster on. Walking his horses slowly, he entered the narrow confines of the two steep walls, his eyes darting back and forth from one side of the gulch to the other. It was easy to imagine it as a perfect ambush setup, with ledges on each side, close to the top of the tree-covered hills.

  His gaze was brought back to the ground when Buster stumbled on a loose rock on the floor of the passage. The big gelding recovered at once, but something on the ground caught Will’s attention, and he pulled Buster to a stop while he took another look. It appeared that something had been dragged from the middle of the gulch, leaving scuff marks in the dirt and gravel. It was not so much the marks that caused him to quickly dismount to take a closer look. It was the large, dark stain that formed a ragged circle in the dirt. The stain was several days old. He was pretty sure it was blood, but was it left by man or beast? Whatever left it had been dragged from the spot, so it seemed likely that it had been a deer or antelope that had been dragged away to be butchered somewhere else. Although that seemed the most logical explanation, he knew he was not going to be satisfied until he confirmed it, still thinking about the perfect ambush site he was riding through. If his hunch about the tracks he had decided to follow was right, then Ed Pine rode through this gulch on the trail of the outlaws. Since there had been no contact from Ed after he left Fort Smith to pursue the outlaws, could the reason be that he might have been ambushed here? Damn it all, Will thought, I’ve got to find out.

  If the outlaws ambushed Ed here, why did they take the body? The only reason could be that he wasn’t dead, but it didn’t seem likely they would want to take him prisoner. For what purpose? It seemed much more likely that they would kill him and leave the body. I’m gonna have to take the time to find out what happened here, he told himself, disappointed to be further delayed in the chase. I hope to hell I find the remains of a deer at the end of this trail in the gravel.

  Leading his horses, he started following the scuffed-up trail across the floor of the gulch. After only fifty feet, it took a turn and headed toward a clay recess under a cliff. Hidden from the center of the gulch, Will discovered a hollowed-out hole several feet deep. The trail ended there, but there was still no body or animal carcass. It had evidently been dumped in the hole, however, because he saw more bloodstains in the clay. Becoming impatient now with signs that didn’t make sense, he decided to abandon the mystery of the dragged carcass and get back on the tracks of the horses he had been following. But he paused yet again, stopped by the discovery of a single moccasin print near the edge of the hole.

  He dropped to one knee to examine the track. Judging by the size, it had been left by a young boy or perhaps a woman. After looking around for a few minutes, he discovered more tracks, coming and going. He concentrated on the footprints leaving the hole under the cliff and leading in the direction of the other end of the gulch. Near the mouth of the passage, he found more hoofprints, these from an unshod horse. The evidence seemed to be painting a different picture of what had occurred in this gulch. He considered the possibility that Ed Pine might have been ambushed by a group of rogue Indians, seeking to capture weapons and ammunition. Now there was no decision to be made. He had to find the Indians who had left these tracks, and soon, although it might already be too late.

  He tried to imagine why the Indians wanted to capture a deputy. If in fact Ed had been ambushed by a rogue band of warriors, it would have made more sense for them to kill him. Maybe they figured it best to hide his body. When he followed the obvious trail out of the gulch, he found confirmation that the body was taken somewhere, for he discovered the distinct tracks of a travois, heading north along the base of the hills. Determined now to find out just what had happened in that narrow gulch, he stepped up into the saddle and followed the distinct ruts left by the travois.

  For a distance he considered to be close to a mile, the tracks led him along the hills until coming to a small stream where the ruts left by the travois ended. He didn’t have to guess which way the Indians had taken when they got to the stream. A faint wisp of smoke wafting up through the trees on the hill told him there was a camp back up the stream. They damn sure better be eating deer meat, he thought as he drew his rifle from the saddle scabbard. Leaving his horses tied in the trees, he moved cautiously up the hill toward the smoke, which he estimated to be less than a quarter of a mile away. As he continued to edge closer, he decided that it could not be a very large camp, for he couldn’t hear any sounds of activity other than the occasional whinny of a horse once in a while.

  Finally, he could see that he was coming to a small clearing in the trees ahead, so he became even more cautious, stopping often to look around him to make sure he wasn’t walking into an ambush. A few yards farther, he came to the edge of the clearing. Moving as close as he could and taking cover behind a large oak tree, he was surprised by what he saw. Expecting to find a hunting party, he discovered instead a lone tipi near the center of the clearing. From some faint imprints in the grass, it appeared that there had been a dozen or more tipis there at one time. There was a fire burning in front of the tipi, and off to one side near the stream a couple of ponies grazed on the short grass along the bank. Will scanned the clearing from side to side, but there was no sign of anyone in the camp until a young Indian boy emerged from the tipi with a bucket. He walked to the edge of the clearing and scattered the contents, which appeared to be water, on the ground. Then he went to the stream and filled the bucket. When it was full, he placed it in the coals of the fire and sat down to watch it. After a while, the boy tested the water with his finger, waited a while longer, then picked up the bucket and carried it into the tipi. Knowing he had to see the inside of that tipi, Will took another precautionary look around the clearing before he left the cover of the tree and ran to follow the boy.

