Lovell's Prize Page 2

  "Judge Parker ain't going to like that."

  "I can't help that." Lovell placed his glass on Nix's desk for a refill. "I shot them after they tried to put the rush on me in camp. They had followed me for at least a day. They rode in and made themselves at home. I had no idea who they were. They saw that my Winchester and Colt were hanging on my saddle horn. They figured they could put the rush on me. I drew this from my saddlebags." Lovell produced a Model 1860 Ivory grip percussion Colt with a cut-down, four-inch barrel from his coat.

  "And you killed them?"

  "They're dead."

  "Why was your Colt draped over the saddle?"

  "Well, shit, Evett. They wouldn't have come in if they thought I was heeled. I'd a never got any sleep waiting for them to bushwhack me."

  "You set them up?"

  "No, they set me up. They just weren't as careful as they should have been."

  Nix refilled the glass and nodded. "I'll tell the judge but he ain't going to like it. We sent you out with four warrants and you come back with one alive."

  "No, Evett. Two. One of them is me."

  Nix smiled and nodded. "Times are changing. It wouldn't hurt for you to try to change a little with them."

  "If there had been another way with any of them, I'd a taken it."

  "You're getting a reputation. Some have started calling you the undertaker. Ike Parker doesn't like that. It looks bad in Washington."

  "Hanging six at a time is more to their liking?" Lovell asked sullenly.

  "Yes, it is. The marshals bring 'em in and Parker sentences them. That's the way the judge and Washington like it."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "You do that. Did you hear about Nodine's gang hitting Harper?"

  "The ferryman said something about it."

  "Nodine shot up the town, killed at least four people and got away with close to a thousand dollars. I sent Pete Syle out with Bass Reeves with instructions to deputize a substantial posse and bring Nodine's gang in. They needed a good tracker so I sent Ned Bells with them. With you that will make four."

  "When did they leave?"

  "This morning. You got time to clean up, get a good meal and a night's sleep before riding out."

  "I'll leave at first light. Are there any other papers?"

  Nix shook his head. "Parker wants Nodine's gang brought in. He wants them run aground and ordered me to put several men on it. He wants this bad and isn't concerned with the cost."

  "By the time we get there, the sign will be gone. It may take us months to get a line on Nodine."

  "Syle thinks he has a line on where the gang might be laid up. If he's wrong then do what it takes. Them's Parker's orders."

  "Pete's a good man. He ought to know," Lovell said as he passed through the door.

  Lovell untied his horse and led him down the street to the livery. He gathered his belongings and made for the Western Hotel. His usual room was available and he ordered a hot tub to be prepared. After his bath and a change of clothing he took twenty in cash and made for the Calico Bar. He figured on a steak and a couple of hands of poker before turning in for the night. He was too tired for any more.

  As he made for the saloon, a grain wagon came down the street. The driver, a tired man of average height in his late thirties, pulled up his team and stepped down. A woman, a girl of thirteen or fourteen, and a small boy remained in the wagon. As the man stepped in front of him into the store, Lovell tipped his hat to the woman and took a second look. She was gracefully thin and pretty, evenly featured, with light brown hair pulled back into a bun; she wore no bonnet. She sat up straight and moved with a willowy, feminine air. She had pale blue eyes and a long, trim neck. She acknowledged Lovell's greetings with a brief smile but was too busy attending to the boy to pay much attention.

  Lovell briefly considered her. He wanted to stare but was afraid of embarrassing her. He stepped toward the Calico but when he had reached the next storefront, turned and stepped back against the building to roll and light a cigarette. In fact, he just wanted to look at her again before he was too far away. Normally he wouldn't have taken a second look, especially at a woman in the company of a man and children. But this woman was different and Lovell found her attractive.

  She looked straight at him. He could tell that she knew he was watching her. He tipped his hat again and turned away, rather than risking a confrontation with her husband. He would have liked to talk to her.

  As Lovell entered the Calico he noticed that the wagon was being turned around in the street. He motioned to the bartender, Joe Crow, to come to the window. As the wagon passed in front of the saloon, Lovell asked Joe if he knew who they were.

