A Stranger in Town

by William W. Johnstone

  “Shit,” Jake responded when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I found your other friend,” Will went on with the lie. “He didn’t get very far. It wasn’t more’n a mile outta town. I found him beside the road, shot in the back—turned his back on Brock Larsen one too many times.” He was satisfied to see a flick of surprise in Jake’s eyes, so he continued. “I brought his body back with me just now. Sheriff Couch’ll more’n likely prop it up in front of the jail so other bank robbers can see it—soon as the undertaker fixes him up.” He paused to shake his head as if astonished. “It’s hard to believe he talked you fellers into robbin’ that bank for him.”

  “How do I know you ain’t lyin’?” Jake finally managed.

  “Maybe I am,” Will said. “Tell you what, why don’t you ask your friend when you see him propped up in his pine box tomorrow?” Will shrugged indifferently. “I reckon I can see how you got gulled. Ol’ Brock’s a smooth talker, all right. But I’ll tell you this, I found that little camp you boys had on the Elk River, and it was plain to see that Larsen didn’t lose a second waitin’ around for you boys to show up. He was already cleared out—took everything, horses, the money—took it all, and laughin’ about you and your partner in the new bank. He wasn’t plannin’ to wait to see if you two got out all right or not.”

  By the time he had finished the story he created, he could tell that the simpleminded outlaw was struggling to mask his dismay. So he figured the time was ripe to go for the one question he needed an answer for. “Maybe ol’ Brock will have a drink to thank you and the other two for makin’ him a rich man when he gets to, what’s the name of that town?”

  “Wichita,” Jake murmured low, the picture of Larsen celebrating in his mind.

  “Right. Wichita,” Will said, turned promptly around, and left the cell room.

  Sitting on the side of his cot now, Jake was still in a state of shock, having been convinced that he had been double-crossed. He realized that he had spit out the name of the town they had planned to go to after the bank holdup, but now he didn’t care. “That back-shootin’, double-dealin’ son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I hope they catch him.”

  * * *

  Will found the sheriff and the mayor still waiting in the office when he came out. “You gonna take Roper back with you?” Couch asked him.

  “Nope,” Will said. “I’m headin’ for Wichita first thing in the mornin’. I’ve gotta take my horse to the stable now and let him get a good rest. I rode him pretty hard today.”

  “You’re leavin’ Roper here with me?” Couch asked to be sure.

  “Yep,” Will replied, then paused. “Here’s what you do. Wire the marshal in Topeka, tell him you want him to send a deputy with a jail wagon to transport a bank robber back.”

  “I figured you’d do that,” Couch said.

  “I would, but I’ve gotta go to Wichita to arrest those other two. Maybe we can get some of the bank’s money back to them.” He didn’t want to confuse him and the mayor by telling them that, if he did recover the money, it might come back to them from Judge Parker in Fort Smith.

  “Well, good luck to you, then,” Dr. Taylor said to him as he went out the door. “The town of Independence is certainly in your debt, and the U.S. Marshals Service as well.”

  * * *

  Will looked up to see Marcy Taylor walk in the door and wondered the occasion for the young woman’s visit to Sadie’s Diner. Her purpose was soon evident when she paused for a moment to survey the room, and upon spotting him seated at one of the smaller tables, made straight for him. “Evenin’,” he said when she stopped before him. “Were you lookin’ for me?”

  “Yes, I should have guessed you’d be here,” she replied. “Papa said you were leaving in the morning.” When he appeared puzzled by her remark, she explained. “I expected you to have supper with us again. We surely owe you something for what you did. I got to the bank this morning shortly after you went after the two men who got away. Mr. Franklin told me you saved his life.”

  Not quite sure how to respond, Will merely shrugged and said, “I reckon we were all just lucky—except Lon and the feller I shot. Maybe my luck will hold out a little longer, and we’ll recover some of the bank’s money.” She continued to stand there for a long moment until he thought to ask, “Would you like to have some supper—maybe some coffee or something?”

