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  * * *

  Will was up early the next morning, sitting at the kitchen table with Miss Jean and Sally Evening Star, drinking coffee and eating a biscuit with a thick slice of sowbelly inside it. He found it amazing that the two women still got up in the morning before everybody else, just as they had for so many years on the J-Bar-J in Texas. He had planned to get started before breakfast, but the two women insisted on feeding him before he set out to recover his horse. Buster was already saddled, and Will consented to linger over his coffee cup only until the sun’s first rays crept across the creek and gave him enough light to look for signs. When it was time, he said his good-byes to Miss Jean and Sally and started his search, beginning at the back door of the barn.

  He had to rely a great deal on guesswork, for there was no real trail that could be distinguished from the many prints around the barn. Trying to think as the horse thief might have, he picked the most likely path to strike the Fort Smith road that would provide the best chance of escaping without being seen from the house. He had decided to assume the thief’s destination was Fort Smith, thinking that if he came up empty, he’d search in the opposite direction. His hunch paid off. He found what he was looking for on the bank of the creek a hundred yards of so from the house. Several prints of the X-marked work shoe, along with a pattern of hoofprints told him that this was where he saddled the horse he had stolen. From that point, he followed a single trail that crossed over the creek and continued on in a straight line to the Fort Smith road.

  He realized his chances of catching his man were slim, but he at least felt confident that he knew where the man was heading. The thief might have an opportunity to get some new clothes, maybe buy some new boots, but if that gray horse was somewhere in Fort Smith, Will was going to find him. He turned Buster’s head toward Fort Smith and nudged him into a gentle lope, a gait the gelding could sustain for a long time.

  * * *

  It was not yet noon when Will rode into the east end of Fort Smith. As he rode along the main street, he looked for the gray horse at the hitching posts he passed. He had no way of knowing if the man he pursued had any money or not, but he paid special attention to the saloons and general stores as he rode by. He spotted several gray horses, but not the distinctive flea-bitten gray he sought. But Fort Smith was a big town, so he began a search of the cross streets, starting with Garrison Avenue, where he stopped to check the stable at the hotel. There was no sign of the horse, so he continued on, riding along streets outside the business sections of town before heading to Vern Tuttle’s stables, where he kept a couple of extra horses. It was getting along into the afternoon and Buster had done a day’s work already, so Will decided to give the big buckskin time to rest. Vern was forking hay into the stalls, even though it was close to the time when he left the barn to get his supper at the Morning Glory. Vern always ate his supper early. He said he wanted to get there while the biscuits were fresh out of the oven.

  “Howdy, Will,” Vern greeted him. “You didn’t stay long at Ward’s Corner. I thought you said you’d be gone over that way for two or three days.”

  Will explained the reason he was back so soon and asked Vern if he had seen a horse matching the gray in town the day before. “No, I ain’t,” Vern answered. “Could be he just rode right on through, and I ain’t been no place but right here and the Mornin’ Glory.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Could be he mighta holed up at that dump Jake Cochran runs down near the ferry slips. He wouldn’t be the first horse thief that holed up there.”

  “Could be,” Will replied. “I was thinkin’ about ridin’ down there after I got a fresh horse. I don’t know why I didn’t go see Jake when I first got here.” He pulled the saddle off Buster and turned him out in the corral. “Wouldn’t hurt to give him a ration of oats,” he said. “I’ll throw my saddle on the bay.” It was easy to say he should have checked Jake’s saloon first, but he had not assumed the man he was looking for was heading for anyplace in particular in Fort Smith. If he had been incarcerated at the state prison, he might not have even known that Jake’s was a favorite hangout for many men of questionable backgrounds. Will had frankly counted on spotting the gray horse at one of the first saloons he came to, instead of spending a day searching every little street and lane in Fort Smith. He had purposely decided not to report in to the U.S. Marshal’s office until he found his horse, in case Dan Stone had a job for him that couldn’t wait. Telling Vern he’d most likely be back before he closed the stables that night, Will rode off toward the river.

