The Arrow Keeper’s Song (47 page)

“Don't shoot,
na-vesene,”
said Willem Tangle Hair. He was dressed in grubby Levi's and down-at-heel boots. His short-waisted wool coat was frayed at the cuffs, and his faded brown shirt was grease stained, but a broad, colorful bandanna circled his throat, and a sombrero hung down his back, caught by a leather string around his neck. He wore a Colt single-action revolver high on his waist in a battered holster. A saddle dangled from his left hand. The stirrups trailed in the water as he slogged his way across the creek, following a natural bridge of fallen timber until he could leap to the opposite bank and continue on along its sandy length until he stood face-to-face with Tom. Willem glanced down at the man he had called
na-vesene
—friend.

“You are still holding a gun,” Willem observed. The barrel was pointed at his chest. Tom slowly lowered the weapon and tucked it into its holster. He wore the gun high on his left side, the butt forward, to facilitate a cross draw.

“Where have you been?” Tom asked. He put his arm around Willem's neck and hugged him. Willem reciprocated the embrace, then stepped back, studying Tom.

“Back in the timber. I still have family who will not believe the lies that are being said. They hid me.” Willem waved his rifle in the direction he'd come. “It cost me a horse to get here. My old sorrel went lame back in the woods yonder.”

“I figured you'd be gone to Texas.”

“No, sir.” Willem shook his head. “At least not until I find Charlotte's killer.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Nothing much.” Willem shrugged. “I found her at Panther Hall and tried to talk some sense into her. We quarreled and she left. I tried to catch up to her. Sure, I know she'd taken up with someone else. But I figured she'd come to her senses and see I was the one to build a life with. I never saw her again. The next morning my cousin brought word she'd been killed and everyone was blaming me.” Willem shook his head. “I loved her, Tom. But things were never the same when I came back from Cuba.”

He picked up a smooth oval stone and sent it skimming over the surface of the creek. “Then I heard you had returned and figured it was worth the risk seeing you.”

“You risk a lot for friendship.”

“No. I didn't just come to see a friend. I'm here to see the Arrow Keeper, for that's who you are. I knew that in Cuba, when you should have died but didn't, when you spoke your fevered dreams … I think the Maiyun brought you home to set things right. See, I too have come to believe there is value in the old ways.”

“Come on to the house,” Tom said. “We will seek my father's counsel in this as well.” He turned and climbed the bank, carefully choosing his steps in the soft earth. Willem followed him, the saddle slung over his shoulder. Together the two men walked abreast, out of the woods and across the pasture. Sunlight bathed the ranch house nestled in its grove of barren trees. The two men hurried out of the pasture and into the yard. So much open ground made both feel uneasy and anxious for the safety of the cabin's interior.

A pair of gray mockingbirds alighted on the roof of the newly completed barn. Just the night before, Tom and his father had moved the horses into the stalls. The sturdy structure still needed finishing on the inside—the stalls were makeshift at best, and the tack room had yet to be walled in—but at least it provided shelter from the elements.

“I heard Seth's barn was burned,” Willem said.

“We built it again. Father Kenneth helped a lot.” Tom quickened his steps. The back of his neck had begun to tingle. Something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. The best thing was to get under cover fast just in case any of Clay's deputies were lurking about. At least there was no one in the yard.

They hurried past the garden and the corral, where Seth saddlebroke his horses. Nothing seemed amiss, but of course Tom had spent most of the morning down by the creekbank. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. Seth might be in the kitchen fixing fry bread and beans, although it wasn't like him to spend much time indoors when the sun was shining and the wind was out of the southwest.

He heard a dog bark from the inside the house. General Sheridan announcing their arrival? He sure sounded angry at something … or someone. The dog abruptly changed its tone and began to howl as if kicked. Suddenly Tom grabbed his friend by the arm.

“Wait!” Before he could issue another command, the front door opened and Abram Fielder, brandishing a long-barreled twelve-gauge, shotgun stepped out on the porch. Willem spun around, dropping his saddle, stumbling and issuing a sharp yelp of pain. Limping now, he made an awkward dash for the barn. Ahead of him, the big double doors swayed open, and a tall, lanky man, standing half in shadow, drew a bead on him. Benje Lassiter wasn't about to miss at this range. Tom could see the deputies had made good use of the barn, concealing their horses and enabling them to trap Willem in a cross fire.