  “I’ve already had supper,” she said, “but I’ll take you up on that cup of coffee.” She pulled a chair back and sat down. He suddenly found himself in an extremely uncomfortable situation and was glad when Sadie came to the table.

  “Well, hello there, Miss Taylor,” Sadie greeted her. “We don’t see you here very often. What brings you in—gettin’ tired of your own cookin’?”

  Marcy laughed. “No, ma’am,” she replied. “I just came in to have a cup of your coffee with Mr. Tanner—that is, if it’s fit to drink,” she teased.

  “Well, I would say it’s strong enough to put hair on your chest,” Sadie responded. “But I reckon that ain’t real important to a lady.” She chortled at Marcy’s pretend display of shock. “I’ll be right back with a cup.”

  Marcy was pleased to see the little flush of embarrassment on Will’s face. It confirmed to some degree the opinion she had already formed of the sandy-haired young lawman. “I guess you have no idea when you might be back this way,” she said.

  “Reckon not,” Will replied.

  “Do you ever think about doing something other than being a deputy?” she asked.

  Surprised by the question, he shrugged. “I don’t know anything else, except workin’ with cattle.”

  “There are a lot of cattle ranches close around Independence,” she said. “A man like you could probably build a ranch of his own after a while.”

  “As a matter of fact, I already own a ranch down near Sulphur Springs, Texas. It’s not an awful big spread, but it’s a workin’ ranch. I might figure on goin’ back there one day.”

  “Texas,” she said. “That’s a long way from here.”

  “Yessum, I reckon. But it ain’t far below the Red River.” In truth, he had not thought about the J-Bar-J in quite some time. It prompted him to wonder how Shorty Watts and the boys were doing. Then bringing his mind back to the table, he wondered how in hell he had gotten into this conversation. It was interrupted then when Sadie brought Marcy’s coffee.

  They talked for a while, mostly about the town of Independence and the potential it was showing. Most of the conversation was carried on by Marcy with one-word responses from him. At the conclusion, Marcy thanked him for the coffee and made him promise to call on her when he came back this way.

  “I surely will,” he promised, but he had no plans to ever visit Independence again. Not until she stood up to leave did he think to offer to escort her home, since it was now dark outside, and she would have to pass two rowdy saloons on her way.

  “That would be awfully nice of you,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “It would be my pleasure,” he said in his best attempt to be gallant.

  He escorted her past Abe’s and Whitey’s saloons, glad that he had thought to offer, for there were a few drunks loitering in front of both places. He walked her as far as the gate to her father’s house and bade her a good evening. “Thank you,” she said. “And don’t forget, you promised to come to see me when you come back.” Then, on a sudden impulse, she stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Stepping back as quickly, she opened the gate and went inside. “You be careful, Will Tanner.”

  “I will,” he said, still confused by the kiss. She turned away and hurried to the house, leaving him wondering what had happened on this night, if in fact something had happened. He had never been wise in figuring women out, except the kind he found in saloons, but now he was more confounded than before.

  CHAPTER 16

  At first light, Will was in the saddle, his horses well rested and fed
. He had a journey ahead of him that he could only estimate how long it would take—four days of hard riding, if he was lucky. It might take him longer, because he was not that familiar with the country between Independence and Wichita. Consequently, he was bound to follow the Elk River to its head, which was actually many different streams flowing together to form the river. From that point, he planned to head due west until reaching the Arkansas River, thinking to follow the Arkansas until reaching Wichita.

  As he left the buildings of Independence behind him, he gave some thought to the journey he was starting on. There was little doubt that his boss, Dan Stone, would be fit to be tied if he knew Will was pushing deeper into Kansas Territory. Dan would be inclined to turn the problem of catching Brock Larsen over to Kansas authorities. At the same time, there would be little chance Dan would be surprised that Will had taken a personal interest in the capture of Larsen. Will was driven by the responsibility he felt for Larsen running free, even considering the fact that the murderer’s escape was made possible by the intervention of one Annabel Downing. These thoughts weighed on Will’s mind, but not heavily. All he knew was it was his job to recapture Larsen, and he was prepared to follow him anywhere the chase led, knowing there was the possibility he would be out of a job by the time he returned to Fort Smith. To hell with it, he thought. If Dan fires me, I’ll go back to Texas and working cattle. Behind him in Independence, Mayor Taylor was staring in utter astonishment at the telegram he had received from Topeka.