  * * *

  Well, like I said, Will thought, I shoulda rode straight down here to begin with. He pulled the bay gelding up short and sat for few minutes to look at the three horses standing in the small corral behind a weathered building near the river’s edge. “I believe I know you,” he muttered to himself as he looked hard at the flea-bitten gray horse that plodded slowly over to the side of the corral. Probably hungry, he thought, and there sure ain’t nothing to graze on in that mud hole they put you in. I’ll be back to get you. In his mind, there was one thing worse than a horse thief, and that was a horse thief that didn’t take proper care of his horse.

  He didn’t see anyone around the back of the two-story building that housed the saloon with some rental rooms upstairs. So he dismounted and walked into a small shack that he figured might be used as a tack room. Inside, he found that he had guessed right, for there were three saddles thrown against one wall of the shack. He struck a match in order to examine the saddles in the darkness of the small enclosure. Jim Smithwick’s saddle was easily picked out, since it was the only one of the three that looked to be in almost-new condition and was the only one with Stagg rigging around the saddle horn. To be certain, Will looked on the left stirrup leather to find the initials J.S. There wasn’t much doubt after that. He picked up the saddle and went back outside to the corral, where he stood for a moment to make sure he was still alone. The lack of loud noise from inside the saloon told him that it wasn’t a typical day at Jake’s. Since there was little chance he would be interrupted, unless someone had to use the outhouse, which was next to the corner of the corral, he proceeded to lead the gray out and saddle it. When that was done, he led his two horses around to the front of the saloon to find the horse thief.

  Stepping quietly inside the door, his rifle in hand, he wasn’t noticed right away by the few patrons in the saloon. So he took the opportunity to look the room over, glancing at Jake Cochran at the far end of the bar talking to an older man drinking beer. Will shifted his gaze toward the row of tables against the side wall where four men sat playing cards. Seated at a table next to them, one man was alone, watching the game. Will’s gaze settled upon the lone man. He wore a battered hat and an ill-fitting jacket, like one that might have been provided for him by someone who wasn’t overly concerned about the fit. Like one that might have been given to him when he was released from prison, Will thought. Confident that he had found his horse thief, he pushed on through the door.

  Just then aware someone had walked in, Jake looked around. “Will Tanner,” he grumbled, irritated by the sight of the lawman. “Somethin’ I can do for you?”

  “Howdy, Jake,” Will returned. “How’s business?” He kept an eye on the lone man at the second table, who was now showing signs of discomfort. He had evidently picked up on Jake’s unfriendly reception to Will and gotten the feeling that he might be a lawman.

  “Pretty good, as long as not too many lawmen start hangin’ around,” Jake replied. “You don’t usually come to my place to get a drink. You lookin’ for somebody?”

  Will smiled at Jake’s attempt to alert his customers that Will was a deputy marshal, in case one or more of them were on the run. None of the four men playing cards paid much attention to the tall stranger, but the lone man shifted nervously in his chair, as if to get a position to more easily get to the pistol strapped on his hip. Will walked directly up to face him. “I reckon I don’t have to waste time tellin’ you how fast you’
d be dead if you reached for that gun. Jammed up against the arm of that chair like that, it’d be pretty hard to draw it,” he said. “You’d most likely shoot yourself in the leg, tryin’ to clear the holster. So why don’t you just place your hands on the table in front of you, and we’ll make this as easy as possible.”

  It was obvious to the man that Will was right. He had no chance of drawing the weapon before Will shot him, so he had no choice but to comply. “Whaddaya botherin’ me for?” he complained. “I ain’t done nothin’. I just rode into town this mornin’.”

  “Well, we’ve got a little problem there,” Will said. “You see, you rode in on a stolen horse. Stole him off a farm in Ward’s Corner, and we don’t suffer horse thieves lightly in this district, especially when the horse you stole happens to be mine.” Will glanced briefly at the four men at the next table to make sure there was no interference from that quarter. The card game had come to a stop, but there was no reaction from the players beyond wide-eyed surprise. Another quick glance told him that a scowling Jake Cochran had better sense than to give the well-known deputy any trouble. “Now, I want you to get up outta that chair, but keep your hands on the table,” Will said. The man stood up as directed and stood hunched over with both hands still planted flat on the table. Will stepped behind him to remove the pistol from his holster.

