Evil Never Sleeps

Book 4: Will Tanner Western

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

The bestselling masters of the American West add a deadly new twist to the epic saga of U.S. Marshal Will Tanner. This time, the hunter becomes the hunted . . .

He's the most notorious cattle rustler in all of Texas. His name—Jebediah Cotton—strikes fear into the hearts of every rancher in the territory. So it's more than a little strange that someone would shoot Cotton's youngest son in the back. Whoever did it is either a coward, a fool, or a crazy man. Whoever did it must die. Even if he's a U.S. deputy marshal named Will Tanner . . .

So begins not one, but two of the deadliest manhunts in frontier history. As Will Tanner sets off into Oklahoma Territory in pursuit of godless bank robber named Parson McCoy, Jebediah Cotton sends his five remaining sons and cold-blooded brother-in-law after him. Will has no idea he's being stalked. But when there are this many players in the game, a U.S. deputy marshal has two choices: kill them all or die trying . . .

Release date: May 29, 2018

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Good morning, Will,” Daniel Stone, U.S. Marshal for the Western District of Arkansas, greeted his deputy cordially when Will Tanner walked into his office over the jail. “Have you been taking a little time to rest up since you brought Ben Wheeler in from Muskokee?”

Will was immediately suspicious. As a rule, Dan Stone was businesslike and took little time for idle conversation. He had a feeling he was about to be given an assignment he didn’t particularly want. “I reckon,” he answered. “Doin’ a few chores that needed doin’. Figured I’d have to hang around for Wheeler’s trial.”

“I doubt they’re gonna need any testimony from you,” Stone said. “There were enough witnesses that saw him shoot those two fellows.” He shook his head. “No, Judge Parker won’t need to tie you up for that trial.”

Here it comes, Will thought.

Stone continued. “I know you just got back from a long trip, but I also know how you hate sitting around with nothing to do. So I’ve got the very assignment you need.”

“I kinda figured you might,” Will responded.

“It ain’t nothing bad,” Stone quickly insisted. “It’s an easy job, matter of fact, just transport a prisoner down to Texas and turn him over to the Texas Rangers. That’s all.”

“Who’s the prisoner?” Will asked.

“Billy Cotton.”

“Billy Cotton?” Will questioned. “That’s the young boy Alvin Greeley brought back with those other two outlaws, ain’t it? Why are you turnin’ him over to the Rangers? The three of ’em robbed the store in McAlester, didn’t they?”

“Well, not really,” Stone answered. “It turns out that Billy Cotton just happened to be drinking with the two who done the robbery when Alvin arrested ’em. Come to find out, Billy was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t with ’em when they damn near killed that fellow that owned the store.”

“He wasn’t?” Will replied. “Then why don’t they just cut him loose and let him go home?”

“Like I said, the Texas Rangers have a warrant out for him, so we agreed to turn him over. He wasn’t guilty of anything in Oklahoma, but he’d been up to something in Texas, I reckon.”

“Seems to me, Greeley would be the one to take him back, since he was the one who arrested him,” Will said.

Stone was well aware of the friction between Will and Alvin because of a case they had worked together when Will was still fairly new to the job. “Ah hell, Will, I know what you’re thinking. To tell you the truth, I think Alvin was pretty rough on the boy, so I’d appreciate it if you’d take him back to Texas. I thought you might take advantage of the trip to check on your ranch down there. I know it’s been a while since you have. We can have the Rangers pick him up in Sulphur Springs. That’s a short ride from that ranch of yours, ain’t it? I’ll wire ’em when you go and they can meet you there. Now that’s a handy arrangement, mixing business with pleasure and I’ll pay your usual mileage down there. Whaddaya say?”

“But no mileage for the trip back,” Will stated.

“No,” Stone said, “’cause you won’t be transporting a prisoner on the way back.”

“All right, I’ll take him. First thing in the mornin’.”

“Good,” Stone said. “And before you start back, wire me, in case there’s some business down in that part of the Nations that needs taking care of.” He grinned. “You might get your mileage paid for the ride back home if there is.”

Will had a few things to do to get ready to leave in the morning. Foremost on the list was to get new shoes on Buster and the bay packhorse. While that was being done, he decided to back up his supplies for the three-day ride down to Texas with enough food to feed his prisoner and himself. Cartridges for his Winchester were getting low, also, so he would take care of that, too. And coffee—he could do without all the other things, even the cartridges, but he had to have an ample supply of coffee. After leaving the supplies he bought in the small storeroom he rented at Vern Tuttle’s stable, he walked over to the blacksmith to pick up his horses and return to the stable with them. “I ain’t sure how early I’ll be here in the mornin’ to saddle up,” he told Vern. “Depends on when they turn that prisoner over to me.”