  "Sure do," Crow nodded. "That fellow is Rance Banford. He has a trading post about seventy miles up the Cherokee Trail in the Indian Territory. He buys whisky, laudanum and cocaine powders from us and sells it at his post."

  "And the woman is his wife?" Lovell asked.

  "Well, no, not really. I guess the polite word for it is his housekeeper. Think her name is Leah Walsh or Waters or something like that."

  "Are those his children?"

  "No, they're hers. Banford has no children."

  Several cowboys drew Crow's attention away from Lovell and he returned to the bar.

  Chauncy Lightfoot stood at the bar and watched Lovell. He hated Lovell for running him off a ramrod job on a drive and took every opportunity to dig him.

  "She's a little young for you, ain't she, Lovell?" he slurred from the bar.

  Lovell cut his eyes to Lightfoot and his companions, Indian Joe Coolidge, Ace Beeman and Boyd Manion. They had all crossed swords with Lovell at one time or another. Most people considered them to be the dregs—grub line riders and troublemakers.

  "A course with what I've heard about her she just might be his type," Beeman said.

  "I never thought of it before but he does strike me as some sort of squaw man. What do you think, Joe?" Lightfoot said.

  Lovell smiled and stepped to the corner of the bar. "Alright, who's first?"

  "First?" Lightfoot asked.

  "I figure that even a bunch of horse cutters like you will at least let me knock the hell out of you one at a time."

  "Who you calling a horse cutter?" Beeman asked.

  "Hell, all of you," Lovell smiled.

  "I ought to knock hell out of you for that," Beeman said.

  "You got help?" Lovell asked. "You'll need some help."

  Lightfoot laughed loudly and drained his beer glass. "You sure think a hell of a lot of yourself. Your day will come." He started for the door.

  "But not today?" Lovell asked sullenly. "You run your mouth but that's the end of it?"

  Lightfoot swaggered through the door and turned toward the others. "You boys coming?"

  They emptied their glasses and followed Lightfoot into the street.

  Lovell stared down at his beer and smiled grimly.

  Joe Crow gathered empty glasses and wiped off the bar. "I'll say one thing for you, Lovell. You sure have a way of ruining business. You can empty a bar room quicker than any man I've seen."

  "Tell me about the woman," Lovell asked. "What's all this about being a squaw, and how does Rance Banford fit in?"

  "Banford got tied up with her about a year ago. Her daddy was a rancher up in Kansas near the line. I understand that Kiowas captured her when she was pretty young. When the army got her back, she had the little girl. I don't know where the boy came from. Banford homesteaded out on Little Dog Creek. He had a wife but she left him. A few months later she shows up and they live together out there."

  "But they ain't married?"

  "Not as far as I know. She keeps to herself when they come to town. The good ladies on the hill don't tolerate such behavior."

  Lovell smiled. "Yeah, they can get pretty snooty for a bunch of reformed whores from the old days."

  Crow shook his head and cleared the glasses from the bar. "We don't talk about that in Fort Smith. A man will get clos
ed down immediately if he even implies such things."

  "Nobody's closed me down."

  Crow laughed. "Everybody expects it from you."

  Lovell tapped his glass for a refill. "Yeah, nothing ever changes."

  "Have you seen Sadie?" Crow asked as he drew the beer.

  "No, I haven't gone by there yet. I need to stop by and let her know I'm back in town."

  "I'd a thought you two would be married by now."

  Lovell's eyes flashed as they cut to Crow. "Why don't you marry her?"

  "Me? She's your woman. Everyone in Fort Smith knows that."

  "Yeah, everybody in Fort Smith knows something about everybody. For a whiskey-vending, hidy-whore river town this burg sure has a lot of people watching everybody's business."

  Crow smiled. "Directions from the hill come down every day. The ladies decide who's respectable and who ain't by decree, and that's the way it is."

  "And what am I?" Lovell asked.

