The Dawn of Fury (71 page)

“Would you prefer that I sit here, or may I lie on the bed?”

“If you aim to get up and down, stay where you are,” Nathan said.

Nathan was snoring when she again lay down beside him. She wore one of the new shirts and new Levi's.

“You forgot the boots,” Nathan said, not bothering to open his eyes.

She got up, stomped into the new boots, and lay down again. Nathan said nothing, continuing to snore, but he had a hard time suppressing a grin.

He had no idea how long he had slept, but when he awakened, the girl's exhaustion had caught up with her, for she slept soundly. Cotton Blossom sat beside the door. Nathan got up and let him out. The sky had cleared and the sun was low on the western horizon. Nathan sat down on the chair, watching Mary Holden sleep. Had she planned to take her clothes to the seamstress, or had she been about to run out on him? He decided she had not, for it made no sense. She had no money and her clothes didn't fit. She seemed impulsive, restless, and more than a little put out that he hadn't yielded to temptation and taken her when he had the chance. By her own admission she had nowhere to go, nowhere she wanted to go, and that fueled the fires of Nathan's suspicion. Nathan had told her he wasn't seeking a wife and she had denied wishing to become one, but no honest man could take a woman and not feel some obligation to her. He had a strong suspicion she had been counting on that. While he had told her nothing about himself, she was no fool. When he had returned for her, he could have taken her there in El Gato's cabin, making that a condition for his rescue, but he had not. He was well armed, owned not only horse and saddle, but a packhorse as well. He had readily paid for her new clothes, so she was aware that he wasn't poor. He shook his head. Women were a paradox, all too often giving themselves to men who in no way suited their dreams, but could offer some small measure of security. On the other hand, a man—or woman, for that matter—who seemed indifferent and unattainable became all the more desirable. Nathan resolved to help Mary Holden in any way that he could, but on his terms, not hers. If, somewhere within her, lived a woman whose feelings were genuine and whose affection was not for sale or trade, then he would be ready and willing to reconsider.

A knock on the door brought him out of his chair. It was the young corporal who had guided them to the cabin.

“Captain Ferguson says you and the missus are welcome to eat at officer's mess. It's the long, low building directly behind the orderly room.”

“We're obliged, Corporal,” Nathan said. He closed the door.

“I'm starved,” said Mary, sitting up and showing none of her earlier irritation. “Where's Cotton Blossom?”

“Outside,” Nathan replied. “You'd better roll up the legs of those Levi's so's you can walk.”

She did, and within a few minutes, the bugler blew mess call.

“We'll wait a few minutes,” said Nathan, “and let the soldiers go first. They're doing us a good turn, and I'm not one to take unfair advantage of a man's hospitality.”

When Nathan and Mary reached officer's mess, Cotton Blossom was already there. A large pan of roast beef trimmings had been left outside the door, and Cotton Blossom had wasted no time in partaking of them. Captain Ferguson sat at a table near the door and nodded to them as they entered. When Nathan and Mary had their trays filled, Nathan spoke to the cook.

“I'm obliged to you for feeding my dog. Neither of us has been eating very well lately.”

“My pleasure,” the cook said.

Nathan and Mary took seats at an empty table near where Captain Ferguson sat talking with two other officers. It soon became apparent that one of the officers was the post doctor and that he and Ferguson were discussing the illness of their telegrapher. Nathan waited for a pause in the conversation, and then spoke to Ferguson.

“Captain Ferguson, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I was with the Kansas-Pacific Railroad for a while, and I know the code. If you're in need of a telegrapher, I'd be glad to fill in until you can make some other arrangements.”

“Stone,” said Ferguson, getting to his feet, “you're the answer to a prayer. Sergeant DeWitt, our telegrapher, is deathly ill, out of his head with a fever. We're authorized two telegraphers, but the post is undermanned. The instrument's been clattering all day. By now, Washington probably thinks we've been overrun by Quanah Parker's Comanches. When you've finished eating, please come to my office. The first thing I want you to do is inform Washington that you're a civilian, filling in for the one telegrapher they've sent me in the four years I've been post commander here.”

Ferguson and the other officers left, and Mary paused.

“That must have been interesting,” she said, “working for the railroad.”

“It was for a while,” said Nathan. He continued eating.

“You don't talk much about yourself, do you?”

“No,” Nathan said. “I've never thought of myself as a conversation piece. I'm a jack of all trades and master of none. I've been a soldier, a gambler, a railroad man, and a deputy U.S. marshal. I've killed some hombres that was needful of it, and unless somebody salts me down first, I aim to kill a few more. I'm not a drinking man, and I don't use tobacco or visit whorehouses. I do sleep with women occasionally, but I'm considering giving that up, because the last three are dead, because of what I did or failed to do. Will that be enough for now?”

“Yes,” she said, in a small voice. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. They had returned to their cabin before Nathan spoke again.

“Gather up the rest of your clothes,” he said. “I'll leave you with Mrs. Masters. Have her take up at least one shirt and one pair of Levi's, so's you have something to wear. Leave the others, and she can take them up when she gets to them.”

The lieutenant's seamstress wife did sewing in the cabin where she lived, and after leaving Mary there, Nathan went to Captain Ferguson's office. Even then, the telegraph was chattering, demanding attention.

“Thank God,” Ferguson groaned. “Find out what that thing wants. It's been driving me to distraction.”

Nathan sat down at the table with pencil and paper. Most of the messages were followups to earlier messages, seeking to learn the reason for the lack of response from Fort Worth. Nathan quickly sent a lengthy response from Captain Ferguson detailing the problem. Ferguson had given Nathan credit for aiding him in his emergency. When Washington acknowledged, there was a five-word message for Nathan:
Silver sends regards to Stone.

