The Dawn of Fury (65 page)

“Pardner, is this ... Mr. Sheets, from the bank?”

“It is, and if you're from some newspaper ...”

“I'm not,” said Nathan. “I have an interest in capturing the James gang, and I had hoped I might talk to some of the witnesses.”

“Sheriff Kilmer's inside. Wait and talk to him.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said. “I'll do that.”

Nathan waited across the wide street, well out of the way, until the grim proceeding was over the pallbearers brought out the coffin. When the hearse rolled away, most of the mourners followed, some mounted, some afoot. Nathan left his horses and walked across the street, approaching a tall, thin man with a star pinned to his cowhide vest.

“You're Sheriff Kilmer, I reckon,” said Nathan.

“I reckon I am. I've already talked to the Pinkertons. You a bounty hunter?”

“No,” Nathan said. “This is a personal thing. One of the James gang had a hand in murdering my family. Just to get him, I'll turn the whole bunch in, if I can. The reward has nothing to do with it.”

“They ain't much to tell,” said the sheriff. “I got up a posse, pronto. We trailed the varmints north to the Des Moines river, and that's where we lost ‘em. Just tee-total lost 'em.”

“How many riders?”

“Three,” the sheriff said. “I know the damn newspapers didn't mention a third man, but we tracked three horses. Trouble is, that's farm country, and there's wagon roads crossin' that river at every shallows. All them varmints had to do was keep their horses in the water till they got to the first wagon crossin'. There they could of got out, mixin' tracks of their horses in with God knows how many others. Pinkertons lost 'em, just like we did.”

“The papers said one of them lost his horse and that they stole another.”

“That they did,” said the sheriff. “Took old Dan Smoot's bay, and he's been givin' me hell ever since.”

“What became of the stray horse, the one that belonged to the outlaws?”

“Why ... I dunno,” the sheriff said. “We had three riders to foller, and we all lit out after 'em, hell for leather. It was dark when we got back to town.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said. “It won't bother you if I try my luck?”

“None whatsoever,” said the sheriff.

Nathan mounted his horse, and leading the packhorse, set out down the street toward the bank. It suited his purpose perfectly that all or most of the town had followed the unfortunate banker's body to the cemetery. There had been no rain, nothing to destroy the sign, and he quickly found where the outlaw had been dragged. It was equally easy to find where he had managed to free himself from the stirrup, and from there the tracks of the freed horse led west. Most western men—outlaws included—had a favorite horse, and if set loose, that horse would return to the nearest corral it considered home. With that in mind, Nathan set out to trail the horse. He soon discovered part of the calk on the left rear shoe was missing, and he sighed with satisfaction. With that kind of edge, he could trail the animal over any wagon road, through innumerable other tracks. It all depended on how long the outlaw had owned the horse, how long the James gang had been holed up at some particular place, and whether or not they felt safe in returning to that place, following the Gallatin bank robbery. The gang had gone to great lengths to lose the sheriffs posse and the Pinkertons, and that argued favorably toward their return to a favored hideout. Nathan had to ride carefully, for he had no idea where the trail would lead, but with the outlaws riding their horses in the water, they must ride north or south until they struck off along a well-traveled wagon road. If his thinking was running true, this horse he was following must, at one of these wagon crossings, turn east or west. Slowly but surely, the trail he followed veered northeast, toward the Des Moines river. When the horse had reached the river, the animal hadn't crossed, but had traveled south. Nathan followed, feeling he was safe until the trail turned east or west, along one of the numerous wagon crossings. Nathan estimated they had traveled at least ten miles to the south, crossing many wagon roads, when the horse he was trailing suddenly veered west. He had indeed taken one of the wagon crossings, and his tracks were mixed with those of many other horses. Nathan was all the more thankful for the broken calk, for he could follow the trail easily. But when the horse left the wagon road, he must ride with caution, for he had no idea where the outlaw stronghold might be.

He rode for almost an hour, and by the time the trail left the wagon road, sundown was near. Nathan dismounted, looping the reins of the black and the lead rope of the packhorse over a pine limb. On foot, he continued to the top of a ridge. In the valley below was a farmhouse. A few hundred yards to the east of the house was a barn, and in an adjoining corral, Nathan counted five horses. He had heard Frank and Jesse James had friends all over Missouri, otherwise respectable people who harbored the outlaws. If this were the case here, he might have trouble rooting them out. He returned to his horses. When it was dark enough, he would then approach the house, hoping to prove or disprove his suspicions. If there were dogs involved, his reaching the house would be difficult, with or without Cotton Blossom. While he could command the dog to remain with the horses, that left him open to the very real possibility that he might stumble into one or more dogs without warning. But there was another thing to consider, if Cotton Blossom accompanied him and had the misfortune to encounter other dogs. Nothing drew attention quicker than a stomp-down good dogfight.

Nathan was perhaps a mile west of the ridge from which he had observed the farmhouse. Here he must leave his horses. As he and Cotton Blossom chewed on jerked beef, he listened for any sound, especially of barking dogs. Fearing discovery, he had been unable to follow the trail any farther in daylight, so he didn't know for certain the isolated farmhouse concealed the outlaws. But all evidence led him to that conclusion. Nathan had heard and read enough about Frank and Jesse James to know that they sometimes escaped a sheriff's posse by using relays of horses. Leaving their tired horses and mounting fresh ones, they could ride a hundred miles, if necessary. When he judged it was dark enough, Nathan set out for the point where the trail he had been following led across the ridge. In the house far below there was a tiny pinpoint of light.

