Will Tanner Read online

  “A card?” Will asked, thinking Charlie might be exaggerating the threat. “Outlaws write deputies’ names on little cards.”

  “Ask Pride,” Charlie replied. “He’s found some with his name on ’em, and that’s just from the ones that can write.”

  Will turned to Pride for confirmation, and Pride said, “It’s a fact. I’ve found three of those little cards.”

  “Maybe you’d better turn around and go back to Fort Smith,” Will joked. “Charlie and I can go find Max Tarbow.”

  “I might at that,” Pride said, also joking. He got serious then. “I’d say we’re about twenty miles north of Atoka. We might as well follow the railroad down there and find Jim Little Eagle—see if he’s heard anything about Tarbow’s gang around there. Hard to say where that bunch is headin’, but there’s a general store there. Maybe they needed some supplies, and if they did, they mighta stopped there.”

  “Who’s Jim Little Eagle?” Will asked.

  “Indian policeman,” Pride replied. “He used to ride with the Choctaw Lighthorse when the Five Civilized Nations all had their own police. A few years back, the government ordered all the nations to be consolidated and they formed one outfit to head up all the police for the Five Nations. Jim’s a good man. Me and him’s worked together before, and if this bunch we’re lookin’ for has showed up anywhere in his territory, Jim’ll know it.”

  “It’d help a helluva lot if we knew what these men looked like,” Will said.

  “The only descriptions Stone had was for the Tarbow brothers,” Pride said. “Max is a good-sized man with a full beard—ought not be hard to spot—wears an eye patch over his left eye. The story is, he lost his eye in a knife fight. His brother, Billy, ain’t got a hair on his head—his face, either. Supposed to have had some kinda fever when he was a baby that left him bald as an onion. Stone didn’t have any description of the three ridin’ with Max and Billy.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Will allowed.

  “We gotta rest these horses before we go much farther,” Charlie reminded them. “We might as well camp here and go on down to Atoka in the mornin’.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Pride said. So they followed the trail beside the railroad tracks for about a mile, stopping to make camp when they came to a sizable creek.

  * * *

  Dixon Durant glanced up from the back counter when the five men walked in the front door of his general merchandise store in the little settlement named for his father. His first thought was that he was about to be robbed, for they were a villainous-looking group of men. From time to time, his store had been visited by men he was certain were outlaws, but they had never caused him mischief. For the most part, the many outlaws who sought sanctuary in the Nations pushed farther west and north of Durant and the railroad. Now, as he looked at these strangers, he feared his luck had run out. A large man, who would seem to be the leader, walked into the center of the store and stood there, glancing around him as if checking the shelves and their contents. He was a frightening man in appearance, with a full beard of coarse black hair and wearing an eye patch over one eye, akin to a pirate with his crush-crowned hat pulled down low on his forehead. One of the men, a smaller man than the imposing pirate, stepped close to him and said, “I want some molasses. Ask him if he’s got any molasses.”

  The large man stared at Dixon then. “You heard him. You got any molasses?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dixon mumbled, “I’ve got a barrel that’s half-full.”

  “Well, wheel it out here, then,” Max Tarbow said. “We ain’t got all day.”

  Dixon looked quickly to Leon Shipley, his clerk. “Get the gentleman some molasses,” he said. The expression on Leon’s face told Dixon that he was of the same opinion as he in regard to their guests, so he moved at once to maneuver the barrel out from behind the counter. In the meantime, the other men went straight to the shelves on both sides of the room, pulling articles that struck their fancy and placing them on the counters. Most of the items were standard supplies needed to set up a camp for an extended period. When at last they finished, there were items stacked high on the counters. “That it?” the menacing brute asked.

  “Ever’thin’ I can think of,” one of the men answered.

  “Chewin’ tobacco?” Tarbow asked.

  “Yep,” the young one with no hair answered him.

  “Well, I reckon we’re done, then,” Tarbow said, and turned back to Dixon and his clerk. Staring the frightened man in the face, he paused for a long moment before blurting, “You got all this added up?”

  “Ah, no,” Dixon stammered, having feared it wouldn’t be necessary. “Just take me a minute or two.”

