Black Horse Creek (9781101607466) (9 page)

“Headed which way?” Yancey demanded.

“I don't know,” Earl replied.

“Followin' the river?”

“I don't know,” Earl repeated. “I guess so. He didn't say where he was goin'.”

Yancey studied the obviously nervous storekeeper for a long moment before remarking aside to his partner. “You know, Lonnie, I don't think this feller is bein' honest with us. I think he knows damn well which way Grayson took Billy when he left here.”

“That's what it looks like to me,” Lonnie replied, “lyin' to government agents.”

Earl's hand stole over to rest on the handle of the .44 revolver under the counter, but he couldn't bring himself to grasp it and pull it out. The men were obviously hired guns, and he feared that if he drew the weapon, it might cost him his life. “I swear to you, he didn't tell me where he was headin' when he left here.”

“Damn you . . .” Yancey cursed and reached across to grab Earl by the collar.

“East!” Earl fairly screamed in fright. “They rode east when they left here. They didn't follow the river!”

“That's better,” Yancey said and released him, while Lonnie chuckled at the frightened man's response to Yancey's impatience. “You know why that's better?” Yancey went on. “'Cause when I got back on that trail and found them prints we've been followin' headin' east, instead of down the river, I'da come back here and put a bullet in your lyin' ass.”

Earl quickly moved his hand away from the pistol, as if afraid it might discharge on its own. “No, sir,” he said. “I wouldn't lie to you. I sure wouldn't lie to government agents.”

“All right, then, we'll let it go this time,” Yancey said. Thinking to take advantage of Earl's apparent acceptance of his concocted story, he said, “We'll be needin' some supplies. The government will be payin' for 'em. Lonnie, why don't you go ahead and get what we need off the shelves there.” Turning back to Earl, he said, “You'd best get you a piece of paper and write down everythin', so you can charge the government for it. I'll just wait right here with our friend while you're at it, Lonnie.”

Mortified by the criminal farce taking place, and his fearful reluctance to try to stop it, Earl could only stand and watch as Lonnie raked items off his shelves at random. “Ain't you gonna write that stuff down?” Yancey goaded. “You don't wanna miss nothin'.” Earl watched helplessly as Lonnie emptied a gunnysack of corn on the floor, then stuffed the sack with tobacco, coffee, cartridges, and anything else he fancied. When Lonnie was finished, Yancey said, “Get your piece of paper, and I'll sign it for you. I reckon you don't need to have everythin' down, just tell 'em how much it costs.”

It was plain to see that the outlaw was going to insist that he play the game they seemed to be enjoying, so Earl got a piece of paper and put it on the counter along with a pencil. With a wide grin of amusement, Yancey picked up the pencil and wet the lead with his tongue; then with a great show of importance, he fashioned a careful X on the paper. As a special effect, he drew a little cross on one leg of the X. “There, that's so they'll recognize my mark.”

Humiliated, Earl continued to go along with the robbery of his store. “How do I get paid? Who do I send this to?”

The question stumped Yancey for a moment, so Lonnie gleefully answered for him. “Why, you just send it to Washington, in care of the government agents office, and they'll send you some money.” He hefted the sack on his shoulder and started toward the door.

Ashamed to have been taken so brazenly, Earl was finally disgusted enough to comment, “I'd feel a helluva lot better if you would at least hold a gun on me.”

“Glad to oblige,” Yancey said, and leveled his rifle at him. “The only reason I don't blow you to hell is because you had enough sense not to pull that gun from under the counter.” With the rifle trained on Earl, he backed out the door.

On the other side of the door, Mae stood with her ear pressed up against it. When all was silent in the store and she felt sure the men had gone, she eased the door ajar, enough to see her husband standing dejected in the open front door. She hurried to console him as he hung his head in shame, for they could hear the outlaws' laughter as they rode back up to the river trail. Earl turned to her and confessed. “They robbed me without ever holdin' a gun on me,” he lamented. “I coulda pulled my gun from under the counter, but I was afraid I wouldn't be fast enough.”

“Thank the Lord you didn't,” she said. “What good would it have done to try to fight them. I'd rather have you alive than a dead hero. Those men are nothing but hired gunmen for Jacob Blanchard. They would have killed you, and then where would Cassie and I be?”

At the head of the path, Yancey and Lonnie dismounted to inspect the commonly used trail that followed the river, trying to distinguish which tracks might be those they had followed to this point. There were too many to be sure, some fresh, some old. They had no choice but to follow the trail, hoping to find tracks that split off and verify the direction the storekeeper reported. They were just about ready to return to confront Earl again when Lonnie sang out. “Here he is!” He stood over the tracks and waited for Yancey to confirm it. “There it is—that sharp edge on those new shoes.” Yancey agreed, and they followed the tracks down through a narrow draw until sure it was the same number of horses they had been following.

