Powder Burn

by William W. Johnstone

  That was all right with Hannah—the bigger the gang, the bigger jobs they could target. She was not blind to the potential for problems when it came to making decisions, however. Jack Lynch was without question the leader of the three men following him, and that would be four men when his son showed up. Obviously, Lynch was accustomed to calling all the shots, and she was not prone to follow his orders blindly. It might cause trouble down the line, and if it did, they were two against five, not good odds. “We’ll just have to wait and see how it goes,” she told Rubin later that evening.

  CHAPTER 9

  Will and Perley rode out of the ravine that led into Perley’s camp before the first rays of the morning sun had found their way through the narrow passages. They planned to stop to rest the horses and drink some coffee by a little creek that Perley said was about twelve miles from the foot of the Jack Fork Mountains. Perley figured he’d leave Will about eighteen miles beyond that and turn north. It was afternoon by the time they reached the point where Perley pulled up, reached out to shake Will’s hand, and said so long. Then he turned the dark Morgan’s nose due north. Both men planned to get another ten miles or more before making camp for the night.

  With Perley’s departure, Will turned his thoughts back to the purpose of his trip. He figured to stop at Jim Little Eagle’s cabin near Atoka and see if he had any information about a new gang around that area. By the time he reached Tishomingo, Jack Lynch and his friends could be anywhere, if it was Jack Lynch that Tom Spotted Horse had reported. That thought caused him to consider the short, broad-shouldered Chickasaw policeman. He hadn’t worked with Tom but once before. And for some reason, he had felt a sense of resentment on the Indian’s part, as if Will was trying to challenge his authority. Maybe I just caught him at a bad time, he thought, thinking Tom may have been having some personal trouble. He couldn’t help thinking about Alvin Greeley then and the trouble he had with him. Maybe it’s me, he thought. Maybe I’m getting hard to deal with. He didn’t recall ever having the problem with anyone else. As far as Tom Spotted Horse was concerned, whatever his problem, Will was not planning to spend much time with him in any event.

  * * *

  After riding under cloudy skies during the past couple of days, it was nice to get a glimpse of the sun, even though it was setting when he approached the railroad in Atoka. He pushed on through the little town and took a trail that followed Muddy Boggy Creek, hoping to find Jim Little Eagle at his cabin a shade over a mile from town. If he did, then he could count on an invitation to supper, and Mary Light Walker, Jim’s wife, was a damn good cook. While he was riding along beside the Muddy Boggy, he had to think hard to remember exactly what day it was. Was today Christmas, or is it tomorrow? Maybe Sophie Bennett is married by now. “Sophie Pearson,” he said aloud. “That’d be her name tonight.” It didn’t sound right to him.

  He was saved from further thoughts on the subject by the sight of Jim Little Eagle’s cabin as he rode around a bend in the creek. Jim was outside splitting some firewood and stopped as soon as he saw Will approaching.

  “Will Tanner!” Jim called out. “Halito! Chim achukma?”

  “I’m fine,” Will returned, “Chisnato? How ’bout you? And if we’re gonna talk much more, we’d best do it in English, ’cause that’s pretty near all the Choctaw I know.”

  Jim laughed. “All right, my friend. Did your trip down to your place in Texas go well? I thought maybe you would be riding with Alvin Greeley when I saw you again.” He chuckled at his intentional joke. “What brings you out this way so soon?”

  After he told him about the trouble he had run into in Texas, Will told him about the reports of some suspicious-looking riders in the Chickasaw Nation. “Over near Tishomingo,” he said. “Tom Spotted Horse telegraphed the message in to Fort Smith almost a week ago now. I’m on my way there, but I thought I’d check with you to see if there’s been any strangers showing up in your area that didn’t look just right.”

  Jim shook his head. “I read the wire Dan Stone sent out, but I ain’t seen anybody like that around here. The wire said they might be Jack Lynch and his men from over Colorado way.”

  “That’s what Dan suspects,” Will said, “’Cause a deputy’s posse up in Kansas was chasin’ ’em, but they lost ’em. They figure they headed on down in the Nations. Then we got a wire from Tom Spotted Horse sayin’ there’s a bunch of strangers over his way that might be Lynch and his men. Dan sent me over to find out.”

