The Dawn of Fury (57 page)

“Is there another way out of here?” Jennings demanded, again prodding Derrick with the muzzle of the colt.

“No,” said Derrick.

Silver dragged the desk to one side, and rolling back an oval rug, found a trap door. Taking hold of an iron ring, he lifted the door, revealing steps leading downward.

“Wherever it leads,” Silver said, “it's better than the front door. But I need some light.”

He rummaged through a supply cabinet and found some candles. One of these he lighted. Then, taking up the Colts by the looped bandanna, and with the Winchesters under his arm, he started down the steps.

“Luck,” said Captain Jennings.

At the bottom of the wooden steps, Silver found himself on a dirt floor. But there was no door, no window, nothing ...

“Nothing down there but a hole in the ground,” Silver said, returning to the post commander's office. “Looks like a last-ditch refuge from Indian attacks. I'll have to go out the door.”

“Then we'll both go,” said Jennings. “The good captain will guide us.”

“Like hell I will,” Derrick snarled.

“You're through making decisions,” said Jennings. “I don't often shoot a man in the back, but I make exceptions when there's a need. Now open that door and step out, slow and easy.”

“They'll see the guns when the door opens,” Silver said. “I'll put out the lamp.”

They went down the steps and had gone only a few yards toward the guardhouse when one of the sentries grew suspicious.

“Captain Derrick,” he shouted.

“It's a trap!” Derrick bawled.

He tried to throw himself to the ground, but Jennings caught his belt and knocked him senseless with the muzzle of his Colt. Already there was lead singing. Jennings fired at muzzle flashes in the dark.

“Run,” said Jennings. “I'll hold them off.”

Silver was already off and running, drawing some of the fire away from Jennings. The Ranger knelt behind the unconscious Derrick and one of the searching slugs ripped into the outlaw's body, and it became a burden. While Jennings had accounted for one man at the gate, the remaining sentries were laying down a withering fire. Jennings could hear rifles roaring from other positions, ominous evidence that other outlaws had jumped into the fight. Jennings let go of Derrick and lit out toward the guard house.

As Silver tried the first key, a slug slammed into the door of the guardhouse. The key wouldn't fit the lock. Silver tried the second. With a grunt of relief he swung the first door back, only to be confronted with a second with iron bars.

“We're out of time,” Jennings panted. “What's wrong with the door?”

“Two of them,” said Silver. “Both locked, just one more key ...”

But the key slipped into the lock and Silver swung the barred door open. Alerted by the shooting, the imprisoned men had been waiting. Nathan was the first to emerge, but lead had begun to rip into the log guardhouse, and one of the soldiers was hit. Starlight made for difficult shooting, but two of the renegade sentries had Winchesters and they almost had the range.

“Here,” said Silver, shoving a Winchester at Nathan. “We have enough guns for eight of you.”

“Silver,” Nathan said, “you didn't bring near enough guns. There's twenty-two damn outlaws, and they're aiming to steal an army payroll.”

“Sorry,” Silver growled. “Next time, I'll hitch up a wagon.”

“Silver, Stone,” said Jennings, “come with me. We're going to go after those varmints at the gate. You men without weapons, stay out of the line of fire. The rest of you keep shooting.”

Jennings moved far to his left, within the shadow of the high log walls of the stockade. Silver and Nathan followed. It was a flanking movement that would make shooting difficult for the men at the gate, especially if they were concealed behind the parapets above. Reaching the corner of the stockade, they turned, keeping within the shadow of the front wall through which the gate opened to the outside. Nearing the gate, they stepped over the body of one of the outlaws. Intermittent firing told them there were two others atop the wall, firing from the parapets in response to soldier fire near the guardhouse. Jennings backed away from the wall, but still within its shadow, and his companions followed his example. When next the rifles roared from atop the wall, Nathan, and Silver, and Jennings fired at the muzzle flashes. There was a dull thump and then a second, sounding like an echo of the first. The pair on the wall had dropped their Winchesters.

“They'll have Colts, probably,” said Jennings, “and we need them.” He started for the ladder.

“Back off, Captain,” Nathan said. “They could be playing possum. I'll go up there. It's time I took some of the risk.”

“Then you don't need a Winchester,” said Jennings. “Here, take this Colt that belonged to the dead owlhoot back yonder.”

Nathan shoved the Colt under his waistband and climbed up to the narrow catwalk atop the walls. Both the men lay face down, and Nathan was forced to roll them to unbuckle their pistol belts. When Nathan rejoined his comrades, the soldiers were there.

“Let us have any extra weapons,” O'Neal said. “You men have already done more than your share. We know this post, and we'll get the rest of them, dead or alive. Just see that none of them try to escape through the gate.”

