Wolf Creek (6 page)

“Mr. Tolliver?”

There was no answer.

“Mr. Tolliver? It’s Brad. I’m here to brush
the horses.”

Again, no answer. Becoming worried now, Brad
called again.

“Mr. Tolliver? Danny? Are you here?”

As Brad’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he
spotted the limp form of Ben, lying face down in the aisle.

“Mr. Tolliver!” He hurried over to the
unconscious hostler. He could see the bruise on the back of Ben’s
neck, the lump at the base of his skull, and the split-open skin,
still oozing blood. “Mr. Tolliver, what happened? You gotta wake
up, Mr. Tolliver.” He shook Ben, but got no response.

“Oh, Lordy, what am I gonna do?” Brad cried.
“I’ve gotta get help.” He started for the door, just as Danny came
in.

“Danny! Thank goodness you’re here!”

“Brad. What’s wrong?”

“It’s your pa. He’s lyin’ right over there,
out cold. Looks to me like someone bashed him over the head.”

“Pa!” Danny hurried over to his father.
“Pa!”

“He ain’t dead, is he?” Brad asked.

“No, he’s still breathin’. Brad, fetch me a
bucket of water, and be quick about it.”

“You got it, Danny.” Brad grabbed an empty
bucket and hurried to the pump out back. He returned a moment later
with the bucket half full.

“I hope this is enough water,” he said.

“It should be,” Danny answered. He took the
bucket and poured its contents over his father’s head. Ben
spluttered, then rolled onto his back, groaning.

“Danny. What in the blue blazes are you
tryin’ to do, drown me?”

“I’m sorry, Pa, but you were out cold,”
Danny said. “Brad found you lyin’ here.”

“Yeah, I did, Mr. Tolliver,” Brad said. “I
come to brush the horses, and found you there, like you was killed
dead. You got an awful big lump on your head there. Seems like
someone hit you real hard.”

“Probably with this,” Danny said. He picked
up the shovel lying next to Ben. Its blade was sticky with blood,
and a hank of Ben’s sandy hair was stuck to its edge.

Ben lifted his head, moaned, and rubbed the
lump the shovel had raised.

“Someone sure did clobber me. The horses!
Danny, Brad, help me up.”

“All right, Pa.” The boys took Ben’s arms
and helped him to his feet. Cholla nickered when he saw Ben. The
stall next to his, Lemon Drop’s, was empty. So were Beau’s and
Mike’s, Ben’s two bay rental geldings.

“Danny, did you turn Lemon out already?” Ben
asked, fear rising in his chest.

“No, Pa. Why?”

“‘Cause if you didn’t, he’s been stolen.
Beau and Mike, too. And I know who the son of a bitch is who took
ʼem, sorry about my language.”

“You mean Lemon’s gone, Pa?” Danny’s voice
quivered.

“Not for long, he ain’t,” Ben answered.
“Danny, you saddle and bridle Cholla for me while I clean up this
cut on my head and get dressed. Brad, you go to Sheriff Satterlee’s
office. Tell him a bastard, tinhorn gambler name of Shelton
Huntington stole three of my best horses, includin’ Danny’s, and
I’m goin’ after him. Again, sorry for cussin’ in front of you
boys.”

“You ain’t sayin’ anythin’ I ain’t never
heard before, Mr. Tolliver,” Brad said. “But are you sure you’re in
good enough shape to be ridin’ after a horse thief? Shouldn’t you
see Doc Logan first?”

“I’ll be just fine, soon as I wash the blood
off,” Ben answered. “It’s just a nasty bump, and a little cut. Get
movin’, both of you. And Brad…”

“Yeah, Mr. Tolliver?”

“You tell Sheriff Satterlee I won’t be
stoppin’ when I reach the county line. If Huntington makes it out
of Taylor County before I catch up to him, I ain’t turning back.
Danny, I’ll have Lemon Drop back in his stall before nightfall. You
can bet your hat on that.”

“All right, Pa.”

Ben hastily washed out the cut on his head
with witch hazel, then coated it with salve. He threw on his shirt,
hat, and neckerchief, pulled on his socks and boots, and buckled
his gunbelt around his hips. He checked the loads in his converted
Navy Colts, and slipped a cartridge into the empty chambers under
the hammers. Finally, he pinned his deputy sheriff’s badge to his
shirt. By the time he was finished, Danny had Cholla ready to
go.

“Make sure you feed and water the horses and
clean out the stalls while I’m gone, Danny. And don’t worry. I’ll
be fine, and you’ll see me back here with your horse before you
know it.”

