Chapter 6

“You busted my head,” Billy wailed. “It’s still bleedin’.”

“You lucky I don’t shoot you,” Belle replied. “You want food, or not?” After the first time she brought him coffee and jerky the night before, she was wary of any more of his attempts to escape. “You want food, push the door open and get it.” After placing a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and biscuits on the ground beside the smokehouse door, where he could reach them from inside the open door, she had removed the spike from the hasp and stepped away.

He could see her through a crack in the weathered door, standing with the rifle against her shoulder, aimed at the door. There was little chance he was going to make any surprise move on the sturdy Indian woman. As she had instructed, he pushed the door open, slowly, until wide enough to see the cup and plate before it, and the stoic woman standing ready to shoot. Squinting against the sudden light, after being confined in his dark cell, he eagerly took her offering, and sat back on his heels to gulp it down. “You put a bad cut on my forehead,” he complained after he had eaten one of the two biscuits she had brought and washed it down with half the cup of coffee, “and a pretty damn good-sized knot on my head.”

“You don’t behave, I don’t give you no more food,” she said, her face expressionless. “Grayson say it all right to shoot you if you cause trouble.”

“What Grayson says ain’t always gonna be the way things are gonna be done,” Billy responded angrily, venting some of his frustration before checking his emotions. “But I ain’t gonna cause you no trouble, ma’am,” he hastened to say. “You can count on that. I’m real sorry I scared you before. I surely didn’t go to.” He could tell by her expression that she was not moved by his attempt to appear contrite. Damn hardheaded Injun, he thought. If I get half a chance, I’ll put a bullet between those dead eyes. “I could sure use another cup of that coffee,” he said, but she was distracted by something on the far side of the river. He followed her glance to see a string of horses loping toward the river. Grayson, he swore to himself.

“Close the door now,” Belle ordered and gestured with her rifle. When Billy didn’t respond at once, she lifted the rifle to her shoulder again. “Grayson say I can shoot . . .”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted impatiently. “I’m closin’ the damn door.”

*   *   *

“Belle said you got all my horses back and two Injun ponies to boot,” John forced out of one side of his mouth. It was obviously painful for him to talk at all.

“Yeah,” Grayson replied. “You got a couple extra horses, but I don’t reckon they were worth the price you paid for ’em.”

“Reckon not,” Polsgrove groaned. With great effort, he shifted his huge body around, trying to find a position that lessened his discomfort. His massive body looked too big for the small bed. Grayson couldn’t help but wonder how they made out when Belle climbed in with him. “I guess I’da had to pull my wagon myself if you hadn’t got ’em back.”

It appeared that the bullet in his back was not enough to put the big man down for good, just as Belle had said. But it was going to be a while yet before he would be on his feet again, and this was the present cause for concern for Grayson. The need to transport Billy Blanchard to Fort Smith as quickly as possible was still his main focus. The Pawnee raid on the trading post had in no way altered that, but it had thrown a snag in his plans, and given him a difficult decision to make. John Polsgrove was in a vulnerable state with no one to help him but the one Indian woman. Grayson could not ride off and leave them in this fix. His big friend’s next statement made it even worse.

“Grayson, I thank the Good Lord that you showed up when you did. I reckon I’d be under the sod now if you hadn’t. I think the Lord sent you and I want you to know I’m beholden to you.”

Grayson thought he detected the start of a tear in the huge man’s eye. Oh, Good Lord, he thought, don’t do that. John’s expression of thanks was enough to make Grayson uncomfortable. He didn’t need tears on top of it.

“Hell,” he replied, in an effort to shift John’s thinking to something else, “it was Belle that run ’em off when she gave ’em a taste of that rifle. She’s the one you should be beholden to.”

“You ain’t told me what happened when you caught up with them Pawnee,” John said. “There was five of ’em. Did they join up with any more?” He was concerned with the possibility of even bigger trouble to come.

“No, they were by themselves,” Grayson answered. “You saw ’em, just a few young bucks lookin’ to steal some horses and whatever else they could find. I doubt you’ll see that bunch again.”

“I know they didn’t just run off and let you have the horses back. Did you get any of them?”