  It was at this moment, when the weapon was not clear of his holster, that the outlaw decided to make his move. He had just been released from prison after serving time for cattle rustling. If they sent him back for stealing a horse, he might be there for life. But there was also a little matter of a dead deputy lying in a pine thicket, and his dead horse left in the middle of the road. That was more likely a rope around his neck. And just when he was so close to slipping across the river into Indian Territory. He had to make an attempt to escape. Feeling his pistol slipping up out of his holster, he suddenly whirled around in a move to strike the deputy in the head. Wary of such a desperate attempt, Will blocked the blow with one arm and drove his fist into the side of the man’s head, causing him to collapse across the table. Before he could recover, Will pulled the reluctant pistol from the man’s holster, cocked it, and pointed it at the man’s face. “Are you done?” he asked.

  His head still reeling from the powerful right hand to the side of his head, the outlaw was not inclined to try again. Convinced he might fair even worse if he resisted further, he went peacefully when Will motioned him toward the door. “He owes me money!” Jake exclaimed. “Who’s gonna pay the bill he ran up?”

  “I reckon that’ll be on the house,” Will answered. “Maybe you can send the bill to the state prison in Little Rock.” Outside, his prisoner was surprised to find the horse he had stolen saddled and waiting at the hitching rail. Seeing the gray ready to ride, the outlaw saw one more opportunity to possibly escape if he was quick enough to jump into the saddle and gallop. The deputy showed no indication that he was in a hurry to climb on his horse. So he went directly to the gray and reached up to grab the saddle horn. “Nope,” Will said, and motioned him away from the horse. “You’re gonna walk over to the courthouse.” He then motioned for him to start walking up the road from the docks while he stepped up into the saddle. The few folks who happened to be out on the road leading up from the river paused to gawk at the strange sight as a deputy riding a bay and leading a gray herded a man on foot toward the courthouse.

  When they arrived at the jail under the courthouse, they met Sid Randolph coming out on his way to supper. “Well, I’ll be—” Sid started. “Whatcha got there, Will?”

  “We got us a horse thief,” Will replied. He dismounted, his Winchester still trained on his prisoner. “What’s your name?” he asked the sullen ex-convict.

  His prisoner didn’t answer until prodded in the back with Will’s rifle. “John Smith,” he grunted.

  Will shook his head. “I doubt that, but I reckon we’ll find out after we check with the folks over in Little Rock. I thought he might enjoy a little stay in your hotel while we do. He’s wearin’ some work shoes with X’s on the heels, so we’ll see if they’re missin’ anybody.”

  “I’ll be glad to have him as a guest,” Sid replied. “I’ll have one of my guards escort him in.” He walked back to the door and called out, “Roy!” In a couple of minutes, a guard showed up to take charge of the prisoner.

  “I served my time,” the prisoner protested. “I got my release. I didn’t bust outta prison.”

  “And stole a horse first thing,” Will said, shaking his head in sarcastic amazement. “You musta liked it back there in Little Rock.”

  It was a moment of panic for Mike Lynch. He realized finally that he was going to go back to prison, no matter what, and they were bound to find out how he came by the money in his pocket. And that was going to lead to a hanging for murder. “You’re makin’ a big mistake, mister,” he pleaded with Will. “I never stole no horse. I bought that horse from a feller between here and Ward’s Corner.”

  “Is that a fact?” Will replied. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Just show me your bill of sale and that’ll settle this whole misunderstanding.”

  “I ain’t got no bill of sale,” Lynch said. “I just gave him the money and he gave me the horse.”

