Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal Read online

Once the man took off his shirt, John Henry directed that they put the two rifles on the shirt.

  “Tie it up into a neat bundle for me,” John Henry ordered, and the men did as he directed.

  “Now, get out of here.”

  The two men started toward the horses they had tied to a nearby tree.

  “Leave the horses. You’re walking.”

  “The hell you say,” one of the two men said angrily. “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere. There ain’t no way I’m goin’ to leave my horse.”

  “You can walk out of here alive, or stay here dead, I don’t care which. But you’re not going to ride out of here.”

  “I think the son of a bitch means it, Crader. You seen what he done to McGuire last night.”

  “Good thinking, Mr. Appleby,” John Henry said.

  “What? How the hell do you know my name?”

  “A medicine man told me.”

  “You’re lyin’.”

  “Indians never lie. I thought you knew that,” John Henry said with a smile.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Crader said.

  John Henry watched the two men until they were out of sight. After that, he operated the lever, jacking all the shells out of the rifles, then slammed the rifle barrels against rocks until they were bent so badly that they could never be fired again. That done, he untied the two horses, slapped them on the rump, and sent them running.

  When he returned, Straight Arrow was sitting perfectly still, exactly as he had left him. He untied the rope from the tree, then had Straight Arrow get down so he could remove the handcuffs and recuff his hands in front so he could ride.

  “What happened to them?” Straight Arrow asked. “Did you kill them?”

  “They decided to go back to town,” John Henry replied.

  When the two men rode into Tahlequah late that afternoon the entire town was turned out to meet them.

  “Did they give you much of a fight, John Henry?” someone called.

  “Hey, Straight Arrow, I’m glad they caught you, you murdering son of a bitch!”

  Straight Arrow gave no reaction to the taunts from those who had gathered alongside the street. Instead, he stared ahead, glumly, and when they reached the jail, Captain LeFlores was standing there on the porch to meet them.

  “Hello, Straight Arrow, welcome to Tahlequah,” Captain LeFlores said. “Or in your case, I suppose I should say welcome home.”

  “You go to hell, LeFlores,” Straight Arrow snarled.

  “Now, is that any way to act toward the man who is going to be your host for a while? Or for at least until we hang you.”

  “I hope you got somethin’ to eat in there,” Straight Arrow said. “This son of a bitch ain’t give me nothin’ to eat all day long.” Straight Arrow started toward the front door of the jail house, but Captain LeFlores reached out his hand to stop him.

  “Uh-uh, Straight Arrow, you won’t be goin’ in there,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Boyette, take him over to the courtyard and put him in the holding cell,” Captain LeFores said.

  “The holding cell? What do you mean the holding cell?” Straight Arrow asked, in dread. “Don’t I get a trial? You can’t hang me without a trial.”

  “You’ve already had your trial,” Captain LeFlores said. “You were tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hanged, before you escaped. There’s no need to try you all over again.”

  Chapter Eight

  The town of Emporia, Kansas, which lay in the forks of the Cottonwood and Neosho rivers was almost blanketed in the swirling dust kicked up by the heavy traffic of countless riders and wagons. The hitching rails all along the main street were full, and the livery stables and horse lots were jammed with saddled horses. Wagons and buckboards and carts were parked everywhere there was space, and cowhands and frontiersmen mingled with the townspeople and the handful of soldiers from Fort Riley.

  Judge Levi Parsons was there meeting with Robert Stevens, John Scullin, and Otis Gunn. Parsons was president of the newly constituted KATY Railroad Line. Stevens was his general manager, Scullin his superintendent of track, and Gunn his construction manager. There were others there as well, men Parsons had invited who might be potential investors.

  Stevens gave the first report.

  “Since I have taken over as general manager, good progress has been made. The month before I assumed the position, only five miles of track were laid. Now, we have regularly scheduled freight and passenger service running from Emporia to Junction City.”

  “Thank you, Bob, you’ve done a very good job,” Parsons said. “But as you, Mr. Scullin, and Mr. Gunn already know, this is only the start.”

  Parsons addressed the investors he had invited.

  “Gentlemen, after much negotiation, the Cherokee have granted permission for a railroad to be built through their land. I propose to push the KATY down through Indian Territory and all the way through Texas to the Mexican border. This will open Kansas City, St. Louis, and Chicago to the lucrative cattle shipping market.”

  “Judge Parsons, I have been told that only one railroad can proceed through The Nations,” one of the prospective investors said.

  “That is true,” Parson replied. “And I intend for the KATY to be that railroad.”

  “But what about the Border Tier Line? Isn’t it also building south, to the Kansas border?”

  “It is.”

  “Then how is it to be resolved as to which railroad will have the right to go through Indian Territory?”

  “The right of passage through Indian Territory, gentlemen, will be awarded to the railroad which first reaches the border between Kansas and the Indian Territory.”

  “Then what you are saying is, we are in a race.”

  “That is exactly what I’m saying,” Judge Parsons replied. “And I’ll say it again: it is a race that I intend for the KATY to win.”