  * * *

  “This doesn’t make much sense,” Taylor said to the telegraph operator. He had wired the U.S. Marshal in Topeka requesting a deputy to pick up the prisoner. In the wire, he had expressed the town’s appreciation for the heroic actions of Deputy Will Tanner. The wire he had received back said that a deputy marshal would be sent as requested. But then it informed him that there was no deputy marshal on any Kansas rolls by the name of Will Tanner. “Maybe I’ll go see if Leland knows anything about this,” he mumbled to himself as he walked out the door.

  Leland Couch was just as puzzled by the news as the doctor. “Well, forever more . . .” he started. “If that don’t beat all—he was wearin’ a marshal’s badge. What would make him wanta help us prevent a bank holdup, if he wasn’t really a deputy?”

  “He said he followed one of them from Baxter Springs,” Taylor said. He paused to think about all that had happened since Will arrived in town. “The only facts we are left with tell us that two of the men got away with over twelve thousand dollars of the bank’s money. And the man who has supposedly gone after them is not a real deputy marshal.”

  “Are you thinkin’ he was just after the money all along?” Couch asked. “That don’t make any sense to me at all. Hell, he shot one of his own friends, if that was true—and put another one in jail.”

  “Less ways to split the money,” Taylor replied. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know that there’s anything we can do about it now. Maybe when the real deputy gets here, he’ll know more about Will Tanner.” The doctor was looking forward to one thing, however, he couldn’t wait to inform his daughter what he had found out about the man she had scandalously flirted with. “I doubt we’ll ever see Mr. Will Tanner again,” he said, thinking that news would be comforting to Marcy’s mother.

  * * *

  Brock Larsen and Ike Bowers rode into the cow town of Wichita on a blustery afternoon with light snowflakes swirling about their horses as they crossed the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad tracks. Commonly known as Cowtown by the cattle drovers, the town started as a trading post on the Chisholm Trail. It was now a bustling cattle town that was host to all manner of drovers, outlaws, prostitutes, and gambling houses. Although Larsen and Bowers appreciated all that Wichita had to offer two men on the run, they had no plans to light there. Their destination was across the Arkansas in the little town of Delano, where there was no law to challenge outlaws and murderers and men of their kind.

  “I’m thinkin’ I’d like to have a little drink before we cross the river,” Ike said as they turned their horses down the main street.

  “Reckon you can afford it?” Larsen joked.

  “I reckon I can,” Ike replied with a chuckle. “Why don’t we go in the Parker House and get some supper after we get a drink—have us some fancy fixin’s? We’ll be eatin’ that slop at Roy’s soon enough.”

  “That sounds fine to me,” Larsen said. “We’ll rub elbows with the swells at the hotel bar, then go on in the dinin’ room to eat.”

  The two outlaws already felt reasonably safe in the crowded town of Wichita, but they would cease to worry altogether once they had crossed over to Delano and took a room over Roy Bates’s saloon. Too old to rustle cattle anymore, Roy was spending his later years as the owner of the Rattlesnake Saloon. It was known among outlaws as the “Ask No Questions Saloon.” When asked why he named it the Rattlesnake Saloon, Roy would always respond with, “’Cause the whiskey I sell has got a bite like a rattlesnake.”

  “Reckon how Earl and Jake made out?” Ike wondered as they tied the horses up in front of the hotel.

  “Don’t know,” Larsen replied. “Maybe they’ll be along pretty soon. I ain’t worried about it.”

  “You reckon we shoulda left one of the packhorses by the river for ’em? Wonder what they’ll think if they get to that camp and find out we took the horses.”