  “What was his name?” Will asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Lynch said, getting more and more frantic by the moment, knowing that his father was waiting for him in Indian Territory. He was so close to slipping over the river. If only he hadn’t decided he’d like one last drink of whiskey, he would have already been in Oklahoma. “I didn’t ask him his name. I was on foot. I needed a horse, and he needed to sell one.”

  “Well, now, there you go,” Will said, well aware that every word out of the man’s mouth was a lie. “You shoulda got a bill of sale from him. But Sid, here, can fix you up with a place to stay till we can run this fellow down.” He nodded to the guard. “Take him on in, Roy.”

  Lynch realized his goose was cooked. He knew that if he went inside that jail, he was never coming out again. Roy took him by the arm and started to escort him to the door, but Lynch resisted. When Lynch balked, Sid stepped forward to lend a hand. Seeing this as his only chance, Lynch pretended to stumble and lose his balance. Sid, without thinking, stooped to help him. When he did, Lynch was able to jerk the gun out of Sid’s holster. Armed now, Lynch immediately spun around to level the pistol at Will. With a cartridge already chambered in his Winchester, Will cut him down before he had time to cock the pistol.

  “My Lord, my Lord . . .” Roy repeated over and over, visibly shaken by what had just happened. They were the only words uttered for a moment or two as the three lawmen stared in stunned disbelief at the dying man writhing in pain at their feet.

  Will was as shocked as Sid and Roy. He had misjudged the desperation of the man, never thinking he would make such a foolish move. But when Lynch leveled the pistol at him, he had reacted without conscious thought. Before Will could decide whether to send for Doc Peters or the coroner, Lynch relaxed in death. “Damn,” Will muttered softly, still finding it difficult to believe his arrest had resulted in killing the culprit. “I reckon I’ll take him to Ed Kittridge.” With a hand from Sid Randolph, he lifted Lynch’s body up and laid it across the saddle on the gray. Then he led it away from the jail while the two guards, as well as a man standing beside a wagon across the street, stared after him, still amazed by what had just happened.

  * * *

  Kittridge was eating his supper in the kitchen behind his office, but interrupted it to accept the body. Will had already gone through Lynch’s pockets and was surprised to find $30. A welcome find, he thought, because as a deputy marshal, it was his responsibility to pay for burying any outlaw he killed. Out in the territory, he would have simply dug a hole and dumped the body in it. In town, however, he would have to pay for the burial. “A nameless outlaw,” he said to Kittridge, “so there ain’t gonna be no funeral. Just give me the cheapest box you can nail together.” When
he had settled up with Kittridge, Will took his horses to the stable.

  Knowing he was going to have to report his actions to Dan Stone, he came back to the courthouse to look for the marshal. He was surprised that Dan had not come down to the jail level when he heard the shot from his rifle. Several people upstairs over the jail had come out to gawk at the dead man, but Dan Stone was not one of them. When Will went to his office, he found that Dan had already gone home. “I reckon I’ll report in the mornin’,” Will thought, and turned his steps toward the Morning Glory Saloon. He knew he could just as well go home to the boardinghouse, but he had told Ruth that he would be gone for a couple of days. So they weren’t expecting him for supper. Besides, he felt like he might like a drink or two after the happenings of the day just ended.

  * * *

  “Howdy, Will,” Gus Johnson greeted him when he walked in the Morning Glory.

  “Gus,” Will returned.

  “Whaddle you have?” Gus asked. “Shot of whiskey or something to eat?”

  “I reckon I’ll have both,” Will replied. “What’s Mammy cookin’ tonight?”

  “Soup beans and pork chops,” Gus said, “and you picked a good night to eat here. Mammy made some corn bread, too. Want her to fix you a plate?”

  “Yes, sir,” Will answered. “That suits my taste just right.”

  He stood at the bar and made small talk with Gus for a while until the scrawny little gray-haired woman brought him a plate of food. As usual, it was piled high when she was told it was for Will. And as usual, Lucy Tyler came over to join him when he sat down at a table. “You want coffee?” Mammy asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will answered. Before long, Gus came over, pulled a chair out, and sat down with them, causing Will to comment, “Looks like it’s a slow night.”