  Within a matter of days of the KATY Railroad meeting in Emporia, James Joy was having a meeting of the Border Tier Line in Kansas City. James Joy owned several railroads, including the Border Tier Railroad, the line that he was pushing from Kansas City down to the Kansas and Indian Territory border.

  “There is no way I intend to let that upstart KATY Line beat us. Parsons has grandiose schemes of eventually connecting to the transcontinental railroad to give him connections to the west coast.

  “We are already to the West Coast.

  “Parsons wants to build through to Chicago. We are already there, and with our railroad that goes through Chicago, we have connections to New York and Philadelphia as well.

  “By opening our railroad through Indian Territory, and through Texas to Mexico, we will control the most important railroads in the world! And when that time comes, using only the Joy Lines, one will be able to traverse this nation from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from Canada to Mexico. And much of that travel will be on one of my railroads.

  “And here is the thing, gentlemen. By necessity, Judge Parsons will be working on a shoestring. I, on the other hand, intend to put as much money as is necessary to make certain that our railroad is the first one to the Indian Territory border.”

  “Mr. Joy, why don’t you just buy the KATY out? That way, there will be no need for a race to the border. You will have the only railroad,” one of the men asked.

  “Why should I waste the money to buy him out?” Joy asked. “All we have to do is beat him to the border, and his railroad will be worthless. If I really wanted it then, I could pick it up for pennies on the dollar. No, sir, gentlemen, as I said, I intend to beat him to the border.”

  “Here, here!” one of the others in the room shouted, and the others applauded.

  Joy reached for his glass and held it up. “Gentlemen, I give you the Joy Lines, from coast to coast, and from Canada to New Mexico!”

  The others, enthusiastically, joined the toast.

  Two hundred miles south of Emporia, in the Indian Territory town of Sequoyah, the Two H
ills Mercantile store was not yet open for business, but Mary Two Hills was folding blankets and putting them on the table. Colorful blankets were always a good product in Sequoyah, for the Indians and for the whites. Mary, and her husband, Harold, owned the Two Hills Mercantile, which was the biggest, and most successful store in town.

  Harold was posting bills on the bulletin board, not only advertising his own goods and wares, but, because everyone came into the mercantile, others advertised with him.

  FOR SALE

  Fine Pony

  For riding or for pulling a cart

  See Mr. Crabtree

  Miss Imogene Parks

  Announces she will give

  Piano Lessons

  To qualified students

  WANTED

  For Robbery and Murder

  1000 Dollars

  For

  Abe and Darrell Karnes

  “Do you know what we should get, Harold?” Mary asked.

  Harold was just posting a flyer advertising a new supply of wallpaper.

  “What should we get?”

  “I think we should get in a supply of fine lace.”

  “Lace? Why such foolishness? Lace, indeed.”

  “I’ve had two or three ladies enquire. I think it would be a good—” Mary halted in mid-sentence when she looked up and saw two men coming in.

  “The store isn’t open yet,” Mary said.

  “You don’t say,” one of the men replied.

  “Here,” Harold said. “How did you get in here? I thought I had the front door locked.”

  “Show him, Darrell,” one of the men said.

  The other man held up a little piece of metal and smiled at him.

  “Darrell picked the lock. He’s just real good at that. Ain’t that right, Darrell?”

  “That’s right, Abe.”

  Harold gasped. He had just posted their flyer on his bulletin board. “Darrell and Abe? You are the Karnes brothers!”

  “That we are. And now that you know who we are, well, I reckon we won’t be havin’ any trouble with you, when we tell you to empty your cash box.”

  “You’ve got no right to come in here like this!” Harold said.

  “Oh, yeah, this gives us the right,” Abe said, holding up his pistol. “Now empty out that cash box.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “You want to see your woman killed?” Abe pointed his pistol at Mary.

  “No, no, don’t hurt her. I’ll give you the money,” Harold said. He pulled a box from under the counter and opened it, then handed the money over.

  “What is this?” Abe said. “There’s not even fifty dollars here. Are you telling me this is all the money you have? A big store like this?”

  “I make a bank deposit every night,” Harold said. “This is just the money we’ll need for making change today.”

  “You son of a bitch! You are holding out on me!” Abe shouted. “I told you what would happen!”

  Abe shot Mary, and she went down without a sound.

  “Mary!” Harold cried. With a loud shout of anger, Harold grabbed an axe handle and started toward Abe. He raised the handle, but that was as far as he got before Darrell shot him.

  “That son of a bitch was comin’ after me with an axe handle!” Abe said.

  “Come on, Abe, let’s get out of here while we can.”

  “He was lying. I know there is more money here,” Abe said. “Let’s look around.”

  “No, we don’t have time! Come on, let’s go! Someone for sure has heard the shooting.”

  Abe saw a jar filled with horehound candy, and he picked it up.

  “You can’t ride with that jar. Just grab a handful and stick ’em in your pocket,” Darrell said.

  Abe grabbed several hands full and stuffed the candy down into both his pockets, then, with a laugh, he threw the jar down so that it broke, causing shards of glass and pieces of candy to spread all over the floor. Then, putting a piece of candy in his mouth, he followed his brother out the front door.

