A Stranger in Town Read online

  “Lemme see,” Brock said, and stepped down to take a look for himself. Seeing that it was, in fact, a U.S. Deputy Marshal’s badge, he automatically looked back over the way Pine had ridden to make sure there was no one behind him. “How the hell did he get on our trail so quick?” They had been in no particular hurry once they had fled the town of Muskogee, thinking there was no danger of anyone in the small settlement coming after them. After all, they figured, they had robbed no one in town. Their business had been with the railroad. When Ben had spotted a lone rider from the top of the hill, approaching the gulch, they had assumed it was an outlaw looking to cut himself in on their successful robbery.

  “We’ll see about that,” Trout had said. “We’ll settle his bacon right quick, and pick up a couple of horses for our trouble.”

  “I reckon we shoulda kept goin’ instead of layin’ around here,” Brock fretted.

  “Maybe,” Trout replied. “But right now it looks like this wasn’t bad luck a-tall.” He paused to chuckle. “Except for him. And it looks like he’s all by his lonesome. If he ain’t, he wouldn’t be leadin’ a packhorse. He’d have a wagon somewhere with his supplies and most likely a posseman or two. He oughta got shot, ridin’ out here in Injun Territory by hisself. This is outlaw territory. A lawman signs his own death warrant when he sticks his nose west of the railroad.”

  “There’s liable to be another’n when this one don’t come home,” Brock said.

  “I expect there might,” Ben allowed. “So I reckon it don’t make no sense to hang around this little creek any longer, even though it’ll most likely be a while before they send another marshal to look for this one. We’ll be long gone up at Buzzard’s Roost by then.”

  “I hope them cabins are still standin’,” Brock said, thinking about the cluster of log cabins built by outlaws on the run from Kansas, Colorado, and Texas over the years. Starting with a single cabin built by Kansas stagecoach bandit Elmer Sartain in a secluded valley near the Cimarron River, the camp had grown to three such rough abodes. At different times, the little outlaw community had been the temporary home to any number of bank robbers, rustlers, murderers, and thieves. To date no lawman had ventured there, probably because it was in the middle of nowhere and hard to find. Buzzard’s Roost was Ben’s name for the hideout, because he could never remember the man’s name who created it.

  “They was in pretty good shape when we was up there two years ago,” Ben said, replying to Brock’s comment. “They most likely still are.” Turning his attention to their present windfall, he said, “Let’s take a look at our new horses.” He paused briefly to pull Pine’s gun belt from under his body before following Brock to retrieve the deputy’s horses.

  “I kinda hate to leave this spot so soon,” Ben remarked when they had packed up and tied their newly gained horses on lead ropes. “It’s a good spot to camp.”

  “I reckon,” Brock replied, more interested in the fine pair of boots he was in the process of pulling off Ed Pine’s feet. “A little bit loose,” he decided when he tried them on, “but they oughta do just fine.” He looked up at Trout and grinned. “I’d let you try ’em, but your feet are so damn big, you’d have to cut the toes off ’em.” Stamping his feet on the ground, testing the fit, he looked down at the shoeless body and said, “Thanks a lot, Marshal—glad you come along.” He wedged his old boots under the ropes on one of the packhorses, then turned back to Trout. “We can use the extra supplies he brought with him, too.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said. “But we’re gonna need a lot more’n what we’ve got to last us awhile, so we’ll pick up what we need on the way to Buzzard’s Roost.” He climbed into the saddle then and followed Brock, who had already started across the creek.

  Behind them, the man lying on the ground in the shadows of the narrow gulch heard Brock’s parting remark. He exhaled painfully and blinked his eyes open, but he could not move his arms or legs without excruciating pain. Pretending to be dead had saved him from another final bullet, but now he wished he had taken that bullet. It was obvious to him that he could not help himself. He had no choice but to lie there feeling the blood pumping out of his body and waiting out a slow, painful death. It was not a pleasant way to die.

  CHAPTER 2

  “You wanted to see me?” Will Tanner asked when he walked into U.S. Marshal Daniel Stone’s office over the jail.