Nathan started down the ridge toward the light, Cotton Blossom following. He heartily wished he could communicate to the dog a need for caution, but as they progressed, he realized Cotton Blossom had learned certain things, as evidenced by his conduct. When Nathan rode the black horse, Cotton Blossom could trail ahead, but when Nathan was afoot, it meant he didn't wish to be discovered. The dog remained slightly behind Nathan, and but for his shadow in the dim starlight, he might not have existed. Nathan circled far to the east of the house, coming in behind the barn. A horse in the adjoining corral stomped its foot and snorted. Nathan would have liked to examine the hooves of the animals, verifying the broken calk, but that was too risky. Any kind of disturbance among the horses would bring wanted men on the run, their guns blazing. Nathan approached the house from the dark side, working his way around to the lighted window. Fortunately the house had been built on the side of a slope, and the kitchen end—where the lighted window was—sat virtually on the ground.

A lighted lamp sat on a dining room table, and while its glow was feeble, there was light enough to get a man killed, should be fool enough to stand directly before the window. Nathan kept to the side, peering in from the darkness. There were four men at the table while a woman was bringing in food from what obviously was the kitchen. Only one man had his back to the window, and Nathan guessed that man was probably the host. Two of the men—Frank and Jesse James—sat on the far side of the table, facing the window. The third man sat on Jesse's left, at the end of the table, and Nathan studied him. His eyes were cruel, his mouth turned down at the corners in a perpetual frown, and the hat tipped back on his head was that of a Union officer. Nathan had seen enough. He slipped away, thinking. He might have shot the third man on suspicion alone, but not without exposing himself to murderous fire from both Frank and Jesse James, and had he not killed his man with the first shot, there would be no chance for another. Nor had he ever forgotten that day when the cold eyes of Jesse James had bored into him and the outlaw had promised to kill him. What bothered him most was that these outlaws were slick as calf slobber when it came to escaping. One failed shot on his part could cost him an opportunity that might never come his way again. This situation called for a posse, enough men to surround the house at dawn. Then he remembered the funeral in Gallatin, the hordes of mourners following the coffin of a man the outlaws had gunned down in the bank. Where else was he likely to find a sheriff and a posse willing and eager to ride out in the small hours of the night on the word of a stranger?

Returning to his horses, Nathan rode back to Gallatin, taking note of various landmarks along the way. He found nobody at the small jail, but it was still early and there were lights in many windows. He had no trouble finding the little house where Sheriff Kilmer lived. He was a small-town lawman, but he was no fool. The light went out, and Kilmer spoke from behind the front door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?”

“I spoke to you this afternoon, after the funeral,” Nathan said, “and I want a sheriff and a posse. I've found the owlhoots who killed your banker.”

“Open the door and come in,” said Kilmer. “You're covered.”

Nathan turned the knob and stepped into the living room. Light from another room bled in through an open door. Kilmer was fully dressed except for his boots and hat. Nathan closed the door and lifted his hands shoulder high. Only then did Kilmer ease down the hammer of his Colt and holster the weapon.

“Set,” said the sheriff, “and talk.”

Nathan did, and Kilmer listened, chuckling with appreciation as Nathan told of trailing the riderless horse to the isolated farm, swearing when he learned of the presence of Frank and Jesse James in the farmhouse.

“By God, that's Sim Hinkel's place,” Kilmer said. “Him and Emily's been here forty years and more. How in hell can they shelter outlaws and killers?”

“There's no accounting for the hombres men choose for their friends,” said Nathan. “I'm telling you what I saw. You'll have to take my word until you see for yourself. Like I told you, I don't care a damn about any reward or recognition. All I want is a clean shot at Ringo Tull.”

“I can't promise you that,” Sheriff Kilmer said. “I'll be in charge of the posse and there'll be no shooting unless they start it. We'll surround the house and they'll be ordered to surrender.”

“Sheriff,” said Nathan, “you can't drown a man that was born to be hung. Jesse James will never be taken alive. I understand your position, and while I don't aim to try and tell you how to do your job, I'd like to offer you some advice, based on hard-won experience. When you organize your posse, be sure every man can and will shoot. I'll follow your rules, because I want to ride with you. I believe I've earned that right.”

“Beyond a doubt,” Sheriff Kilmer said. “I want you to come with me while I organize the posse. There's a small stable behind the house, room enough for your packhorse. Why don't you leave him there?”

Sheriff Kilmer quickly found ten men eager to take part in the capture of the notorious Frank and Jesse James. Nathan led them to the farmhouse and was satisfied with the manner in which the sheriff deployed his men in the surrounding of the house. He believed, however, that the lawman was underestimating the ruthlessness and resourcefulness of Frank and Jesse James, and his doubts were justified when Sheriff Kilmer issued his challenge. It came an hour before the dawn.

“You in the house,” Kilmer shouted. “Frank and Jesse James. This is the law, and you're under arrest. Come out with your hands up. We have the house surrounded.”

“We're comin' out,” came the reply from within the house, “but Sim and Emily are comin' with us. They'll see us safe to our horses, and if you cut down on us, they'll die. Now back off.”

Nathan slipped away and ran for the barn. He didn't intend for all his work to be for nothing, and this might be his last chance at Ringo Tull. He ducked between the rails of the corral fence, and with his back to the barn wall, concealed himself in the shadows. There was more shouting near the house, and Nathan doubted the posse would fire at any of the outlaws if they emerged in a group, with the Hinkels before them. Once they reached the corral, however, they must separate to mount their horses. Nathan heard Emily Hinkel sobbing before he saw their dim shapes in the starlight. One of the outlaws dropped three rails from the corral, and they moved toward the horses. But the animals were wary of so much activity in the predawn darkness, and moved toward the far side of the corral.