  * * *

  Walking Bird took the bucket of water from her grandson, Walter Strong Bow, and placed it beside the man lying on a bed of blankets near the center of the tipi. After testing the temperature of the water, she dipped a cloth in it and was in the process of wringing it out when she gave out a little cry of surprise. The boy jumped back in fear also, startled when the tipi flap was suddenly thrown aside and the opening was filled by the imposing form of a white man, his rifle ready to fire.

  Equally surprised, Will was stopped for a second by the discovery of Ed Pine lying deathlike on the blankets, his bare chest and shoulder bound with cloth bandages. It was plain to see that the woman was trying to help the wounded deputy. The boy, now recovered from the initial shock, began to slowly back away toward a bow and quiver hanging on the wall of the tipi. “Hold on,” Will cautioned softly. “I’m a friend.” When the boy stopped,
Will asked, “English?” He looked from the boy to the woman. “You speak English?” They both nodded, still not certain he meant them no harm. Will pulled his coat aside to reveal his badge. “I’m a deputy, just like him. I came to look for him.” They both relaxed somewhat. During this time, there had been no sign of life from the prone figure of Ed Pine. Will moved on inside the tipi and dropped to one knee beside him. After a moment, he turned to the woman. “How bad is he?”

  “Very bad,” she answered, no longer afraid of Will. She placed her hand on her breast. “This wound very bad. I think maybe he die.” Then she put her hand on her shoulder. “This wound bad, too, but not like chest wound.” She wanted to say more, but looked to the boy for help.

  “My grandmother got the bullet out of his shoulder,” the boy explained. “But she can’t dig the bullet out of his chest. It’s too deep. She’s afraid it might kill him if she tries.”

  Will nodded slowly to the old woman to let her know he understood her caution. He bent low over Ed then, looking for some confirmation that he was still alive. Feeling for a pulse, he was surprised when Ed’s eyelids opened halfway and he spoke. “Tanner?” he gasped feebly.

  “Yeah, Will Tanner,” he answered. “Are you gonna make it?”

  “Don’t know,” Ed slurred weakly. “Maybe not.”

  “Did you see who shot you?” Will asked. “Was it those two you were trackin’?”

  “I rode right into it,” Ed said, laboring with each word. “Happened so fast I didn’t know what happened, but it was them. I know that.”

  Will nodded. “You’re in pretty good hands here,” he said, trying to give him courage, even though he wasn’t overly confident that he could survive the chest wound. “You just rest up and let it heal. She’ll help you get stronger.” He hoped he was telling him the truth. Turning back to the boy, he asked, “Did you bring him here?” The boy nodded. “What’s your name?”

  “Walter Strong Bow,” he answered.

  “Tell me how you found him.”

  “I was hunting,” Strong Bow said. “I followed some deer tracks into that notch between the hills. I didn’t know the two white men were up on the hill, and when I heard them moving down, I hid in a hole under a cliff to wait for them to leave, but they didn’t leave. They shot the deputy when he rode in the gulch and left him to die. They took his horse and his weapons. They even took his boots. But he was not dead, so I dragged him to the hole where I was hiding and left him there while I ran back to get my pony. My grandmother Walking Bird helped me carry him up the creek to her tipi.”

  “You and your grandmother are doin’ a good thing,” Will said. “His name is Ed Pine, and I know he’s beholdin’ to both of you.” It struck him then that it was pure chance that Strong Bow had been there to help Ed. “What happened to the rest of this camp?” he asked. “Why are just the two of you left here?”

  “We were a small village that wanted to live in the old way,” Strong Bow said. “But the people decided to join the others who settled near Muskogee. My grandmother would not leave. She says she is too old to learn new ways, so she will stay here until she dies. I could not leave her, so I am staying with her to take care of her.”

  The situation left Will in somewhat of a quandary, knowing that his chances of trailing the train robbers were getting slimmer the longer he delayed going after them. But he didn’t feel right leaving Ed without knowing if he was going to make it or not. He knew the woman was right. If she went digging into Ed’s chest, looking for that bullet, she’d kill him for sure. Hell, he thought, there ain’t anything I can do for him. At least I can go after the men who shot him. “Did you see which way the men were headin’ when they left that gulch?” he asked.

  “Yes, they headed west, maybe toward Okmulkee,” Strong Bow said. “But when I was hiding in the hole, I heard them talking about going to a place called Buzzard’s Roost.”

  “Buzzard’s Roost?” Will replied. “Do you know where that is?”

  “No,” Strong Bow replied. “I’ve never heard of such a place—I don’t know where it is.” He remembered something else he had heard then. “One of them said they would reach the Cimarron in two days. Maybe that’s where Buzzard’s Roost is.” He remembered something else as well. “One of them said they had to get more supplies on the way to Buzzard’s Roost, but he didn’t say where.”

