For a moment, she toyed with the idea of an ultimatum. She could demand that he choose between her or the law. But then, just as quickly, she set the thought aside. She had no right to make such demands, to force a decision that they both might regret. Instead, she must somehow lessen his concern for her. Her role was to give him strength rather than an added burden.
“You’re silly to worry,” she said brightly, “but I think I have a solution.”
“I’m open to anything that makes you happy.”
“Suppose we leave our plans just as they are. But if you haven’t caught Doolin by December, then we’ll postpone the wedding till it’s ended. I think that makes perfect sense.”
“You’re sure?” Tilghman said. “That’s what you want?”
“Yes, on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Shoot first,” she said fiercely. “Don’t be noble about it.”
Tilghman laughed and she snuggled again against his arm. Neither of them said anything more, for the decision had been made. A wedding was a wedding, whenever it happened.
They drove on into the night.
CHAPTER 28
A week later there was still no word on the Wild Bunch. Doolin and his men were thought to be in the Nations, but little else was known. For all practical purposes, the manhunt was at an end.
Tilghman was hardly surprised. Newspapers across the territory had trumpeted the deaths of Blake, Pierce, and Newcomb. Three of the Wild Bunch hunted down and killed made for splashy headlines and a clearcut warning to the remainder of the gang. Their vaunted record of escaping without harm had been ended on a deadly note. Far from invincible, they were now at risk.
To Tilghman, the gang’s reaction was almost predictable. Whatever else Doolin was, he was a man who coolly calculated the odds, and weighed the risks. With three men dead, he had wisely opted to lie low and let time work in his favor. In effect, he operated on the old military adage that it was sometimes better to give ground, and live to fight another day. There was every likelihood that the Wild Bunch would not strike again until they ran out of money.
On that assessment, Tilghman bided his time. He arrested a few backwoods whiskey smugglers, and late one night, he paid a secret visit to the Dunn brothers. But they, too, were in the dark, having seen nothing of Doolin or his men. For the most part, Tilghman worked around the ranch and devoted his spare time to Zoe. Tomorrow, the last Saturday in July, they planned to attend the races in town and then the evening dance, Given an even break, Steeldust would bring home yet another purse.
But late that afternoon his plans abruptly took a wrong turn. He was seated on the porch thinking of tomorrow’s race when Heck Thomas rode into the yard. His first thought was to get word to Zoe that their Saturday outing was now off. For even as Thomas stepped down from the saddle, he knew that the interlude had just ended. Their manhunt was about to resume.
“Helluva note,” Thomas said, walking toward the porch. “I work my butt off and you’ve turned into a loafer. Don’t hardly seem fair.”
“Grab a chair.” Tilghman motioned to a nearby rocker. “I take it you’ve come bearing glad tidings.”
Thomas took a seat in the rocker. He removed his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead with a soiled kerchief. “Got a tip this morning,” he said casually. “A headman of the Osage tribe had some government business in Guthrie. He brought word from Johnny Longbone.”
“Who’s Johnny Longbone?”
“One of my Osage friends. Off and on, he whispers things in my ear.”
Tilghman nodded. “One of your informants.”
“Johnny’s more than that.” Thomas set the rocker in motion. “Damn good scout when it strikes his fancy.”
“So what did he whisper in your ear?”
“Bill Raidler.”
Raidler was one of the five remaining gang members of the Wild Bunch. Tilghman shifted in his chair. “Let me guess,” he said. “Raidler’s somewhere in the Nations.”
“Yep,” Thomas affirmed. “A cabin on Five Mile Creek, over in the Cherokee Nation. You familiar with that country?”
“I don’t recollect having been there.”
“Near as I recall, it’s about a two-day ride northwest of here. We’ll pick up Longbone and his cousin along the way. They’ve scouted for me before.”
Tilghman looked at him. “The Osage know Cherokee country that well?”
“Like the back of their hand,” Thomas said. “They’ve been dealin’ with the Cherokee for fifty years. Longbone will get us there.”
“What about Madsen?”
“Take too long to get him here from El Reno. Nix figured you and me could handle it.”
Tilghman considered a moment. “There’s no moon tonight. We’d best leave at daylight.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Thomas said, rocking back and forth. “What’s for supper?”
Tilghman arranged for one of his workhands to carry word to Zoe. After supper, with Thomas and Neal Brown seated around the table, he started collecting his gear. They were still sipping coffee when he brought oily rags and a ramrod to the kitchen.
He began cleaning his Winchester.
* * *
Three days later they forded the Caney River shortly after sunrise. They were in the heart of the Cherokee Nation, a remote stretch of wilderness as yet unsettled. On the opposite shore Five Mile Creek emptied into the river.
Their scouts led the way. According to Johnny Longbone, the creek ended five miles farther on, at a backcountry crossroads called Talala. Somewhere ahead, perhaps two or three miles, a deserted cabin was situated along the creek. There they would find Bill Raidler.
Tilghman was impressed by their Osage scouts. Johnny Longbone and his cousin, Tom Dog Eater, were taller than most Indians he’d met. Their features were angular and dusky red in color, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Though they spoke passable English, they clearly descended from a long line of