“Well, you know I’m always here early,” Vern assured him. “If I ain’t, that feller’s horse is that sorrel yonder in the back stall. His saddle’s in the stall with him.”

When all his preparations were completed, he stopped by the jail to let Sid Randolph know he was picking up a prisoner in the morning. “I heard,” Sid informed him. “They already sent me the paperwork tellin’ me to turn one Billy Cotton over to Deputy Marshal Will Tanner,” he proclaimed grandly. Then he chuckled over his attempt to be clever. “What time you want him, Will?”

Will paused to consider that. He normally set out before breakfast, but maybe he should let his prisoner eat his breakfast before starting. He couldn’t help thinking about also fortifying himself with a good breakfast from Ruth Bennett’s table before starting out again. It was an easy decision. “I’ll pick him up after he’s had his breakfast,” he said. “See you in the mornin’.”

His chores done, he decided to stop by the Morning Glory on his way back to Bennett House. It was still a little while before supper would be ready and he decided he was in the mood for a drink of whiskey before he ate. “Well, howdy, stranger,” he was greeted by Gus Johnson when he walked in the door. “I heard you were back in town.” Gus was down at the end of the bar, talking to Dr. Peters. Will walked over to join them.

“Howdy, Gus, Doc,” Will said, nodding to each in turn. “Just thought I’d stop by to see if you’re still in business. Maybe I’m just in time to get a shot of the same medicine Doc’s drinkin’ there.”

“No matter what ails you,” Doc said, “a little drink of whiskey is the best thing I can prescribe.” He tossed it back and smacked his lips, contented. Doc’s fondness for alcohol was well known, but it had no effect upon his practice. Most folks around Fort Smith felt he was more proficient at his profession drunk than sober. “I haven’t had occasion to patch you up lately,” Doc said when Gus moved down the bar to get a glass for Will. “You’re about due to get shot. It’s been a while.”

“I reckon,” Will replied. He knew Doc was joking, but it struck a somber warning in his mind that he had paid no heed before. There was a sobering promise of tragedy awaiting all men who wore the deputy marshal’s badge in Indian Territory. And the longer a man wore that badge, the more the odds went up against him. He thought of Fletcher Pride then, as he often did, and the vacuum in Ruth Bennett’s life when he was killed. It’s the reason I don’t walk back to the boardinghouse right now and tell her daughter, Sophie, I want to marry her, he thought. He was suddenly startled when he realized it was the first time he had confessed it, even to himself. He glanced at Doc, aware that Doc was giving him a questioning look. “I’ll try to see if I can give you more business from now on, so you can pay your likker bill,” he said, and tossed his drink back.

“How ’bout some service to your other customers?” Alvin Greeley yelled from a table in the back corner of the room. “I need some more of that sorry coffee you sell.” Will had noticed the other deputy when he came in, but had chosen to ignore him. Greeley was not a regular customer at the Morning Glory, so he had not expected to see him there. He was eating supper with Lucy Tyler sitting at the table with him, probably because there was no one else to pass the time with. She had just gotten up from her chair, heading toward the bar, when Greeley called after her. “What’s the matter, Lucy? Ain’t my company good enough for you?”

“Hush up, Alvin,” she called back to him. “I need a drink and it don’t look like you’re gonna spring for it.” She moved up beside Will. “You wanna buy me a drink?”

“Why, it’d be my pleasure,” he said, and nodded to Gus to pour it.

“That man will talk a body to death,” she complained. “I figured that if I didn’t get up from there pretty soon I was gonna go crazy.” She tossed her drink back, then placed her hand on Will’s forearm. “When are you gonna marry me and take me outta this place?”

Will laughed. “Well, no time soon, I reckon. I’ve gotta take a prisoner down to Texas in the mornin’, so it won’t be for a while.”

“If you’re leavin’ town in the mornin’, it might make your ride go better if you stay with me tonight. I’d give you a special rate.”

“I swear, that’s mighty temptin’,” he said, stroking his chin and pretending to consider her offer. “But I’ve still got some things to take care of before I go, so maybe some other time.”

“Fiddle!” she scoffed. “You say that every time. I think you’re true-lovin’ some gal, maybe that little girl at the boardin’ house.”

