The Dawn of Fury (44 page)

Taking his time, Nathan rode south. He crossed the Red about seventy miles north of Dallas, and spent more than a week in the town, frequenting all the saloons. He neither drank nor gambled, but listened to the conversations of gamblers, bullwhackers, soldiers, cowboys, and farmers. Saloon women did their best to lure him upstairs, but to no avail. He bought them watered-down drinks so that he might question them, but when he rode out of Dallas, he had learned nothing regarding the whereabouts of the five killers he sought.

He considered riding to Waco and telling old Judge Prater of Eulie's fate, but thought better of it. The old yarmint would just blame Nathan, and might have him shot on general principles. He shied away from Waco and rode on. Somewhere north of Austin he began seeing crudely lettered signs announcing a horse race in Lee County on July fourth.

“Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said, “I've endured half the damn saloons in east Texas, and all for nothing. A horse race ought to draw folks from all over. I reckon we'll just slope on down there and see who shows up.”

Two hours before sundown, he rode into the little town of Lexington, Texas.
¹⁹

In Texas, it was a time in which the affluence of a town was judged by the number of saloons it boasted, and Lexington had three. There was a hotel of sorts, a mercantile, a livery, and two cafes. Food could be had at all the saloons, if a man wasn't too picky. There was no courthouse, no jail, and apparently, no sheriff. A small sign nailed to an oak announced to anybody who cared that the population was a hundred and fifty-two.
²⁰

“A room for tonight and tomorrow night,” Nathan told the hotel desk clerk. “You got any objections if my dog stays with me?”

“Not if he don't cause a ruckus or bite nobody,” the man replied. “Two dollars, in advance.”

“Where will the race be run?” Nathan asked, handing him the money.

“Right down main street, quarter mile.” He was short, gray, with mild blue eyes, and he fixed them on Nathan's twin Colts.

He looked as though he wanted to say something more, but allowed his better judgment to prevail. Nathan took his room key and returned to his horses. Although the hotel was a single-story affair, he didn't wish to take his loaded packsaddle to his room. Instead, he rode on to the livery, making arrangements for his horses and requesting that his saddle, packsaddle, and bedroll be secured in the tack room. His saddlebags he chose not to leave in anybody's hands but his own. It was still early on a Wednesday afternoon and there were few horses tied to any of the saloon hitch rails. It seemed the Tumbleweed had the fewest patrons, and Nathan elbowed his way through its batwing doors. He needed a talkative bartender. Two men sat at a back table, while the bartender leaned on the bar. He was an elderly Negro, bald except for a gray fringe above his ears. He reminded Nathan of old Malachi, resting in an unmarked grave in Virginia.

“What'll it be, suh?”

“A beer,” said Nathan, “and maybe you can tell me somethin' about the race tomorrow.”

“They don' be a lot to tell. Ain't but two hosses runnin'. One of 'em's a black, name of
Shadow.
T'other is a
Todillo
.”
²¹

One of the men at the table slid back his chair, got up, and headed for the bar. When he spoke, it was to the bartender.

“Simon, why don't you tell him the truth of it.”

“Ah can't take no sides, suh,” Simon replied.

“Why don't you leave Simon out of it and tell me yourself,” said Nathan.

“Why not? I'm Johnson McKowen. If you aim to take part in tomorrow's race, there's two sides. Put your money on the black and you're lined up with the cattlemen. If you're fool enough to go with the other nag, you're in bed with Negroes and sodbusters.”

“I don't take kindly to having somebody make my bed and then tell me I have to lie in it,” Nathan said.

“Ah don' want no trouble in here, gentlemens,” said Simon.

“Come on, Driggers,” McKowen said.

The second man at the back table got up and brought the bottle, and the two of them shouldered their way through the batwings and onto the boardwalk.

“Somebody needs to beat his ears down around his boot tops,” said Nathan.

“Amens, suh,” Simon said, “but he do his fightin' with a pistol. He bad, but his friend be worser.”

“I reckon his pard has horns, hooves, and a spike tail, then,” said Nathan.

“Close, suh,” Simon replied. “You evah hear of Wil' Bill Longley?”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “but nothing good. Are he and this McKowen varmint involved in the race tomorrow?”

“I afraid so, suh, an' it wasn't none of our doin'. There be cattlemens here, an' there be farmers, an' whilst we ain't always love one another, we always git along.”

“But Longley and McKowen have changed all that, I reckon,” Nathan said.

“They do, suh,” said Simon. He kept his eyes on the front door, lest he be overheard. Satisfied, he continued. “My people, they come here as slaves, back when Texas be owned by Mexico. They come from Alabama, Miss'ssipi, Georgia, an' Kaintuck. White folks what bring us here, they be farmers. My people be farmers too, for they work the land. Cattlemens they come, but we still git along. We been have this hoss race ever' July fourth, back far as I remember. Now it become a war, cattlemens agin the rest of us.”

“They're laying their money on
Shadow
to win the race, then,” Nathan said, “and are using hatred and distrust to scare the rest of you into losing.”

“They do that, suh,” said Simon. “Odds agin
Todillo
be twenty to one.”

“I like that kind of odds,” Nathan said. “Where do I place my bet?”

“The mercantile. Mr. Hicks take all bets. Lawd bless you, suh.”

When Nathan reached the mercantile, he wasn't surprised to find McKowen and Driggers there. Hicks proved to be a grim-faced man who looked as though he hadn't smiled in his life. He said nothing, his arms folded, waiting for Nathan to speak.

“I'm here to place a bet in tomorrow's race,” said Nathan.

“Cattlemen or sodbusters?”

