Oklahoma Showdown (An Indian Territory Western Book 1) Page 9

  Dace and Murray went back to his office.

  “Want a cup o’ coffee?” Murray asked. “I could heat some up.”

  “No, thanks,” Dace said. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep before dawn.”

  Murray eyed him closely. “I don’t think you’re gonna sleep much.”

  “Nope,” Dace admitted. “Not after what I just saw done to a feller I knowed.”

  “He wasn’t no friend o’ mine, but I ain’t gonna get any shut-eye either.”

  Dace was silent for several moments. “Well, I reckon I’ll ride over to Ark City in the morning.”

  “Gonna try to get another one o’ the McClary gang?” Murray asked.

  “One in particular,” Dace said. “I’d like to save him from going through what Tolliver just had to.”

  “Hell, Halston!” Murray exclaimed. “The sonofabitch prob’ly won’t appreciate it.”

  “Maybe not.” Dace thought of Harriet McClary. “But maybe somebody else will.”

  Chapter Nine

  Pleasant memories of former, better times swam into Dace Halston’s mind as he rode into the Eldridge farmyard. He remembered the mild days of balmy prairie springs, dominated by the sound of bawling fat cattle ready for the market. Those had been the happiest times of Dace’s life. There had been something else to increase his pleasure of those days too. That had been his secret joy of seeing pretty Harriet Eldridge. Her fresh beauty had been enough to melt even a cattleman’s tough heart.

  His love for Harriet had sprung from the tender part of himself that he kept locked in the inner recesses of his being. Dace could never have found the courage, nor the words, to tell her of his deep affection and caring for her. Or of the sweet pain that dominated his life so completely that he dreamed of her almost every night. Instead, Dace remained his outwardly pleasant, friendly self as he exhibited what seemed to Harriet brotherly feelings for her.

  When George McClary married Harriet, the pain cut so deep that Dace didn’t think he was going to be able to bear it. He went through the marriage ceremony as best man with a numb, stupid smile on his face, while his soul wept in anguish. Afterward, Dace went out on the prairie by himself and got roaring drunk. He let his grief and disappointment run their course before he returned to the ranch to endure the agony of watching the young couple establish a home not a hundred yards from the old ranch house.

  But he consoled himself with the thought that Harriet was happier with George than she would ever be with him. George was boisterous and laughing, always in high spirits and keeping others around him feeling buoyed up and happy. Dace knew that his dour and unemotional disposition would have done little in making Harriet enjoy life to the fullest.

  “Dace!”

  The sound of her voice made his head turn toward the side of the house. Dace waved at her and rode slowly up as he smiled a greeting. “Hello, Harriet.”

  “Oh, Dace, how nice to see you,” Harriet said. She carried a basket of clothes with her, obviously down from the clothesline strung in the barn where the cold couldn’t get to them.

  Dace dismounted. “Let me help you with that load.”

  “Thank you, Dace,” Harriet said. “There’s hot coffee on the stove. I know you’ll want a cup.”

  “That’ll sure taste good after a long, chilly ride,” Dace said taking the basket.

  “Where you coming in from?” Harriet asked.

  “Caldwell,” Dace answered.

  “Oh,” she said trying to sound matter-of-fact. “How’s everything over there?”

  “Fine,” Dace answered. He didn’t want to mention Earl Tolliver’s lynching. “Say! How’s the kids?”

  “Not too bad,” Harriet answered. “They’re just getting over bad colds, but starting to feel perky. Seeing their Uncle Dace should boost up their spirits more.”

  Dace patted the paper sack sticking from his jacket pocket. “Got ’em some sugar candy too.”

  “Dace! You always spoil those kids,” Harriet said in good-natured criticism. “I just get them settled down and you come along and stir them up again.”

  “And I love doing it,” Dace said with a laugh. He noticed her face showed lines that hadn’t been there before, and there was a hint of worry in her countenance. He hefted the basket of clothes to a more comfortable position. “Have you heard from George?”

  “No—no, Dace, I haven’t,” she said. Then she quickly added, “Come on, I’ll take you up to see the kids.”

