“What’s that?”
“You know—” Thomas hesitated, grinning. “Who shot Billy the Kid?”
“One thing’s for certain, Heck.”
“Yeah?”
“It damn sure wasn’t Evett Nix.”
* * *
Tilghman called on Zoe the following evening. After riding in from Guthrie, he’d managed a full night’s sleep, and he once again felt rested. Yet, for all that, his good humor seemed somehow forced. He was still thinking of the encounter with Nix.
Following supper, Zoe banished her father to the parlor and his newspaper. She led Tilghman outside, and they seated themselves in the porch swing. A breeze off the prairie had displaced the day’s heat shortly after nightfall. Off toward the creek, fireflies blinked dots of light in the dark.
For a while, lulled by the motion of the swing, they talked of his upcoming birthday and her plans to hold a party. Yet, beneath the surface, she sensed that he was not himself tonight. By now, she could detect the slightest shift in his mood, particularly when he was troubled by something he was trying to hide. She knew, despite his pleasant manner, that his mind was worlds away. He was brooding on something.
“All right,” she said, squeezing his arm, “tell me all about it.”
“All about what?”
“You’re not fooling me for an instant. I can almost hear the wheels grinding. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing much,” Tilghman said, avoiding a direct answer. “Besides, I’d rather spend our time together talking about us. Why spoil it talking about business?”
“Because we should share things,” she persisted. “The good as well as the bad. Are you talking about ranch business or law business?”
“Won’t give up, huh?”
“Oh, for goodness sakes! Anything that involves you involves me. You should know that by now.”
Tilghman was silent a moment. Then, aware that she wouldn’t be put off, he finally told her. His voice quiet with anger, he related the encounters over the past few days with Evett Nix. His words were filled with loathing.
“Hate to admit it,” he concluded, “but I’m about at the end of my rope. Nix looks at Doolin as just another feather in his cap. He’s a politician, pure and simple.”
“He sounds perfectly terrible,” she said. “But on the other hand, he is the U.S. marshal. How do you get around that?”
“Short of quitting, there’s no way around it. I’m stuck with him.”
She often experienced a whipsaw of emotions about his job as a lawman. She was constantly frightened for his safety, terrified that he would ride out one day and never return. Yet his devotion to the law, his inner conviction that right should prevail, was all too apparent. She had long since reconciled herself to the fact that he would not be the same man without a badge. Nor would she attempt to change him.
“You know what I think?” she said with a disarming smile. “You hate taking orders from a man you don’t respect. You feel like you’ve compromised yourself.”
“How’d you know that?” Tilghman said, slightly astounded. “You a mind reader, or something?”
“No,” she said softly. “But I know you.”
“Well, you hit the nail on the head. Half the time, I feel like kicking myself for not turning in my badge.”
“And yet, turning in your badge isn’t the answer, is it? You take great pride in being a lawman.”
Tilghman nodded. “Not bragging, but I’m good at it. Sort of comes natural.”
“Then you shouldn’t quit,” she said confidently. “People always say you have to take the bitter with the sweet. Nothing’s ever perfect.”
“Evett Nix is a bitter pill, all right. One that I find damn hard to swallow.”
“Perhaps that isn’t the answer, either.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Where you’re concerned, I’m hardly impartial. But you’re a resourceful man, the most determined man I’ve ever met. I just suspect you’ll find a way to deal with Mr. Nix.”
Tilghman put his arm around her. He held her close and she snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder. He stared off into the dark for a time, thinking about what she’d said. Then, finally, he chuckled and hugged her tighter.
“You know, I just suspect you’re right. One way or another, I’ll deal with Nix.”
CHAPTER 25
A fortnight slipped past with no word on the Wild Bunch. Then, as though contemptuous of the law, they struck in the heart of Oklahoma Territory. On a dark night, late in July, the gang robbed a train outside the town of Dover. They got away with over twenty thousand dollars from the express-car safe.
News of the holdup went out on the telegraph before midnight. Tilghman, who was in Guthrie at the time, was awakened shortly afterward in his hotel room. Less than an hour later, he and Thomas met with Evett Nix to map out a strategy. There was no train between Guthrie and Dover, and they had no choice but to travel by horseback. By two o’clock, they rode west into the night.
Dover was a small town north of the Cimarron River, located some thirty miles northwest of Guthrie. El Reno, where Chris Madsen was posted, was some sixty miles south of where the robbery had occurred. The Rock Island railroad had service from there northward, and Nix ordered him by telegraph to commandeer a train. He was to meet Tilghman and Thomas in Dover.
An hour or so after sunrise Madsen’s train pulled into the station. Tilghman and Thomas, sipping coffee provided by the stationmaster, were standing on the depot platform. They waited while Madsen unloaded his horse from a boxcar behind the locomotive. The three men had about them a sense of grim determination, as well as quickened excitement. The Wild Bunch, missing since the raid on Dunn’s ranch, had at last surfaced. This time, they meant to run the gang to earth.
Once they were mounted, they rode south along the railroad tracks. Some three miles outside town a trestled bridge spanned the Cimarron. At the northern end of the bridge, the bandits had felled a tree to halt the train. Following the robbery, a posse had been hastily
