Do Not Forsake Me(55)

They crested a hill overlooking the roadway, then dismounted to rest their horses…and they waited, all thinking the same thing. Once they freed Marty, they would proceed to take revenge against Jake and Lloyd Harkner.

“We have to get him someplace out in the open,” Dell spoke up, as though to read all their thoughts. “And we need a way to lure him there. Taking one of his kin might be the best way to bring him to us. Believe me, he’s not a man who will go down easy. He took on seven men once back in California and lived through it. We have just about twice that many. He’ll not live through this one, and we’ll all be famous—and rich. Banks and merchants and even private homes will be easy prey with Harkner out of the picture.”

“So do you have a definite plan?” asked a hefty man whose belly hung over his belt.

Dell loved the attention, loved finally being a leader rather than a follower, or the one left behind when Marty and Ted and Gordy would go out to steal horses or cattle. He drew on his cigarette before answering. “We free Marty. Then we go after Jake’s family. We’ll figure out a way. And we’ll wait until Harkner goes out on more rounds so he won’t be there to defend his own. The sheriff in Guthrie is fat and lazy and won’t be a problem. Whatever we do, it has to be something to force Jake’s hand, something that will be sure to bring him and his son after us. It can’t be some other marshal. It has to be Jake, so we have to find a way to make this personal. He’ll damn well come, all right.”

Less than an hour later, a lookout spotted the prison wagon.

“Here she comes, boys.”

“Mount up!” Dell told them.

Everyone scrambled to their horses, and Dell waved them to follow him in a hard ride down the steep hill toward the road…and the prison wagon. Men would die today, and every lawman in Oklahoma would remember the name Dell Bryant—not just for helping Marty Bryant escape, but even better…for being the man who brought down Jake Harkner.





Fifteen


Jeff’s next visit came twelve days after the shooting and in the midst of slight bedlam. He came on Sunday, as Jake had asked him to do, and the entire family was there, most of them still in the kitchen, Jake on the sofa with his leg propped up and playing poker with six-year-old Stephen while Little Jake sat beside the sofa playing with blocks.

Lloyd answered the door and ushered Jeff inside, showing him to the stuffed chair across from the sofa, the coffee table between them. “I’m going into the kitchen for some pie,” he told Jeff.

“Jeff! Have a seat,” Jake told him, dealing cards to Stephen.

Jeff noticed Jake’s six-guns were lying in pieces on a tray table at the end of the sofa, apparently taken apart for cleaning. “Are you walking now, Jake?”

“Sure I can walk, but Brian says to keep the leg up when I’m sitting. It’s a goddamn nuisance, but I guess I have to do what they say. Tomorrow we’ll—”

“Jake Harkner, stop cussing in front of those boys,” Randy called from the kitchen.

Jake frowned at Jeff. “Can you figure out how she heard that with all that noise going on in the kitchen?”

“No, sir.”

“The woman has ears in every room.” He dealt a hand to Stephen while Jeff finally sat down in the chair, noting the stark contrast the Jake of today was to the one who’d shot down five men almost two weeks ago. Jake wore denim pants but was barefoot. His long-sleeved, button-down shirt was open in front.

“Grampa, is an ace a good card?” Stephen asked.

Jake grinned. “What did I tell you about asking me which cards are good? Now I know you have an ace, and since I don’t have a pair or anything close to an ace, I have to fold. The toothpicks are yours.”

Stephen jumped up. “Gramma! Gramma! I cheated Grampa! I cheated! I cheated!” He laid his cards in front of Jake. “See? I cheated you! I don’t have an ace!”

Jake laid his head back against the arm of the couch and laughed. “Stephen, the word is bluff, not cheat. Bluff!”

“I cheated you! I cheated you!”

“Pa, are you corrupting my son?” Lloyd called from the kitchen.

“Of course I am,” Jake yelled back. “Nobody is better at corrupting someone than I am.” Jake covered his face in feigned regret. “Stephen, if you use that word in a real card game, someone will toss you out in the street, or worse,” he told the boy. “Take the toothpicks and go eat some pie, you little bluffer.”

Stephen reached over and grabbed the toothpicks. He ran into the kitchen, still talking about cheating his grandfather.

“I have no hope,” Jake told Jeff, still laughing. “I’m always the bad guy.”