Amid the shocked spectators, Will stepped back and turned to the gambler. “Pick up your money. Have you got a horse out front?” The devastated gambler nodded vigorously in answer. “Well, get on it and get your ass away from here.” It was not necessary to repeat the instructions.
There was an eerie silence hanging over the barroom as the gambler ran out of the saloon, followed slowly and cautiously by the mysterious stranger. As soon as he closed the door, Will heard the instant resumption of conversation as the witnesses reacted to the violent handling of the threat. It was an unfortunate happening, as far as Will was concerned. He could not have made his presence in town known more if he had printed it in the newspaper. This could make his job a great deal harder than it would have been, had he slipped in quietly as he had intended. It was bad luck, but he figured he had had no choice. The man was preparing to murder the gambler. The question now was, what to do next? He had planned to stop in the third saloon on the chance Larsen might be there.
He took Buster’s reins and started walking toward the two banks and the saloon just short of them. After walking a short distance, he decided that he should go talk to the sheriff. He might hear about the incident in Whitey’s saloon and be searching him out for an explanation. Better to go to him first, Will decided, and identify himself as a deputy marshal. He didn’t have to tell him he was working out of the Western District of Arkansas; let him think he was a Kansas deputy. Maybe the sheriff could help him—he should be aware of any strangers in town. Should have done that right off, he thought. He stopped and looked up and down the street until he spotted what appeared to be the sheriff’s office. It was across the street and beyond the next saloon. Will hesitated a moment more, then decided he wanted to at least take a look in the saloon, except this time without making such a dramatic appearance.
The scene was not a great deal different from the one he had discovered at Whitey’s. There was only one card game instead of two, and evidently no one was cheating. Also, as before, there was no sign of Brock Larsen. Although it was still early in the day, he decided he was ready for a drink, after his visit to Whitey’s and his introduction to Pratt. The bartender moved over to stand directly across from him when he stepped up to the bar. A tall, skinny man who bore a striking resemblance to the late president, Abraham Lincoln, the bartender offered no greeting.
“Whiskey,” Will said, and received a brief nod in reply, then the bartender produced a glass and poured Will’s whiskey. Will reached in his pocket, pulled out a quarter, and placed it on the bar. The lanky bartender raked it off, put it in his cash drawer, and drew out a dime in change. Will had figured as much, having assumed the place to be a one-bit saloon. The River House was no doubt a two-bit establishment. He put his dime change in his pocket and tossed his drink down. The bartender watched in bored indifference, still without having spoken a word. Well, silence is better than the rude reception I received at Whitey’s, Will thought. I’m gonna have to see if he really is a mute, or I’ll have to find somebody else to talk. “I just rode into town,” he said. “Supposed to meet some friends of mine.” A shift of “Abe’s” eyes was the only indication the man had heard him. “Oughta been four of ’em,” he continued. “Hit town a couple of days ago. You ain’t by any chance seen ’em, have you?” “Abe” shook his head slowly. Will began to have doubts that the man could speak, so he asked, “You can talk, can’t you?” The bartender nodded. It was almost getting to be comical. “Well, say something, then,” Will said. “My name’s Smith. What’s yours?” he felt compelled to ask.
“Abe,” the bartender replied.
Will almost laughed. “No foolin’? That’s not your real name, is it?”
“Nickname,” Abe replied, still stone-faced. Then in a stampede of words, he made a comment. “Just like Smith ain’t your real name.”
“What makes you say that?” Will asked.
Abe shrugged. “Heard about you at Whitey’s. You’re a lawman.”
Will was astonished. How could he have heard about the altercation at Whitey’s? He had just come from there. Evidently someone from the other saloon must have run down the back alley to warn Abe that a lawman was in town looking for some outlaws. It didn’t take much speculation to decide which side of the law the one-bit saloons were on. He was wasting his time here. “You wouldn’t tell me if you had seen four strangers lately, would you?”
Abe shook his head slowly. “Been nice talkin’ to you,” Will said as he turned to leave. Out on the street again, he headed for the sheriff’s office.