“Sure wish I could go with you, Pa.”

“I wish you could too, Danny, but none of
the horses here can keep up with Cholla, and I have to ride hard
and fast to catch Huntington. It’d be better if I get him while
he’s still in Taylor County, where I have jurisdiction. He gets
beyond the county line, this badge I’m wearin’ don’t mean a thing.
Not that it would stop me from hogtyin’ him and draggin’ him back,
then claim I arrested him on this side of the line. Now, I gotta
go. You need anythin’, see Sheriff Satterlee. Get breakfast at
Ma’s, like usual Stay with Ma, or wait at the sheriff’s office
until I get back.”

“All right, Pa. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Danny.” Ben tousled Danny’s hair,
climbed into the saddle, and sent Cholla out of the barn at a
gallop. There would be no warming up his horse this day.

* * *

As he pounded along the road to Wichita, Ben
wasn’t overly worried about Shelton Huntington eluding him. He
doubted the gambler was much of a rider. In addition, none of the
horses he had stolen, not even Lemon Drop, had the speed and
stamina of Cholla. Ben figured Huntington had probably intended to
bash his brains in, and indeed thought he had. He also probably
thought no one would discover Ben’s body until later in the
morning. Well, he was sure in for a surprise, and not a pleasant
one. The only chance Huntington would have of escaping would be if
he flagged down an eastbound AT&SF train, and somehow convinced
the conductor or brakeman to let him board. That was assuming the
train even had an empty cattle or box car to accommodate the
horses. More problematic, for Huntington, was his lack of funds.
Train crewmen were not averse to making a little extra cash by
allowing someone without a ticket to ride their train. However,
before that could happen, they would expect their palms to be
crossed with silver. If Huntington was dead broke, as he claimed,
he’d have to do some mighty fast talking to convince a trainman to
let him board, without payment up front.

After letting Cholla run for two miles, Ben
pulled the big paint back to a mile-eating lope.

“No, even with his head start, I ain’t
worried about Huntington gettin’ away from us, Cholla,” he said to
his horse. “Only thing I’ve gotta figure out is what to do with the
bastard once we do catch up with him. Personally, I’d like to take
my knife, gut him, then skin the son of a bitch alive and have
Casto Haston tan his stinkin’ hide.”

Cholla snorted, and tossed his head.

“You like that idea too, eh, pard?” Ben
asked. He chuckled, then put his heels to Cholla’s ribs. Cholla
twitched his ears and broke into a gallop.

* * *

An hour later, Ben spotted his quarry, about
a half mile ahead. Huntington was riding Lemon Drop and leading
Beau and Mike. As Ben had expected, the gambler had slowed the
horses to a walk. Cholla was rapidly closing the gap. In addition
to probably being a poor rider, Huntington had also most likely
pushed the stolen horses too hard as he fled Wolf Creek, and had
run them to the point of exhaustion.

“He’d better not have crippled up any of
your buddies, Cholla,” Ben muttered. “If he did, I’ll hamstring him
myself, and put a bullet in both of his kneecaps.
Then
I’ll
gut him and skin him alive.”

Ben lifted his Winchester from its boot,
leveled it, and sent a bullet whistling over Huntington’s head. The
gambler jerked around at the shot, spotted Ben, and dropped the
leads of the two bays. He leaned over Lemon Drop’s neck and drummed
his heels into the palomino’s ribs. Lemon broke into a gallop.

“Let’s git him, Cholla,” Ben yelled. The big
paint needed no urging. He broke into a dead run. As the gap
between the two men narrowed, Ben once again put a bullet over
Huntington’s head.

“Hold it right there, mister, or the next
one’s right between your shoulder blades,” Ben shouted. Huntington
dropped the reins and raised his hands over his head. Lemon slowed
to a stop.

“Mister, you made a big mistake stealin’
horses from me, especially my boy’s pet,” Ben said, once he reached
the gambler.

“Only mistake I made was not makin’ sure you
were dead,” Huntington grumbled. “Thought for sure I’d caved your
skull in.”

“My head’s a lot harder’n most folks
realize,” Ben answered. “Now get down off that horse.”

“You’re not gonna kill me right here, are
you, Tolliver, or should I say, deputy?” Huntington said. “For that
matter, are we even still in Taylor County? If we’re not, then you
have no authority to arrest me.”

“You think that’d stop me?” Ben retorted.
“However, if it’ll put your mind at ease, it’s still two miles to
the county line. Now, get down off that horse.”