  “Who is Jack Lynch?” Jim asked. “You ever hear of him?”

  “Never heard of him, myself, but Dan says his gang’s been raisin’ a lot of hell all over Colorado Territory and part of Kansas,” Will said.

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, I reckon not,” Will replied. “I’m just gonna try to locate ’em. If it is Lynch, then I’ll decide what to do about ’em. I ain’t even sure how many men are ridin’ with him. If it’s more’n I can handle, I might call on you for some help.”

  “Good enough,” Jim said. “Come now and we’ll take care of your horses, then I’ll tell Mary you’ll have supper with us.”

  “She already knows,” Will said, having noticed the Choctaw woman standing just inside the cabin door, watching them. “I ’preciate the invitation to supper. I hope I don’t put her out too much. I thought she might be needin’ some flour, so I brought her a sack of it on my packhorse.”

  “’Preciate it, Will,” Jim said. “Mary will be tickled.” The gift was not totally unexpected. Will usually brought a little something in exchange for their hospitality.

  As Jim had predicted, Mary was delighted to get the extra flour. She used some of it to bake them some biscuits for their supper. They added to a pleasant evening with his friends before Will thanked her and bade them a good night. Then he retired to the small barn to sleep with his horses, saying that he had to make an early start in the morning, since he planned to make the trip to Tishomingo in one day. In spite of the fact that he insisted they should not worry about seeing him off in the morning, when he rolled out of his blankets there was coffee bubbling on Mary’s iron stove, and Jim showed up in the barn to help him saddle up. When he was on his way, it was impossible not to contrast their hospitality with the sullen reception he could expect from Tom Spotted Horse.

  * * *

  Crossing the Blue River, where he had often crossed before, Will found a cabin where there had been none the last time he had ridden this trail. It appeared to be a trading post situated on the bank of the river. It was a sizable structure with a couple of smaller rooms built on the back of it, which Will assumed to be living quarters. The timbers of the tiny barn behind it were still green, evidently having been finished most recently. It was already in the middle of the afternoon and he had a few miles to travel before reaching Tishomingo. But he decided he might as well stop and see who the owner was, thinking it a good idea to rest his horses for a short while, even though they didn’t really need it yet. There was a woman with a broom, sweeping the bare ground in front of the store. She stopped when she spotted him crossing the river.

  “Somebody’s comin’,” Melva Sams called back toward the door. Then she stood there for a moment staring at the rider approaching. “One fellow leadin’ a packhorse,” she announced, turned about, and returned to the house.

  In a few moments, a short bald man appeared in the doorway of the cabin, silently watching Will as he guided Buster to a hitching post several yards shy of the front door. “Evenin’, neighbor,” the man finally called out. “Welcome to my little store. My name’s Dewey Sams and I’m happy to have you stop in.”

  “Howdy,” Will returned. “Looks like you’ve been workin’ mighty hard. It ain’t been that long since I rode this trail to Tishomingo and there wasn’t any cabin here then.”

  “It ain’t been long, that’s a fact,” Dewey said. “Me and my brother finished the store last month and the barn about a week ago. Don’t many folks know we’re here yet, just a few riding that tr
ail you just came in on, but I’m hopin’ they’ll find us before long.” He watched while Will stepped down from the saddle. “If you’re lookin’ to buy some supplies, I’ve got a fair amount of trade goods, but I’ll have a lot more things in stock as soon as my brother gets back from Fort Smith with a wagonload of goods. Is there somethin’ I can help you with today?” While he talked, he gave Will’s packhorse a quick going-over with his eyes, a little disappointed to see that the bay gelding was loaded fairly heavily.

  “Sorry,” Will said. “Right now, there ain’t nothin’ in particular I’m short of. Maybe some coffee, if you have some.” He reminded himself of the sack he had left with Perley, and he could always use extra coffee. “I just stopped to see who was settin’ up here. I’m a U.S. Deputy Marshal, and I’m on my way to Tishomingo. I was gonna ask you if you’ve seen any new faces in the territory in the last week or so, but since you’re a new face yourself, I reckon you wouldn’t know.”

