The thought was reinforced as the locomotive belched steam and got under way. Tilghman saw Edith Doolin’s head snap around, staring at him as the passenger coach pulled away from the station. Her eyes were filled with a look of disbelief and desperation, the sudden awareness that he had no intention of boarding the train. As the coach gathered speed, her face became a mask of bewildered outrage. Her expression betrayed her, and he knew he was right. She’d tried to gull him.
The train rolled out of Burden, heading west. Tilghman watched until the last coach in the string was far down the tracks. Then he turned and walked back into the depot. The ticket agent gave him a curious look.
“Find the lady you were asking about?”
“More or less,” Tilghman said. “Who do I see about sending a telegram?”
“You’re looking at him,” the agent said with a slow smile. “Tickets, telegraph, sweep the floor. Jack of all trades.”
He pushed a telegram form across the counter, along with a pen and inkwell. Tilghman considered a moment, composing the message in his head. Then he began writing.
Evett Nix
U.S. Marshal
Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory
Edith Doolin arrives Perry on Santa
Fe tomorrow. Have her followed to
determine final destination. Heck
Thomas knows her on sight.
Believe Doolin still in Kansas.
Will keep you advised.
Tilghman
Finished, Tilghman slid the form across the counter. The agent read through it quickly, silently mouthing the words. His eyes went round and he glanced up with a questioning look.
“Bill Doolin’s here in Burden?”
“Let’s understand each other,” Tilghman said in a low voice. “You keep your lip buttoned, or I’ll have to see you in an official capacity. You get my drift?”
“Bet I do,” the agent said hastily. “Don’t give it another thought, marshal. You can depend on me.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Tilghman paid for the telegram and walked to the door. Outside, crossing the platform, his thoughts turned again to Doolin. How he’d been spotted, or when, seemed to him a moot point. Edith Doolin’s sudden departure, her return to Oklahoma Territory, spoke for itself. He’d somehow given himself away, and the result was a change in Doolin’s plans. Which left him with few options and no real choice. He had to turn up a fresh lead.
Headed uptown, Tilghman mentally reviewed the last few days. The Doolin woman had spoken with several people during her stay in Burden. A short list included the hotel clerk, the doctor, the livery stable owner, and clerks in various stores. However smart she thought she was, she might have dropped some telltale clue in conversation. So his first task was to talk with those who had spoken with her at any length. From the first day, he’d been curious about her visits to the doctor. He decided to start there.
Some ten minutes later a nurse ushered him into the physician’s office. Phillip Bailey was in his fifties, with a mane of white hair and an open manner. Seated at an ancient roll-top desk, he motioned Tilghman to a nearby chair. His smile was inquisitive.
“What seems to be the problem today?”
“Nothing medical.” Tilghman showed him the badge. “I’m a federal marshal. I’d like to ask about one of your patients.”
“You don’t say?” Bailey examined the badge, nodding. “Which patient would that be?”
“A woman staying at the Royal Hotel, Mrs. Will Barry. Or maybe her baby was the patient. I never really knew.”
“Yes indeed, a fine young woman. And you’re right, she was the patient rather than her baby. May I ask your interest in Mrs. Barry?”
“Just routine,” Tilghman said evasively. “She got herself involved with some unsavory people.”
“What a shame.” Bailey appeared saddened by the news. “Well, in any event, she had complications resulting from childbirth. A few days’ bed rest and she was fine. The problem took care of itself.”
“Did she mention anything about herself? Where she was headed, who she was traveling with? Anything of that sort?”
“No, not that I recall. She just said she was stopping over in Burden for a few days.”
Tilghman looked at him. “So you only talked about her medical condition? Nothing else?”
“No, nothing—” Bailey hesitated, suddenly thoughtful. “Well, now that I think on it, there was one thing. She asked me to see some poor fellow she’d met on the street. A panhandler.”
“A tramp?” Tilghman said quickly. “Dark hair, average height, with a lame foot?”
“Yes, that’s the fellow. Told me he’d accidentally shot himself in the foot some time ago. Developed into a bad case of rheumatism.”
“Are you still treating him?”
“I saw him only once. Four or five days ago, as I recall. Gave him a bottle of liniment to ease the pain.”
“Have you seen him around town since then?”
“No, I haven’t,” Bailey said. “Perhaps he took my advice. I suggested one of the bath resorts, in Arkansas.”
“Which one?” Tilghman asked. “Hot Springs or Eureka Springs?”
“Actually, I made no specific recommendation. I just mentioned that the waters would relieve his condition.”
“Did he say anything about one over the other?”
“Not that I remember.”
“What name did he give you?”
“Let me see.” Bailey thumbed through an index file on his desk. “Yes, here it is. Thomas Wilson, male, advanced rheumatism of the left foot. No address, I’m afraid.”
“Out of curiosity,” Tilghman said, “how old would you say his gunshot wound was?”
“Less than a year.” Bailey paused, his expression benign but his eyes inquisitive. “You seem to have taken quite an interest in Mr. Wilson. Has he committed a crime?”
“I’ll know that when I find him, doctor. But if you’re a betting man, bet the farm.”
Tilghman left the office at a vigorous stride. The day was half gone and there was still a great deal to be accomplished. He had to buy a horse and a saddle, camping gear and a rifle, and then start a hunt too long delayed. For while he was days behind, there was one thing he knew with dead certainty.
Bill Doolin, alias Thomas
