The Dawn of Fury (31 page)

Eulie Prater returned to the little cabin to await the call to supper. Cotton Blossom lay beneath an oak that shaded the cabin. He got up, walked a few paces toward the McQueen house, looking expectantly toward the road beyond.

Eulie sighed. “Not today, Cotton Blossom.” Maybe not ever . .

Nathan was awakened by a seven-bells call to breakfast. Silver had not left the cabin, apparently, for he seemed as though he'd just awakened from a sound sleep. It now seemed probable that Captain Lambert would not depend on Silver for the disposition of the bodies. Whatever was done with them, it would have to be done soon. Unless, Nathan conceded, it had been done during the night. He said nothing to Silver as they prepared for breakfast.

“You looked like you'd been rode hard and hung out to dry when you turned in last night,” Silver observed. “I reckon you got a workout at the tables.”

“I got all I wanted and some to spare,” said Nathan. “I won't really care if this bunch plays on the run back to St. Louis or not. It's been a while since I worked as a house dealer, and I'd forgotten just how damn boring it can get.”

“I wouldn't give too much thought to the ride back to St. Louis until we test the water in New Orleans. When Stumberg gets a report on what happened in St. Louis, we could end up emptying spittoons at some of his gambling houses.”

“Or worse,” Nathan said. “He made it a point to tell me that when he's laid his money down, he expects to win. I'd say he lost big time. We didn't shuffles the cards, but we were there. If I understand him, then he won't be satisfied without a dog to kick.”

“You understand him perfectly,” said Silver. “I reckon we'll have to do some tall talking if we're to go on bein' part of his string.”

“That'll be my decision,” Nathan replied. “Not his.”

“You'd best make up your mind,” said Silver. “Far as Hargis Gavin's concerned, you're in Stumberg's camp. If you decide that ain't where you want to be, the next hunk of lead won't ventilate your hat. They'll be shootin' a mite lower.”

Nathan said nothing. One of the things he thoroughly disliked about Byron Silver was the man's virtual certainty that Nathan Stone was a dead man without the protection of French Stumberg. What
was
Silver's game? Despite the unusually good pay and a life of comparative ease, Nathan couldn't escape the feeling there was some underlying motive for Silver's remaining with Stumberg. By the time he and Silver reached the dining room, everybody else was already there except Captain Lambert. Nathan hadn't seen the captain since their last night in St. Louis. The days and nights wore on, and eventually the on-board gambling all but ceased. Stumberg's “guests” were saving it all for the big time.

The Queen of Diamonds
docked on schedule, and only then did Captain Lambert appear. The gamblers would remain on the steamboat until the coaches arrived later in the evening. Then they would be taken to Stumberg's various gambling houses. Nathan and Silver reached the St. Charles late in the afternoon, taking supper there. After the meal, reaching the third floor, they paused before the door to 301.

“Damn it,” said Silver, “somebody's been in there.”

“Maybe the maid,” Nathan said.

“I've told them to stay out of there, except on Sundays, when I'm here.”

Silver drew his Colt, and with the key in his left hand, unlocked the door and kicked it open. The room apparently was empty and the beds had been neatly made. Unsatisfied, Silver stood to one side of the closet, turning the knob, easing the door open. Again his suspicions were unfounded. Except for the few clothes left hanging there, the closet was empty. Nathan and Silver waited in uncomfortable silence until the scheduled arrival of the Concord coach. It arrived on time, carrying four of the gamblers from the
Queen of Diamonds.
They nodded politely as Nathan and Silver took their seats.

Nathan wondered if Captain Lambert was, as that very minute, telling Stumberg what had happened in St. Louis. To Nathan, it seemed the worst kind of intimidation, pitting one man's word against that of another, but it was unquestionably effective. By the time Nathan and Silver faced Stumberg, the man would likely be in a towering rage. Even if the gambler accepted the deaths of Shekela and Harkness as unavoidable, how could he possibly accept Trinity's escape? It was conclusive proof, whatever Stumberg said to the contrary, that his “pretty girls” were virtual prisoners. But it went beyond that. What Barnabas McQueen had said about Stumberg being involved in white slavery fitted in perfectly with the shackles, chains, and barred doors on the lower deck of French Stumberg's
Queen of Diamonds . . .

When the coach drew up before the Old Canal House, another Concord was just leaving. Nathan and Silver stepped down, but allowed the quartet of guests to enter the house ahead of them. By the time Nathan and Silver went into the first parlor, one of the near-naked “pretty girls” was leading the visitors up the spiral stairs. Silver flashed Nathan a weak grin and spoke softly.

“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

Nathan had no response to that, and almost immediately his and Silver's attention was drawn to the head of the stairs, where Captain Lambert stood. He descended slowly, holding to the rail as though fearful he might fall. He somehow seemed smaller, less barrel chested, his demeanor exhausted. He spoke just four words.

“He's waiting for you.”

Silver nodded to Nathan and they mounted the stairs. Silver knocked on Stumberg's door.

“All right,” said the voice from within.

Silver entered and Nathan followed, closing the door behind him. Stumberg sat hunched behind the big desk as though he hadn't moved since Nathan had last seen him. He glared at them through cigar smoke, as though he hadn't quite decided their fate. Finally he stubbed out his cigar in a porcelain cup and spoke.