  They walked into the kitchen and Dace set the basket of clothes on the table. “And your pa? How is he?”

  “Poorly, I’m afraid,” Harriet said. “He’s sleeping now, but you can see him later.”

  “Well, I cain’t wait to see them young’uns,” Dace said in feigned impatience. “You better take me up to ’em right now.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said smiling. “Right up these stairs.”

  Dace followed her and soon peeked around a corner into the children’s bedroom. The two boys were in one bed together while the little girl, Amy, lay in another.

  Dace stepped into the room. “Hey, what’s going on around here?”

  “Uncle Dace!” Three little voices erupted at the same time. “Uncle Dace! Uncle Dace!”

  Dace went to each one and gave a hug and a thump to the boys, but a hug and kiss to little Amy. Then he put his hands on his hips. “Did y’all forget the rule about getting sick?”

  “No! We remembered, Uncle Dace,” Georgie, the oldest at six, shouted out.

  Dace looked at four-year-old Amy. “You don’t remember, though, do you?”

  “Sure I do, Uncle Dace,” Amy said. “You said we wasn’t supposed to get sick unless we asked you first.”

  “And you said you’d always say no,” five-year-old Joey said.

  “That way we’d never get sick,” Amy added.

  “But you wasn’t here, Uncle Dace,” Georgie said.

  “So we got sick,” Amy added with a hint of accusation in her voice. “Where was you, Uncle Dace?”

  “Oh, I was down in Oklahoma,” Dace said.

  “Have you seen our pa?” Georgie asked.

  “Nope. But he’ll be around directly.”

  “What’s in your pocket, Uncle Dace?” Joey asked.

  “What pocket?” Dace asked, looking at the empty one in his jacket.

  “No! Not that one—the other one!” Amy shouted in excitement.

  Dace stuck his hand in his trouser pocket. “There ain’t nothing here.”

  “No! No! No!” Joey shouted. “In your jacket pocket!”

  “I already looked there,” Dace said shrugging.

  “The other jacket pocket!” Georgie yelled in childish exasperation. “The other one!”

  “Oh, this one,” Dace said. “There’s a sack in it. Why?”

  “What’s in it?” Joey asked.

  “In what?”

  “The sack!” Amy cried.

  “What sack?” Dace asked.

  “The sack in your jacket pocket!” Georgie yelled.

  “Oh!” Dace said. “You mean this sack in this pocket, huh? Lemme see.” He slowly pulled out the sack and took a long time before he finally opened it up and peered inside. “Well, whattya know!”

  “What’s in the sack, huh, Uncle Dace? What’s in it, huh?” Amy cried.

  “Bless my stars! It’s sugar candy,” Dace said.

  “Yaaaay!” three young voices erupted again.

  Harriet walked in. “Just one piece now, and another after supper, hear?”

  “Aw, Ma!” Georgie lamented.

  Dace passed the candy around. “Ya’ll eat that and I’ll see you later. I’m gonna have a cup o’ coffee.”

  “You come up and see us again, Uncle Dace,” Amy said between licks on the sweet.

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Harriet said. “Uncle Dace is staying for supper.”

  “Can we go downstairs and eat at the table with Uncle Dace?” Joey asked.

  “Yea
h!” George said. “We’re almost well now, ain’t we?”

  “Yeah!” Joey and Amy echoed loudly.

  “We’ll see,” Harriet said. She led Dace down to the kitchen. “Them kids were always just wild about you, Dace.”

  “The feeling’s kinda mutual,” Dace said.

  “I think they care more for you than their pa,” Harriet said.

  “Now I don’t agree with that one bit.”

  Harriet poured him a cup of coffee as he sat down. “At least I feel you think more of them than George does,” Harriet said.

  “That truly ain’t so,” Dace said. He sipped his coffee for several moments, then decided to get right to the point. “I come here to talk about George.”

  “I figured you did,” Harriet said.

  “I’m a lawman now, Harriet. I reckon you know that. But I’m willing to help George and you and the kids. You know what I mean. Even bend the law some.”