Seth emerged from the house and stood alongside Abram. He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. General Sheridan came slinking out behind Seth, tail between his legs and looking somewhat embarrassed about the whole matter.

Willem halted in his tracks and, realizing he was trapped, raised his hands. Benje Lassiter stepped past the doors, his rifle steady. One false move and he'd drill Willem through the heart.

“Nice barn, Sandcrane,” Lassiter said. It had certainly suited their purposes.

“Yeah,” Tom scowled. “I may burn the damn thing down myself.”

CHAPTER FORTY

B
Y NIGHTFALL EVERYONE IN
C
ROSS
T
IMBERS HAD HEARD OF THE
capture of Willem Tangle Hair. One could only guess he was the subject of discussion behind every shuttered door, by home hearth and in restaurants and saloons. There were cries to see justice done from the men. And of course the women would sleep safe now that the cold-blooded killer was behind bars.

Cheyenne began drifting in from Rabbit Town, some gathering at Luthor White Bear's mercantile. Others clung to the shadowy alleyways or made rough camp at the base of Council Hill. They came with the thunderheads that had begun to billow to the north and west. Storms were coming. People could smell it in the air. Storms were coming soon.

In Allyn Benedict's house the storms had already arrived.

“You brought him in alive!” Allyn Benedict paced his study like a caged beast. He glared at his son slumped in the corner in a wing-back leather chair.

“Benje and Abram caught him. But if I had been there, I would have allowed him to surrender all the same.”

“Are you mad?” Allyn paused in front of a liquor cabinet, opened the cut-glass doors, and poured himself a tumbler of Scotch. “I'd have expected such foolish behavior from your mother, trundling off back east at a moments notice. But not you. I raised you smarter.”

Allyn gulped the drink, closed his eyes, and allowed the alcohol to soothe his rattled nerves. All right, he had an alternate plan. There were always Luthor White Bear and his relatives. He imagined they'd already begun to pass the bottle. Give them another day to get their courage up, to let the fires of rage smolder and burn, to become a wildfire, out of control. Well, not out of his control.

“I'll send for the circuit judge in the morning,” Clay said. “He could be here before the week's out. Then again, I might have to bring the half-breed to Tulsa.”

“No, you won't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Never you mind. I'm reporting a rash of thefts out at the oil fields. Leave tomorrow. Take a couple of days to investigate.”

Clay rose from the chair and stalked across the room. “Do you know what you're asking me to do?”

“I do not recall asking. I'm your father. And I am
telling
you to do this.” Allyn tapped the tin star pinned to Clay's vest. “I put that there and I can take it away. Maybe I ought to, since its luster seems to have blinded you to your own family.”

Clay shook his head. “I'm like some piece of a puzzle. All my life you've been trying to fit me into the picture of your own ambitions. For the first time in my life I've been somebody, all on my own. And people have looked up to me. When I walk the streets, they say, ‘Good morning, Sheriff' and ‘Howdy, Mr. Benedict' and Thanks for your help.' I know you railroaded my appointment through the county officials. You probably bought a portion of the votes. But I've done the job. And been proud.”

“Then all the more reason you should head out to the oil fields. This way you save your blasted pride and I do what needs to be done and no one is the wiser.”

Clay turned away from his father and ambled toward the door. He placed his hand on the dark brass knob, then glanced back at Allyn.

“Maybe mother was smarter than any of us. She got as far from you as she possibly could.” He opened the door and stepped into the foyer. He could hear his father's muffled footsteps on the carpet but did not wait to hear what the man might add.

Allyn called to his son but reached the foyer as the front door swung shut. Benedict stiffened. The lad's parting remark had hurt.
Ungrateful
, Allyn fumed. The boy was ungrateful. He turned and spied Emmiline standing behind him in the hall. She wore a pale-green dressing gown fronted with lace bows. In her right hand she held a book, in the left a teacup and saucer.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” she replied.