“I promise you, that ain’t the case,” he said, and was about to say more to placate her when Alvin Greeley could hold his tongue no longer. Will was sorry to see him push his angular body up from his chair and walk toward them, slumped over to one side, favoring a shoulder smashed by a bullet wound that had never healed properly. In Will’s first year, he had worked one job with Greeley and found that he just couldn’t get along with him. He had decided to simply forget about it and do his best to avoid the man. But for some reason, Greeley had let the incident fester inside him until he developed a deep resentment toward the young deputy. After that first time, Will had worked mostly alone, and on several cases when he was forced to kill or be killed, Greeley had seen that as an opportunity to put the young deputy in a bad light. So he complained to Dan Stone, and everyone who would listen, that Will was too quick to shoot, and would always prefer to kill rather than capture. Greeley fancied himself the senior deputy, now that Fletcher Pride was gone, and he seemed to think he deserved respect from the junior deputies. Had Will known Greeley was in the saloon on this night, he would not have stopped in. Greeley’s usual hangout was the Smith House Saloon. He had a room there, so Will hadn’t expected to run into him in the Morning Glory.

“Dan Stone told me you was gonna transport Billy Cotton back down to Little Dixie,” Greeley said.

“That’s right,” Will answered.

“Billy Cotton was my prisoner. I captured him, along with them other two buzzards. I told Dan I’d take him back down there when we’re done with the trial. It oughta be my responsibility to transport him back to turn him over to the Rangers. I reckon Dan figured it’d be a nice easy little trip for you to pick up some mileage money.”

“If you got a problem, Greeley, it ain’t with me. It’s with Dan. I didn’t ask for the job, so you’re wastin’ your time complainin’ to me about it.”

Greeley was obviously disappointed in Will’s reluctance to argue with him, so he goaded him on. “That boy ain’t really such a bad one. He got his back up a little a couple of times, but I straightened him out. I’m just worried that he won’t make it as far as the Poteau River before he gets a bullet in the back of his head.”

“Whaddaya mean by that?” Will demanded, knowing what he was referring to and not willing to let that pass.

“You know what I mean. Everybody knows you bring in more bodies than live prisoners,” Greeley charged. “That ain’t no secret.”

Will caught himself just before calling Greeley a liar. It was a lie, and nobody but Greeley believed Will was too quick on the trigger. It wouldn’t do for two deputy marshals to have it out in a saloon, however, and he was afraid if he called Greeley a liar, it would force him to fight. It was best to just walk away, so that’s what he did. “Here’s for the drinks,” he said to Gus. “I expect I’d best get on home.”

He turned and started toward the door. He had almost reached it when he heard the scream. “Will!” Without thinking, he spun around and dropped to a crouch, just in time to avoid the pistol swung like a club at his head. He came up from his crouch with a hard right hand to Greeley’s gut, doubling him over with pain. Greeley sank to his knees, holding his stomach with both arms wrapped around himself. It was only a moment before the contents of his stomach came up to deposit Mammy’s fine supper on the saloon floor. Will watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to get up again before looking at Lucy and nodding his thanks. He left then, feeling a little sick inside himself for the disgrace Greeley had brought to them both.

“I’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’, be gone for a week or more,” Will told Ruth Bennett when he walked in the dining room for supper.

“Oh?” Ruth replied. “I hope it’s not something dangerous.”

“No, ma’am, I’m just gonna transport a prisoner down to Texas, but it’s right close to my ranch in Sulphur Springs, so I’ll most likely stay over a couple of days just to see how things are going at the J-Bar-J.”

“Well,” she said, smiling at him, “maybe that will be like a little vacation for you. I mean, after you turn the prisoner over. I think it might be a good occasion to give your room a real cleaning. It’s about due.”

In the kitchen, Sophie paused to listen to the conversation between Will and her mother. She picked up a platter of pork chops and carried it into the dining room. “So you’re gonna be gone again,” she said to Will as she placed the platter down before Leonard Dickens, one of the older boarders. “You just got back. Looks like Dan Stone would give you time to catch your breath before sending you back out again.”

Will shrugged, not knowing exactly how best to answer. “It’s the nature of the business, I reckon. Dan had something he needed to have done and I’m the only one handy right now. Like I told your mama, it’s a good chance to visit the ranch. It’s been a while since I’ve been there and Shorty kinda likes to have me check with him now and then.”

More than a little interested in the conversation between the two, Ruth had to ask, “Do you ever have any plans to give up the marshaling business and go back to the ranch?”

Will hesitated a moment. “I don’t know, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot more lately.” He made sure he didn’t glance at Sophie when he said it.