  Harriet was silent for a bit before she replied. “He’s like another person, Dace.”

  “Then he’s been here, ain’t he?”

  “Yes. He stayed out in the barn, but left day before yesterday.”

  Dace believed her. “You think he’ll come here again.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If he does, or you can get in touch with him, tell George I’ll give him whatever help I can,” Dace said. “But he’s gotta get off the owlhoot trail now—now! Earl Tolliver was lynched over to Caldwell the other night.”

  “Oh, sweet Lord!”

  “I didn’t want to tell you that,” Dace said. “But I gotta let you know how serious the situation is.”

  “I knew he was in jail over there,” Harriet said. “They said he was in with George on that bank robbery.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  “It’s also being said George killed somebody.”

  “No,” Dace said. “We know for sure he hasn’t killed nobody.”

  “Oh, Dace!”

  “Shorty Eastman killed Harry Arnold, and Earl Tolliver shot one o’ the townsfolks.”

  “Thank the Lord George didn’t do it,” Harriet said.

  “Yeah.”

  “George is in lots of trouble anyway, isn’t he, Dace?”

  “I got a Federal warrant for him in my saddlebags,” Dace said. “I’m prob’ly the only lawman in the world who doesn’t want to see him behind bars.”

  “I tried to talk sense to him, Dace. It’s just that he’s so mad about losing the ranch. It’s made him crazy.”

  “Lots o’ the fellers is like that,” Dace said. “When they opened up the Territory, they killed off our way o’ life. It’s hard to take, but a cowboy who’s fought and worked hard all his life just don’t know how to quit.”

  “You didn’t fight the change, Dace,” Harriet said with admiration in her voice.

  “But I wasn’t doing all that good before I took up being a lawman,” Dace said. “Who knows what I’d done if it hadn’t been for that. It could’ve been me they throwed that necktie party for over to Caldwell.”

  “You’d never do that, Dace.”

  Dace’s gaze was serious. “Yes, Harriet. Yes, I would’ve. That’s why I understand so much how George feels right now. That reason, and the fact that he’s my best friend, is why I want to help him get outta this part o’ the country. Marshal Nix—he’s my boss—said he wanted us to give a hand to any fellers who’d been lawbreakers but decided they want to go straight. I’m gonna take them orders and stretch ’em way out for George.”

  “I appreciate that, Dace.” Harriet got up and began to prepare the evening meal. She thought about the threats George had made against Dace, but since there was nothing to be gained by telling him about them now, she decided to keep the remarks to herself for the time being. Still, she thought, she should say something, so after a few minutes she turned and looked at Dace. “One thing bothers me, though,” she said, almost hesitating. “I’m not sure if I trust George anymore. And I don’t think you should either, Dace.”

  Dace, reading the meaning behind her words, felt a slow chilling in his soul. But he smiled at Harriet. “I don’t want you to fret about nothing—nothing! Will you do that for me?”

  “I’ll try, Dace,” she responded, returning his smile.

  “Good,” he said. “Now what’s for supper? I’m near starved.”

  ~*~

  Dace sauntered down the street toward Arkansas City’s telegraph station. He entered the office and walked up to the counter. “Howdy,” he said to the operator. “Any answer on my message to Guthrie?”

  “Not yet, Marshal. But I’m expecting it anytime,” the man said.

  A young man, sporting a derby hat and wispy blond moustache, stood up from one of the chairs by the wall. He approached Dace. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  Dace looked at the stranger who couldn’t have been much more than twenty years of age. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, Marshal,” the youth replied. “My name is Charles Dunsbury. I’m a reporter for the Arkansas City Traveler, sir, and I was wondering if you might supply me with the latest intelligence regarding the demise of one Mr. Earl Tolliver in Caldwell the other night.”

  Dace frowned and glared at the operator who suddenly turned away. It was obvious the enterprising man earned extra pocket money by keeping the local press informed of any interesting news that passed through his office. Dace looked back at the kid journalist. “Ain’t much to say, bud. A mob showed up at the jail and drug Tolliver down the street to a handy tree. They strung him up and that was that.”

