The Dawn of Fury (25 page)

“Nobody saw the shooting,” said Nathan.

“Nobody had to,” Silver replied. “You saw the two men follow me when I left the St. Charles, but you don't know that they were the only men Gavin had watching me. If another of Gavin's men saw you trailing the pair that you shot, then you won't be safe anywhere in New Orleans. Even if Gavin did not hate McQueen's guts, he'd have you trailed there. Then he'd torch every building on the place and gun you down when you tried to escape.”

“Damn it,” Nathan said, “you're boxing me in. Either I run like a yellow dog or risk being shot in the back.”

“I'm just calling it the way I see it,” Silver said, “because I've seen it happen before. You got in neck deep saving my bacon, and I owe you. I don't aim to tell you what to do, because from what I've seen, you're plenty man enough to stomp your own snakes. I'm going to talk to French Stumberg about you. He can use a man of your caliber, if you're interested.”

“Don't do me any favors,” said Nathan. “What the hell makes Stumberg any better than Gavin?”

“Stumberg won't have you shot in the back,” Silver said. “When you've learned a little more about Gavin's game, talk to me. I'm in room 301, near the head of the stairs.”

They parted company, Silver entering the hotel, Nathan seeking his horse. He looked carefully around, but nobody seemed interested in him. The sun told him it was no later than three o‘clock, but it seemed much later. He mounted and started back to McQueen's, pondering what Silver had told him. If Dillard and Snider
were
part of Stumberg's empire, going after the two killers would undoubtedly bring Stumberg's wrath down on Nathan Stone, trapping him in a deadly cross fire between the two factions. Just then, the roar of a Winchester seemed loud in the evening stillness, and lead ripped across Nathan's ribs, beneath his right arm. He rolled out of the saddle, taking his long gun with him, knowing he had no cover. He was on the very outskirts of town, and with the bushwhacker behind him, there were many points from which the shot could have come. There were no more shots, and Nathan rose cautiously to his feet. He dismissed any thought of pursuit, for he would be riding back into town, an open invitation to another shot. That, and the firing, might have attracted the unwelcome attention of the Gavin-controlled law. His wound paining him and blood soaking his shirt, he mounted and rode on toward McQueen's.

The more Nathan thought of it, the more Silver's proposal made sense, but not for Silver's reason. If he had no reason for remaining in the city, he could simply ride on, removing himself from Gavin's reach. But his reason—actually two of them—would not let him ride away. If the killers Nathan sought had sold their guns to Stumberg, what better way to find them than just hiring out to Stumberg, as Silver had proposed? Shying clear of Stumberg, he would again be searching one saloon or gambling house after another, all the while risking being shot in the back by one of Gavin's killers. Nathan cursed under his breath. It seemed like the law became whatever a man with wealth and power chose to call it. Now he must leave McQueen's place, or risk dragging Barnabas and Bess into conflict with Gavin or Stumberg, or possibly both. Granted that he gunned down Dillard and Snider, Stumberg's gunmen would come after him like hell wouldn't have it, but then he would be free to leave New Orleans. But until then, what of Eulie? She must remain at McQueen's, and he would leave Cotton Blossom with her. Eulie would welcome that part of his decision, but she would surely raise hell at the prospect of his becoming part of Stumberg's gambling empire.

Reaching the McQueen place, Nathan rode to the barn without being seen by anyone, and he wondered where McQueen's hounds were. Supper wouldn't be for another hour, so he expected McQueen and Eulie to be at the horse barn. Reaching the cabin he and Eulie shared, he found it deserted. Cotton Blossom would be with Eulie, or running with McQueen's hounds. Nathan removed his gunbelt and stripped off his shirt. Filling a basin with water from a big wooden bucket, Nathan set about cleansing his wound. From his saddlebag he took a bottle of disinfectant, and from Eulie's saddlebag a roll of white cotton muslin. Soaking a pad with disinfectant, he bound it tight against the painful gash, gritting his teeth. The medicine caused him more discomfort than the wound. That done, Nathan removed his boots and stretched out on the bed. He dozed, awakening when Eulie arrived.

“Well,” he said, “are you and Diablo getting along?”

“We're friends,” said Eulie, her eyes on the bandage girding Nathan's middle. “Did you accomplish anything in town, besides getting yourself hurt?”

“Yes,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “I shot a pair of varmints trying to ventilate me. Turns out they were hired by a big-time gambler who owns the local law. Somebody tried to bushwack me on the way from town.”

“My God,” cried Eulie, “you're cursed. So now you have the choice of riding on or staying here to shoot or be shot.”

“No,” said Nathan, “I can't ride away, and you know why. But I won't be staying here. Hargis Gavin, the varmint that's down on me, hate's McQueen's guts. He'd likely jump at the chance to give McQueen hell, while comin' after me. That pair of killers I salted down were after Byron Silver, a Stumberg man. I saved his hide, and he believes Stumberg will be interested in me. It's the best chance I have to find Dillard and Snider, without having Gavin's bunch bushwhack me. It won't affect you in any way. You'll be able to remain here and train McQueen's horse.”

“I intend to,” Eulie said. “It's something I want to do. Besides, you don't need me, unless it's to bury you.”

“You have no obligation to do that,” said Nathan, “and I'm not asking for your approval. I just believe you should know what I aim to do, and I reckon I'll have to tell McQueen.”

The bell called them to supper, and despite Nathan's determination, he didn't relish telling Barnabas McQueen of his decision. Not after Silver had told him of Stumberg's plan to force his thoroughbreds into the coming race. Again Barnabas and Bess joined them for supper, and Nathan delayed his revelation as long as he could. Finally he swallowed hard and waded in.

