The Dawn of Fury (53 page)

“No,” said Nathan, kicking back his chair. He got up and left before any more questions could be directed at him. He didn't know the man's name, but that wasn't important, for his story had a ring of truth. Nathan rode back to Cherry Creek Manor. Despite his strong lead, he wanted those maps Ames Tilden had promised, even if he had to wait for them.

Under the Gaslight
opened to capacity crowds. It was a major production, with musicians in the orchestra pit. Nathan was impressed. Later, when he and Lacy were alone in their quarters, she made an announcement that didn't surprise Nathan.

“Monday, I'm reading for a part in Under the Gaslight. If I'm good enough, I'll become Eva's understudy. Do you think I can do it?”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “I believe you have the feeling for it. I've learned that Foster and Jenks, two of the men I'm after, are holed up in a Nevada mining town. Will you look after Cotton Blossom while I'm gone?”

“If he needs looking after,” said Lacy. “Josephine's spoiling that dog. Why don't you wait until after Christmas before you go? We may never spend another Christmas together.”

“Maybe I will,” Nathan said, knowing he must wait for the maps that Ames Tilden had promised him. “Before I go, I need to talk to Ames Tilden. I aim to leave you a thousand dollars. I've deposited most of the rest of it in the bank, and if I don't return within a year, Tilden will see that you get it.”

Despite his desire to take up the vengeance trail, Nathan didn't regret his decision to wait until after Christmas, for in mid-December a blizzard swept in from the west, filling the mountain passes with impossibly high drifts of snow. The temperature didn't rise, and there was more snow. Three days before Christmas, Nathan stopped by the bank and picked up the government maps Ames Tilden had secured for him. But the bad weather continued, and Nathan could only wait. Not until the second day of January was there a warming trend and relief from snow and freezing temperatures. Nathan decided to travel light, and arranged to leave the pack horse with Ezra. While Ezra and Josephine knew nothing of his purpose in riding away, with Lacy remaining in Denver, they had no reason to question his return. He rode into town and bought enough supplies to last a month, and while there, he bought a newspaper. One item interested him. In October, Ben Thompson had been involved in a near shooting in Austin, Texas. As noted by the press, it was one of the rare occasions when Thompson had acted on the other side of the law. He had drawn his pistol and driven away five thugs who had been attacking a local judge.

Encountering more snow along the way, Nathan had been forced to hole up and wait out several storms. The very first thing that caught his attention as he rode into the mining town was a prominent sign that read “Sheriff.” His informant had said there was no law. Nathan dismounted and entered the office. The sheriff was a big man, none of it fat. He carried a tied-down Colt on his left hip, and a Winchester leaned against the wall. Nathan introduced himself.

“Sheriff Ab Dupree. What can I do for you?”

“I'm lookin' for a pair of hombres,” said Nathan. “Jenks and Foster by name.”

“Friends of yours?” Dupree asked. His eyes had turned cold.

“No,” said Nathan. “I aim to kill them both.”

“I wish you luck,” Dupree said, relaxing. “We strung up nine of the no-account coyotes just before Christmas. Thieves and killers, every one, and my one regret is that Jenks and Foster—if that's their names—escaped.”

Discouraged, Nathan rode out, bound for Gold Hill.

“Them varmints wouldn't of stopped here,” Nathan was told. “Try Tonopah, Callville, or Pioche. They're new camps, an' likely no law.”

Nathan rode to Tonopah and Pioche, but learned nothing of Jenks and Foster until he reached Callville, far to the south, on the bank of the Colorado. It was a small camp, all but played out, and Nathan found the miners angry.

“Hell, yes, they was here,” Nathan was told. “They hung around the cafe and the saloon, learnin' what they could. Three miners was dry gulched in two days, losin' their gold and their lives.”

“Which way did they go when they left here?” Nathan asked.

“The bastards crossed the river an' rode into Arizona,” a miner said. “We got up a posse an' went after 'em, but they lost us.”

Nathan studied the map of Arizona Ames Tilden had supplied. While there were many mines marked on the map, Tilden had cautioned that some of them had probably played out. Wearly, Nathan mounted and rode across the Colorado.

Wearily, Nathan dismounted before the sheriff's office. He had ridden into almost two dozen mining camps without finding a trace of the men he was seeking. Not surprising, he thought, for most of the camps were small pickings, not wealthy enough to attract the murderous Jenks and Foster.

“They were here,” said Sheriff Lon Hankins. “We ain't a mining town, but we got a strong bank, and we've learned to recognize bank robbers before they clean us out. We met these varmints with a dose of lead, and if they hadn't hit us at closin' time, we'd have run ‘em down. We got some lead in 'em, but nothin' serious enough to stop ‘em. They hung on until dark, and that's when we lost 'em. They rode north.”

There had been no rain, and Nathan managed to pick up the northbound trail of two horsemen. While he had no assurance the riders he was trailing were the elusive Jenks and Foster, he had no other leads. Near the ashes of a recent fire, he found a bloody bandanna, proof enough that at least one of the men had been wounded. Nathan's spirits rose. While the pair had eluded him so far, they were on the run. They had avoided villages and isolated ranches, and seemed to have some destination in mind. Nathan studied his map of Arizona, and from landmarks, decided the fugitives had crossed into northwestern New Mexico Territory. His heart leaped. Could they be bound for Denver? But that didn't seem possible. The trail continued almost due east, and when it reached a river, Nathan reined up, searching his memory. While studying a map of the southwest, he had noticed that the famed Rio Grande—which became the border between Texas and Mexico—had its beginning in southern Colorado. Could this be the Rio Grande? The trail Nathan was following turned due north, following the river.

“By God,” said Nathan aloud, “they're headed straight for that little town in southern Colorado, Ciudad de Oro.”

Lacy Mayfield and Eva Barton had just left the Palace Theatre, having made arrangements for Lacy's debut on stage the next Friday.

“God,” Lacy said, “I'm scared to death. I wish Nathan was here for this.”

“Perhaps it's better that he isn't,” said Eva. “When he returns, you'll have a surprise for him.”

While Nathan was gone, Lacy had been sharing a room with Eva, and from time to time, Cotton Blossom joined them. It had taken him a month to gain the use of his hindquarters. Now he often sat near the barn, waiting, for he knew that when Nathan returned, he would be riding the black horse. Sometimes, Ezra or Josephine would lure Cotton Blossom into the kitchen, feed him, and he would spend the night beside the stove. Lacy had begun reading the local newspaper, for it carried accounts of Indian raids, such as those by Quanah Parker and his Comanches in West Texas, of doings at the various forts, of new diggings in Montana and Nevada Territories, and of outlaws who had been killed or captured. Ezra found her at the table in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.

“Anything good happening?” Ezra asked.

“If there is,” said Lacy, “I haven't found it. In January, in California, a man named John Morco was beating his wife. Four men came to her rescue, and this Morco murdered them all. In March, the James and Younger gangs robbed the Southern Bank of Kentucky, in Russellville.”

She folded the newspaper and put it aside. She always read it with the hope there might be some word of Nathan Stone, yet fearing that if there was, it would chronicle his death.