  “Well, hurry up, man,” Max Tarbow commanded. “We’ve got ground to cover before dark.” He was smart enough to know that, although they had outrun the Texas Rangers, the Rangers would certainly notify the Marshals Service in Fort Smith. So the sooner he and his men left the railroad behind them and disappeared into the wilds of the western part of the Nations, the better. This was not the first time he had fled to Indian Territory to hide out until things cooled off, so he was heading to a place he knew well.

  “Yes, sir,” Dixon replied and hurriedly began to list the items and their prices, still not completely convinced they would depart peacefully. When he had totaled the purchases, he slid the bill across the counter to Tarbow, wondering what the big man’s reaction would be. To his amazement, Tarbow pulled out a large roll of money and counted out the full amount. They were more than able to pay for their purchases since they still had almost all the money they had robbed from three different banks in Texas. But that was not the primary reason Tarbow willingly paid when it would have been just as easy to simply take what they wanted. He reasoned that there was no sense in having the store owner alert the Indian police and the U.S. Marshals Service of the gang’s presence in the territory. He handed the bill to one of the other men. “Here, Jesse, you’re the one that went to school. You figure what ever’body owes me for their part.” Back to Dixon then, he said, “We could use a little help loadin’ this stuff on them packhorses out front.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dixon exclaimed eagerly, finding it hard to believe he and Leon were still standing. They both willingly pitched in to carry the merchandise outside, where a couple of the men were loading it on three packhorses.

  “How the hell do you expect me to tie that barrel on a packhorse?” a tall, bone-thin man complained when Leon wheeled the molasses barrel out on the porch.

  “You’re the one that was braggin’ about how good you are at loadin’ a packhorse,” the young bald man said, and an argument soon ensued.

  “What are you two squabblin’ about, Whip?” Max Tarbow wanted to know when he came out of the store.

  “Billy’s dang molasses,” Whip Doolin answered. “There ain’t no way to balance that big ol’ barrel with the rest of the load. You need another barrel to balance it.”

  Billy, seeing his older brother hesitate, insisted. “I want that molasses, Max. We ain’t run across none in a coon’s age, and it’s mighty good on a biscuit.”

  Dixon Durant, seeing the possibility of a return of the molasses, was quick to offer a solution for their problem. “We can fix that in a minute,” he offered. “I’ve got some large fruit jars that’ll hold a half gallon. We can pour the molasses in jars and you can balance your packs any way you need to, then.”

  Max gave Dixon a grin and said, “There you go, boys. Now, let’s get to it.” The horses were soon packed and the band of five outlaws pulled out of Durant, heading northwest, on the trail to Tishomingo, much to the satisfaction and great relief of Dixon and Leon.

  * * *

  It was approaching dusk by the time the gang guided their horses down along the banks of the Blue River to a shabby little trading post run by one Lem Stark. Hearing his old hound barking when their horses pulled up out front, Lem walked to the door to see who his visitors might be. “Max Tarbow,” he announced. “
I thought you was dead. I ain’t heared nothin’ ’bout you in about a year. And Billy, I see he’s still with you, but I don’t recall seein’ them other three.”

  Tarbow grinned. “Lem Stark, you old coot, I’m surprised the marshal, or the army, ain’t sent somebody out here to run you outta the territory.” He nodded to the men behind him. “You remember Billy. Say howdy to Jesse Becker, Whip Doolin, and Tom Blanton.” Howdies were exchanged all around. “You better have some of that bootleg whiskey, ’cause I’m in sore need of a good belt. We’ve been ridin’ for quite a few days.” He felt like relaxing now that they had reached Tishomingo. They were far enough over the Deadline that he felt he was now in territory that belonged to the outlaw. He would be happy to welcome any deputy marshal fool enough to venture this far into the Nations.

