Dig Your Own Grave Read online

  Hagen didn’t answer, his face a mask of uncontrolled rage. He raised his uncuffed hand to be shackled, but when Will reached for the open handcuff, Hagen suddenly jerked it away and swung it like a mace at Will’s head. It all seemed to have happened within the span of a second. Will was able to deflect the swinging weight on the end of the short chain, catching the blow on his shoulder, at the same time pulling the trigger of his .44 to put a bullet into Hagen’s leg. The impact of the slug in Hagen’s thigh caused him to drop to the ground, screaming in pain. Before he could recover, Will dropped down and grabbed Hagen’s wrists, locking them securely around the tree again. “You son of a bitch!” Hagen blurted. “Turn me loose, so I can tend to it. I’m bleedin’ bad.”

  “Stay still and I’ll take care of it,” Will said, “but I can’t do anything if you don’t hold still. I reckon I oughta tell you what my rules are. You just took your first try to escape—you’ve got two more tries. The second time you try, you’ll get a bullet in the other leg, the third time, you get one in the chest. So you’d best be thinkin’ about how much trouble you wanna give me on the rest of this little ride.” With Hagen groaning in pain, Will had to turn him sideways behind the tree, so he could unbuckle his belt and pull his trousers down to his knees. He took one look at the bullet hole in Hagen’s underwear and the rapidly expanding bloodstain before he went to his packs to get some bandaging. His source was an old worn-out bedsheet he had gotten from Ruth Bennett for this purpose. He tore off a couple of strips and tied them tightly around Hagen’s leg. “Maybe that’ll stop the bleedin’ and hold you till we get to Camp Supply tomorrow. Then I expect we’d best have the surgeon take a look at it.” When he was finished, he went back to the creek to rinse the blood from his hands, and now that he had time, he pulled his shirt off to take a look at the already sizable bruise on his shoulder. Luckily, his shirt had prevented an open cut.

  * * *

  “You reckon them two are comin’ back here for supper?” Elmira Tate asked Ansel Beaudry. “I’m ready to set food on the table.”

  “Go ahead and put it on the table,” Ansel said. “It’s their own damn fault if they ain’t back by suppertime.”

  “They’re most likely spendin’ all their money on those young whores at that tradin’ post,” Luther snorted, and glanced in Darlene’s direction to see if she was insulted.

  If she was, she didn’t show it, seeming to be more interested in a pan of biscuits she was carrying to the table. When she had placed it in the center of the table, she commented on Luther’s remark. “Bein’ young ain’t as good as bein’ experienced,” she declared. “Too bad some men spend all their money before they find that out.”

  “Maybe they ain’t thinkin’ they need no mother’s love,” Luther japed, remembering the remark Bo had made the night before.

  There was little concern for the absence of Tom and Bo, even when bedtime came with still no sign of them. It was easy to imagine their two partners had found themselves with a real opportunity to catch up on the high times they had missed while running from the law. They figured the two would come dragging into camp sometime around noon the next day. Only Darlene was a little perturbed over their preference to have their party at Brinker’s instead of with her, even with Cecil’s attempts to soothe her pride. It was not until after breakfast the next morning, with still no sign of Bo and Tom, that Ansel began to be concerned. “If they don’t show up by this evenin’, we’d better ride over to Brinker’s to see what’s goin’ on,” he said to Luther. “That damn deputy might still be doggin’ our trail. I shoulda gone back and killed Tanner after he shot Whip. I didn’t figure he’d stay on our trail after that, figured we’d lost him for good at the Canadian.”

  “Mighta been him,” Luther said, “but you know how crazy Bo is. They’re likely just to still be shackin’ up over at Brinker’s. They’ve got plenty of money to do it.”

  “You might be right,” Ansel allowed, “but we’d best ride over there, if they ain’t back by tonight.” He had no sooner said it when Cecil sang out a warning that someone was coming up the creek.

  Ansel and Luther went immediately to the front porch, where Cecil was standing, peering at a rider approaching. “That ain’t Bo and Tom,” Cecil said.

  “Who the hell is it?” Ansel demanded as the rider drew closer. “Looks like a kid.”