“With lariats they could scale the walls,” said Nathan.

“They could,” Corporal Drago said, “but they ain't likely to. The hosses is all brought in at night, and nothin' but a damn fool would risk bein' on foot in Comanche country.”

Nathan kept the Colt and gave up the Winchester. With the two Winchesters and two Colts taken from the dead man at the gate, O'Neal and eleven of his soldiers were now armed. For the first time, Nathan, Silver and Jennings were able to talk about this bizarre situation that might have gotten them all shot dead. Nathan explained how he had become involved, giving much of the credit for their rescue to Corporal Drago.

“The corporal deserves some recognition for getting that telegram on the wire with a gun to his head,” said Silver. “I've never encountered anything like this, having outlaws overrun a fort. Why the hell can't they just go on robbing government supply trains? We have procedure for that.”

“It's far from being finished,” Captain Jennings said. “Somewhere within your military chain of command, you have a Judas. How did this bunch learn of the coming inspection, to be integrated with the delivery of military payrolls ? And how in tarnation did they manage to outfit themselves in twenty-two Union army uniforms, all with proper brass and insignia?”

“God,” said Silver with a sigh, “there'll be one hell of an investigation, but some good will come of it. Under the circumstances, Washington can't very well fault Colonel O'Neal and his command for falling into a trap so well set. They'll likely make regulations that will prevent this happening again. Someday I'll have to explain how this varmint, Nathan Stone, was able to use my distress code.”

“I reckon that'll be easier than explaining the loss of three military payrolls and some dead, high-ranking army brass,” said Nathan. “You had to already be in Texas to have reached us in time, and that tells me you were an outrider for this military inspection.”

Silver laughed.

“I wouldn't dare say this on the street,” said Captain Jennings, “but if we Rebs had laid our plans a little better, these soldiers would be wearing Confederate gray. We had—and still have—the strategists.”

“I take my life in my hands, just thinking such things,” Byron Silver replied, “but I must agree with you. From now on, we're one nation under God, but by God, Texas will always be our nation.”

Byron Silver had to ride directly to Fort Worth to prepare for military inspectors from Washington. Captain Jennings and Nathan returned to Austin, and on the way Nathan mentioned his need to find Milo Jenks.

“South Texas has always been a hangout for owlhoots, suspected and genuine,” said the Ranger, “but I never heard of Milo Jenks. Generally, when they leave here on the run, somebody else has to gun them down or hang them. They don't often return.”

“I reckon it helps, havin' a Ranger outpost in town,” Nathan said.

“Hell,” said Jennings, “since you were here last, Ben Thompson actually did something decent. Old Judge Schuetze's never been too popular, and five gents with knives had him cornered. Ben pulled his pistol and they all lit out. Ben rode out and we haven't seen him since.”

“Maybe he rode to Matamoros,” Nathan said. “He has a following there. They followed us both, once, throwin' lead as they came.”

Jennings laughed. “He's got kin here, but he'll come back. He's already past due for some time in the
juzgado.”

While the Ranger had said it in jest, it was a prophecy the deadly Ben Thompson would soon fulfill.

While the outlaws who had overrun Fort Concho had taken Nathan's gold, he had recovered it. After a prolonged stay in Fort Concho's guardhouse, Nathan wasn't ready for the long ride to Colorado. He took a room at the Capitol Hotel, stabling his black at a nearby livery. There being little else to do, he made the rounds of the saloons. There might, he thought, be some talk. If not of Milo Jenks, then perhaps of Ringo Tull or Dade Withers. He went from the Bullwhacker Saloon to the Star, The Keno, the De Oro, without any word of the men he sought. When he reached the Texas, however, he made a discovery that took his breath away.

Her back was to him and she wore the dress of a Mexican señorita, but when she faced him, she paled. Nathan recovered first, got an arm around her slender waist and led her to a table. The months hadn't been kind to Viola Hayden. While barely out of her teens, she looked thirty.

“For God's sake,” Nathan said, “what are you doing in here?”

Her laugh was bitter. “It was this or a whorehouse.”

“Jesse ...”

“Dead,” she said dully. “He was ambushed a month after you left. Close range, with a shotgun.”

“Your place,” said Nathan. “Your horse ...”

“All gone.” Silent tears crept down her cheeks. “I sold everything ... for what I could get ...”

Nathan's rage all but choked him. He had turned Nate Rankin's ambush around, gunning down Driggers and Gadner after they had shot young Hugh Rankin. Now Rankin had gotten his revenge, taking it out on Viola.

“By God,” Nathan gritted, “Rankin won't get away with this.”

“He already has,” said Viola softly. “I accused him to his face, and he laughed in mine. There's nothing you can do. Please don't get yourself in trouble over something that ... can't be changed.”