* * *
Sheriff Leland Couch looked up from his desk when he felt a rush of cold air tumble through the open door. He did not recognize the somber, sandy-haired man who stepped inside his office, carrying a Winchester rifle in one hand. “What can I do for you, mister?” Couch asked.
Will took a moment to look the sheriff over before he answered. He was not a big man and he had a boyish face that was sparsely covered by a scraggly attempt to grow a beard. Will could imagine right away that the sheriff hardly struck fear in the men who frequented Whitey’s and Abe’s saloons. He glanced around the tiny office, noticing that the room was neat and organized, telling him that the sheriff spent a great deal of his time in his office. “Sheriff,” Will finally stated. “My name’s Will Tanner.” He pulled his coat open to expose the badge on his vest. “I’m a U.S. Deputy Marshal.” This captured the sheriff’s attention right away.
“Yes, sir, Deputy,” Couch replied smartly. “I’m Sheriff Leland Couch. What brings you to Independence? Nothing real serious, I hope.”
“Well, I’m afraid so,” Will said. “I don’t rightly know if it’s gonna cause any trouble in your town or not. I’m trackin’ a man wanted by the Arkansas marshal’s office for murder durin’ a train robbery down in Oklahoma Territory. His name’s Brock Larsen and he came up this way. I picked up his trail in Baxter Springs and it led right here to your town.” He let Couch digest that for a moment before continuing. It brought a worrisome frown to Leland’s brow. “That’s not all the problem. He joined up with three other men. So what I wanna ask you is, have you seen four strangers hangin’ around here during the last couple of days?”
“No,” Couch replied, openly concerned, “at least I don’t think so. Whaddaya suppose they want in Independence?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Will said. “But they musta come here for some reason. Anything goin’ on that would attract a gang of outlaws?” Obviously getting fidgety over the prospect, Couch shook his head. It was easy to see that the news was unsettling to the sheriff. “And you ain’t noticed four strange fellows in town? Maybe in one of those one-bit saloons up the street?”
“Well, no,” Couch said. “I reckon I wouldn’t have noticed that, anyway.”
Will was quickly getting the impression that Couch never left the office. “I figured you’da noticed four new men when you were makin’ your rounds around town.” Couch continued to shake his head. “No, huh? Do you ever check the crowd at Whitey’s or Abe’s?”
“They sorta keep their business to themselves, and I don’t bother them as long as they keep it inside and I don’t get complaints from the other businesses. I have a deputy who works part-time, and that’s kinda what he does, and he tells me if there’s anything to be concerned about going on.” As if on cue, the door opened and a young man charged inside, heading straight for the small stove in the center of the room. “This is my deputy now,” Couch said. “He’s been sorta watching the town. Lon, this is U.S. Deputy Marshal Tanner.”
Lon Blake had been so intent upon getting out of the cold air outside, he had taken no time to see who the sheriff was talking to. When he heard the words Deputy Marshal, he turned to take a look. “You’re the feller that laid Pratt Wilson out on the floor at Whitey’s!”
Will remembered having seen the young man then, so he figured that answered the question of how the crowd at Abe’s got the news about Pratt so quickly. Lon’s blurted announcement caused a
look of nervous concern on the sheriff’s face, so Will turned to him. “He was gettin’ ready to shoot a man,” Will explained.
“I was fixin’ to jump in and stop him,” Lon said, “but this feller beat me to it—kinda took us all by surprise, especially Pratt.”
“Why didn’t you identify yourself as a deputy sheriff?” Will asked.
“Well,” Lon hesitated, “the situation was already handled pretty good. I didn’t think there was any use in sayin’ somethin’.”