“In the morning, I want both of you checked out of the St. Charles. You are to ride immediately to the Mayfair House, at McDonoughville.”
¹⁵

Looking from Silver to Nathan, he found no change in the expression of either man. He continued, more arrogantly than before.

“There is a stable and an exercise track behind Mayfair. There are two thoroughbreds in the stable. You are to feed, water, exercise, and rub them down daily. You will take your meals at Mayfair. There are bunks in the stable. Now get out.”

For a long moment, Nathan and Silver stood before the gambler, unmoving. While they said nothing, their eyes spoke volumes.

“By God,” Stumberg roared,
“I said get out!”

Almost imperceptibly, Nathan nodded to Silver, and slowly they started backing toward the door. It was the ultimate insult, a show of contempt, the frontier way of showing French Stumberg they didn't trust their backs to him. Silver reached the door first, and with his left hand behind him, opened it. He backed into the hall and Nathan followed. Still facing Stumberg, Nathan closed the door. Neither man spoke, and when they reached the first parlor, Captain Lambert was there, looking even more dejected. Nathan and Silver sat down, for they, like Lambert, must wait for the eleven o'clock coach to town.

“Damn it,” Silver said, “it's goin' to be a long night.”

“You think you got troubles,” Lambert growled, some of his old spirit returning, “but you're a young man. I'm sixty years old, with forty years on the river, and by God, I've been fired. Fired!”

“If it's any consolation,” said Silver, “so were we. Hell, while we're waiting for the coach, let's go to the kitchen and eat.”

“Thanks,” said Lambert, “but I'm not hungry.” The Captain remained in the parlor, seemingly deep in his own bitter thoughts. Nathan and Silver went to the kitchen they had visited before, and with hot coffee and food to be had, they took their time. After an hour in the kitchen, Nathan and Silver returned to the parlor to find Captain Lambert gone.

“Where in tarnation did he go?” Silver wondered. “It's nowhere near time for the coach to town.”

“Maybe he's outside,” said Nathan.

“I don't think so,” Silver said, “and I don't like the feel of this. We won't step out that door until the coach arrives. Even then, we'll be perfect targets for a bushwhacker with a rifle.”

Nathan Stone shared the eerie, uneasy feeling. He couldn't dismiss the premonition that something had happened to the old captain, and with that in mind, he examined the chair in which Lambert had been sitting. There, on the chair's oval mahogany back, he discovered what appeared to be a single drop of blood. Using a corner of his handkerchief, Nathan allowed the white fabric to absorb the stain. Without a word, he passed it to Silver.

“By God,” said Silver softly, “if I'm any judge, that's blood.”

“I've seen enough blood that I don't have any doubts,” Nathan said. “It looks like somebody found the old man here alone—somebody he knew, or they couldn't have gotten that close—and drove in a knife where it would do the most damage. It wasn't enough just to fire him. He knew too much.”

“Hell,” said Silver, “except for disposing of the bodies, we know as much as he did.”

“That's why we're the highest-paid horse handlers on the face of the earth,” Nathan said. “What better way to dispose of us than to send us to some godforsaken place and have us shot dead?”

“Enough, damn it,” said Silver. “Keep a lid on it until we're out of here.”

It was good thinking, and Nathan nodded. There was little they could discuss, and time lagged. They each sat in chairs next to the wall, so that they could see not only the front door, but the spiral stairs to the second floor and the doorway from the first parlor that led down a hallway to the kitchen. A grandfather clock stood just inside the second parlor, and the ticking seemed inordinately loud. They listened as it struck ten times, and waited impatiently until it chimed once on the half hour. Finally there was a clatter of hooves and the rattle of the Concord as it crossed the wooden bridge below the Old Canal House.

“He's early,” Silver said. “Let's get aboard.”

They did so, knowing that the coach must wait until the appointed hour before leaving. Finally the front door opened and the other passengers got into the coach. Oddly enough, the same four gamblers who had ridden with Nathan and Silver to the gambling house were returning to town. They, as did all of Stumberg's guests, had the option of spending the night on Stumberg's
Queen of Diamonds
or taking rooms at the hotel. The ride back to the hotel was a silent one, and Nathan had the feeling that the visiting gamblers had been sobered by their first night at Stumberg's tables. There would be other coaches at three o'clock in the morning, returning to town those persistent—or perhaps more foolish—men who had chosen to remain at the tables just a little longer. Nathan and Silver got out at the St. Charles and quickly made their way into the lobby. A clerk dozed at the desk, but nobody else was in sight. They ascended the stairs, and reaching the door to 301, Silver found the slender thread unbroken. He quickly unlocked the door, they entered, and he locked and bolted the door behind them. Silver was the first to speak.

“I'll be glad to get away from here. The first thing I'm doing in the morning is buying myself a saddle and a good horse. There's something that's unnatural, a Texan bunking in a fancy diggings like this.”

“You'd better get yourself a Winchester too,” Nathan said, “and a saddlebag full of shells.”

“You could just ride out in the morning and keep going,” said Silver.

“So could you,” Nathan replied, “but you won't.”