  “Yeah, come on in,” Stone replied. “I’ve got a job for you, if you’re up to it.” He knew Will was still wearing a bandage on his shoulder from his last assignment into Oklahoma Indian Territory, but he was convinced that Will was the best man for the job.

  “I reckon I’m up to it,” Will said.

  “You ain’t heard what it is yet,” Stone said.

  “I’m ready to ride,” Will insisted. “I’ve already sat around Fort Smith long enough. What’s the job?”

  “Ed Pine,” Stone replied. “I’m afraid he’s run into trouble up in the Creek Nation. While you were trackin’ the last one, I got a wire from Muskogee that two men held up the MKT train there and killed a guard in the process. The Creek policeman, Sam Black Crow, was pretty sure it was Ben Trout and Brock Larsen from up in Kansas that did the job, ’cause he had reports that they’d been seen west of Muskogee. They’ve been working as far down as Texas, even though the marshal in Kansas Territory said that was where the two first showed up. Anyway, I sent Ed over there to see what he could find, and there’s been no word from him. That was a week ago, and I ain’t heard nothing from him.”

  Will nodded, understanding Stone’s concern. Muskogee was a two-day ride at the most from Fort Smith. “So you think something must have happened to Ed,” Will said, “and you want me to go see if I can find out?”

  “That’s right,” Stone said, and waited for Will’s answer.

  “Well, it’s a little late in the day now,” Will said. “I’ll start out first thing in the mornin’.”

  “Good,” Stone said. “You can take what’s left of the day to round up a cook and a posseman to go with you.” He made the suggestion knowing full well that his newest deputy marshal had not made any arrangements in that regard. It was supposed to be a standing order that any deputy riding into the Nations was required to take a posseman with him, so he felt it his duty to remind his deputy. He was not surprised at Will’s response.

  “All the same to you,” Will said, “I work better by myself.”

  “I figured you’d say that,” Stone replied. “Ed said the same thing, and now I ain’t heard a word from him. So, doggone it, Will, you be careful. I’ve got paper on those two, and they’re a mean pair. And you know Ed Pine ain’t a greenhorn lawman. He’s been ridin’ for me for over six years, so if they got the jump on Ed, they’re liable to be trouble for anybody.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Will assured him.

  After leaving Stone’s office, Will rode his buckskin gelding back to Vern Tuttle’s stable and pulled his saddle off. Turning Buster loose in the corral, he turned to greet Vern, who was coming from the tack room just then. “I’ll be leavin’ early in the mornin’,” Will said. “So give Buster a double portion of oats. I’ll be takin’ the bay for a packhorse. Since I don’t know how many days I’ll be gone, I reckon he could use some oats, too.”

  “Headin’ out again already, huh?” Vern asked. “Where you off to?”

  “Goin’ over in the Nations,” Will replied, “over toward Muskogee.”

  “You need to get in the storeroom?” Vern asked.

  “Not till in the mornin’. I’ll load up then.” He kept a fair amount of supplies and ammunition on hand in a corner of Vern’s storeroom for a few cents additional on his stable rent. He really had no place to store the supplies at Ruth Bennett’s boardinghouse, anyway, and it was a much more convenient arrangement at the stable where he kept his horses.

  * * *

  It was wash day at Bennett House, which Ruth Bennett had taken to calling her home. She thought it gave the boardinghouse a better image of a le
gitimate lodging establishment, more like a hotel. She and her daughter, Sophie, were out in the backyard hanging sheets on the clothesline when Will came from the stable, so he went around back to let her know that he would be out of town for a number of days.

  “Well, look here,” Sophie called out cheerfully, “somebody’s come to help hang up the wash.”

  Accustomed to her teasing, Will replied, “I reckon you’d do better to get Garth Pearson down here to help you with that. He’ll most likely be needin’ some trainin’ on how to be a good husband.” His playful remark caused him to picture the timid and polite courtroom clerk who had made a proposal of marriage to Sophie. Already possessing the opinion that Sophie was too free-spirited for the mild young man to handle, Will had no doubt that she could train Garth to do pretty much anything she wanted. He didn’t allow his thoughts to linger there, however, for he was still trying to deny the disappointment he had felt when Sophie told him that she had accepted Garth’s proposal. While Sophie laughed in response to his remark, he turned his attention toward her mother. “I just thought I’d tell you that I’m leavin’ town in the mornin’. Ain’t sure how long I’ll be gone, but it’ll be for a spell, I reckon.”