“That ol' bastard back there wasn't lyin',” Yancey remarked. “Grayson didn't keep followin' the river, he headed east, all right.” He looked toward the horizon in the direction indicated by the hoof prints. “He's cuttin' across, headin' for the Cimarron. If what that feller said was a fact, and he was here a couple of days ago, we still got some catchin' up to do.”

“I wish we'da had more time to take that place apart,” Lonnie said. “I wonder if that ol' boy had a woman back of that store.” Earl would never know that he had one thing to thank Jacob Blanchard for. Had he not instructed Yancey and Lonnie to stop for nothing—and had not the two gunmen feared their employer too much to disobey—he well might have lost something more valuable than merchandise.

Thanks to their raid on Earl Johnson's store, the two outlaws had plenty to eat while they raced across the prairie, riding late into the night every night, able to make good time because of the straight line their prey had ridden. With a good head start, Grayson had not wasted time changing directions in an effort to hide his trail. He had not thought it necessary. Now the two killers were making up the distance between them and Grayson. When they found Grayson's campsite by a creek two days' ride from Earl's trading post, almost a half a day beyond the Cimarron, they were sure they were catching up to him. Still, the trail never varied as it held to an easterly course. “When is the son of a bitch gonna head for Fort Smith?” Lonnie wondered aloud.

“He's headin' straight across to the Cherokee Nation,” Yancey said. “But it ain't gonna do him no good. We keep this up, and we'll catch him a long time before he cuts back south to Fort Smith.” They switched horses and continued on into the night, leaving the two worn-out horses behind and leading the final two.

*   *   *

While the two assassins raced across Oklahoma Territory, Jacob Blanchard waited impatiently for word of their success in overtaking Grayson and rescuing Billy. It had been four days since Yancey and Lonnie left to pick up the ex-lawman's trail, and Jacob had reached the limits of his mental endurance. He called for Jimmy Hicks to saddle his horse, and he rode into Black Horse Creek late one morning, the horse near exhaustion from the pace he had set. Plodding slowly down the street on his way to the sheriff's office, he met his two sons as they were coming out of the hotel dining room. They stopped abruptly upon confronting the old man.

“Kinda late to be eatin' breakfast, ain't it?” Jacob asked when he pulled the tired horse to a halt and dismounted.

Almost too surprised to respond, both men sputtered for a few moments before Slate blurted, “Pa, what are you doin' in town?” His father never came to the town he created except on grave emergencies, or to personally make his anger felt if one of his merchants was causing trouble.

“I came in to see what you boys are doin' about findin' your brother,” Jacob replied. “I told Yancey to let me know somethin' as soon as he could, and I ain't heard nothin' since they've been gone.”

“Maybe it's just too soon to know if they've caught up with 'em,” Slate said. “They might have, already, but I don't know of any place they could find a telegraph office before they get halfway across The Nations. Most likely Yancey and Lonnie ain't come across any place to send a telegram, so we'll have to wait till they get back.”

This was not good enough for Jacob. He was not by nature a patient man, especially in his concern for Billy's safety. “Yancey's a good man—damn good with a gun; Lonnie's a fair hand, too—but I don't know if the two of 'em are smart enough to take Grayson down. I mighta been wrong to send them.” He cast a serious gaze upon his sons. “If that son of a bitch makes it to Fort Smith with Billy, they won't waste much time before they hang him.” As a matter of habit, he handed his reins to Troy, and they started walking toward the sheriff's office. “Billy's got a wild streak, but he don't deserve no hangin'. If they kill that boy, there's gonna be a helluva lot of blood spilled, startin' with that son of a bitch, Grayson. And it ain't gonna stop there. We'll get that do-gooder judge in Fort Smith and the hangman, too. Everybody who had a hand in it is gonna pay if they kill my boy.”

“What do you want us to do, Pa?” Troy asked.

“What I shoulda had you do in the first place,” Jacob answered. “I want you boys to get over to Fort Smith as fast as you can. And get me some information, dammit!”

“Pa, there ain't no way me and Troy can get to Fort Smith before Grayson gets there, unless he takes his own sweet time,” Slate said. “And I doubt he'll do that. He's bound to know he's got somebody on his tail.”

“I know that, dammit,” Jacob responded. “But you can find out if Grayson made it or not. If Billy ain't there in that damn jail, then chances are Yancey and Lonnie took care of business and Billy's on his way back home.”