  "Everyone on the hill hopes you'll turn respectable. Hell, they've picked you out a respectable widow woman, a place to live and a nice niche to fit into the hill committee plan. But you keep changing the rules on them. You don't do as you're supposed to. You don't go to church or socials with her, you ride off and shoot people on occasion, you say things that they don't want to hear, you ignore town politics, and you're not very sociable, especially to the ladies. So, you're the renegade marshal and will be until you conform to the standards. If you played your cards right, you could live on the hill and be represented on the committee."

  "And what are you?"

  "I'm one of the town's elite businessmen. Unlike you, I know my place. I bring in money and it's appreciated. I can run for office and have a voice in town business affairs but I can't live on the hill until I make a lot of money, get myself a respectable woman to represent me on the hill committee and agree to meet all the other standards."

  "And then?"

  "Hell, then I'll be respectable and they'll probably name a street after me or something. Just think about what you could have if you'd change your ways a bit. Lovell Street. Don't it have a nice ring to it? How about Lovell Boulevard or Lovell Addition? We're talking class."

  "Beats the hell out of Crow Street," Lovell said before downing his beer. "I got to go."

  "There you go again. Just as we were working out a plan, you up and leave. How many times have I seen you do that?"

  "Goodbye, Crow. Keep your head down."

  Joe Crow nodded and watched Lovell turn down the street. He gazed about the empty bar room and smiled as he thought of the time that Lovell busted a chair over Mike Webster's head when he was accused of sleeping with Webster's whore. That was a hell of a brawl. Before it was over they had thirty cowboys paying fines to get clear of Fort Smith.

  * * * *

  Sadie Crawford adjusted her broad brimmed bonnet before leaning over to attend to her flower bed. She was a short woman, middle-aged and portly, and her face was tan and leathery from her working in the sun. In her younger years she had been a petite, pretty woman and was still considered so by women her age. To most folks she was friendly and outgoing but she was considered a confirmed widow woman, who was looking forward to a new grandson or granddaughter. She generally stayed at home except for city gatherings, church socials and public affairs. Normally when Lovell was in town he was her escort, but he wasn't in town nearly as often as he had once been. Marshaling duties that were neglected before increasingly called for his attentions now.

  She heard his horse approach and straightened to greet him. She had heard he was in town through the gossip network.

  He sighed as his horse approached her. He had already packed his mount so he could use his duties as an excuse to ride on rather than go through a lengthy formality of visiting and sharing news with a woman he no longer cared for.

  "Hello, Don. Where are you going this time?" she asked with a smile.

  He smiled. "Heading back out. The judge has some warrants he wants filled."

  He thought of the first time he slept with her. She gently wept when they made love, from relief of loneliness he guessed. He had given in to her offer of sex because he was lonely as well and needed a woman. It became a habit after a while. Now he felt guilty for having used her and for leaving her behind. Other men had used her and he didn't like to think of himself as being "like other men." He had tried to make it work. He felt he should do the honorable thing. He knew the whole town expected them to get together. He knew she probably cared for him in her own way and he realized that there would be a mild local scandal with her the butt of the joke. He felt sorry for her and ashamed of himself. She didn't deserve what he was doing to her.

  But she was selfish. She wanted her life and only what he could do for her. There was nothing left for what he wanted. He had been good to her but it seemed never good enough. She always expected more and gave little in return. There was no passion and, after his last marriage, he was apprehensive about his future with her or with any woman. She would never do him wrong or mistreat him. He knew that. But she would never really be able to love him. She was now more interested in loving grandchildren, women's work and church socials. That was fine for her and he understood it. It wasn't good enough for him…not just yet. It wasn't that he didn't care for her. He just didn't love her and he knew he never would.

  She approached him and smiled…but she was reading his mind. It was over and she knew it. This would probably be the last time he would come by to see her. She recognized the packed saddle for the excuse it was. It would be easier this way. She'd say a few words and let him ride on. She didn't want him if he didn't want her. She could get along just fine by herself. Still, she thought a lot of him, admired many of his qualities and enjoyed his company. She would have stayed with him if he had wanted…but she could tell he didn't. It was nice to have a man to relieve the loneliness but this was probably for the best. It was really a relief for her to not be obligated or tied down to him. He expected too much, especially with her going through the change. She doubted that she would get involved with a man again. She was too old and it would hurt too much to try again and fail.