  “Oh . . . all right, Will,” Ruth said pleasantly. “We hope it’s not a dangerous trip you’re taking.” She had allowed herself to become fond of the soft-spoken young deputy marshal, now that Sophie had accepted Garth’s proposal. For a time, she had worried over her daughter’s seeming infatuation for the untamed cougar that resided behind the passive exterior. She had known only too painfully the uncertainty of a relationship with a lawman riding the Indian Territory, and she had feared for a time that Sophie might be making the same mistake.

  “Just business as usual, I reckon,” Will replied. He looked at Sophie. “Like I said, I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I expect I’ll miss the big weddin’.” He attempted to make his tone as casual as he could while thinking he didn’t care to be around to witness the marriage.

  “I hope you aren’t planning to be gone that long,” Sophie responded. “Garth wanted to have the wedding at Christmas.”

  This was news to Will, and not especially good news. He preferred to get it done quickly and get it over with, like removing a bullet before it festered. Christmas was three months away. “Why is that?” he responded.

  “So his parents can be here,” Sophie said. “They live in Little Rock, and Judge Pearson can’t get away before then. So that’s quite a ways off.”

  “That is a long time,” he said, thinking out loud. Then he looked quickly at Ruth, who was watching his reaction. “Well, anyway, I’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’.”

  “Are you going before breakfast?” Ruth asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I expect so,” he answered.

  “Come by the kitchen before you go,” she said. “I expect I’ll be starting breakfast. I’ll probably be able to give you some coffee and a cold biscuit—maybe a fresh biscuit, if it’s not too early.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, that would be mighty nice of you.” He turned and headed for the house.

  Ruth pulled another wet sheet from the basket and shook it out in preparation to hang on the line. She paused to look at Sophie, who was still watching Will as he walked away. Feeling her mother’s intense gaze, Sophie turned to her. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Ruth replied. “Hurry up with those sheets—we’ve only got so many hours of sunshine left.”

  * * *

  Sam Black Crow stepped outside the rough cabin that served as his headquarters in Muskogee, seeking a breath of fresh air. He had built the cabin to be close to the Indian Union Agency that consolidated the police of all five nations under a central command. It was a chilly day, typical late September weather, and he felt the need to empty his lungs of the heavy ovenlike air inside the small log building with its iron stove. He stood on the front step, surveying the peaceful street of the small settlement, enjoying the feel of the cold air as it penetrated his shirtsleeves. There seemed to be no one about on the short street that ended at the train station, as he looked toward Tom Shepherd’s forge and back again toward the general store on the opposite end of town. He quickly shifted his gaze back to the store when something caught his eye on the road beyond. It was a rider, leading a packhorse, but still too far away to identify.

  He remained outside on the step, watching the rider approach. He could determine now that it was a white man, but not one he was familiar with. A drifter? He considered. Maybe . . . and maybe an outlaw on the run, looking for the safety of Indian Territory. The thought irritated Sam. The territory had too damn many fugitives from white man law, outlaws who knew the Indian police had no authority to arrest them. More than likely the stranger would stop in Muskogee no longer than it would take to buy any supplies he might need before disappearing in the wild country in the western part of the territory. Still, it would be Sam’s responsibility to keep an eye on him until he left town, in case the rider was inclined to get his supplies without paying for them. In that case, Sam would be happy to lock him up in the shed behind his office until a deputy marshal arrived to take him into custody.

  Will Tanner sat tall in the saddle, his body moving gently in rhythm with the big buckskin’s motion. He saw the lone figure watching him from the short stoop of the little log building near the middle of the one street and wondered if he might be the Creek policeman. If not, at least he could tell Will how to find Sam Black Crow, so he guided Buster straight toward him. A few minutes later he rode up to the cabin and pulled Buster to a stop. “Afternoon,” Will said. “I’m lookin’ for Sam Black Crow. Can you tell me where I can find him?”