“What if Billy's in the jail when we get there?” Troy asked.

“Then the first thing you do is to find that damn bounty hunter and kill him,” his father told him. “Then you send me a telegram and let me know. We'll figure a way to get Billy outta that jail somehow.” He paused to think about the likelihood of accomplishing such a thing, a feat that most would consider impossible. “Maybe when they're takin' him back and forth for the trial,” he speculated. “We'll find a way.”

“You figurin' on goin' over there?” Slate asked. “Maybe you'd best leave this up to me and Troy.”

“Don't go thinkin' I've lost my fire just because I'm old,” Jacob replied. “If somethin' happens to that boy, I want vengeance by my own hand.” His piercing gaze was evidence enough of the smoldering fire within. “You two get yourselves ready to ride, and go help your brother.”

“What about the town?” Slate asked. “We can't just ride off and leave the town with no sheriff or deputy, not for as long as we're liable to be gone.”

“Hell, nothin's gonna happen here,” Jacob replied. “Go pin a star on that young feller that works at the stable. He oughta be able to handle a drunk or two.”

“Burt?” Slate asked. “Yeah, I reckon he'd be about the best choice. He'd probably be tickled to be in charge for a while.”

It was settled then. A typical lazy morning for the two brothers in the peaceful town of Black Horse Creek had turned into a breakneck ride to get to Fort Smith in time for a rescue or a killing, or both. One thing the two brothers knew for certain was that there would be no acceptance of failure on their part to avenge their brother. And both boys were smart enough to know that their mission was leaning more toward the impossible side, because there was no way of guessing Grayson's trail back to Fort Smith.

Chapter 7

“Whaddaya think, Lonnie?” Yancey Brooks reined back to let Lonnie pull up beside him.

“I don't know. Looks like a tradin' post or somethin',” Lonnie said. “Sizable outfit, ain't it?” Both men were traveling in country they were not familiar with. Judging from the size of the waterway, however, they felt certain that they were looking at the Arkansas River several hundred yards ahead of them. From the ridge they were on, they could see that the river made a double turn, forming a U-shaped bend with a cluster of small buildings nestled in the bottom of the U.

“He knows this damn country,” Yancey said, “so I'm bettin' he was headin' for that place on the river. That's gotta be the reason he's been holdin' to a straight line across the territory.” Although it had been apparent that Grayson had not taken pains to hide his trail, it had become harder and harder to follow. A day and a half of rain had done its part to erase some of the tracks, forcing the two assassins to gamble on long stretches where there were none.

“He must know the folks that run that place. I reckon there's one way to find out,” Lonnie said, and gave his horse a nudge with his heels. “Maybe if we're lucky, this is where we'll catch up with him. We'd best look that place over pretty good before we go ridin' in, though—look them horses over in that corral to see if Billy's Appaloosa's in with 'em. We don't wanna spook Grayson if he sees us comin' and runs.”

“Hell, we'll just ride right on in,” Yancey disagreed. “I ain't ever seen Grayson. Have you?” When Lonnie said that he had not, Yancey exclaimed, “Then, hell, he ain't ever seen us neither. He don't know we're comin' after him.”

Lonnie considered it for a moment. “I hadn't thought about that,” he finally confessed.

*   *   *

Robert Walking Stick paused on his way from the barn to look at the two riders approaching from the west. Each man was leading one horse with no saddle and no packs. His first thought was that they were probably coming to see John Polsgrove with selling the horses in mind. He knew that Polsgrove bought horses from time to time, but he expected the two riders to be disappointed, because John had just acquired some extra horses as a result of the Pawnee raid two days before. Robert went on into the store to tell his aunt Belle that someone was coming. “Got some customers, Aunt Belle,” he sang out when he didn't find her in the store.

Belle came in from the living quarters behind the store after having just given her husband his dinner. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the door to look at the riders. “Ain't nobody I ever see before,” she said. She turned to address her nephew. “Your dinner's on the table in the kitchen. If you don't eat it pretty soon, it's gonna be too cold.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Robert replied. “I'm goin' after it right now.”

She watched him till he went through the door, thinking how fortunate she and John were to have his help. Robert was a hard-working boy—never had to be told what to do. He saw things that needed doing and he jumped right on them. He had a few run-ins with the Indian Police, but nothing really bad, just things that young boys get into. He had access to some illegal alcohol from time to time and had raised a little hell in the village on a couple of occasions. But Belle figured that was nothing more than the natural warrior blood of his ancestors. Although it caused concern for his mother, her sister, it merely made Belle smile. She walked over and closed the door to the house, then went back to the end of the counter to await the riders.

