“Let it go,” he said in a hard voice. “Don’t make me kill you.”
Doolin struggled, trying to free his arm. Around the room, the other men suddenly became aware of the wrestling match. They backed away, watching in silence, confounded by the sight of a minister with a gun in his hand. The minister was bigger and stronger, but the second man continued to fight. He clawed desperately at something inside his coat.
“Give it up,” Tilghman growled, shoving Doolin into the wall. “Stop now or your wife’s a widow.”
The warning touched a nerve. Doolin ceased to struggle, the wild look in his eyes abruptly gone. His tensed muscles went slack, and he allowed his arm to be forced aside. Tilghman pulled a pistol from his waistband, then moved back a step. They stared at each other.
“What stopped you?” Doolin said sullenly. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“Let’s just say I preferred to take you alive.”
“What for?”
“I doubt you’d understand, Doolin. Walk ahead of me.”
Tilghman informed the crowd that he was a federal marshal. None of them moved as he marched Doolin across the room and out the door. Upstairs, his gunhand hidden inside his jacket, Tilghman reclaimed his warbag. He saw no reason to alert local law officers, or to undergo a formal extradition hearing. Outside the hotel, he ordered Doolin to lead the way to the train station.
A northbound train was scheduled in at eleven that morning. Tilghman took Doolin into the men’s toilet and locked the door. He reclaimed a set of manacles from his warbag and clamped them around the outlaw’s wrists. While Doolin watched, he shed the parson’s outfit and put on his regular clothes. He pinned the deputy marshal’s badge to his shirt.
“Takes the cake,” Doolin said, staring at him. “Hadn’t been for that preacher’s getup, I would’ve spotted you. You’re a lucky man.”
“Your wife’s the lucky one, Doolin. I almost brought you home in a box.”
In the waiting room, Tilghman seated his prisoner on a bench against the wall. Then, after purchasing two tickets for Guthrie, he asked about sending a telegram. He composed a brief message to Evett Nix.
I HAVE HIM IN CUSTODY. ARRIVE THERE ON THE NOON TRAIN TOMORROW.
TILGHMAN
PART THREE
CHAPTER 36
The railway station at Guthrie was mobbed. A crowd of more than two thousand people waited around the depot and along the Santa Fe tracks. Word of Doolin’s capture had spread throughout town, and there was an air of celebration among those thronged about on the warm September morning. They were there to greet the most famous outlaw in Oklahoma Territory.
In large degree, they were there as well to greet the man who had captured Doolin. Overnight, with telegraph wires humming the news, Tilghman had become a celebrity throughout the territory. All the more so because he had taken Doolin alive, rather than killing him. None among them understood why he had spared the dreaded leader of the Wild Bunch.
The train rolled into town shortly after the noon hour. The engineer throttled down, setting the brakes, and let loose several blasts with his whistle. As the locomotive ground to a halt, pandemonium erupted among the packed masses outside the depot. Shoving and jostling, they pressed closer around the passenger coaches, fighting for a better vantage point. Slowly, then gaining momentum, a chant went up from the crowd. Their voices built to a drumming roar.
“Doolin! Doolin! DOOLIN!”
Tilghman stood in the aisle of the last passenger coach. Doolin was still seated, his hands manacled, staring out the window with a look of raw fear. For all either of them knew, a lynch mob had gathered to perform summary execution on the outlaw leader. Under his breath, Tilghman cursed Evett Nix for allowing the news to leak out. The matter should have been kept quiet, he told himself, at least until Doolin was locked in a cell. There was no way to control a crowd that large.
The train shuddered to a halt. Through the window, Tilghman saw Nix on the depot platform, surrounded by Thomas and Madsen and several other deputies. He took Doolin by the arm, got him on his feet, and walked him to the rear of the coach. After opening the door, he moved onto the observation platform, motioning for Doolin to remain inside. Behind Doolin, he noted that the other passengers were hurrying toward the front of the coach. He leaned out across the rear steps.
Heck Thomas spotted him. Gathering Nix and the other deputies, he bulled a path through the crowd. A moment later Thomas clambered up the steps, followed closely by Nix. Madsen and the remaining deputies formed a wedge at the bottom of the steps. The mob surged toward the rear of the train, their chant now raised to a deafening beat. Thomas waved Tilghman and Doolin back inside the coach. Nix hastily slammed the door.
“You ol’ scutter!” Thomas said with a wide grin. “Did it all by your lonesome, didn’t you?”
Before he could answer, Nix pushed forward. “Congratulations, Bill! You’re the talk of the whole territory.”
Tilghman accepted his handshake. “Thanks,” he said evenly, nodding out the window. “Where’d that reception party come from?”
“No way to stop the news from spreading. Those folks wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“He’s right,” Thomas added quickly. “You’d think it was the Fourth of July all over again.”
Tilghman looked at him. “Will we have any trouble getting Doolin under lock and key?”
“From that crowd?” Thomas laughed, shook his head. “They’re not gonna do anything but bust your eardrums. They’re here for the show.”
“Why do they keep yelling for Doolin?”
“’Cause he’s the show.” Thomas glanced past him, at Doolin. “You’re the luckiest feller that ever lived. If it’d been me, I’d have brought you back across a horse.”
“If it’d been you,”