  “It’s Thomas, Tyler Brinker’s boy,” Darlene said, coming out behind them when she heard them say someone was coming. “Wonder what he wants?”

  Ansel had a feeling that something was wrong. He walked out in front of the hitching rail to meet Thomas. “What is it, boy?” he asked before Thomas climbed down from the saddle.

  “He got ’em!” Thomas exclaimed. “Both of ’em! Walked right in the store and arrested ’em.”

  “Arrested them?” Ansel demanded. “Who arrested them?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

  “Will Tanner, he said his name was,” Thomas answered as he slid out of the saddle. “My pa told me to ride over here and tell you they was caught.”

  Will Tanner! The name burned in Ansel’s brain like a glowing, hot branding iron. An insignificant Oklahoma lawman he’d never heard of, this Will Tanner seemed to have been sent here by the devil, himself, just to torment him. And now he had wiped out half of the gang he had built to carry out his plan to thrive off the toil of honest businessmen. One thing was clear in his mind now, Will Tanner had to be stopped. He turned back to the boy. “Where are they? Are they still at the store? Where did he take them?”

  Thomas tried to answer the questions, but they came too fast. When he finally got the chance, he said, “I don’t know where he took ’em, but they ain’t at the store no more.”

  “Was there just one man?” Luther asked. “Did he have anybody with him?” His first concern was that Tanner might have led a posse to the store.

  “No, sir,” Thomas replied. “He was just by hisself.”

  “Just walked right in and arrested ’em?” Luther asked, finding it hard to believe that one lone lawman could take Bo Hagen by himself, and impossible to take him and Tom without help. “Was anybody else in the store? How ’bout Oscar Moon, was he there?” He was still not sure of Moon, even though Tom Daly and Elmira were certain he could be trusted.

  “No, sir, Moon weren’t there,” Thomas assured him. “There weren’t nobody else there.”

  Luther looked at Ansel, who still appeared to be battling his anger. “Whaddaya reckon we oughta do about it? Looks like that was a big mistake, Bo and Tom ridin’ over to Brinker’s yesterday.” Ansel didn’t reply right away, so Luther continued, “It sounds to me like Tanner don’t know where we are. If they’da stayed here, he wouldn’t have ever had a chance to jump ’em. I bet Tanner is holed up somewhere where he can watch Brinker’s and he saw them ride in.”

  “We need to find Tanner and kill him,” Ansel muttered, as if talking to himself.

  “That’d be good if we knew where he was,” Luther said. “Where do we go to look for him? Right now, he’s most likely on his way to lock Bo and Tom up somewhere—if he ain’t shot ’em by now. Our best bet is to stay right where we are. He don’t know where this place is. Even if he finds out, then he’s got to come up this creek to get us, and that would be his last mistake.”

  Chapter 9

  The night passed without further incident for Will and his prisoners, although Tom complained about Hagen’s almost constant mumbling and groaning. He joined Hagen in complaining when Will made no preparation to feed them breakfast before starting out again. “We’ll eat when the horses need rest,” he told them. He was as good as his promise, stopping after about twenty miles when they came to a healthy-looking stream. Although Hagen didn’t look to be in any shape to give him trouble, Will was still cautious when he pulled him off his horse and made him limp over beside a tree. He dutifully held his wrists out to be cuffed around the tree. “Since you’re wounded, I’ll let you eat first,” Will said. His
remark was met with only a scowl. “Cheer up,” Will went on. “Tonight you’ll have a cot to sleep on and a doctor to take care of that wound.”

  “Is that so?” Hagen came back. “You know, there’s a bullet waitin’ for you somewhere, and it ain’t gonna be too long from now.”

  “Gives me something to look forward to, doesn’t it?” Will answered.