Will was getting a pretty good picture of the state of law enforcement in Independence. Leland Couch appeared to be an incompetent sheriff who might be a little reluctant to face down a hardened outlaw. And at this point, Will was a bit skeptical about the young deputy. He might even be in cahoots with the rough crowd in the saloons. It seemed to be the perfect picture of a town that could eventually be taken over by the undesirable element that hung around Whitey’s and Abe’s. That was something that Couch and the businessmen of Independence would have to deal with in the future. But for now, there was an immediate concern that he was definitely involved in—Brock Larsen, and whatever he and his three friends were in town for. After meeting the law in the town, Will could readily see why a gang of outlaws might pick Independence to pull a big job, if that was what they had in mind. And off-hand, the first thing that came to mind was the new bank just opened. His only concern when he rode in was to find Larsen, arrest him, and take him back to Fort Smith for trial. But that was no longer his only option. The town might be primed for a bank holdup, and he felt an obligation to try to stop it. He took another look at the sheriff and his deputy, and hoped like hell he could depend on them for help. Doggone you, Annabel Downing, he thought.
“Sheriff.” Will came right out with it. “I think your little town here is fixin’ to get hit by four outlaws, and my guess would be a bank holdup.”
His announcement had the same effect on sheriff and deputy, judging by the expressions of surprise on both faces. Couch was the first to speak. “A bank holdup! Why do you think that? We’ve never had anything like that in Independence. We’ve always been a peaceful town.”
“I suspect that’s one of the reasons you’re fixin’ to get hit,” Will said. “That and the fact that you’ve got a new bank. These outlaws might be thinkin’ it’ll be easy to scare these new employees and they won’t have to worry about anybody tryin’ to resist ’em.”
“What’ll we do?” Couch asked, obviously in a shocked state of confusion. He looked at his deputy then. “Lon, have you seen anybody you didn’t know in town?”
Lon guessed right away that he was going to have to decide whose side he was on. He didn’t want to admit that he was accepted as a friend by the lawless element in town simply because he could be counted on not to divulge all that went on in the rougher saloons and bawdy houses. “There was one or two fellers that I ain’t never seen before come into Whitey’s.” He shrugged indifferently. “But they wasn’t rowdy or nothin’, so I didn’t say nothin’ to ’em.”
“One or two,” Will asked, “or four?”
“Maybe there was a couple other fellers with ’em,” Lon reluctantly confessed. “But like I said, they wasn’t up to no mischief, so there wasn’t no reason to bother ’em.”
“Damn it, man,” Will demanded, “are we gonna be able to count on you, or not?”
Lon recoiled slightly, having previously witnessed the marshal in action. “Yes, sir,” he decided. “You can count on me.”
“Good,” Will said. “Now, what we don’t know is when they plan to hit the bank, but I expect it’s gonna be pretty soon. It would most likely be in the mornin’ when they’re openin’ up the safe and gettin’ the money out for the tellers. Wouldn’t you say, Sheriff?”
“What? Ah, yeah,” Couch stammered, still in a state of shock.
“Course they might hit it at closin’ time when they open the safe again to put the money away,” Will said, halfway talking to himself. “I expect we’d better watch ’em all the time. I figure the best we can do is to sit in the bank and wait for ’em to walk in. And we’ll have to watch both banks. I’ll take the new bank and you and Lon can take the other one. That all right with you, Sheriff?”
Couch glanced quickly at Lon before answering. “I guess so,” he said, thinking that he would have preferred to be with the deputy marshal.
“All right, then,” Will concluded, “I’ve got things to do right now. I wanna take a look at each bank, and I’ve got to take care of my horses.” He looked behind Couch at the clock on the wall. “What time do the banks close?”
“Four o’clock,” Lon answered him.
“That gives us plenty of time to let the banks know what we’re goin’ to do, for me to take care of my horses, and for us to be inside the bank at closin’ time,” Will said. “Lon, you and the sheriff keep a sharp eye out for any strangers hangin’ out around the banks. I’ll keep an eye out for Brock Larsen if he’s with ’em. I’m ’bout to starve to death. Is there anyplace to get a meal close to the bank?”
“Right across from the old bank at Sadie’s Diner,” Couch said. “I’ll go with you after we tell the banks.” They left then to inform the bank managers what they planned to do.