  Dunsbury smiled. “Could you give me a little more detail, sir? Did the local law officer try to save the prisoner? What were the late Mr. Tolliver’s last words? How many were in the mob that did the deed?”

  Dace couldn’t help but smile at the eager questioning. “Marshal Murray done his best, and I tried to help,” he said. “There wasn’t nothing we could do to stop ’em so they did what they come for and went about their business. I was there when Earl died. He said he killed the man. Then he tole the crowd he was once a honest cowboy—that’s all. Then the thing was done.”

  Dunsbury scribbled in his notebook. I see—I see—and there was no doubt about Mr. Tolliver being one of the bandits who robbed the Stock Exchange Bank in Caldwell, correct?”

  “Yeah,” Dace answered. “There was witnesses who seen him shoot that feller during the fiasco. When things like that happen, folks just got no patience for lawful proceedings, I reckon. Only natural they take care o’ the business theirselves.”

  Suddenly the telegraph key sprang to life. “Here’s your answer, Marshal,” the operator called out as he began recording the coded message.

  “Did the mob pose any danger to you or the town marshal?” Dunsbury asked.

  “Maybe, if we’d decided to try and stop ’em. But there wasn’t nothing to be done—like I said,” Dace remarked as he waited impatiently for the telegrapher to finish his business.

  “Has your visit to our city anything to do with Mrs. George McClary who resides nearby on her father’s farm, Marshal?”

  Anger welled up in Dace until his face reddened. But he controlled his feelings. “No.”

  “Have you questioned her regarding the whereabouts of her fugitive husband?” Dunsbury asked.

  Dace knew that any outbursts on his part would only add to any problem Harriet might have with local gossips and wags. He cleared his throat and smiled as pleasantly as possible. “Mrs. McClary is in no way able to talk to or get in touch with George,” he said. “The situation is a mite complicated, and hard to explain. But she’s got no idea about anything George McClary is doing.”

  “Here you go, Marshal,” the operator said.

  Dace took the scribbled missive and rapidly read it. “You want some news, do you?” he asked, glad to steer the newspaperman’s attention away from Harriet.

  “I’d certainly appreciate it, Marshal Halston.”

  “Well, this message I got tell
s me that Al Durkins, another o’ the gang that hit the Caldwell bank is down in Red Rock in the Cherokee Strip.”

  “Interesting,” Dunsbury said. “And where did you get that information from?”

  “The U.S. marshal’s office in Guthrie,” Dace said. “I keep in touch so’s they can keep me up on whatever they’ve learned about the fugitives I’m looking for.”

  “Are you going after Al Durkins, sir?” Dunsbury asked.

  “This here tells me to do exactly that.” Dunsbury, now clearly excited, continued to write feverishly as he followed Dace out the door. “Do you expect him to resist your efforts to bring him to justice?”

  “If you’re asking am I riding into a shootout, the answer is definitely yes,” Dace replied. “I know Al Durkins, and he ain’t the type to give up freedom. He’d rather die.”

  “Then you expect him to fight to the death?”

  “Young feller,” Dace replied. “I’m counting on it.”

  “Then you are riding into imminent danger, aren’t you, Marshal?” the journalist asked as he followed the lawman to his horse.

  Dace paused as he stuck his left boot in the stirrup.

  “Your next story about me just might be my obituary, Dunsbury.”

  Chapter Ten

  Red Rock, like Ingraham, hardly warranted much when it came to extolling its virtues as a habitat. Primitive and bucolic, it served as a gathering place for people who lived in sometimes brutal isolation from the mainstream of rough frontier life. Most of the citizens were Indians from the various civilized tribes, and they liked the situation just as it was. The threatening inroads of civilization, coupled with a justifiable mistrust of the Federal government, tended to make them clannish and suspicious of outsiders.

  It was an easy place for outlaws to live openly without fear of betrayal. The law-abiding and hardworking Indians, while not approving of the lawless elements in their midst, looked upon the presence of the fugitives as a small price to pay in keeping the rest of the world as far away as possible.