  Will thought about that for a few moments, trying to recall the country between the gulch and the Cimarron. “I don’t think there is anyplace to buy supplies between here and there.” He tried to make a judgment on what part of the Cimarron might be a two-day ride from there. “They might be thinkin’ about goin’ through Okmulkee. There’s a store there.” It wasn’t much to go on, but they might be able to make it to the Cimarron in two days, even if they stopped in Okmulkee. He just hoped he might be lucky enough to strike the two outlaws’ trail away from the gulch. Kneeling beside Ed again, he said, “I’m gonna leave you here with Walkin’ Bird and Strong Bow while I go after the two that dry-gulched you, but I’ll be back to take you to Fort Smith when you’re well enough to ride.” He looked up at the old lady. “Is that all right with you?” She nodded, so he turned back to Ed. “It looks like Walkin’ Bird has done about all she can do for your wounds, so I reckon the rest is up to you. But I’ll be back. You can count on that, so you get busy healin’ up.” He turned to the boy and his grandmother. “I’m much obliged to you for takin’ care of him. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll leave you some supplies to help you out till I get back.” His remark was met with nods of relief and a grateful smile on Walking Bird’s face. He was right in guessing their supplies were running short and would soon be running out if Ed began to recover enough to eat. “I’ll go fetch my horses,” he said, and left the tipi.

  When he returned with his horses, he took most of his basic food supplies off the bay packhorse—coffee, bacon, beef jerky, flour, salt, and dried beans—and gave them to Strong Bow to put away. He glanced around the inside of the tipi, then asked the boy, “What kinda weapons have you got?”

  “Only my bow,” Strong Bow replied, “but it is a strong one, like my name.”

  “I reckon that’ll have to do, ’cause I ain’t carryin’ any extra weapons,” Will said.

  “He is a good hunter,” Walking Bird interjected proudly. “He finds much game.”

  Will nodded to her and smiled. “I believe you. He looks like a strong hunter.” Looking at Strong Bow, he asked, “How old are you?”

  “I am fourteen summers,” he answered.

  “Well, I don’t believe there’s anybody better to take care of Ed than you and your grandmother, and you have my thanks. I don’t know what kinda luck I’ll have chasin’ those two outlaws, but I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”

  They followed him out of the tipi and stood watching him step up into the saddle. “I take care of Ed,” Walking Bird said, calling her patient by his name now. “You be careful they don’t shoot you.”

  “I will,” he said.

  CHAPTER 3

  There were several good hours of daylight left when he returned to the gulch where Ed had been bushwhacked, so Will searched the western side of the narrow passage between the hills, hoping to find a clear trail to follow. Luck was with him, for he found some tracks that looked to be made by at least five horses, and they were heading in the direction taken by the outlaws, according to what Strong Bow had told him. These tracks stood apart from a few others, which were from unshod horses. Will figured those had probably come from Strong Bow’s pony. He took a brief second to look at the sky. It was already late in the fall, and so far there had been no threat of snow. If the weather held, he figured he had a half-decent chance of following the outlaws’ tracks, even though they were old, maybe until they reached the Cimarron. “Best not waste any more time,” he told the buckskin and gave Buster a nudge with his heels.

  Almost as soon as the tracks cleared the line of hills, they swung more toward the south. Wi
ll figured that if they continued in that direction, they would return to the original trail on the road between Muskogee and Okmulkee. Evidently the outlaws had veered off in a little more northerly direction out of Muskogee, hoping to disguise their trail in the event there was a posse after them. Since the ambush of Ed Pine, they had obviously felt it safe to return to an original plan to go to Okmulkee. Apparently he had been right when he figured the only place they could buy supplies was the general store in Okmulkee. A few more miles confirmed it when he struck the wagon road and could find no tracks indicating they had crossed it and continued south. He was still some twenty miles east of Okmulkee, but his horses were rested, so he decided he could make it to the little town before dark.

  * * *

  Buster and the bay were both willing, but it was a bit farther to Okmulkee than Will had figured. So it was well into twilight when Will rode into the growing settlement on the Deep Fork River, a tributary of the Canadian. He walked his horses slowly past the darkened two-story log Council House built by the Creeks, and continued toward a scattering of buildings a short distant down the road, some of which showed signs of life. The largest of these had a sign that proclaimed it to be BURNS DRY GOODS. A small addition built on the side of the store had a sign over the door that read U.S. POST OFFICE. There was a CLOSED sign on the door. Will pulled up to the hitching rail and dismounted.

  After looping the reins over the rail, he took a couple of minutes to look over the three horses already tied at the rail. They showed no signs of having been ridden hard recently, telling him their owners should be of no concern to him. He stepped up on the short stoop, opened the door, and paused to look the room over. There were three round tables along one wall of the store, with a half wall dividing them from the main store. Four men, three of them looked to be cowhands, were seated around one of the tables playing cards. A quart-sized fruit jar was on the table and each man had a glass. Unconcerned by the presence of illegal whiskey, Will looked toward the other end of the room and a two-section door that identified an inside access to the post office. Both halves of the door were closed and padlocked.