The Dawn of Fury (51 page)

“Identify yourselves and state your business,” the soldier ordered.

“I'm Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied, “and the lady is Lacy Mayfield. We are civilians, bound for Colorado Territory.”

Again Nathan and Lacy met with the post commander. This time it was Major Hennessy, and Nathan told him nothing except that they were on their way to Colorado. Again they visited the sutler's store, and it seemed to have just about everything, including a saloon. Nathan had no trouble finding the Colt pocket pistol, so he bought one, along with four hundred loads for it. The men in the adjoining saloon were all eyes, despite Lacy's shirt and Levi's. Most of them were bearded, and from their dress, buffalo hunters. There was one, however, who had the look of a professional gambler or gunman. He was dressed in a dark suit, flowing red tie, flat-crowned hat, and polished black boots. A Colt was tied low on his right hip. He sauntered out of the saloon and into the store. Removing his hat, he bowed before Lacy.

“Dalton Gibbons, ma'am, and I'd be pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The lady's with me,” Nathan said grimly, “and she won't be making your acquaintance.”

“Oh?” said Gibbons. “And who are you? Her daddy?”

“Close enough,” Nathan replied, and his right fist against Gibbons's chin had the solid sound of an axe thunking into a log. Gibbons crashed into a wall, bringing down a shelf of lamp globes. They smashed in a crescendo of tinkling glass, bringing everybody from the store and the saloon on the run. One of those drawn to the scene happened to be a United States marshall who had been assigned to the territory. It was he who confronted Nathan.

“I'm Marshal Jed Summerfield,” he said. “I suppose you had a good reason for that.”

“I'm Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied. “He was molesting the lady who is with me.”

A big man, six-and-a-half feet tall and weighing near three hundred pounds stalked up to Nathan. He was dressed in striped trousers, white boiled shirt, and sleeve garters. He ignored the marshal, speaking to Nathan.

“I don't care a damn what your reason was, pilgrim. You owe me money. Pay up, and then get the hell out of here.”

Gibbons had gotten groggily to his feet and was approaching Nathan, fire in his eye and blood oozing from the corners of his mouth. The marshal hauled him up short, leaving Nathan to face the big man from the store. There seemed only one way out.

“I'll pay for the globes,” said Nathan. “How much?”

“A dozen of them at a dollar apiece. Ever' damn globe I had in stock.”

It was more than they were worth, but Nathan paid. He then took Lacy's arm and guided her out of the store. Throughout the ordeal, she had spoken not a word, and when she finally spoke, it did nothing to improve Nathan's mood.

“I'm sorry you had to fight because of me.”

“There was nothing else I could do,” Nathan said. “He came after you like you were a saloon whore. I don't like that damn marshal, either. Come on. We're riding to Colorado.”

They rode west, following the Arkansas River, Cotton Blossom running on ahead. They weren't more than a dozen miles from Fort Dodge when Nathan reined up.

“Why are we stopping?” Lacy asked. “There's another hour of daylight.”

“I have some unfinished business to attend to,” said Nathan, dismounting. “Get down.”

She dismounted. Nathan unsaddled her horse and his own, and then unloaded the packhorse. By then, the dust along their back trail was obvious, even to Lacy.

“He's following us,” Lacy said. “What are you going to do?”

“I reckon that'll be up to him,” said Nathan. “I'll shoot the varmint if he won't have it any other way.”

She took notice of the grim set of his jaw and wisely said no more. As she had begun to learn, life on the frontier was one absolute after another. The only middle ground was that where the weak and indecisive were buried. Dalton Gibbons reined up a hundred yards away and shouted his challenge.

“You surprise me, Stone. You didn't strike me as being the kind who would run, denying me satisfaction.” He dismounted, his hand near the butt of his Colt.

“There's no satisfaction in dying,” Nathan replied, beginning his walk. “I don't believe in killing a man for his first mistake. You're about to make your second and last. It's your play, when you're ready.”

Speechless, Lacy Mayfield looked on in horror. Trying to watch them both, she found she could not, for her eyes were drawn to Nathan. His hands swung at his sides, as though drawing a pistol was the farthest thing from his mind. The distance lessened until only eighty yards remained. Seventy. Sixty. Forty.