  * * *

  The vertical log walls of Camp Supply came into view a little before four-thirty in the afternoon, according to Will’s railroad pocket watch. As he approached the open gate of the fort, the sharp notes of a bugler pierced the air with the afternoon “Stable Call.” He was not that familiar with the various bugle calls that sounded during the day. But he had learned from his brief experiences at Fort Gibson that this particular call at four-thirty was followed about half an hour later with “Mess Call.” Maybe, he thought, I might have supper with the soldiers. He was counting on the same cooperation and hospitality he had received at Fort Gibson on an earlier occasion. Of course, it would depend on the character of the commanding officer—he might not feel inclined to accommodate the Marshals Service at all. First, he had to get through the gate. With no trouble with the Indians at the present time, the gates of the fort were open to civilian traffic until locked down for the night. The guard posted at the front gate seemed not to challenge anyone coming and going, but when a man rode up trailing four horses behind him—two carrying riders with their hands chained behind their backs, and one with an empty saddle—Will was not surprised when the young soldier stepped in front of Buster and held up his hand.

  “Mister,” Private Waters challenged, “what is your business in the fort?”

  Will pulled his vest aside to reveal his badge. “I’m U.S. Deputy Marshal Will Tanner,” he said. “I’ve got two prisoners that are wanted in Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma for murder and bank robbery. I’m lookin’ to keep ’em in your guardhouse for a time, so I reckon I need to see your commanding officer first.” The private had obviously never been confronted with any situation similar to this, so he had to pause to decide what to do. When he turned to look behind him as if searching for assistance from someone, Will tried to help him. “Most often when I go to other forts, they show me where the commandin’ officer works, and I go to see him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Waters replied, “that’s what you should do.” He turned and pointed toward a row of buildings along the stockade wall, all built of logs. “That one with the hitching rail in front of it is Major Scott’s headquarters.” Then he stood aside to let Will pass.

  “Much obliged,” Will said as he rode past. He led his string of horses up to the rail Waters had pointed out and dismounted. As he was tying Buster’s reins to the rail, a soldier with master sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve stepped outside to question him.

  “Something I can do for you?” Sergeant Patterson asked, looking Will up and down after taking a hard look at his two prisoners.

  “I’m lookin’ to talk to your commandin’ officer. I’m a U.S. Deputy Marshal and I’ve got two prisoners that I need to put in your guardhouse, if I can.”

  “We don’t usually keep civilian prisoners in our guardhouse,” Sergeant Patterson replied. “You need to take ’em to a civilian jail.”

  “Fair enough,” Will said. “Can you direct me to the nearest civilian jail?”

  Patterson shrugged, then scratched his chin while he thought. “Well, there ain’t one anywhere near that I know of.”

  “Well, you see, that’s my problem, and that kinda puts me in a bind. You see, these two gentlemen behind me are part of a six-man gang that have been robbin’ banks and murderin’ folks in Missouri and Kansas, and now they’re down here in Oklahoma. Marshals in all three of those territories are lookin’ for ’em. I’ve gotta go back to a little creek in Texas to keep an eye on the rest of the gang till help gets here.” He paused and waited while the sergeant thought that over.

  “Let me get the major,” he finally decided. “You can tell him your story.”

  “Much obliged,” Will said.

  In a couple of minutes, the sergeant returned, an officer following him. “I’m Major Scott,” the officer said. “What is it you want to do?” He listened patiently while Will identified himself and brought him up to date on everything involving Ansel Beaudry and his gang. When Will had finished, and said that Major Vancil at Fort Gibson had worked with the Marshals Service on a similar operation, Major Scott was willing to help. “We’ll certainly help the U.S. Marshals Service in any way we can,” he volunteered.

  “The U.S. Marshals Service certainly appreciates that,” Will responded. “I can guarantee that, and you won’t have to keep ’em for very long.” He nodded toward Bo Hagen, sitting sullen while listening to the negotiations. “That one’s got a bullet in his leg that maybe your surgeon oughta take a look at, and I’d like to keep these three extra horses I’m leadin’ with you till I come back for the prisoners.”

  Scott smiled. “No problem at all. Anything else?” When Will allowed that there was just one more thing, Scott asked, “What’s that?”