Ruth looked at once at her daughter to see the faint smile on Sophie’s face. She said nothing, but she wanted to warn her. Don’t you go getting your hopes up, young lady. Getting him to settle down on a ranch would be like telling a hawk not to fly anymore. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep from screaming at her daughter in a desperate plea to stop her from traveling the same road she had. She looked at Will. “Are you going to be here for breakfast in the morning?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I reckon I’ll most likely be the first one at the table. I wanna get an early start, but I don’t wanna miss breakfast here.” He told himself that it would take some time to transfer the prisoner into his custody, anyway, so he might as well settle for a late start.

After supper, he went out on the porch while the women cleaned up the dishes to sit and talk with Leonard Dickens and Ron Sample, who had been living at the boardinghouse long before Will came. They were the eldest of Ruth’s boarders and they usually sat on the porch after supper to light up their pipes and discuss the news of the day. Will often wondered how they could have any news to discuss, since it seemed they never left the boardinghouse. “Ain’t gonna be many more nights before it’ll be right nippy settin’ out here on the porch,” Leonard commented.

“I expect so,” Ron agreed. “Then it’ll be back to the parlor till spring.” Directing his question at Will, he asked, “Gets pretty cold sleepin’ out on the prairie, don’t it?” When Will confirmed that it did, Ron went on. “You start puttin’ some years on you and it’ll get a damn sight harder to keep warm. You need you a good woman to keep you warm, and you ain’t likely to find one as long as you’re ridin’ all over Injun Territory, lookin’ for outlaws. Ain’t that right, Leonard?”

“That’s right,” Leonard said. “And I expect he knows it. You can tell that by the way he looks at Sophie every time he thinks she ain’t lookin’ at him.”

“You must be smokin’ loco weed in that pipe,” Will said, with a dismissive chuckle. But the comment gave him reason to be concerned. Had he been that obvious?

“Some lucky young man is bound to tie that little gal up before much longer,” Ron said. “Garth Pearson thought he had her lassoed, but she’s got too much spirit for him. You’d best step up there, if you’re of a mind to. She ain’t likely to wait much longer.”

“Whaddaya tellin’ me all this for?” Will responded. “That’s Sophie’s business.”

At that moment, the front door opened and Sophie came out. “What’s Sophie’s business?” she asked. No one answered, so she asked again. “What’s Sophie’s business?” She looked directly at Will for an answer.

“Settin’ up the coffeepot in the mornin’,” Will came back with the only thing he could think of. “I was just sayin’ I’d like to get an early start in the mornin’ and I might have to get by on nothing but coffee.”

Sophie was not satisfied that he had answered her honestly, especially when it was accompanied by snickers from the two older men. Fortunately for Will, the evening light had faded enough to hide the sudden blush that had come to his face. “Well, I reckon I’m gonna turn in,” he said. “I’ve got a long ride to Texas in the mornin’.” He stepped quickly to the door and went inside.

Sid Randolph met Will by the side door of the jail. Standing behind him, another guard was holding the prisoner by the manacles locking his hands behind his back. “Mornin’, Will,” Sid greeted him. “Looks like you’re ready to ride. I’ve got your boy here, Mr. Billy Cotton.” He handed Will a paper with the order and authorization by Judge Isaac Parker. “I see you ain’t got no jail wagon, Dan Stone said you wouldn’t have one. You want me to unlock his wrists?”

“Yep,” Will answered. “Unlock ’em, then lock ’em again in front of him. No sense in makin’ him ride all the way to Texas with his hands behind his back. Accordin’ to this paper here, I’m authorized to shoot him at the first sign of trouble.” The remark was meant to give the prisoner something to think about, even though the paper he held said nothing of the kind. He took a long moment to study his prisoner while the guard handcuffed him again. Billy Cotton looked even younger than Dan Stone had described. He said he was eighteen, but he looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. He stood there, patiently waiting for the cuffs to be locked, his head down, with no effort to make eye contact with Will. Will remembered that Stone had remarked that he thought Alvin Greeley might have been a little rough on the boy and it occurred to him that Stone’s remark could very well be an understatement. Looking still closer, Will asked Sid, “Was he wearin’ those bruises around his eyes when Greeley brought him in, or did he get ’em here?”

“He had ’em when we got him,” Sid answered. “My guards don’t use any force on our prisoners unless they start it.” He paused to look at Billy. “And he ain’t done nothin’ but sit in a corner of the cell room since he got here. Ain’t said more’n two or three words the whole time.”