  Sam studied the stranger intensely before answering. “Right here. I’m Sam Black Crow. What can I do for you?”

  “My name’s Will Tanner. I’m a deputy marshal, and I’m looking for Ed Pine. He came out here after you sent the telegram about the train robbery.”

  “Right,” Sam said, and continued to study the deputy. There was a grim look of confidence in the solemn gaze that seemed to be measuring him. “I’ve heard of you,” Sam said. “You’re the man who settled with Max Tarbow and Eli Stark.”

  Unaware that he had already earned a reputation in the Nations, Will simply repeated his reason for being there. “Have you seen Ed Pine?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. He came through here, but I was up at Tahlequah at the time. Cherokee policeman sent me a wire, said he needed some help, so I reckon I just missed Ed. Tom Shepherd told him which way those two train robbers had run, and Ed went after them. I’m sorry I can’t tell you much more than that.” He pointed toward the road between the general store and the stables. “Tom said they set out on the road to Okmulkee, and Ed went after them. That don’t give you much to go on.” He paused for a few moments while Will was obviously thinking it over. “You want me to go along with you to look for Ed?”

  Will considered that for a brief moment before declining. “No, I reckon not. You’ve got your own responsibilities here in Muskogee.”

  Sam shrugged. “Ain’t nothing I need to stay close for.”

  “I ’preciate it,” Will said, “but I reckon I’ll be movin’ on right away.” He didn’t confess that he much preferred to work alone, with no neck to worry about but his own.

  “Suit yourself,” Sam said.

  “Good to know I can count on you if I need you,” Will said in parting, and pulled Buster’s head around toward the blacksmith’s shop. “I’ll check with Tom Shepherd on my way outta town.”

  “Good luck,” Sam said. “Hope you catch up with Ed. He’s a good man. I’ve worked with him on more than one job.” He stepped back up on the front step and paused there to watch Will as he headed toward the blacksmith shop. He wasn’t sure what he thought about Dan Stone’s newest deputy. He was surprised when he turned down his offer to accompany him. Maybe what Sam had heard about Will Tanner was true. Maybe he was a lone hunter.

  There wasn’t much more that Tom Shepher
d could tell him, except what he had told Ed Pine about the new shoes on two of the horses. “Much obliged,” Will had told him, and started out, just as Ed Pine had, on the road to Okmulkee, with nothing to go on but a few tracks now several days old. To further hamper him, it was getting along late in the afternoon, and daylight would soon be running out. He would have to think about finding a spot to camp pretty soon. With that thought in mind, he paused to let Buster and his packhorse drink when he came to a small stream. It occurred to him that it was the first water he had come to all the way from Muskogee, and it might be all there was for a good many more miles. While he was deciding whether or not to take advantage of it and make camp, he noticed a few hoofprints coming toward the stream from the opposite direction. It was enough to cause him to dismount to take a look. After closer examination, it was plain to him that someone had left the road here and ridden up the stream. Whether or not it had been the men he hoped to find, he could not say. For the tracks were now too old to determine, even if they were the sharp prints from the newly shod horses the blacksmith had told him about. But at least they might lead him to a known camping spot. Might as well take a look, he thought. I’ve gotta camp somewhere pretty soon, and I just might get lucky. He climbed back into the saddle and turned Buster upstream.

  After following the stream for a hundred yards or so, he could see what appeared to be a grove of oak trees some distance ahead. They were conspicuous in that they were the only trees he could see over a wide expanse of prairie. As he expected, there was a small clearing in the center of the trees, and the remains of a couple of fires. Whoever left the tracks had evidently made camp there. The question in his mind was, who was he following? He could not be sure the tracks found were left by the train robbers, Ed Pine, or someone else entirely. It was the only trail he had to follow, so he decided to stick with it, thinking it a better possibility than returning to the wagon road to Okmulkee and assuming the outlaws were going there. He relieved his horses of their saddles and packs and let them drink. He didn’t bother to hobble them, knowing that Buster would not wander far from him, and the bay packhorse would not stray far from Buster. There was plenty of wood for his fire, so he built it in the ashes of the fires before his.