  Dewey laughed. “Reckon you could say that, but I ain’t new to the whole territory, just around this part. Me and my brother had us a little place down near Durant, but we couldn’t make a livin’ out of it. Dixon Durant’s general store had too much of a head start on us, and there just wasn’t enough business to go around. So me and my brother pulled up stakes and came up this way when we heard the tradin’ post that was up here went outta business. Fellow’s name that owned it was Lem Stark—got into some kinda trouble with the law. From what I’ve heard, this Stark fellow wasn’t doin’ much trade with folks around here. More into providin’ a hideout for outlaws to hole up for a while. We thought about goin’ up the river to take a look at the old store. But to tell you the truth, we didn’t want to deal with any of his old friends that might show up thinkin’ Stark was still there. Anyway, he’s dead and the store’s abandoned. Maybe you know somethin’ about that.”

  “Yeah,” Will said. “I know about that.” He didn’t bother to offer any details. He followed Dewey into the store then and paused to look around at the sparsely filled shelves.

  “Like I said,” Sams remarked, “not much stock right now, but my brother oughta be gettin’ back here any day now with a load of merchandise.” Remembering then, he said, “But I do have coffee, two sacks of coffee beans I got shipped from New Orleans.”

  “Let me have ten pounds of ’em,” Will said.

  “Yes, sir. You want me to grind ’em for you?”

  “Nope,” Will replied. “I’ll just grind what I need when I want it.” He always carried a small coffee grinder he had bought in Floyd Meeks’s store in Fort Smith. “I might be needin’ some other things if I’m down this way very long this time. Maybe I can give you some more business later on.”

  “I’d sure appreciate it,” Dewey said as he scooped beans out onto a scale. “Sometimes it takes a good while for folks to find out about you, but me and Jake are gonna give folks their money’s worth.” Melva Sams came in from the back room at that point and offered a “Good evening” to Will. “This here’s my missus,” Dewey said. “Melva, this is . . .” He paused then. “I didn’t catch your name, mister.”

  “Will Tanner,” he said. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Sams.”

  “Mr. Tanner,” Melva replied politely. “I overheard you tell Dewey you were a deputy marshal. I had just made Dewey and myself a pot of fresh coffee when I saw you ride in. It oughta be done in a minute or two. Cold day like today, I thought you might could use a cup.”

  “Why, that’s mighty nice of you, ma’am,” Will said. “I surely could.” For a moment he couldn’t help thinking what a difference these folks brought to the territory when compared to the likes of Lem Stark and the outlaws that had frequented his store. Maybe Tishomingo might grow into a friendly little town if more people like this couple moved in around it. Then he remembered the reason he was sent down there. “I expect I’ll have to drink it pretty quick and be on my way, though. Beggin’ your pardon if I’m impolite, but I need to see if I can catch the Chickasaw policeman in Tishomingo tonight if I can.”

  “Tom Spotted Horse?” Dewey asked.

  “So you know him already,” Will said.

  “Yeah, he introduced himself one mornin’ when Jake and I were still workin’ on the barn. I think he just wanted to make sure we weren’t fixin’ to sell whiskey in our store, especially to the Indians. I told him we weren’t in that business. We’re just a couple of honest storekeepers hoping to make a livin’. He said he was the law around here, and he was the man who watched out for that kind of business.” He glanced at Melva again as if undecided whether or not he should say more. “He’s stopped by a couple of times since, but he doesn’t seem like a friendly sort of fellow.”

  Will nodded, understanding why Dewey would think so. “It ain’t nothin’ against you folks,” he said. “He’s just that way with everybody, myself included. The first time I worked with him, I thought I musta said something that insulted his people or something. I think when he was born he musta sucked on a sour—” He caught himself just in time. “I mean his mama’s milk musta been sour.” He realized he was digging the hole deeper and deeper the more he tried to recover. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. I think I’ll roll my tongue up and wait till my brain starts workin’ again.”

  Melva threw her head back and laughed at the deputy’s embarrassment. She went at once to the stove and poured a cup of coffee for him. “Here,” she said. “You can take enough time to try some of my coffee.”

  He had a couple of cups of Melva’s coffee before he finally got under way, explaining again that if he didn’t get to Tishomingo before sundown, he’d most likely miss Tom Spotted Horse. Nice folks, he thought as he turned Buster back on the trail leading southwest to the capitol of the Chickasaw Nation.