Right from the start, she had cautious feelings about the two strangers. There was something about the way they paused at the door to look the room over before entering. And when she asked what she could do for them, she didn't get a reply right away. Instead, they continued to scan the room as if there might be someone hiding behind the counter, or behind the stack of flour sacks in the corner. “We're government agents,” Lonnie finally said, thinking to use the same farce that seemed to work for them before.

Belle Prairie Flower Polsgrove was not the simple Indian woman they took her for, however. “Government agents?” she asked. “What kind of government agents?” Her reply left Lonnie speechless. He looked to Yancey for help.

“The kind that puts people in jail,” Yancey said.

“Nobody here need to go to jail,” Belle replied. “You wanna buy something?” At that moment, the door to the house opened, causing both men to jump, their hands on their pistols, to startle a curious Robert, who simply wanted to see what they wanted. Belle was immediately alerted to a possible robbery attempt. “Don't shoot Robert,” she said, almost without emotion, and she took a couple of steps to the side to stand next to her rifle propped at the corner of the counter. “He don't do nothing wrong.”

Yancey relaxed and forced a smile. “Nah, we ain't lookin' for Robert. We're chasin' a killer name of Grayson, and we think he was here.”

Belle frowned. “Grayson ain't no killer. You after the wrong man. Maybe you need some supplies—coffee beans, flour, dried beans—we got all that.”

“No, dammit, we don't need no supplies,” Yancey responded. “Now, was Grayson here or not?”

Belle wasn't about to give men as phony as these two any information about Grayson. Whatever they were up to, it wasn't good. She edged a little closer to her rifle. “People all the time come in here—we don't ask no name. I don't ask your name.”

“A minute ago you said Grayson wasn't no killer,” Yancey said. “Now you say you don't even know his name.” He waited for her explanation, but she only shrugged. It was plain to see that he wasn't going to get anywhere with the impassive Indian woman, so Yancey shifted his attention to the boy standing in the doorway. “How 'bout you, boy? You see a couple of fellers—one of 'em ridin' an Appaloosa, and most likely had his hands in irons?” Robert hesitated to answer. Having witnessed the reactions of the two men when he opened the door, he wasn't sure how to answer. After another moment with no response, Yancey threatened. “Boy, I asked you a question, and if I don't get an answer right now, I'm liable to start shootin' this place to pieces.”

That was enough for Belle. Before Robert could answer, she picked up her rifle and rested it on the counter before her. “You start shooting and I shoot you,” she warned. “Now maybe you get on your horse and ride away.”

“Why, you ornery ol' bitch,” Yancey responded, “put that rifle down, or I'll blow your head off.” When she made no move to follow his orders, he said, “There's two of us, so even if you got one of us, you ain't quick enough to cock that thing before the other'n gets you. So put it down,” he demanded.

“Maybe she don't have to get but one of you.” The words came from Big John Polsgrove, standing behind Robert in the doorway, his shotgun resting on the boy's shoulder. Awakened by the sound of angry voices, he had struggled out of his bed and made his way to the door to lean against the jamb. “Which one you gonna shoot if they go for them pistols, Belle?”

“I shoot the big one, doing all the talking,” Belle said with a slight smirk. “He's a big target, no chance to miss.”

“Good enough,” John said, “I'll take the other'n. All right, boys, either go for them guns, or get the hell outta my store.”

Time stood still for a frozen moment with both Yancey and Lonnie weighing their odds in the standoff. It didn't take a great deal of thought for both men to realize they had no chance to draw their weapons before being cut down. Finally Yancey admitted defeat. “All right,” he said. “You got the upper hand this time. Me and my partner will walk out the door. Ain't no need for anybody to get shot.” He looked at Lonnie, who still appeared to be caught in indecision. “Come on, Lonnie, let's leave these folks be.” He held his hands out before him to show his intentions were peaceful, and turned toward the front door. Lonnie followed.

As soon as the two gunmen went out the door, John started to sag against the door jamb, having held on for as long as he could. Robert was able to get a shoulder under him before he went to the floor. Belle ran from behind the counter to help. “Watch 'em, Belle,” John gasped, a growing stain of crimson spreading on his shirt. “Watch 'em,” he warned.

“I watch 'em,” she said. “Robert, get him back to bed.” She took but a second to make sure Robert was enough support to get her giant-sized husband back to his bed. Like John, she had a feeling they weren't through with the two strangers claiming to be government agents. So her rifle still in hand, she hurried over to take a position behind the stack of flour sacks piled up in the corner opposite the counter where she could watch the door.