  “I got all you want,” Lem said. “My boy, Jeb, brought half a wagonload up from Texas two weeks ago. This ain’t moonshine. This is genuine sour mash store-bought. I’m glad you boys showed up to drink some of it up.” He received an enthusiastic response from his visitors. “You fixin’ to set up camp in the Arbuckles again?”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Max replied. “That’s as good a place as any, if I don’t find some wolves or Injuns has took it over since we left. I’m thinkin’ ’bout holin’ up in those mountains for a good spell, till the dust settles a little from the bank jobs we pulled back in Texas. We’ll set up camp here on the river tonight, maybe tomorrow, too, if you ain’t lyin’ about that sour mash whiskey. We ain’t in no hurry.”

  “Well, go ahead and get your camp set up and come on in the house when you’re finished. I’ll have Minnie cook up some supper for ya,” Lem said. “Won’t be no charge for the supper.” He figured it would be a small investment on his part for a chance to part Max and his men from some of that bank money.

  “That’s right sportin’ of you, Lem,” Max said. “We’re much obliged.” He had already figured to get a supper out of Lem, knowing the old man would be speculating on how much he could sell him. “So you still got that little Chickasaw woman cookin’ for you, huh?”

  “Yep, Minnie’s still here,” Lem said. “She ain’t got no place else to go, or she’da most likely already been gone.” He laughed when he said it. “I know what you’re thinkin’, but she don’t do nothin’ but the cookin’. I’m too old to think about anything like that, anyway. These days, I get more pleasure outta a good bowel movement.”

  Max threw his head back with a loud guffaw. “I hear you sayin’ the words, but I know you’re lyin’ now. All right, we’ll ride down there below that stand of willows and set us up a camp. Then we’ll be back to see if Minnie Three Toes can still cook like she used to.”

  * * *

  At about the same time Max Tarbow and his gang arrived at Lem Stark’s store, two U.S. Deputies and a cook pulled up before a modest cabin resting beside Muddy Boggy Creek, north of the Atoka train depot. Choctaw policeman Jim Little Eagle opened the door a crack and peered out. Seeing the imposing figure of Fletcher Pride astride the big dun gelding, he opened the door wide and stepped outside. “Fletcher Pride,” Jim announced heartily. “What brings you to this territory?”

  “Jim,” Pride greeted him. “How you makin’ out? It’s been a while since we worked together.”

  “About a year,” Jim confirmed. “I thought maybe you’d retired.”

  “Can’t afford it,” Pride returned.

  “I see you brought a wagon and a posseman,” Jim said. “You goin’ to pick up some prisoners?”

  “Fact is, I’m lookin’ for some outlaws that might be headed this way, and I’m hopin’ maybe you mighta got wind of ’em.”

  “What’d they do?” Jim asked.

  “They robbed some banks down in Texas and murdered a couple of bank tellers,” Pride said. “Supposed to be a real bad bunch. I figured it was a good chance they mighta come up your way.”

  Jim stroked his chin thoughtfully. “No, I haven’t seen any sign of them, and nobody’s told me about seeing any strangers. You and your men step down and come sit on the porch. I’ll have my wife make some coffee.” His wife, Mary Light Walker, was standing at the door. She turned at once and went to the kitchen.

  “That would sure be to my likin’,” Pride declared, threw his leg over, and stepped down. Will followed suit. Pride made the introductions then. With a wave of his hand in Will’s direction, he said, “This is Will Tanner. He’s a new deputy marshal, and that’s Charlie Tate settin’ on the wagon seat.” Jim walked over to shake hands with Will and Charlie as Pride continued. “Jim and me have been workin’ together for a long time,” he said to Will. “He’s a good man to know in this territory.” Back to Jim then, he said, “It’s gettin’ a little late in the day, so I figured on campin’ here tonight, maybe up the creek a ways.”

  “You know you are always welcome,” Jim Little Eagle said.

  “Good,” Pride continued. “We appreciate it, but tell that little wife of yours we didn’t come for supper. We’ve got plenty of food on that wagon, so we’ll ride on up the creek a piece and unhitch the horses and let ’em water. By that time, that coffee you mentioned oughta be ready.”

  Pride and Will followed the wagon about fifty yards upstream where Charlie picked his spot to camp. After they had taken care of the horses, Charlie wanted to know if he should stay and start preparing their supper. “No, not yet,” Pride said. “If I’ve got it figured right, Jim’s wife is gonna cook up somethin’. She’ll figure it impolite if she don’t. So grab a sack of that flour and some of them coffee beans, and maybe some of that salt pork. We’ll take her a little somethin’ for her trouble.”