  * * *

  There was one horse in the corral next to the small cabin that had served as the headquarters for the Chickasaw Lighthorsemen. That was before the individual nations were consolidated under the Union Agency, headquartered in Muskogee. So now the cabin was used by Tom Spotted Horse only. As he passed Wilbur Greene’s stable, he noticed a paint horse in the corral, like the one Tom rode. Good, Will thought, looks like I caught him before he went home to that coyote bitch he’s married to. Unlike his visits to Jim Little Eagle’s cabin, Will preferred not to ride out to Tom’s house. Equally as gruff and inhospitable as Tom, his wife was openly hostile to visitors. This attitude was reserved for white men only, Will supposed. Whatever the reason, he felt that his onetime exposure to her hospitality was all he cared to experience.

  Tom stepped out the door of the cabin as Will pulled up before it. He was carrying his saddle on his shoulder, obviously heading to the stable to saddle his horse. When he saw Will, he stopped, still holding the saddle. “Will Tanner,” he stated soberly, in the same tone as if discovering a bug on the kitchen floor. He stood there, his face expressionless, staring dull-eyed at the deputy.

  “Tom,” Will returned, reflecting the Indian policeman’s somber greeting. “Dan Stone sent me over here to find out about that bunch of strangers you spotted.”

  Tom shrugged, his expression never changing. “That was a week ago. I don’t see them no more.”

  “Where did you see them?” Will asked, “And how many were there? You didn’t say in your telegram.”

  “Hadn’t seen ’em when I sent the telegram,” he said. “Wilbur Greene told me they stopped at the stable. He said they were strangers and looked no good, so I sent telegram. I saw ’em next day. They had a small camp on the creek north of town,” he said, referring to Pennington Creek, beside which Tishomingo was built. I count four white men I never see before. I watch them for a while, but they only stop to rest horses. Then they ride east, I don’t follow them no more. I think maybe they headed to Choctaw Nation, so I ride to railroad and wire Marshal Stone again.”

  Will thought about that for a second. It wasn’t a hell of a lot of information, but at least he knew that he was dealing with four men. Spotted Horse
wouldn’t know if the men he saw were Jack Lynch and his gang, and he obviously didn’t care as long as they bypassed Tishomingo. Maybe Will could pick up their trail, so his ride to Tishomingo wouldn’t be a total waste of time. “Can you take me to the place you saw them?”

  Tom turned and pointed to the creek that ran through the town. “Follow the creek, one and a half, maybe two, miles. Camp on west bank. They ride toward Atoka, I think.”

  Will couldn’t help a feeling of irritation. He had just come from Atoka, and now if Tom was right, he had wasted his time riding all the way over to Tishomingo. “Maybe we coulda saved a little time if you had said they had headed toward Atoka in your wire,” he said, forgetting that he had already left Fort Smith when Tom’s second wire arrived.

  Again, Tom shrugged, making no effort to disguise his disinterest in the whereabouts of Jack Lynch and his gang. “Maybe they don’t go to Atoka,” he said. “I just told you which way they headed after they left here. I think maybe they long gone from Chickasaw Nation, maybe ride down to Texas.”

  “Maybe so,” Will said, making an effort to hide his irritation, since Texas would be in the opposite direction from Atoka. He climbed back into the saddle and turned Buster toward Pennington Creek, thinking he might as well see if he could find the campsite Tom referred to. Possibly there might be a trail to follow. It might be a total waste of time, but there was nothing else to go on at this point. The men Tom had seen could be anywhere, and they might not even be Jack Lynch and his gang.

  * * *

  Will found the evidence of a campsite approximately where Tom Spotted Horse had told him. The remains of a sizable campfire bore testimony that there was a camp there, but nothing more than that. Tracks of horses he found between the fire and the riverbank told him there were at least three in the party, maybe four. A thorough scout along the bank was enough to discover the party’s trail upon leaving, and as Tom had said, headed in the general direction of Atoka. Will experienced a slight feeling of irritation again when he considered that he had just come from Atoka on his way to Tishomingo. At this time, it would take him the rest of the day to ride to Atoka, especially since he was trying to follow a trail that might fork off in some other direction anywhere between the two towns. There was still the question of whether or not the tracks he intended to follow were left by Jack Lynch and his men. But that was all he had at the moment, so he quit deliberating over the matter and started out following the trail that led along the bank.