Nathan's apparent recognition in Washington didn't go unnoticed by Captain Ferguson. When he had read the message, he spoke.

“So it was you who alerted Washington to the ... ah ... difficulty some months ago at Fort Concho. Silver ... Byron Silver . . .”

“A friend of mine,” Nathan said. “I hope your operation that began at Fort Concho worked out to everybody's satisfaction.”

“Very much so,” said Captain Ferguson. “If it won't inconvenience you, I would consider it a personal favor if you will act as post telegrapher until I can make other arrangements.”

“I'd be glad to,” Nathan replied.

By the time Nathan returned to the Masters's cabin, Mrs. Masters had a pair of Levi's and one of the shirts altered to fit Mary.

“If you can leave the rest with me,” said Mrs. Masters, “I can have them ready in the morning.”

Nathan and Mary returned to their cabin, for it was getting dark. Cotton Blossom waited at the door.

“I may be here several more days,” Nathan said. “I promised the Captain I'd remain here as telegrapher until he makes other arrangements. We'll have our meals and a place to sleep.”

Nathan removed his gun belt, his hat, and his boots, and lay down on the bed.

“Do you always sleep in your clothes?” Mary asked.

“When you travel a lot and you don't often have a bed, it helps keep you warm,” said Nathan.

“There's something unnatural about a man who never takes his clothes off,” she said, looking at him critically. “There's not ... some of you ... missing, is there?”

It caught him off guard, and when he realized she was serious, he laughed until he cried. Angrily she grabbed the chair and sat down facing the door, her back to him. When he began to snore, she got up and kicked the chair up against the bed. He opened one eye.

“You ... you're impossible,” she shouted. “You sleep with your clothes on, you won't talk to me, you won't listen to me. Damn it, I might as well have stayed with El Gato. At least, he ... he made me feel like a ... a woman.”

Nathan got up and lighted the lamp, for it was dark in the room. He then took her bodily and threw her on the bed, and taking her boots by the heels, jerked them off her feet. She tried to get up and he shoved her back down. Unbuttoning her Levi's, he dragged them off. By the time he got to her shirt, he had to fight her to remove that, but he managed it. He got up, leaving her lying there. When he caught his breath, he spoke.

“If that's your idea of being treated like a woman—being stripped and having a man salivate—then so be it. I've seen naked women before. When you have something more to offer me than what El Gato could have taken, then maybe you and me will have somethin' to talk about. Meanwhile, you just lie there and feel like a woman.”

He sat down in the chair, leaned its hind legs against the wall and just looked at her. He alternated between feeling sorry for her and wishing he'd never laid eyes on her. Finally she rolled over, buried her face in a pillow and began sobbing. Even as he was feeling guilty and snake-mean, he wondered if she weren't just putting on another act for his benefit. He got up, opened the door, and then closed it, as though he had gone out. But her wailing continued, becoming louder, until he feared others would think he was beating her. He rolled her over, but her eyes were closed, and she kept them closed. He kissed her gently on the lips, just once. She almost strangled as she choked off a sob. When she opened her eyes, the anger had been replaced by wonder.

“Mary,” he said, “if you can't get a man's attention without taking off your clothes, then there's something wrong with you. Or with him. You're an almighty pretty girl, but that's not enough. You've been trying to prove something—maybe to me, maybe to yourself—I don't know. Starting right now, I want you to just be you. Understand?”

“I ... I understand,” she said, “and I'll try.”

He got up, blew out the lamp, got undressed, and lay down beside her. She remained where she was, unmoving. She was silent for so long, he breathed a sigh, thinking she was sleeping.

“Nathan, are you asleep?”

“Yes,” he said, “and it's not easy, with you talking to me.”

She laughed, poking him in the ribs with a finger. “Aren't you afraid you'll freeze?”

“There are times when I like to live dangerously,” he said.

Sergeant DeWitt, after a long bout with fever, died from causes unknown. Captain Ferguson telegraphed Washington, and was informed that it might be as long as a month before a qualified telegrapher could be assigned to the post.

“This is embarrassing,” Captain Ferguson said, after Nathan had given him the telegram from Washington. “Is there a chance you can remain here until I get this new man assigned? I don't expect your services for nothing. I can authorize payment of a dollar a day, retroactive to the day you began.”

“I can stay,” said Nathan, “and the pay isn't necessary. You're providing me with food and quarters. That's enough.”

Nathan was enjoying his temporary duty, for the telegrapher at Fort Worth was liaison between Washington and the state of Texas, as well as parts of Indian Territory. Much information came his way. Despite the Reconstructionist governor of Texas refusing to recognize the Texas Rangers, the Rangers had survived and were now stronger than ever. The Union army had developed a healthy respect for these men who had led the fight in the war with Mexico. Much of the information that came over the wire concerned outlaws of concern to Texas lawmen, and there were names of Rangers Nathan recognized. The last week in January, a report came in involving John Wesley Hardin. The gunman, in custody of two state lawmen, along with two other prisoners, was being transferred from the little town of Marshall, Texas to Waco. While one of the guards had gone to buy grain for the horses, Hardin produced a hideout gun and shot the remaining guard. Hardin and the other prisoners had fled on horseback. One of the other prisoners, captured with Hardin, had been Dade Withers!

Nathan swore under his breath, for he was committed to fill in as post telegrapher for at least three more weeks, and maybe longer. His position now seemed a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he might have ridden for months, searching saloons and reading newspapers before learning this bit of information that had fallen into his hands. However, he was cursed by being committed indefinitely to the very instrument that had served him so well, for he was unable to look for Hardin and Withers. But he had one thing in his favor. With access to the telegraph, he could watch for reports on Withers and Hardin's whereabouts. Withers might not alone command the attention Hardin would, so it was to Nathan's advantage if Withers kept with Hardin.