The Dawn of Fury (73 page)

The next morning, Nathan and Mary went to the courthouse. They did not see the two soldiers who had been charged. Mary left a deposition with the clerk, with the assurance it would be used at the hearing.

“I've never cared much for this town,” Nathan said. “I'll talk to the Kansas-Pacific dispatcher and the newspaper editor, and we'll move on.”

“Hey,” said Donaldson, his eyes on Mary, “you've come up in the world since leaving the old KP.”

“I'm surprised you've been able to keep any trains on the track without me out there,” Nathan said.

“It ain't been easy, son,” said Donaldson. “I never knowed there was so many Indians with nothin' to do 'cept worry other folks.”

But Donaldson had little to report, except that Wild Bill Hickok was in Colorado. Nathan had never visited Emmet Plato's newspaper office, so he and Mary had to search for it. When they walked in, Plato virtually ignored them, fixing his eyes on Cotton Blossom, who clearly would have preferred to be somewhere else.

“Ah,” Plato exclaimed, “so this is the savage beast that singlehandedly undermined the credibility of the United States Army.”

“He bit a soldier who wasn't minding his manners,” said Nathan.

“God,” Plato said, rolling his eyes heavenward, “if he's here come next election, he could be the new sheriff.”

“I hear Hickok's in Colorado,” said Nathan. “What happened after he shot those two soldiers last July?”

“One of the men died and the other recovered,” Plato said. “There was talk about charging Wild Bill with murder, but there was some more trouble involving the military, and a civilian was killed. When it all came back to Hickok, he got out of it. The judge decided it was a Mexican standoff, bein' as much the fault of the soldiers as Hickok's. They were all drunk, and it wasn't Hickok that started the fight. If I had any say, I'd not build a fort anywhere close to a town, or a town anywhere close to a fort.”

Plato had no other information of use to Nathan, so he and Mary rode out of Hays, bound for Abilene. They were following the Kansas-Pacific track, and not more than fifty miles east of Hays, they came upon the body of a Kansas-Pacific outrider, Denton Valentine. He had been shot in the back. Twice.

“Outlaws,” Nathan said. “There must be a train coming carrying an army payroll.”

“What are you going to do?” Mary asked.

“See if I can find Denton's horse,” said Nathan. “He'll have a telegraph instrument in his saddlebag. Maybe I can stop the train.”

They followed the tracks of the riderless horse, eventually finding the animal grazing beside a spring runoff. The telegraph instrument was in the saddlebag, but it was of no use. The telegraph line had been cut somewhere to the east. The line to Hays was open, and Nathan quickly sent a message to Hays, to Donaldson. Quickly he placed the telegraph key in his own saddlebag and mounted his horse.

“We have some riding to do,” he told Mary. “They've cut the telegraph line somewhere between here and Kansas City. I have to stop that train, if I can.”

“Suppose we run into the robbers before we reach the train?”

“There'll be hell to pay,” Nathan said. “I look for them to try and stop the train somewhere between here and Abilene. We may not have time.”

He kicked his horse into a slow gallop, Mary following. Cotton Blossom loped along behind. They had stopped to rest the horses for the third time when Nathan put his ear to the rail.

“The train's coming,” he said. “Stay far behind me. Somewhere just ahead, the outlaws will be waiting, likely to blow up the track.”

“Please be careful,” she said.

Nathan mounted and rode on, Cotton Blossom following. Soon he could see the locomotive's smoke against the sky. Far down the track, tiny figures were scurrying about. Nathan unshucked his Winchester, jacking in a shell, but he was too late to save the track. There was an explosion that seemed to shake the earth, as twisted rails were flung heavenward, amid a rain of ballast and ties. If he could get
past
the outlaws, Nathan still might be able to warn the trainmen. But the outlaws had seen him. They lost all interest in the train, for it was theirs unless the engineer was warned in time to stop. Lead sang all around Nathan. He held his fire, for shooting from a fast-moving horse was a waste of ammunition. A slug tore into his left side, the force of it almost driving him from the saddle. Grimly he hung on, as more lead hit him high in the chest. Ahead, through dimming vision, he could see the train, and it seemed to be slowing. Suddenly the valiant black horse staggered and broke stride. Nathan quit the saddle, rolling with the fall. He tried to turn on his belly, to bring the Winchester into firing position, but his body refused. Dimly he thought he heard gunshots. Somebody was firing from the train. Finally, he saw Mary's face. But just for a fleeting moment. Then he knew no more.

What Nathan hadn't known was that while he had drawn the outlaws' fire, Mary Holden had ridden as near as she dared, desperately waving her sheepskin coat. The engineer had been able to stop the train, and thanks to a new railroad policy, half a dozen armed men had begun riding every train that carried an army payroll. Heavy fire from the train drove the outlaws away, and now the railroad men concerned themselves with the fate of Nathan Stone.

“I know him,” the engineer said. “He used to work for the KP.”

“Please,” Mary cried, “we must get him to a doctor.”

“We can't take him to Hays,” said the engineer, “but we can reverse this train and take him back to Abilene. Some of you men let down a ramp and load the lady's horse and packhorse into a boxcar. Remove his saddle and saddlebags from the dead horse, too.”