  After the two men left, Harold managed to get to his feet for just a moment. Reaching toward the bulletin board he tore off the wanted flyer for the Karnes brothers, then he fell back. He was able to pull himself across the floor until he could just reach out and touch Mary. He grabbed her hand.

  “Mary,” he gasped.

  “This is just how we found them, John Henry,” Lee Carson said. “They was layin’ together like this, Harold holdin’ on to Mary’s hand. They must’a died that way.”

  “And Harold was holding on to this piece of paper,” Eddie Webb said. He showed the paper to John Henry. “I figure he must’ve been just about to put it up when whoever done this came in.”

  John Henry looked at the piece of paper and saw that the corners were torn off. Looking at the bulletin board he saw a small, triangular piece of paper with an irregular tear. Removing the triangle, he held it up to the torn corner of the wanted flyer.

  “No,” John Henry said. “He wasn’t about to put it up, it was already up. He tore it off to tell us who the murderers were.”

  “You think it was the Karnes brothers?” Lee Carson asked.

  “I would bet my life on it.”

  “They are white,” Eddie Webb said. “That means we are going to have to go over to Tahlequah to get the U.S. Marshal.”

  “You do that,” John Henry said. “In the meantime, I’m going after them.”

  “You can’t do that, John Henry. You are the chief sheriff of the Cherokee Nation. You can only deal with Indians.”

  “I’m going after them,” John Henry said again.

  When John Henry stepped back outside the store, he saw something on the ground right in front of the step.

  “Well, you didn’t just break the jar, did you?” John Henry asked under his breath. “You took some with you.”

  John Henry walked slowly up and down the road as the other citizens of the town, now aware of the double homicide, were going toward the Two Hill Mercantile store to satisfy their morbid curiosity.

  John Henry was at the north end of the town when he saw what he was looking for. There, lying in the dirt, was a piece of horehound candy. He hurried back to his horse, then rode north, out of town.

  Ten minutes later John Henry found another piece of candy about a mile from the town. Finding this piece was very significant because this far out of town there were now only two sets of hoofprints to follow, and the little piece of candy connected them to the shooting in town.

  John dismounted and studied the hoofprints. There was a nick in the shoe of the right foreleg of one of the two animals, and that nick left a small “V” shape in the side of the shoe. Now he would be able to follow them with, or without, finding any more pieces of the candy. But the candy had done its job.

  “I don’t know which one of you boys has a sweet tooth,” he said. “But I’m glad you do.”

  Chapter Nine

  Darrell Karnes lay on top of a flat rock looking back in the direction from which they had just come. He saw the rider doggedly following the trail.

  “Is he still there?” Abe asked.

  “Yeah,” Darrell growled. He climbed back down from the rock and ran his hand across the stubble on his unshaven cheek. “He’s still there.”

  “Who is that fella that’s trailin’ us?” Darrell asked.

  “I don’t have any idea. But he’s trackin’ us like a damn Injun. Maybe he’s an Injun policeman.”

  “What the hell is he chasin’ us for? The Injun police don’t have any authority over a white man.”

  “You want to tell him that?” Abe asked.

  “No, I reckon not.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t plan to say nothin’ to him about it neither,” Abe said. He pointed back down the trail. “But I’ll say this. He is one trackin’ son of a bitch. We’ve done tried ever’ trick there is, from followin’ the crick beds, to doublin’ back on him, and there ain’t none of it worked. He’s still back there, trailin�
� us as easy as if there was road signs put out tellin’ him which way we was a’goin’.”

  “What can he do to us when he gets here? Like I said, he ain’t got no authority over us.”

  “Whether he’s got ’ny authority over us or not, it don’t matter,” Abe said. “He’s been stickin’ to us like a tick on a dog’s ass, and I’m gettin’ tired of it.”

  “So, what are we goin’ to do about the son of a bitch? He’s already showed us that we sure as hell can’t shake him off,” Darrell growled.

  Abe looked back toward the rider. “This trail takes a pass through Coody’s Bluff just up ahead. S’pose we ride through it, then double back, and one of us will get on either side of the pass. Then, when he starts through, we’ll have him in a cross fire.”

  “Yeah,” Darrell said. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  “We better get a move on,” Abe said. “We need enough time to ride through it, then come back and set up the ambush.”

  “All right, let’s do it,” Darrell said.

  John Henry knew every inch of this land. He knew that the pass through Coody Bluff was deep and narrow, and that once a person committed himself to it, there would be little to no opportunity to maneuver, in case someone started shooting at him. He could see the tracks of the men he had been trailing though, and he knew they had gone right through here.

  Why would they do that? Why would they put themselves in such a confined area?

  One reason, he knew, was that this pass was the shortest way out of Indian Territory through to Coffeeville, Kansas. John Henry stopped at the mouth of the path and took a drink from his canteen while he studied it. He had tracked them all the way from Sequoyah, and there had been no deviation in their trail. He was sure they were going into Kansas. But, was that the only reason they had come through this pass? Or did they figure to draw him in, then set up an ambush for him?