* * *
As Will expected, the managers in both banks were visibly alarmed when they learned of the real possibility of a robbery about to strike them. Will was most concerned about the potential for nervous employees to broadcast their fear and in so doing, tip off the robbers before they could be apprehended. So in talking to the managers, he stressed the importance of remaining calm and letting the lawmen handle the situation. “We’re gonna be sittin’ right here outta sight, ready to stop the robbery before it gets started good,” he told them. Then reminded them that there was a good chance that he and the sheriff had guessed wrong and there was no holdup planned. “Won’t hurt a thing to be ready, though.” He advised Hugh Franklin, the manager of the new bank, that he would knock on the back door at around three-thirty. “In case somebody’s watchin’ to see who goes in and out, it might be best to use the back door.” Franklin seemed to have calmed down about the possible crisis at his new bank. Will appreciated it, and wished he could say the same about the sheriff. He was inclined to think the newly opened bank would likely be the target, so maybe Couch wouldn’t have the occasion to soil his trousers.
While that thought was fresh in his mind, Will heard the back door open. A few seconds later, a rather roly-poly man came through the back room, having just come from the outhouse behind the bank. “Here’s our guard now,” Franklin said. “Jug Watson, this is Deputy Marshal Tanner.”
“How do?” Jug asked with one firm nod in an attempt to convey his readiness to handle any trouble that might befall the bank.
Will was not impressed. Jug appeared to be sloppy in his appearance, in the way he carried himself, not to mention his red, bloodshot eyes. He thought about Couch and Lon then and shook his head in frustration. Deciding to do the best he could with what he had to work with, he instructed Jug on where he wanted him positioned and what his responsibilities would be. When their business was done at both banks, Will took his horses to the stable at the end of the street. He made arrangements with the owner to leave his packs in one of the stalls, but he left his saddle on Buster. He might need the buckskin in a hurry, so he would unsaddle him after the bank had closed. With that taken care of, he walked back up the short street to Sadie’s Diner, where Sheriff Couch and his deputy were waiting.
Sadie’s Diner was actually a part of the hotel, and was where most of the hotel’s guests ate. There was one long table in the center of the room that seated fourteen diners, if the two chairs at the ends of the table were counted. Around the sides and one end of the room, smaller tables were arranged with four chairs each. It was at one of these side tables that Couch and Lon sat, but Lon was the only one eating. The sheriff waved Will over when he stepped inside the door. Will pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He rest
ed his rifle against the wall and waited for the rather heavyset waitress to look his way. When she did, she didn’t bother to come to the table, asking loudly instead, “You gettin’ the special?”
“What is it?” Will called back.
“Stew,” she replied.
Lon momentarily interrupted his violent attack on the food on his plate to interject. “It’s what I’m eatin’,” he managed to say before resuming his assault. “It ain’t bad.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Will said. “I’ll have that.” The food on Lon’s plate looked a lot like Mammy’s cowboy stew back at the Morning Glory Saloon in Fort Smith. He figured the risk wasn’t any greater at Sadie’s. “And a cup of coffee,” he yelled after her as she went through the kitchen door. He turned his attention to the sheriff then. “You ain’t eatin’?”
“Nah,” Couch replied. “I’ve got a little unsettling in my stomach. This cup of coffee will do me.”
Will suspected he knew what caused Couch’s loss of appetite. He just hoped he would hold himself together until this business was finished. He couldn’t help wondering why he wanted the job as sheriff in the first place. Further thought on the subject was interrupted by the arrival of Sadie carrying a plate heaped with stew and two large biscuits riding on top. “I’ll bring you some coffee,” she said as she placed the plate before him. “How ’bout you, Sheriff, you want a warm-up on that coffee?” Will recoiled slightly when she reached across to pick up Lon’s empty plate, exposing a large wet stain down her side from under her arm, this in spite of the chilly air in the room. She was a big woman, and the thin cotton dress she wore was hard put to contain all of her. With Lon’s plate in one hand, she pulled a hand towel from around her neck and mopped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “Who’s your friend, Sheriff ?” she asked. “You ain’t never been in before,” she said to Will.
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