Will took a long look at his prisoner before introducing himself. “I don’t know if they told you or not, but my name’s Will Tanner and it’s my job to take you down to Sulphur Springs in Texas. It won’t be a hard ride if you’ve got your mind in the right place. You don’t give me any trouble and I won’t give you a hard time. If you try to escape, I won’t hesitate to use my rifle to slow you down. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy replied. “I won’t cause you no trouble.”

The young man’s respectful, even gentle, nature aroused Will’s curiosity. He didn’t seem at all like the typical young hellion that aspired to operate on the wrong side of the law. “What kinda warrants are out for you in Texas?”

“Somebody saw me ridin’ with some of my cousins,” Billy said.

“Is that against the law in Texas?” Will asked with only a hint of sarcasm.

“No, sir, but most folks around Red River County know that the Cottons and the Treadwells are cattle rustlers. So I reckon they figured I was a rustler, too.”

“Are you sayin’ you’re not?” Will asked.

“No, sir . . . I mean yes, sir, I’m sayin’ I’m not.”

“When Deputy Greeley caught up with those two men down near the Mountain Fork River, you were with ’em, right? So you were ridin’ with ’em up in Choctaw country.” Will was still trying to pin him down.

“No, sir,” Billy replied. “I rode up to Buford Ramsey’s store at Little River to see his daughter, Sarah. She works in her daddy’s store and told me to come back to see her one time when I was there before. I went back to see her again and we sorta hit it off. I sure as shootin’ didn’t expect to run into Joe and Barney there. Those two men are my cousins, Joe Treadwell and Barney Treadwell. They tried to tell that deputy I wasn’t with ’em when they robbed that store up in McAlester. They just happened to show up at that tradin’ post when I was there—didn’t have no idea they’d run into me. We tried to tell the deputy, but he said he knew better’n that. After we got to Fort Smith was when he found out I wasn’t lyin’.”

Will listened patiently and found himself believing the young man was simply the victim of some mighty bad luck. “How’d you get those bruises around your eyes?”

“I didn’t set down quick enough,” Billy replied. “That deputy told me to set down on the ground while he unlocked the leg chains. I didn’t understand what he said, so I didn’t move quick enough, I reckon. He whacked me with the barrel of his rifle a coupla times.”

To Will, that sounded typical of Alvin Greeley. Victims of his arrests often showed up in court with cuts and bruises. Will found it ironic that, in view of this, Greeley seemed to constantly campaign to paint him as a lawman who preferred to put a bullet in the back of a man’s head than go to the trouble of bringing him in alive. It was a reputation he did not deserve and certainly one he didn’t want. “Well,” he decided, “step up in that saddle and we’ll get started.”

They rode off toward the river, headed for Indian Territory, Will leading with Billy’s reins tied to his saddle, and his packhorse following behind on a lead rope. Billy seemed to be content sitting in his saddle. Will figured it was a far sight better than the hard bench of the jail wagon he had made the trip to Fort Smith in. Will figured he was not being too careless when he discounted the possibility of any trouble from the mild young man. He figured it close to one hundred miles to that trading post on the Little River, down in the area known as Little Dixie. It was a small section of Oklahoma near the borders of Texas and Arkansas that had gotten its name because of the number of Southern sympathizers that moved there after the Civil War. He had an idea that it might be worthwhile to stop there on his way to Texas to hear what folks there said about the arrests of the two Treadwell boys and Billy.

It was a good day to ride. Dog days of summer brought some unexpected pleasant days with nights chilly enough to remind folks that winter was not that far away. Will decided to follow the Poteau River trail south, once they crossed over into Indian Territory, planning to rest the horses at a favorite spot about twenty-five miles from Fort Smith. Because of their late start, it was past noon when Will turned Buster down a path that led through the trees that lined the riverbank. After they dismounted, Will handcuffed Billy’s hands around a small tree while he took care of the horses and built a fire. “You like coffee?” he asked Billy while he was filling the small coffeepot he always carried.

“Yes, sir,” Billy replied respectfully.

“Well, we’ll have us a cup while the horses are restin’,” Will said. When the coffee was ready, he walked over and unlocked the manacles. “It’ll be a helluva lot easier to drink your coffee if your hands ain’t wrapped around a tree.” He was going on a gut feeling that the young man offered no threat of violence, nor an attempt to escape. Even so, he would keep a sharp eye on him in case he was wrong and had to take action in a hurry. Once Billy was settled on the bank, Will handed him his cup.

“Much obliged,” Bill. . .