“Forget what you heard,” he said. “This does not concern you, my dear.” He grabbed a coat and hat from a peg by the door. “I'll be back in a few hours.” It was time for another ride to Panther Hall. Jerel Tall Bull could be a troublesome brigand at times, but he had his uses. And tomorrow Allyn would have need of the man's special talents. He walked over and kissed Emmiline on the cheek. She recoiled slightly, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“I
T ISN'T BROKEN
,” J
OANNA SAID
,
KNEELING ALONGSIDE THE COT
and cradling Willem's foot. He winced as she probed his ankle first, then began to massage the damaged foot gently. Tom watched from outside the cell. Benje Lassiter stood alongside him, munching on a griddle cake he ate rolled up like a tortilla.

“I could have told you that,” the dour old bird sniffed. Abram Fielder poked his graying head around the doorway, and when he saw the tender treatment Willem was getting, the deputy's eyes lit up with envy.

“After you get done with ‘red hair' maybe you could sort of take a look at my neck, Doc,” Abram called out. “It's been powerful painsome of late.” He gingerly touched his neck and turned his head from side to side with a great show of discomfort.

Joanna emerged from the cell and ordered Benje to heat some water so that the prisoner could soak his injured ankle.

“Ma'am, I can't see where we need to worry about his ankle. It don't make no never mind if he limps up the scaffold or takes them final steps two at a time.”

“Heat some water,” she said, staring him down. “I want that foot to soak. And see it keeps warm back here. He won't be able to wear a boot with all that swelling. I'll be back to wrap the ankle with strips of buckskin.”

“Uh, yes, ma'am.” Benje retreated to the outer office and set a kettle on the Franklin stove. Joanna followed him out of the cell area. Abram, with a ring of black iron keys in hand, sauntered down the aisle to Willem's cell and locked the barred door.

“He can't even walk, much less run,” Tom ruefully observed.

“Just a formality,” Abram said. “Like excusin' yourself when you break wind in church.” He returned to the front room where he continued to complain of neck pain.

“Are you really hurting?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am.” The grizzled old deputy made a pitiful face.

“Well, I need to treat it the same way as I did the prisoner's,” Joanna said.

“Mighty kind of you, Doc,” Abram replied, leaning forward so that she might massage his neck.

“As soon as that water's hot, fill a bucket for Mr. Fielder. I want him to go soak his head.”

Lassiter chuckled. “My pleasure, ma'am.”

Abram looked up, positively dismayed. The front door opened and Clay Benedict entered, glancing around the room to make a quick assessment of the people within. He saw Tom standing back by the cells, and the physician replacing the tools of her trade in her medical bag.

“Sure you didn't leave him a saw or stone chisel, Doctor Cooper?”

“Just some dynamite,” she replied.

He brushed past her, showing no reaction, and continued into the back hall, where he stopped before Willem's cell. He glanced at Tom, then turned his attention on Willem.

“You've done it this time, Willem.”

“I didn't kill Charlotte White Bear,” the breed retorted. “No matter how many folks like Luthor and your father say I did.”

“You should have kept running. It would have saved us all some grief. You most especially.”

“Maybe you should be more concerned with seeing justice done than saving yourself
grief
, Sheriff,” Tom interjected.

Clay spun around as if he'd been physically struck, his eyes wide and glaring. “And maybe I ought to lock you up for hiding out a fugitive.”

“You'd have to build a case on lies,” Tom said. “So, tell me, Clay, does that badge stand for something, or is it just another toy from your father's hand?”

“Get out of my jail. Get out before I lock you up and throw away the key!”

Tom Sandcrane waved in the direction of his friend, then slowly ambled up the passage between the cells. Joanna was waiting for him in the outer office, a black woolen cloak draped around her shoulders. Tom paused and glanced from Abram to Benje, assessing their strengths and weaknesses from what little he had gleaned during the ride from Coyote Creek. The deputies seemed decent enough, with no particular prejudices. They had merely been doing their job that morning. They had come across a fresh set of tracks, discovered Willem's horse, then ridden on ahead to the Sandcrane ranch to set a trap.