They rolled Nathan in his own blankets and placed him in the same boxcar into which they had loaded the horses and Nathan's saddle.

“I'll ride with him,” Mary said. “Come on, Cotton Blossom.”

Cotton Blossom would have refused if he'd had any choice. The locomotive lurched into reverse, and Cotton Blossom fell, skidding up against the end of the car. No sooner had he gotten to his feet when the train lurched a second time, and again he was thrown up against the end of the car. Finally he crept into a corner and huddled there until the train reached Abilene. The Kansas-Pacific had built a depot of sorts, and when the telegrapher tested the line to Kansas City, he found it intact.

“Contact Joel Netherton,” said the engineer. “Tell him Nathan Stone just saved him a train and an army payroll, not to mention our lives. There's a three-day job for a section crew maybe seventy-five miles west of here.”

The doctor brought his buckboard to the depot, and with the help of the engineer, lifted Nathan from the boxcar into the buckboard.

“I'm going with him,” Mary Holden said, “wherever you're taking him.”

“To my house,” said the doctor. “We don't yet have a hospital.”

“Joel Netherton of the Kansas-Pacific will be in touch with you,” the engineer told Mary. “One of you men ride with the doc, to help him unload. We're going to be here awhile. I expect we'll be returning to Kansas City.”

The doctor's name was Webber. Gerald Webber. His wife Madelyn, a thin, efficient woman, was his nurse.

“Ma'am,” said Doctor Webber.

“Mary.”

“Mary, then,” the doctor said. “He's in serious condition. Neither of the slugs exited, which means I'll have to dig them out. He's already lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much. It's not going to be easy to watch. Perhaps you'd better wait in the parlor.”

“No,” Mary said, “I'll stay with him, whatever happens.” Cotton Blossom sat outside in the doctor's yard. The railroad men, while they waited for orders from the dispatcher in Kansas City, led Mary's horse and Nathan's packhorse to the livery. Their saddles and the packsaddle was taken inside the Kansas-Pacific depot. For two hours, Doctor Webber worked over Nathan. Finally he rinsed away the blood and disinfected and bandaged the wounds.

“I can't do more than give him a fighting chance,” said Webber. “He lost a lot of blood before I got to him, and he lost more while I was probing for the lead. Neither slug struck any vital organs or bones, and that's in his favor, but it's been a severe shock. If he's alive this time tomorrow, I'd say he'll make it. He'll need to remain here tonight, and possibly tomorrow night. The rest of the way, he'll be fighting infection.”

“I'm staying with him, then,” Mary said, “no matter how long.”

“Then I'll have Madelyn set up a cot for you in here. I'll be looking in on him several times during the night.”

Four days later, the doctor declared Nathan out of danger. He was then taken to the hotel, and it was there that Joel Netherton, of the Kansas-Pacific, came to see him.

“I'm pleased to see you again,” said Netherton, “although I'd like the circumstances to be different.”

“So would I,” Nathan replied.

“I have good news for you,” the railroad man said. “The Kansas-Pacific has authorized me to pay you a reward of a thousand dollars and to pay all your medical expenses, your lodging here at the hotel, until you're back on your feet.”

“That's mighty generous,” said Nathan. “I'm obliged.”

“We're in your debt,” Netherton replied. “All we're out is the repair of a piece of track. But for you, we might have lost a train, its crew, and an army payroll.”

“You're having considerable trouble with train robbers, then.”

“Yes,” said Netherton. “We believe these robbers you intercepted are the same ones who have dogged us for months. A sheriff's posse once picked up their trail just south of here, but lost it when they escaped into Indian Territory.”

“Ten or eleven riders?”

“Eleven, as a matter of fact,” Netherton said. “How did you know?”

“I think I know who they are and where they are,” Nathan said.

The frown on Mary Holden's face and the worry in her eyes told him her thinking was running neck and neck with his own.

“Great Scott,” said Netherton, “when you're feeling up to it, will you share that information with railroad authorities?”

“I reckon,” Nathan said, “but it'll be a fight to the death.”

When Netherton had excused himself, Mary looked at Nathan long and hard. Finally she spoke.

“You're not thinking of leading a posse into Indian Territory, are you?”

“I haven't thought about it, one way or the other,” said Nathan, “but don't you think the world would be a better place without that bunch of gun-totin' varmints?”

“Yes,” she said, “but why does it have to be you who rids the world of them? I want you alive. Doesn't it matter to you what I want?”

“You know it does,” he said, “but you also know the kind of hombre I am, that I won't cash in my chips settin' in a rocker before the fire, with you holding my hand.”

“Yes,” she said, “you'll go out in a hail of bullets, doing your damndest to take as many with you as you can. I just want to put it off as long as possible.”

“So do I,” he replied.

The wounds had taken more out of Nathan than he had believed, for it was the first week in June before he began to feel himself. The doctor advised another month of rest, and the next time he saw Netherton, the railroad man encouraged it.

“We're having a big celebration July fourth,” said Netherton, “and I want you and Mary there. There'll be brass from Washington, railroad officials, all the beer you can drink, speeches . . .”

“Oh, no, you don't,” Nathan said. “Shooting outlaws, si, speeches, no.”