Outside they met Brown walking toward the porch. He waved back at the corral. “Got your horses unsaddled and grained.”
“Give us a hand,” Tilghman said, moving past him. “We need a couple of fast horses out of the work stock.”
“Where the hell you headed now? You just got here.”
“No rest for the weary, Neal. We’re off again.”
“Just knew it!” Brown trotted along beside them. “That jasper without a name brought you some hot news. What is it, another holdup?”
“Not exactly,” Thomas said with a faint smile. “More like a surprise party.”
“Party?” Brown sounded bewildered. “For who?”
“A couple of gents without invitations.”
“That don’t make no sense.”
Thomas laughed. “They’re liable to think so, too.”
Brown watched them ride out a few minutes later. He turned from the corral, walking back toward the house, still at a loss. He told himself all over again that lawmen were a strange breed.
And pure hell on horses!
* * *
The moon heeled over to the west. A glow like spun silver sparkled off the waters of Council Creek. The house was dark and the horses in the corral stood immobile, statues bronzed in sleep. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted a mournful cry.
Tilghman checked the angle of the moon. He calculated the time at somewhere around three o’clock. His position was north of the trail that led into town. Across from him, Thomas was hidden in the trees closer to the creek. They had been waiting since shortly after midnight.
Their horses were tied deep in the woods. They had approached on foot, and taken their time inspecting the compound. There was no way to tell if Charley Pierce and Bitter Creek Newcomb were already asleep in the dugout. But based on what George Dunn had told them, that was doubtful. The outlaws apparently intended a long night of celebration.
The plan, like most good plans, was flexible. Tilghman and Thomas had agreed to wait in the woods, operating on the premise that the outlaws would make a late night of it. Barring that, they could only assume that the wanted men were already in the dugout. In that event, they would await sunrise and keep on waiting. The outlaws would have to emerge from the dugout at some point, however long it took. Either way, the trail or the dugout, the result would be the same.
“Whooeee!” a voice crowed from farther down the trail. “Flushed the birds outta that little ’uns nest!”
“Charley, I still say the mama was a better lay. A broke horse is always the best ride.”
“Hell, you must be gettin’ old. That young ’un was just too much for you.”
“That’ll be the day! How come she squealed when I forked her? You tell me that.”
Pierce and Newcomb rode around the bend in the creek. Still some thirty yards away, they were visible in the shaft of moonlight that lit the trail. By the tone of their voices, they had consumed copious amounts of whiskey while frolicking at the local cathouse. Their horses came on at a slow walk.
Tilghman waited until the distance had closed to ten yards. The Winchester at his shoulder, he laid the sights on Newcomb, who rode on the north side of the trail. Across the way, he caught movement as Thomas edged from behind a tree and sighted on Pierce. His shouted command split the night.
“Federal marshals! Raise your hands!”
The outlaws reined up sharply. Pierce went for his gun while trying to wheel his horse around in the trail. Thomas fired, working the lever on his carbine, and touched off another shot. The slugs caught Pierce in the throat and the head, blowing out the back of his skull. He pitched sideways onto the trail.
The fiery muzzle blasts spooked Newcomb’s horse. Instead of turning away, the crazed animal bolted straight up the trail toward Tilghman. Newcomb managed to get off one shot, which buzzed harmlessly through the woods. Tilghman fired as the range closed to five yards, and drilled the outlaw through the chest. The impact drove Newcomb backwards out of the saddle and dropped him on the ground. His horse pounded past on a beeline for the corral.
The reverberations of the gunshots slowly faded along the creek. Tilghman and Thomas moved from the trees, their carbines still cocked, and walked forward on the trail. In the moonlight, the bodies of Pierce and Newcomb lay twisted in death. Thomas grunted sharply under his breath.
“Good riddance,” he said. “Gone to hell just in time for breakfast.”
Tilghman nodded. “Homer Godfrey ought to rest a little easier now.”
“His wife won’t be happy till Red Buck Waightman’s dead and buried.”
“None of us will, Heck. We’d all like the honors on him.”
They turned and walked toward the compound. A match flared and the glow of a lamp lighted the house. As they moved through the yard, Bee Dunn opened the front door. He stood framed against a spill of light from inside.
“I heard shots,” he called out. “Did you get ’em?”
“The party’s over,” Thomas said with cold irony. “Your visitors got their candles snuffed.”
“You just remember, I kept my part of the bargain.”
“We’ll remember,” Tilghman said, halting outside the door. “We need to borrow a wagon and team.”
“What for?”
“What d’you think?” Thomas growled. “We’re gonna cart ’em back to Guthrie.”
Dunn looked puzzled. “Why would you do that?”
“Our orders were to bring ’em in dead. We aim to please.”
Tilghman restrained a laugh. Under normal circumstances, he wasn’t much for gallows humor. But he thought it fitting in this instance.
Evett Nix was about to see his first dead outlaw.
CHAPTER 27
The crowds began gathering along Division Street. Thomas drove the wagon bearing the dead men, with his horse hitched to the rear. Tilghman rode alongside the wagon, somewhat amazed as more and more people flocked around them. By the time they reached the center of town, young boys were running ahead to spread the word.
Outside the Herriott Building, Thomas brought the wagon to a halt. Stores emptied along the street and the crush