Grayson nodded. “Two that I know of. I don’t think I hit anythin’ else.” John nodded in return. Grayson moved on to a question of more importance to him at the moment. “What about you and Belle? Have you got anybody helpin’ you at all?”

“Sometimes,” John answered. “I ain’t needed him lately, but Belle’s sister’s boy, Robert, comes to help me when I have to take the wagon to meet the boat to pick up supplies. He’s a hard worker, and he knows how to handle a gun.”

“I expect you could use him right now,” Grayson suggested. “I’m gonna have to take Billy on in to Fort Smith before some of his crowd come lookin’ for him. Where is this boy, Robert, now?”

“He lives in a village about a half day’s ride east of here,” Belle said, having heard the question as she entered the room. “You gonna send for Robert?”

“I think it’d be a good idea,” Grayson said. “I have to get movin’, and you need the help.”

“I go,” she said. “You stay with John till I get back?”

“Well, sure,” Grayson replied, “but I figured I’d go get Robert.”

“I go. Be quicker. Then you take that man outta my smokehouse. He pee in corner. I smell it at back of smokehouse. Ain’t good for the meat.”

Grayson almost laughed, but he was concerned about the wisdom of sending the woman off across the prairie by herself. His concern must have shown in his face, because John told him not to worry. “She always goes to fetch him when we need him. Besides, he’s liable to run if he sees you come ridin’ in. He’s been in a little trouble from time to time, and he gets kinda spooked when he sees a deputy marshal show up in the village.”

“I ain’t a deputy,” Grayson reminded him.

“Yeah, but you look like one,” John said.

*   *   *

Early the next morning, Belle crossed the river and set out across the prairie to the east. After making sure John didn’t need anything, Grayson took Billy his breakfast. He had given some thought to the possibility of escape with Billy locked in the smokehouse for that length of time, but he now reasoned that if his prisoner hadn’t found a way out by now, he was not likely to at all. For Billy’s part, however, he was about to go crazy in the dark confined cell. Grayson was not without sympathy for the young outlaw’s plight, but there were no other choices for Billy’s incarceration unless he was tied hand and foot the entire time.

“You gotta let me out of this damn hole,” he complained to Grayson as the bounty hunter watched him eat, much the same as Belle had. “I’d rather you just go ahead and shoot me instead of keepin’ me locked up in this rat hole,” he wailed, knowing that Grayson wouldn’t.

“One more night’s all you gotta do,” Grayson said. “Then we’ll be on our way and you can go back to cryin’ about your hands bein’ tied.” He watched Billy eat for a while longer, before commenting, “You kinda found out the hard way not to try pullin’ anythin’ on Belle, didn’t you?” Billy scowled, but didn’t reply. “That’s a right nasty cut you got there on your forehead. What the hell did she hit you with?”

“That bitch come at me by surprise,” Billy said. “I didn’t give her no reason to hit me with that axe. She said to come out to eat, and that’s all I done—damn Injun bitch.”

“Yeah,” Grayson said. “Women are like that, always tryin’ to trick a man.” He knew the true version of how Billy got knocked in the head, and he knew that Billy knew he did. But he couldn’t resist japing him about it. Still, never far from his thoughts was the threat of pursuit by Billy’s father and brothers. They would come after him. That was something he knew for a fact from the start. The thing he didn’t know was how close they were now with the delay caused by the Pawnee attack.

*   *   *

“Earl,” Mae Johnson called to her husband as he came up from the hog pen, “there’s a couple of riders coming down from the bluff, and they’re leading a bunch of horses behind them.”

Earl quickened his step in an effort to see for himself. It was a little late in the day for his usual customers to show up at only an hour or two before sundown. He already had an increased sense of caution ever since Grayson had stopped for the night with his prisoner. “You know ’em?” he asked as he joined his wife in the front yard.

“Nobody I ever saw before,” Mae answered, still staring back at the bluffs along the river. Like Earl, she was feeling cautious about seeing any strangers since the incident with Grayson and Billy Blanchard. When Cassie walked out of the house to throw the dishwater out in the yard, Mae turned to her and said, “Go back in the house, and stay there till we find out who’s coming down the path.”