“I reckon I'll be staying in town,” he said. “Just take what I've paid toward room and board against what Eli will be paying. I'll need to leave Cotton Blossom here too.”

“We'll be sorry to lose you,” said Bess.

“You won't be,” Nathan said, “when I tell you why I'm going.”

He told them of the events of the day, not sparing himself. What he did not tell them was that this possible alliance with French Stumberg would be his way of finding Dillard and Snider, two more of the brutal killers he had trailed from Virginia.

“I can understand how you got involved,” said Barnabas, “and I have to agree with your friend Silver on several counts. He's dead right about Hargis Gavin. He'd have his men burn this place to the ground, shooting us all as we ran out. Regarding my fight with Stumberg, Silver told it straight. Frankly, if I had to chose between Gavin and Stumberg, Stumberg is the more ethical of the two. But that doesn't diminish the fact that he's using his thoroughbreds to force us to recognize professional gambling at the track.”

“Haven't you had betting at the track before?” Eulie asked.

“Yes,” said McQueen, “but nothing of the magnitude Stumberg has in mind. He'll bring gamblers all the way from St. Louis, and like all professionals, he'll find some means of fixing the races. Big-time gambling took over the track at Natchez, and now it's about finished. There was a big stink when word got out that jockeys were being paid to throw the races.”

“I've heard of that,” Nathan said, “and I'm against it. I've done my time as a house dealer, and I refuse to slick deal.”

“I don't hold it against a man for doing what he feels he must,” said McQueen. “Since you were accidentally caught up in this shootout with Gavin's men, nobody could fault you for just riding on. When Gavin learns you're with Stumberg, that'll be all the more reason for Gavin having you gunned down.”

“I've considered that,” Nathan said, “but I have my reasons for staying in New Orleans. One of them is that I resent being pushed around, when all I have done is defend myself. Besides, there may be a way I can help you keep big-time gambling away from your track.”

“I'll be everlastingly grateful if you can,” said McQueen, “but don't underestimate Stumberg. While I consider him slightly more ethical than Gavin, I have no doubt that death will be swift and sure if he so much as suspects you're about to cross him. Be damn careful, and if the lead gets too hot and heavy, run for it. We can hide you for a while.”

It was more than Nathan had expected. Eulie could remain at the McQueen place, and, thanks to McQueen's tolerance, in a hostile town where he needed one the most, Nathan had a friend.

“I'm obliged, Mr. McQueen,” said Nathan. “I'll be riding back to town tomorrow morning, before Gavin's bunch makes any lasting ties between me and you. But before I go, tell me as much as you can about the Gavin and Stumberg organizations.”

“It won't be a lot,” McQueen said, “and some of it's only rumor. Gavin pretty well controls the inner city, while Stumberg's gambling houses are all in outlying areas. He sends carriages into town every night, offering free transportation to and from his places. I'm told there's a carriage at the St. Charles Hotel every night at seven, and when the steamboat is here, sometimes it takes half a dozen carriages or more, transporting the gamblers to and from Stumberg's places. On the surface, that doesn't sound too bad, but that's where the rumors come in. There's talk that Stumberg's involved in white slavery, taking young women to Mexico and selling them.”

“My God,” said Nathan, “that's serious. It should be a Federal crime.”

“It is,” McQueen replied, “and that's how the rumors—if they
are
that—got started. Stumberg came here five years ago, and during the war, he had nobody watching him except Hargis Gavin. But now the Federals are in the saddle, and they're under considerable pressure from the folks back East. Too many women have come to New Orleans never to be seen again.”

“You're telling me that if I throw in with Stumberg, I may be up against more than the possibility that Hargis Gavin will have me shot dead.”

“Your words,” said McQueen, “not mine. While what I've just told you is only rumor, there
are
some cold, hard facts that can't be ignored. Stumberg has picked up on a trend that first caught on in San Francisco, which involves staffing all his gambling houses with those young women wearing ... well, very little. ‘Pretty Girls Saloons' is what they're called in California.”

“The saloons and gambling houses could be stepping-stones to Old Mexico and white slavery, then,” Nathan said.

“Precisely,” said McQueen. “That would account for the many young women missing without a trace. I'm telling you this, rumors included, so that you may decide how far you want to go with Stumberg.”

“I'm obliged,” Nathan said, “and I'll keep it strong on my mind. It kind of makes Gavin sound like small potatoes, by comparison.”

“Which he is not, by any means,” said McQueen. “Gavin is the power behind every sleazy New Orleans honky-tonk.
⁹
He supplies one or more house dealers, depending on the size of the place, and collects anywhere from fifty to eighty percent of the gambling take. Some owners get nothing, their only profit being from the sale of drinks.”

“I reckon that backs up Silver's story,” Nathan said. “He told me that Gavin has the law in the palm of his hand, forcing the local saloons to work with him, or else.”

“That's it,” McQueen agreed. “A few saloon owners tried to buck Gavin, only to learn they had two choices. They could fall in line, taking what Gavin offered, or close their doors. If they balked, Gavin sent some men to their place and a fight broke out. When they were done, the place would be a shambles of busted chairs and tables and broken bottles. If that failed, the Gavin-controlled law could declare the place a public nuisance and close it.”

“Gavin and Stumberg,” said Nathan. “By God, Shakespeare was right. There is small choice in rotten apples.”

After breakfast, having said goodbye to the McQueens, Nathan followed Eulie back to the cabin they had shared only twice and perhaps never again. There was little to be said, and while Nathan wanted to be on his way, he was reluctant to go.

“I might as well ride in and talk to Silver,” he said.

“Before you do,” Eulie said, “come inside for a minute.”