  As Pride had predicted, Mary was busy slicing bacon to fry with some beans she had simmering on the stove. She was outwardly pleased by the gifts of food the lawmen brought with them. “Sit down, drink coffee,” she said in her broken English. “Food cook soon.”

  “What’s been goin’ on in your district?” Pride asked Jim as Mary handed him a cup of coffee. “You ain’t seen no new faces at all?”

  “Nope,” Jim replied. “It’s been quiet for a good while. I think maybe if the men you’re looking for came up through Durant, then they most likely struck out farther west, maybe up toward Tishomingo. There’s been two or three gangs of Texas outlaws that have hid out in the Arbuckle Mountains over the last two or three years. Maybe these outlaws you’re looking for are going back there. If I was you, I’d ride down to Tishomingo first. If these outlaws are thinking about the Arbuckles, or going on up into Osage country, they’d most likely go through Tishomingo. I’d bet on it.”

  “You might be right,” Pride said. “Anyway, it’s as good a place as any to start lookin’ for these boys. Is that crooked little sidewinder, Lem Stark, still up there on the Blue River? If they went through there, they most likely stopped there.”

  “He’s still there,” Jim said. “I’ve been meaning to ride down there myself—I’ve had a few reports that he’s been selling whiskey to my people again. By treaty, I can’t arrest him unless I can catch him in the act of selling to an Indian, and he knows it.”

  “Yeah,” Pride said. “The government’s got you tribal police’s hands tied when it comes to dealin’ with white people. But I think we’ll start out for Tishomingo in the mornin’ and have a little talk with ol’ Lem.”

  Will said very little as supper went on, but he was rapidly getting an overall view of the situation in the territory of the Five Civilized Nations when it came to law enforcement. What it amounted to was, the Indian police were empowered to arrest and punish lawbreakers, but only those who were members of the tribe. There was little wonder, he realized, that Indian Territory was a haven for wanted outlaws from Texas and Kansas, especially if they behaved themselves while hiding out here. The Indian policemen would not bother them.

  The federal lawmen said good night to their hosts early in the evening. They thanked Mary for the supper and retired to their camp by the creek. When Jim Little Eagle got up the next m
orning, they were gone, already started on the thirty-five-mile journey to Lem Stark’s little store on the Blue River.

  * * *

  “Well, well,” Lem Stark crowed, “if it ain’t Fletcher Pride himself.” The wily little storekeeper walked out to meet the party pulling up just as the sun was settling into the prairie to the west. “I didn’t expect to see you over this way again.” He paused to take in the wagon driver and the rider on the buckskin horse. “Looks like you came plannin’ on catchin’ a wagonful. Don’t recall ever seein’ them fellers before.” Unconcerned with Charlie, driving the wagon, because he figured him to be no more than a cook, he asked, “Who’s the feller on the buckskin, a posseman?”

  “He’s Deputy Marshal Will Tanner,” Pride answered.

  “Deputy, huh? Who you chasin’?”

  “You tell me,” Pride replied. “They were here for a day or two, I expect.”

  “Who was?” Lem responded. “You’re the first people I’ve seen in over a week.” He knew Pride was bluffing.

  Likewise, Pride knew Lem was lying. On the long day just ended, he had given a lot of thought to the possible places Max Tarbow might go. Since he didn’t follow the railroad straight north toward the Cherokee Nation, it made sense that he headed west toward the Arbuckle Mountains. That mountain range was a favorite place for outlaws to hide out. There were hundreds of springs and caves in those mountains, places hard to find and easy to defend. This could turn out to be a long trip. “How’s business, Lem?” Pride asked. “You sellin’ plenty of whiskey?”

  Lem’s whiskers parted to allow a slow grin. “Why, Deputy Pride, you know it ain’t legal for me to sell alcohol. I wish I had a little for myself. Why, hell, I’d offer you boys a drink if I had some.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Pride said. “Now you can tell me how long Max Tarbow and his gang were here and how long’s it been since they left.”