  “They won’t think nothin’ but maybe they’d best get theirselves over to Roy’s,” Larsen said. “Hell, we couldn’ta left a horse tied up there by the river without knowin’ if they even made it outta that bank. There was some shootin’ goin’ on, and the last shot I heard came from a rifle. And neither one of ’em took their rifle when they went in the bank.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Ike said. “I woulda liked to see how much they mighta got away with, although I ain’t complainin’ ’bout what we got away with.” They had counted the money when they had camped the first night, and it came to a total of $12,427. That was more money than Ike had ever seen before. That was $6,213 all his own. They matched for the extra dollar, but Larsen won. The only worry he had was, if Earl and Jake showed up at Roy’s and they hadn’t gotten away with as much. That would call for another split, but he was thinking the same as Larsen, that their partners hadn’t made it out of the other bank. If they had, they should have been right behind them, riding hell-for-leather. He had to admit, he hoped that they hadn’t made it. He didn’t wish them any bad luck, but he’d never really been rich before and he wanted to stay that way. That thought caused him to trouble his mind with another. “You reckon we ought not be stoppin’ here in Wichita? I mean, settin’ around in the hotel bar and dinin’ room, somebody might remember us if a deputy marshal comes lookin’ for us.”

  “I don’t know,” Larsen said. “You might be right. It wouldn’t do for anybody rememberin’ seein’ us.” He had been unconsciously counting his share of the money, just as Ike had, and it occurred to him that he might have a chance to double it. “Hell, we don’t need to waste none of our money on this fancy hotel. Let’s mount up, and we’ll just camp on the riverbank tonight—get over the river to the Rattlesnake Saloon in the mornin’. I’ll just go in the bar here and buy us a bottle to take with us. Shoot, I’ll even spring for it. Whaddaya say?”

  “Hell, fine by me,” Ike said.

  * * *

  “We’ve got a lot to celebrate tonight,” Larsen said as he filled both of their cups again. “Maybe I shoulda bought two bottles, instead of one.” While Ike took another big gulp of the fiery liquid, Larsen threw a few more limbs on the campfire. “It’s kinda peaceful here by the river, ain’t it?”

  “I reckon,” Ike said. “But I feel like I’m gettin’ drunk. We’d better fix somethin’ to eat pretty soon to soak up some of this whiskey.”

  “Hell, go ahead and get drunk,” Larsen blurted, his speech slurred as well. “Payoffs like we hit don’t happen very often.”

  Getting to his feet,
Ike staggered unsteadily as he announced, “I gotta take a leak.” He paused for a moment. “Damn, I’m drunker than I thought,” he said, and walked only a few yards away from the fire to relieve himself. When he came back, he sat down heavily on his bedroll and picked up his cup again, but he didn’t drink from it. He didn’t say anything else for a long time, until Larsen realized he had fallen asleep sitting up.

  “Ike,” Larsen called his name. There was no reaction in the glazed eyes staring blindly from under half-closed eyelids. Larsen got to his feet, no longer showing signs of drunkenness, and walked over to stand by Ike. After still no reaction from the sleeping man, he lifted his foot, placed it against Ike’s shoulder, and pushed him over to crumple on his side. “If you ain’t somethin’,” he said softly. “You’re makin’ it pretty damn easy.” There was still no response from the sleeping man, so Larsen drew the long skinning knife he wore on his belt. One quick slice across Ike’s throat caused his eyes to flash wide open as he suddenly realized his final moment. Then he was still. “No hard feelin’s,” Larsen said.

  * * *

  “Well, ain’t it surprisin’ what the bad weather will blow into town?” Roy Bates drawled. “I swear, Brock Larsen, I didn’t expect to see you around these parts again.”

  “Howdy, Roy,” Larsen replied. “I just stopped by to see if you were still alive. I thought you’d be dead or in prison by now.” It had been a while since he had been back to Delano, but he knew he could hole up here for a while with no worry about the law. Roy was an honest man, at least honest in the sense that he was admittedly dishonest.

  Roy chuckled. “They’ll play hell tryin’ to put me in prison. They don’t want folks as old as I am takin’ up space in prison, anyway.” Without asking, he set a glass on the bar and reached for a bottle to fill it. “What brings you back this way? Musta been a year or more since you’ve been here. You still ridin’ with Earl Suggins and them boys?”