Outside, the tempers were hot, fueled by the humiliating defeat at the hands of the Indian woman and her husband. Had they known that her husband was on the verge of collapse, they might not have backed down. As they stood ready to climb on their horses, Yancey glanced back to notice that no one was even standing in the door to make sure they left. “That Injun bitch,” he muttered. “She's stuck in my craw, and that's a fact.”

“Mine, too,” Lonnie said. “I'm thinkin' about throwin' a few shots through that door before I ride off.”

“There ain't nobody watchin' the door,” Yancey pointed out. “We could shoot the place up before they knew what hit 'em.” It was all the encouragement Lonnie needed. He nodded and drew his .44 from his holster, and they both suddenly charged through the door with guns blazing.

With both men concentrating their fire on the counter, after first discovering there was no longer anyone standing in the doorway to the house, their barrage succeeded in shooting holes in the front of the counter and the shelves behind. So intent upon their surprise attack, neither man noticed the Winchester rifle resting on the top sack of flour on the pile in the opposite corner of the room—or the Indian woman carefully taking aim on the one man who had stepped all the way inside the room. The unlucky man was Lonnie, and he let out a grunt and staggered backward into Yancey when the slug from Belle's rifle slammed into his chest. Yancey escaped injury when Lonnie unintentionally shielded him from the second shot that struck not six inches from the first. Not wishing the same as his partner, Yancey ran for the horses. Lonnie, still on his feet, staggered drunkenly after him, and managed to grab the saddle horn when his horse started to follow Yancey's. The two extra horses were left behind in the panic to escape out of rifle range.

Yancey did not look back until reaching cover in the trees along the river. Only then did he realize that Lonnie was still alive. The wounded man, unable to lift himself into the saddle, was holding on desperately to his saddle horn while his horse dragged him along, his feet plowing the dust as he went. After taking a look behind them to make sure there was no pursuit, Yancey pulled to a stop and dismounted to help Lonnie up in the saddle. “Damn, partner, I thought you was in the saddle,” he lied. “I didn't know you was hit that bad.” Once Lonnie was settled, Yancey put the reins in his hand and asked, “Can you ride?”

“I damn-sure will,” Lonnie gasped. “I ain't stayin' here.” He fell over on his horse's neck.

Yancey hesitated a moment to make sure Lonnie was going to stay on, and when it appeared that he was, he hurried back to his horse and mounted. “Let's get the hell outta here,” he said, and started off at a gallop. He didn't ride more than half a mile before reining the horse back to a fast walk and waiting for Lonnie to catch up. “You ain't lookin' too good,” he told him when his horse pulled up beside his. Lonnie could only shake his head slowly as he suffered through his pain. Yancey took a longer look at him, trying to decide what to do. “Well,” he said, “we might as well find us a place to camp, since we ain't got but one horse apiece now. We'll let 'em rest tonight and see how you're feelin' in the mornin'.” This was welcome news to Lonnie, because he knew he couldn't stay on his horse much longer.

Yancey picked a place to camp close to the water's edge, and helped Lonnie settle himself next to a cottonwood trunk for support. “I'll take care of the horses. Then I'll take a look at them wounds,” he said. With the horses watered and hobbled, he returned to build a fire before tending to Lonnie's needs. “Two of 'em,” he muttered, looking at the twin holes in Lonnie's chest. “Both of 'em bleedin' like hell. There ain't nothin' I can do for you. Looks like they both went deep inside.” He was fairly satisfied that his partner was a goner, but he didn't want to tell him that. Lonnie had a coughing fit that lasted for a couple of minutes before he was again able to control it. However, the coughing brought up a small quantity of blood that ran down the corner of Lonnie's mouth and into his chin whiskers. That was enough to confirm Yancey's suspicions. “We'll see how you feel in the mornin' after you've had a little rest.” He made him as comfortable as he could, even tried to feed him something, but Lonnie couldn't eat without a choking sensation, so Yancey let him rest.

In an effort to take his mind off his pain, for Lonnie was groaning with every breath, Yancey rambled on about his plans for them to continue the search for Grayson. “We ain't got no tracks to follow, but I figure he was plannin' to follow the river right on into Fort Smith. He's been trying to swing wide, so nobody would look for him this far north, but he'd be a damn fool to keep goin' east now, past the river. He's got to cut back sometime, and this is where he's doin' it. I'd bet my share of that reward on it.” He paused to see how Lonnie was doing, and the suffering man could only groan. Yancey decided he wasn't hearing a thing he said.

Somewhat to Yancey's disappointment, his partner was still alive the next morning, and determined to gut it out in the saddle, although he still could not eat. “You just help me up in the saddle,” Lonnie said, “and I'll make it all right.”