“I guess you’re not giving me a choice.”
Huntington dismounted, as did Ben.

“Here, take this.” Ben removed the Colt from
his left-hand holster and tossed it to the gambler.

“What’s this for?” Huntington asked.

“I’m givin’ you a chance,” Ben answered.
“Stick that gun in your waistband. You can go for it, anytime. If
you plug me, you’ll get away, scot free. But I ain’t aimin’ to let
that happen. No one steals a horse from me, no one abuses any of my
horses, and gets away with it. Now, you can go for that gun, or
I’ll drop you where you stand anyway.”

Huntington jerked the six-gun upward. Ben
shot him in the belly, but Huntington was faster than he’d
expected. His bullet went between Ben’s legs, just missing his
groin, and buried itself in the dirt five feet behind him.
Huntington sagged to the ground. He lay there, hands clamped to his
middle and writhing in pain. Ben stalked up to him, pulled the gun
from his hand, and replaced it back in its holster.

“I knew you’d cheat, Huntington,” Ben said.
“You did just like I figured. Never stuck the gun in your pants for
a fair draw, just tried to nail me.”

“A gambler… always looks for… an edge,”
Huntington gasped. “What’re you gonna do with me now,
Tolliver?”

“First, I’m gonna check my horses, and make
sure they’re all right,” Ben said. “Then, I’m gonna haul your sorry
butt back to Wolf Creek. With any luck, Doc Logan’ll be able to
pull you through… so we can hang you.”

5

Doctor Munro’s and Sheriff Satterlee’s
offices were both on Washington Street. Coming in from the east,
the sheriff’s office was two blocks before Munro’s, so Ben stopped
there first. As he’d expected, Satterlee and deputy Laban Campbell
were sitting outside, waiting for him. Danny and Brad were with
them. Danny dashed for Ben.

“Pa! Pa, you’re okay! And you got our horses
back,” he exclaimed.

“Told you I would, didn’t I, Danny?”

“You sure did, Pa.”

“Ben,” Satterlee said.

“G.W.”

“I see you brought in a prisoner. I take it
he resisted arrest.”

“He sure did, G.W. I had to plug him. Now I
guess I’d better take him down to Doc Munro’s.”

Huntington was slumped over in Lemon Drop’s
saddle, his wrists tied to the horn and ankles to the stirrups. He
had been drifting in and out of consciousness the entire trip back
to Wolf Creek.

“I reckon me and Laban had better come
along, too,” Satterlee said. “Danny, you and Brad stay here.”

* * *

“Another gunshot victim, here in Wolf
Creek,” Doctor Munro said, when Ben and Laban Campbell carried
Huntington into his surgery. “Will the shootings never end?”

“Yeah, but this one got what he deserved,
Doc,” Ben said. “He tried to cave my skull in, then stole three of
my horses. When he went for his gun, I had to plug him.”

“Well, bring him inside, and lay him on the
table,” Munro ordered.

Once Huntington was placed on the examining
table, Munro opened his shirt to examine the wound in his belly. He
tsked softly.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for
this man. You shot too well, Ben.”

“Are you certain, Doc?” Satterlee asked.
“You fixed up Ben, here, just fine when Wes Hammond gut-shot
him.”

“Ben was hit in a different part of his
abdomen,” Munro answered. “His was a stomach wound. Ben shot this
man much lower in his belly. Just from where the bullet struck, and
the angle of penetration, I can tell there has been a tremendous
amount of damage to his intestines. Even if I were able to stop the
internal bleeding, peritonitis will set in. The infection will be
massive, and would overwhelm his system. All I can do is administer
laudanum, to keep him as comfortable as possible, but I can’t save
his life.”

“All right then, doc. Thanks. Just let me
know when he’s gone, so I can make out the official report. You’ll
notify Gravely when it’s time to pick up the body, of course.”

“Of course, Sheriff.”

“Ben, let’s go. I know you’re anxious to
care for your horses, and be back with your boy, but I do need you
to give me a preliminary report.”

“All right, G.W.”

Once they were outside, Satterlee stopped
Ben, on the sidewalk in front of Munro’s office.

“Ben, you say Huntington went for his gun,
and you had to kill him.”

“That’s right, G.W.”

“Funny. I didn’t see a gun on him. Not even
a gunbelt, for that matter.”

“He had a hideout gun, stuck in the small of
his back,” Ben said.

“Then where is it?”

“I dunno. I must’ve dropped it ridin’
in.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, you don’t need to take my word for
it,” Ben said. “Check Huntington’s hand. You’ll find powder residue
on it.”