“Neither,” Nathan said grimly. “I'm betting on the gray. The
Todillo.”

“Haw, haw,” McKowen scoffed, “don't bet no more'n you can afford to lose.”

“I'll take my loss,” said Nathan “if it's honest.” From his pocket he took a handful of double eagles. He dribbled them out on the counter one at a time until there were twenty-five.

“Five hundred dollars!” Hicks exclaimed. “I ... I'm not sure we can cover a bet that large. The odds ...”

“According to the odds, you'll owe me ten thousand dollars,” said Nathan. “Now write me a receipt, and be sure you include the odds.”

Hicks looked helplessly at McKowen and Driggers, but found no support there. Reluctantly he wrote out the receipt, signed it, and gave it to Nathan. Without a word, Nathan left the store. Cotton Blossom was waiting, and since it was nearing suppertime, Nathan decided to try the cafe nearest the hotel. The sign in front had faded, leaving nothing legible except “Cafe.” It was still early, so the place was virtually empty, and that's how Nathan liked it. The graying old fellow behind the counter looked and walked like a stove-up cowboy.

“I'm paying for the dog's supper too,” Nathan said, “if you have no objection to him coming in.”

“He's welcome. I allus thought a man should own one good doog an' one good hoss 'fore he dies.”

Nathan had just begun to eat when the girl entered the cafe. She had dark hair and green eyes, and was probably not more than a year or two past her teens. The other diners had left, and she headed straight for Nathan's table. He pushed back his chair and stood as she approached.

“I'm Viola Hayden,” she said. “You just bet five hundred dollars on the horse I'm riding in the race tomorrow.”

“I did,” Nathan said. “I'm a gambler and I like the odds. Anything wrong with that?”

“No ... yes ... I ... I'm not sure,” she said. “When I heard you had bet so much on
Daybreak,
I just wondered why. There's ... something I think you ought to know. Most everybody's afraid ...”

“Of Wild Bill Longley and his amigos,” said Nathan.

“Yes,” she replied. “My father and most of the other farmers settled here in the thirties when this area was part of a Mexican land grant arranged by Stephen Austin. After Lincoln's proclaimation freed the slaves, some of the ranchers resented us. Bill Longley, Johnson McKowen, and a few others have taken to fanning the flames, claiming the ranchers are on one side, while the farmers and the Negroes are on the other. Our annual Fourth of July race is a countywide event. Now it's being used to set neighbor against neighbor. I believe you should know that if Daybreak wins, the cattlemen are promising trouble. You may never collect your winnings.”

“That's part of the risk in gambling,” Nathan said. “I get the feeling that the cattlemen—sided by Longley and his bunch—don't intend to lose that race.”

“That's what Daddy says, and he's threatening to withdraw Daybreak from the race, because he fears for me to ride him.”

“It wouldn't be a bad idea,” said Nathan. “If your horse is withdrawn there won't be a race.”

“We can't withdraw,” the girl said. “Things have gone too far. Somehow we must make people in this county understand they are being used by Longley and his kind. Do you know he's known as the ‘Negro Killer'?”

“No,” Nathan said. “I've never seen the man.”

“He's killed before. Mostly Negroes, and he's always managed to bribe or buy his way out. He's promised trouble tomorrow, if Daybreak wins.”

“I haven't seen either horse and nobody's told me anything about them,” said Nathan, “except that one represents the farmers and the other the cattlemen. Being fair, if nobody interferes, which do you think has the best chance?”

“Daybreak,” she said. “I raised him from a Colt and I can ride him bareback. Nate Rankin is the rancher who owns Shadow, and he's a fine horse, but Rankin's son will be riding him. Hugh outweighs me by at least sixty pounds.”

“That might make the difference, then,” Nathan replied. “Has anything been done to prevent Longley and his bunch from interfering with the race?”

“Daddy's taking some precautions, I think. Would you like to ride out to our place and see Daybreak? Besides, with so much of your money riding on our horse, I'd like Daddy to talk to you. I think you should know of trouble that might arise tomorrow.”

Nathan liked this girl and her forthright manner. “I'll go with you,” he said.

Viola Hayden rode south, Nathan beside her and Cotton Blossom following. Long before they reached the house and outbuildings, there were fields of young cotton that seemed to go on forever. The girl noticed him eyeing the fields and spoke.

“This will be our first decent crop since before the war. God knows how we'll ever get it to market, and if we do, it may not be worth enough to pay for the hauling. For five years, we've grown only fruits and vegetables. What we couldn't use, Daddy gave to our neighbors. Mostly the ones who have turned against us,” she added bitterly.

Grasshoppers fled before the hooves of their horses and a breeze rustled the leaves of the red oaks that lined the dirt road. Before they reached the house, Nathan could see that the place was well cared for. At a time when a man seldom could afford to paint his house, the Hayden barn had been painted brick red.

“First painted barn I've seen in a coon's age,” Nathan said.

“Daddy saw the war coming and managed to plan ahead. During the war, we had only what we were able to grow. I hated the war. It brought out the best in some, but the worst in others.”

“Such as Longley and his bunch,” said Nathan.

“Yes,” she said. “Them and others like them. The men who went to war and lived to talk about it are sadder but wiser. Those who were just boys—too young to fight—are bitter, wanting to hurt others to ease their own hurt.”

When they dismounted before the house, darkness was only minutes away, and lamps glowed behind curtained windows. Jesse Hayden met them on the porch. Viola introduced Nathan, explaining how she had heard of his bet, and how, on impulse she had gone to talk to him.

“I'm beholden to you for seein' Viola home,” Hayden said. “I was startin' to worry. Supper's on the table.”.