The Dawn of Fury (10 page)

Dallas sheriff Eb Chasteen listened to Nathan's story with little enthusiasm. “So you got yer skull creased,” he said. “You seen the hombre that done it?”

“No,” said Nathan irritably, “but yesterday I exposed a card cheat name of Jason Driggers in Fort Worth. He promised to kill me, and he's the only bastard in Texas with any reason to. I trailed him here, and when I find him, there's goin' to be a reckoning. I just wanted to be sure there'll be no misunderstanding between you and me after I find Driggers.”

“You got no proof this gent took a shot at you,” Chasteen said. “Just your suspicions. Kill a man without provable cause, and you'll find yourself before a firing squad or on the way to the gallows.”

They stood on the boardwalk outside the sheriffs office, and from an alley on the far side of the street, a rifle roared once, twice, three times.

With the first shot, Nathan hit the boardwalk, drawing his Colt as he went down. The sheriff was flung back against the wall as a slug smashed into his shoulder. On his belly, Nathan fired three times into the mouth of the alley, but there was no return fire. Colt in his hand, Nathan scrambled to his feet and in a zigzag run, lit out toward the alley. There was no place for the gunman to hide between the store buildings. For the second time Driggers had attempted a cowardly ambush, and Nathan doubted he had the guts for a standup fight. His horse would be nearby and he would run. Nathan caught up to him in the alley, behind a saloon, already mounted. Driggers kicked the horse into a fast gallop just as Nathan fired. The slug missed Driggers but burned a gash along the horse's flank. The animal screamed, began to pitch, and piled Driggers.

“Get up,” said Nathan, holstering his Colt. “I'll give you more of a chance than you deserve, you back-shootin' skunk.”

Nathan stood with his left thumb hooked in his pistol belt, for his left-hand Colt was fully loaded. Driggers got to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He knew what was coming, and sweat dripped off his chin.

“When you're ready,” Nathan said.

Nathan waited, not making his move until Driggers slapped leather. Nathan drew left-handed, and two slugs tore into Driggers, while lead from his opponent's Colt kicked up dust at his feet. Driggers stumbled backward, fell, and moved no more.

The gunfire brought men on the run. One of them had heard of Driggers's disgrace in Fort Worth the day before. He told the story and it was repeated. It would spread across the frontier, and Nathan Stone would become respected as a gambling man and chain-lightning with a pistol, able to draw and fire a deadly Colt with either hand.

Ignoring the men who had gathered, Nathan reloaded both his Colts and took his time walking back to the sheriffs office. He found Chasteen stretched out on his desk, minus his shirt, a doctor dressing his wound.

“Driggers is up yonder behind a saloon,” said Nathan. “Are you satisfied I had provable cause?”

“Yeah,” said Chasteen grudgingly. “Now ride on.”

Nathan rode out the way he had come, ignoring the questions of men who had gathered outside the sheriff's office. Let the sullen, appointed lawman do his own explaining. Nathan returned to the camp where he had left his packhorse. His head ached and he took the time to again cleanse and bind his wound. He then watered his horses and rode south, bound for Austin, wondering if his newly acquired reputation would be there waiting for him. There was no help for it. It was a thing with which he must live. Or die.

Nathan found the Federals had not yet taken over the town of Waco. The sheriff was an amiable old fellow named Sid Hanks.

“I ain't got no prejudices ag‘in gamblers,” said Hanks. “If you end up shootin' somebody, or somebody blows out your light, then you'd best have the cash in your poke for a buryin'. We was broke 'fore the war, and we sure as hell ain't got no money now.”

Nathan liked the looks of Waco. He tied both his horses to the rail before a saloon called the Lily Belle. Obviously the place had been named for the lady herself, for a full length painting of her—wearing only a smile—graced most of one wall. The barkeep said, “B'longs to old Sam Prater. Sam's grandpappy had money. Left Sam this place, along with a two-story house big enough to sleep half of Waco. Old Sam's three daughters takes in boarders when they's any to take in.”

“Sheriff Hanks had no objection to gambling,” said Nathan.“ Do you have a regular game here?”

“Not any more. House dealer quit and left town by popular demand. You lookin' for work?”

“Maybe,” Nathan said. “I can handle the cards, but I deal an honest game.”

“Faro?”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “but I don't have a box.”

“We have that,” the barkeep said. “Make yourself comfortable. Judge Prater will be along in a while, and you'll need to talk to him.”

“Judge?”

“Old Sam's been judge as far back as I can remember,” said the barkeep. “Hell, he's got enough kin in this county to keep him in office forever. By the way, I'm Ira Watkins.”

“I'm Nathan Stone.” He said no more. The barkeep's eyes dipped quickly to the pair of tied-down Colts and he just as quickly looked away.

“Is there a hotel in town?” Nathan asked, after the silence had dragged on for a while.

“No,” said Watkins. “Don't need one. Not with the Prater house. Ain't a soul livin' there right now but the judge and his three daughters.”

Nathan said nothing, but the question was so obvious, the talkative barkeep answered it anyway.

“Too many men went to war and not enough come back,” said Watkins. “It's got to be worryin' the judge, what he's goin' to do with them three females. Eulie's thirty-five if she's a day, while Eunice and Eldora's right on her heels.”

Nathan kept his silence, If the old Judge suddenly appeared, he would have no way of knowing that Nathan hadn't been asking these questions the talkative barkeep was so helpfully answering.

When Judge Sam Prater arrived, he looked every bit as stern and unbending as Nathan had expected. He stepped through the batwing doors and paused. He wore a frock coat, boiled shirt with string tie, dark trousers, a top hat, bushy sideburns, and a full white beard. His eyes rested on Nathan as though prepared to pronounce judgment for a crime of which only he was aware. He eventually cut his eyes to Ira Watkins and the barkup spoke nervously.