  “Well, I’ve got a little problem I’m hopin’ you can help me with. Like I said, these two fellows are part of a gang that robbed a couple of banks in Missouri and Kansas. I don’t know the total amount of money they stole, but it was enough that each one of ’em was totin’ a sizable share. I’ve got their shares and another share of one of the gang I had to shoot.” Major Scott and Sergeant Patterson exchanged puzzled looks, wondering where this was leading. “That money has to be returned to the banks,” Will continued, “at least what they ain’t spent. I’d sure like to put that money somewhere safe, till we can round up the rest of ’em. Maybe we can count it and write down how much there is.”

  Major Scott interrupted before he went any further. “I think we’ve got a safe that’ll do the job for you. We’ll make an official count of the money and sign it, so you won’t have to worry about it comin’ up short.”

  “I sure appreciate it,” Will said. “That’s a lot better’n me totin’ it all over the territory.” He nodded his thanks to the major and the sergeant. “If I ain’t mistaken, I saw telegraph poles when I rode in, and I didn’t think there was any telegraph at Camp Supply. Is there?”

  “There sure is, all the work of army engineers. Starting the first of the year, the army has been working to connect all our forts by wire. I’m guessing you need to contact your home base.”

  “Yes, sir,” Will replied, “and I was thinkin’ I’d have to ride close to two hundred miles to get to the telegraph. I need to wire my boss to let him know where I am and what’s happenin’. Can I do that here?”

  “Yes, you can,” Scott answered. “We’ll count your money first and lock it up, then I’ll have Sergeant Patterson take you and your prisoners down to the guardhouse, and he’ll tell Sergeant Davis what to do.”

  “Much obliged, Major,” Will said. “I surely do appreciate your cooperation.” He shook Scott’s hand when it was extended to him.

  After the money was counted, the major stood by the door for a few moments, watching Will walking beside the master sergeant and leading the two outlaws on their horses. He let himself imagine how dangerous life could be for a deputy marshal working alone in a land as untamed as Oklahoma Indian Territory. He smiled to himself when he thought about the money and wondered how many deputies would have fallen to the temptation of taking the money for themselves. He didn’t know what the army’s official stance was when it came to matters such as this, but he knew he was glad he could help.

  * * *

  Sergeant Patterson introduced Will to Sergeant Davis, who was the duty sergeant at the guardhouse, and the transfer of his two prisoners was handled in no time at all, with Davis taking responsibility for their welfare, including a visit to the surgeon to remove the bullet from Bo’s leg. The bugle had already sounded for “Mess Call” while they were making arrangements for Will’s extra horses, so Patterson invited Will to have
supper with the troops afterward.

  Things had worked out better than he had expected at Camp Supply, so he thanked Patterson again after he finished his supper and said he hoped he’d be seeing him soon. Then he stepped up into the saddle and rode a short distance outside the fort to make his camp on Wolf Creek. As he watched Buster and his packhorse drink, he thought about the return message he had received from Dan Stone just before he left Sergeant Patterson. Dan instructed him to wait there at Camp Supply for a posse of Kansas deputy marshals to arrive from Wichita. Will considered that, but it would take a posse over a week to ride all the way from Wichita. Ansel Beaudry might not stay at Grassy Creek that long, especially since he’d lost two more of his men. He and the two remaining members of his gang might decide to disappear over in Colorado or farther away. I need to be back at Grassy Creek to keep an eye on them, Will thought, since it’ll be over a week before that posse gets here. His decision made, he bedded down for the night, planning to head back to Grassy Creek at first light.

  * * *

  There seemed to be a cloud of tense uncertainty hanging over the cabin hidden halfway up the ravine formed by Grassy Creek. Elmira took a long look through the kitchen door at the imposing figure of Ansel Beaudry, still seated at the end of the table, drinking coffee. She turned to Darlene when she came in to help clean up the breakfast dishes. “I reckon he’s gonna set there at the table all day,” she whispered. “That deputy marshal has got him worried for sure, and it ain’t makin’ me feel too safe, either. I’m afraid we’re gonna end up with a shoot-out right in our laps, and that ain’t something I’m gonna enjoy. We need the money, but I’d just as soon see him and his two friends move on down the road.”

  “Where is Luther and Cecil?” Darlene asked. “I ain’t seen either one of ’em since breakfast.”

  “Ansel sent ’em down toward the river to look around for any sign of that lawman’s camp,” Elmira said.