Gibbons drew first. Lacy caught the movement from the corner of her eye, and while he seemed incredibly fast, Nathan's Colt was already spitting lead. Gibbons' arm sagged, and his single shot slammed into the dirt at his feet. He seemed to stumble, and when he fell flat on his back, a gust of wind took his hat, cartwheeling it toward the river. Not looking back, Nathan slid his Colt into the holster and headed for the grazing horses.

“We'll ride a ways yet, before we make camp,” he said.

Nathan and Lacy took their time, following the Arkansas River until they were out of Kansas. Gradually the land changed. Far to the west, snow had silvered the peaks of a mighty mountain range.
²⁴

Eventually they came upon a large boulder, across the face of which some untalented soul had scrawled “Colorado Terr.”

“To what part of it are we going?” Lacy asked. “Denver,” said Nathan. “Virg Dillard told you he had friends there, that they were interested in a silver mine. These hombres could be the very bunch of varmints I'm after, and if I have to ride through a lot of mining towns, I'd as soon start with the biggest one. One thing I forgot. We should have bought coats, gloves, and more blankets.”

“I've never seen it so cold, so early in the fall,” said Lacy. “We'd be lots warmer if we ...”

“Slept together,” Nathan finished.

“Yes,” she said, not looking at him.

“Tonight, then,” Nathan said, “unless you change your mind.”

She didn't.

Nathan broke ice so the horses could drink and for the making of breakfast coffee.

“Soon as we reach a town with a mercantile,” he said, “we'll outfit ourselves with warm clothes. Some long handles, if we can find them.”

“Long handles?”

“Wool underwear,” Nathan said. “They cover you all over, from your neck to your feet.”

“They sound nice,” she said, “but how do you ...”

“There's a flap in the seat,” said Nathan. “It unbuttons.”

They continued riding northwest, and after two days, had come upon no town or settlement.

“Good cattle country,” Nathan observed, “but it'll be hell in winter, when the snow's neck deep.”

There were many mercantiles in Denver. Choosing one of the largest, Nathan and Lacy found an enormous selection of clothing. They each chose a sheepskin-lined, waist-length coat, sheepskin-lined gloves, and a dozen pair of wool socks.

“Now,” said Nathan to the bespectacled clerk, “we want some heavy wool long handles.”

“We ... ah ... don't have them for ladies, sir,” the man said, embarrassed.

“I kind of expected that,” said Nathan. “Is there any law against a lady wearing a man's long handles?”

“Ah ... not that I know of, sir.”

“Then we'll take six pairs of them,” Nathan said. “Three to fit her, and three to fit me.”

After considerable inquiring, Nathan learned of a boarding place to the south of town known as Cherry Creek Manor. There was a livery, and the owners—Ezra and Josephine Grimes—reminded Nathan of his friends, Barnaby and Bess McQueen. Nathan only told them Lacy's first name.

“Dollar a day for you and the wife,” said Josephine, “or twenty dollars a month. That's with meals. The livery's Ezra's business. He'll take care of your horses.”

“Dollar a day, per horse,” Ezra said, “or twenty dollars a month. That's with grain.”

“Here's a hundred dollars for all of us, for a month,” Nathan said. “Do you object to Cotton Blossom, my dog?”

“Not as long as he behaves himself,” said Josephine. “I'll feed him for free, long as he ain't too picky.”

“He's easy satisfied,” Nathan said. “He'll eat anything that don't bite him first, and all he expects is that there be plenty of it.”

“Bring him with you to the dining room,” said Josephine, “and he can eat in the kitchen. Breakfast is at seven, dinner's at noon, with supper at five. You're welcome to use the parlor from seven in the morning until ten at night. We have a pretty respectable library, too. Ezra used to teach school.”

The “manor” consisted of a series of cabins, each with two large rooms. They were built of logs and were well sealed, and although they shared a chimney, each had its own fireplace. Nathan unlocked the door to their side, and they found it adequate and comfortable. The bed, made of cedar, had a feather tick. There was a dresser with an attached mirror, two ladderback chairs, a white porcelain pitcher with matching basin, and a chamber pot. There were curtains on each of the two windows and a heavy oval rug on the wooden floor.

“They think I'm your missus,” Lacy said, “and you didn't tell them any different.”

“Why bother?” said Nathan. “You're playing the game, so you might as well have the name.”

They were two hours away from supper, and Lacy donned a pair of the long handles. Nathan watched her fall on the bed, burying herself in the feather tick.