“His name's Nathan Stone,” said Watkins. “I told him we was lookin' for a house dealer and he says he can handle the cards. I told him he'd have to talk to you.”

“Room and board and ten percent of the take,” said the judge, turning his hard old eyes on Nathan. “No drinking on the job. You'll come on at seven and be here until close. You're off Sundays because we're closed. I want an honest game, no slick dealing, and if you shoot anybody, I won't side you. It'll be strictly between you and the law. Any questions?”

“I have a horse, a packhorse, and a dog,” Nathan said.

“There's a barn behind the house,” said Prater, “and all three animals are welcome. I'll have the cook feed the dog table scraps. Come on. I'll take you to the house and then you can unsaddle your horses at the barn.”

Cotton Blossom eyed the judge suspiciously, trotting along behind the packhorse at a distance greater than usual. To say the Prater house was magnificent wouldn't have done it justice. Nathan counted four chimneys. There were gables and windows everywhere, a full-length porch across the front of the second floor, and from each end of the peaked roof, gargoyles scowled at anybody who chose to look at them. Nathan half-hitched the reins of both horses to the rail and followed the judge to the front door. Cotton Blossom remained with the horses without a command. The hound had no intention of venturing into that house.

Nathan followed the judge into a foyer and there they paused.

“Eulie! Eunice! Eldora!” The judge bawled.

The three women came down the stairs from the second floor, taking their time. They all had shoulder length dark hair and appeared to have been eating too well too often; from a distance, Nathan couldn't have identified one from another. The judge lined them up like soldiers, introducing them from left to right.

“Eulie's the oldest,” said Prater, neglecting to say just how old, “and these are her sisters, Eunice and Eldora. Girls, this is Nathan Stone, the new house dealer at the Lily Belle.”

Eulie actually smiled, while Eunice and Eldora only nodded.

“Stone,” said the judge, “I won't have you toying with the affections of my daughters. If your intentions are anything less than honorable, then you will answer to me.”

“Prater,” Nathan said coldly, “I'm hiring on as a house dealer, nothing more. I don't take kindly to ultimatums or accusations before I've even had a chance to remove my hat.”

Nathan expected the three women to hang their heads in embarrassment and shame, but they were furious.

Eldora spoke, and she was shouting. “Father, that was a perfectly horrid thing to say. Once again you've insulted a man before he's even had time to speak to us. We'll be taking our damned virtue to the grave with us, and we'll owe it all to you.”

“Eulie,” said the judge, ignoring the outburst, “take Mr. Stone to his room upstairs. Supper is at five, Stone, and I'll expect you at the Lily Belle at seven.”

“I'll want my saddlebags,” Nathan said.

“Find your room first,” said the judge. “Then, when you've unsaddled your horses, you can bring in whatever you wish.”

Nathan followed Eulie up the stairs, and while he didn't know if her walk was exaggerated or not, it was enough to get his attention. He didn't want the room at the very head of the stairs, and was relieved when she led him past it. The room they eventually entered was farther down the hall, and there was a window. The head of the iron bed was next to the window, and tied to the leg of the bed was a length of rope. The fire escape. There was an oak dresser with a framed mirror, an upholstered chair, and on one side of the bed, a stand with a pitcher and wash basin. Beneath the stand was a chamber pot. On the dresser was a kerosene lamp. For just a second, Nathan's eyes met Eulie's, and they had both been looking at the half-concealed chamber pot. Eulie winked and it was Nathan who blushed. She paused at the door.

“My room's right next to yours.” She smiled. “If there's anything you need.”

“Thanks,” said Nathan, carefully avoiding her eyes.

She closed the door and Nathan sat down on the bed, fanning himself with his hat. Why was he sweating? He got up, pulled aside the curtain, and looked out. It couldn't be much past two o'clock in the afternoon. He stepped out into the hall and made his way downstairs to the front door. He saw nobody. He went out, leading his horses around the house and toward the barn, a good half a mile distant. Cotton Blossom followed. Reaching the barn, Nathan unsaddled both horses, hefting his saddle and packsaddle to a rail provided for that purpose. Cotton Blossom seemed to have the same feelings about the barn as the house, for he had remained outside. The sound was slight, but it was enough to drop Nathan to his belly, a cocked Colt in his right hand.

“You're a dangerous man,” Eldora said, her eyes on the rock-steady Colt.

“Don't you ever again come up behind me without identifying yourself,' Nathan snapped. ”What are you doing out here, anyhow?”

“I've lived in this house all my life,” she said. “I can come to the barn for any reason or for no reason at all. Maybe I just wanted a better look at you, without my virtuous old daddy protecting my innocence.”

Nathan laughed. “He does come on a mite strong.” They walked back to the house together, and Nathan saw the curtains move at one of the upstairs windows.

“If you need anything,” Eldora said, “my room's next to yours.”

“I'd bet my horse and saddle,” said Nathan, “that Eunice has a room just across the hall from mine. Or will she be sleeping in the hall, just outside my door?”

She laughed, but there was no humor on it. Nathan had no idea how long this shaky alliance in Waco might last. He knew only that he must avoid being lured into a compromising position with any of the predatory women. Returning to his room, he dragged off his boots, shucked his hat, and lay down across the bed. His first few nights at the saloon's table he would have to be careful. Both the players and the house would be testing him, and until he gained a reputation for fairness, his game must not be questioned. It was a dilemma facing every house dealer. He must win often enough to satisfy the house, but not so consistently that his honesty was questioned.