“Why, Mama?” Cassie asked, sensing her mother’s caution. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know, so you just stay out of sight till I do.”

When Cassie hurried back to the house, Earl turned to his wife. “It don’t look like none of them bucks from the village. I expect we’d best go on in the store, and just wait to see what they want. Might be somebody needin’ some supplies.” He paused for a moment before suggesting, “Might be a good idea if you went back in the house with Cassie.” He was certain he would feel better behind the counter with his pistol on the shelf just under it. Without further comment, they turned and went back inside, he to the store, she to the house behind it. Both wondered if the strangers approaching were from Black Horse Creek.

*   *   *

“Look here, Yancey. Looks like he turned off the trail, and there’s more’n a few tracks leadin’ down to that place there—looks like a store or somethin’. They musta stopped off here for a spell. I wonder why.” The simple fact that Grayson had stopped to go to a trading post made him uncertain. “I hope to hell we been followin’ the right trail all along.”

“It’s the right trail,” Yancey Brooks insisted. “Who the hell knows why he stopped here? It’s sure as hell the same trail we followed through that gap where Stump said he found his mule. Besides, look at them prints.” He pointed to a distinct hoofprint in the sand. “Billy said he just had that Appaloosa shod before he came home. Looks to me like Grayson musta wanted to stop for somethin’ to eat, or a drink of whiskey, or somethin’. It don’t matter why he stopped, but them tracks are Billy’s.”

“I reckon,” Lonnie Jenkins replied. “I expect it’d be a whole lot simpler to go down there and ask ’em if Grayson came this way, instead of arguin’ about horse tracks.”

“Reckon so,” Yancey replied. Both men had been sufficiently impressed with the task Jacob Blanchard had charged them with—that they were to ride night and day, never stopping to rest until they had killed Grayson and brought Billy back home. The subject had never been discussed between them, but they were of like mind in thinking that the six hundred dollar reward would be well worth the strain. But in case of failure to catch Grayson, it would be healthier for both men to keep on riding, rather than face Jacob Blanchard’s wrath. “Well, let’s quit wastin’ time.” He started down the path, and Lonnie followed, their spare horses behind them.

Earl stood beside the door watching the two strangers as they rode down the path to his store until they pulled up at the hitching rail. Then he walked back to stand behind the counter to await them, his hand feeling under the counter to make sure his pistol was in easy reach. In a moment, they walked in the door—two rough-looking men with trail-weathered faces, heavily armed with both rifles and handguns. “Howdy,” Yancey said as he paused to look the room over. “Don’t suppose you got any whiskey, do ya?”

“No, sir,” Earl answered. “I don’t carry any spirits of any kind. Seein’ as this is Indian Territory, I ain’t supposed to.”

“But seein’ as we ain’t Injuns,” Lonnie said, “you might could sell us a shot or two outta that whiskey you ain’t got.” He gave Earl a wink of his eye and turned to grin at Yancey. “We’ve been ridin’ long and hard, and a little drink would sure help cut the dust in our throats.”

“I’m sorry as I can be, fellers,” Earl replied, “but I wasn’t japin’ you. I don’t have no whiskey on hand, not even for my personal use. If I did, why, I’d be tickled to offer you a drink. Is there anythin’ else I can help you with?”

Disappointed, Yancey looked at Lonnie and shook his head. “Well, maybe you can help us out a little,” he said to Earl. “Me and my partner, here, are government agents, and we’re on the trail of two outlaws. One of ’em’s name is Grayson and he’s got an innocent man as a prisoner who ain’t done nothin’ wrong. We think they mighta stopped here. Maybe you can tell us how long ago that was.” He glanced at Lonnie again to receive his partner’s look of appreciation for his original story.

Earl was at once undecided as to which way he should respond. One thing he was at least ninety-nine percent sure of was that the two men standing before his counter were not government agents. They could only be men who worked for Jacob Blanchard. It might be honorable on his part to say he had not seen Grayson, but he feared that there would be serious consequences if he tried to cover for him. Under the impatient glare from both men, he finally blurted the information they asked for. “Two days ago, they stopped for some supplies, then left right away.”

“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.