  So they said a few words, talked about her mother, her brothers' families and about her new granddaughter. She told him about old Ned Forest dying and how sad the funeral was. Emma Forest was fading fast and would quickly follow her husband. She would be sorry to see her go. They had been such good friends over the years. Emma would be staying with her daughter now that Ned was gone.

  He listened, nodded and agreed. Finally, he rode on and she waved goodbye before returning to her flower bed and her thoughts.

  As he rode away, he tried to remember if he had ever met or even heard of Ned and Emma Forest.

  Chapter 3

  Lovell tried to catch up with Syle and Reeves the first day but the marshals were making excellent time. By early afternoon of the second day, he found them resting their horses near Barren Fork on the Cherokee Trail.

  Pete Syle at fifty-five was the oldest marshal riding for Parker and had been in law enforcement for over thirty years. He was a small, wiry man with white hair and a long mustache that draped down on both sides of his mouth. He normally wore a suit and necktie even on the trail and he sported a white, open-crowned Stetson hat. He looked more like a city policeman than a marshal. He had a reputation for conducting cool-headed law enforcement with a minimum of violence. He preferred a short-barreled, ten-gauge shotgun that he kept in a boot beside his saddle horn.

  Bass Reeves, a Negro, was fifteen years younger and a former Cherokee slave. Reeves had a reputation as a fearless officer and an excellent Indian interpreter; he had an even temperament and was illiterate. Of all the marshals Reeves was considered the man to take along if tough conditions or uneven numbers favored the outlaws. Reeves and Lovell seldom met and usually were not assigned together. Lovell considered Reeves to be a good man in a pinch and Syle to be the closest thing he had ever had to a father figure.

>   Ned Bells was a full-blooded Osage that Syle liked to use as a tracker. He was a good scout and unusually dependable for an Indian. He had a family on the reservation and provided much of its support from his work with Syle and other marshals. He didn't usually say much and stayed out of the white's business, so Lovell knew relatively little about him. Bells was completely devoted to Pete, however.

  He could think of no better men to work with for an assignment like Trace Nodine. Nodine was a ruthless half-breed Osage and Negro, said to be without any concept of mercy or sympathy for men of any race. Nodine had suffered years of abuse because of his mixed blood, and his resentment had turned him into one of the most notorious murderers in the Indian Territory. His skills on the back trails and in the hidden corners of the Arbuckle Ridge and Osage Hills provided him a nearly invulnerable record of pursuit and escape. Some of the war veterans claimed that he must have learned his tactics from Bedford Forest, such was his skill at deadly hit and run raids. At least a dozen men rode with him in a cruel alliance of rape, robbery and cold blooded murder. Three marshals would have more than their share if they intended to bring the outlaw to justice.

  "Good to see you, Lovell," Syle said. "Put up your horse and join us for a bite to eat. You must have pushed hard to catch us so quickly."

  Reeves rose from his bedroll and poured Lovell some coffee. Lovell thought it was an unusual gesture.

  He stepped down from his black and tipped the cup for the coffee to cool it. "I was lucky. I figured you'd head for Harper first and this is the shortest trail."

  "I got an informer living near Little Dog Creek. I can't prove it but I think he's buying and selling goods for the outlaws. He's too cozy with some pretty rough characters. I want to visit with him."

  "Can you trust him?"

  Syle smiled and took a swig of coffee. "Not by a damned sight but he's got a whisky tongue and I can usually learn a lot from him if I'm willing to share a bottle or two."

  "Old Ike allow that on your expense account?" Lovell joked.

  "You'd be surprised what Isaac will go for if you explain it right. As far as he's concerned, we've got an open account on this assignment. That business with the little girl in the street was the last straw. I'm thinking he's got plans to hang the whole gang at one time."