The Dawn of Fury (75 page)

Unsure as to where he should ride next, Nathan had chosen Fort Dodge, in hopes he could avoid Hays. Mary had been quiet since leaving Abilene, and to break the lengthy silence, Nathan spoke.

“If these forts ever come up to strength, I reckon we'll end up sleeping on the ground. No more vacant officer's quarters.”

“Maybe by then you won't be riding all over the frontier,” Mary said. “What would it take to get you to settle down in one place?”

“I don't know,” said Nathan. “Do you want me settled down in one place?”

“It would be nice,” she said, “when you have a son or daughter.”

“What?” he said, reining up. “Are you ... ?”

She laughed at the expression on his face. “Not yet. But how would you feel ... if I were?”

“I reckon I'd be proud,” he said. “God knows, I've done little else in which I can take pride.”

Dade Withers waited until suppertime before entering the mercantile, for when one clerk went to eat, the other would be alone in the store. Withers entered the mercantile, browsing until the first clerk had gone, then waiting impatiently until the last customer departed. Only then did he approach the counter. When the clerk looked up, he found himself facing a masked man with a cocked Colt revolver.

“Put the money in this sack,” Withers said, “and you won't be hurt.”

Quickly the clerk complied, and while there were many bills, it seemed to Withers they were mostly of small denomination.

“The rest of it,” Withers growled. “The gold too.”

It was Monday, following a busy weekend, and the nervous clerk had hoped to get off as easily as he could by sacking only the paper money. But now he began piling handfuls of double eagles into the sack. Finally he held up his hands.

“That's all,” he said. “I swear that's all.”

Withers grabbed the sack, and holding the Colt steady on the clerk, began backing toward the door. Already the sun had slid below the western horizon, with purple shadows announcing the coming of darkness. Withers was no sooner out the door when it was shattered by a shotgun blast. Before the angry clerk could cut loose again, Withers was mounted and galloping away. He removed his bandanna from his face. He felt like shouting, for he had pulled it off without firing a shot, and he didn't have to share it with anyone else. At least that's what he thought, but circumstances changed quickly. Comfortable with the shielding darkness, he slowed his horse to a walk, only to find himself surrounded by horsemen. Even in starlight there was no mistaking the muzzles of revolvers, and Withers groaned inwardly. They could kill him ten times over. Finally a figure in a Mexican sombrero spoke.

“I admire an ambitious man, señor, but not when his ambition robs me of what is mine. You will come with me as my guest and we shall discuss your ... future.”

“Damn you,” Withers snarled. “I don't take orders from you.”

“It is that, señor, or I kill you. The choice is yours.”

“I'm ridin' with you,” Withers said, swallowing hard.

Nathan and Mary went directly to Fort Dodge, arriving the day after Dade Withers had robbed the store. The post commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Hatton, knew Captain Ferguson well, and Hatton had been impressed with Ferguson's letter of recommendation. He was cordial as Nathan and Mary were shown into his office. Without going into detail, Nathan told Hatton of his search for the outlaw, John Wesley Hardin, and of the trail that had played out after Hardin's gunplay at Abilene.

“I don't know if this fits in or not,” Hatton said, “but yesterday at dark, a lone gunman robbed the mercantile at tent city. Marshal Summerfield investigated last night. Tell him I've authorized the release of information he may have, and you may want to talk to the men at the store.”

“I'm obliged, sir,” said Nathan. “May we impose on your hospitality for the night?”

“You may, and welcome,” Hatton said. “The corporal will show you to your quarters. See me again before you leave the post.”

Nathan left Mary and Cotton Blossom in the cabin that Hatton had assigned them and went looking for U. S. Marshal Jed Summerfield. Nathan didn't like the man, but he had jurisdiction over all of western Kansas and went out of his way to see that nobody forgot.

“One man, masked, entered the store just at dark,” said Summerfield, “and escaped with a large amount of gold and paper currency. That's all I can tell you.”

“The robber must have left a trail,” Nathan said. “Which way did he go after leaving the store?”

“Toward Indian Territory,” said Summerfield shortly.

“Did you trail him, or do you just feel pretty strong that he headed for the Territory?”

“Mister,” Summerfield said, his face going red, “when you're in hollerin' distance of the Territory, you don't have to watch a robber ride over the line to know he's there.”

“Then for all you know,” said Nathan, twisting the knife, “he could have spent the night on the prairie, within sight of the fort.”

“I reckon he could have,” Summerfield conceded grimly. “I'm just one man, by God. Suppose you just ride out there and bring him in? When you do, I'll hand you this tin star and tell you where to stick it.”

Nathan turned away, grinning. Taking his horse from the livery, he rode upriver to tent city. He had some difficulty convincing the proprietor of the mercantile to talk, and even then, he learned only one thing of value.

“He wore a mask,” said the man. “When he left here, he rode south. And his horse had an XIT brand.”

Nathan rode south from the mercantile, and in the first soft ground he came to, found the tracks of a single south-bound horse. He had no difficulty following the trail, but he had ridden less than a mile when he reined up. The single rider he was following had been joined by a band of other riders, all of whom had continued riding south. For ten miles, Nathan followed, and the trail never varied. He counted the tracks of twelve horses, and it soon became evident they were all bound for Indian Territory. He decided that, based on what he had learned, the man who had robbed the mercantile had been Dade Withers. Now it appeared that Withers had acted on behalf of a gang of thieves or had made their unwelcome acquaintance following the robbery. In either case, they all were bound for Indian territory. Now it was back to Nathan Stone versus a band of thieves and killers, and he had an uneasy suspicion he knew this particular band of renegades, and that they would know him. When he returned to Fort Dodge and told Mary Holden of the robbery and the strange circumstances that appeared to link Dade Withers with Indian Territory renegades, her reaction was about what he had expected.

“Nathan,” she begged, “can't you just forget Dade Withers? This almost has to be El Gato's gang, and they'll kill you on sight.”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “I have a feeling it's El Gato, but I made a vow and I aim to keep it. But I won't be going alone. I'm going to see how serious the Kansas-Pacific is about tracking down those outlaws.”

“Then please just do one thing for me,” she said, “and I won't ask anything more. Wait until after Christmas. I'd like to have this to remember, if I never have anything else. I want to spend it at Eppie's place, in Kansas City.”

She seemed so desperately sincere and the pleading in her eyes was so intense, it made him uneasy. She wouldn't even be eighteen until November, and she was already so much more than the girl she had been when he had met her less than a year ago.

“All right,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I'll wait until after Christmas.”

In the months to come, as events unfolded, it would be a decision he would never regret. His decision allowed him a kind of freedom, at least for a while, for he knew where Dade Withers was.

Nathan and Mary returned to Eppie's boardinghouse and settled down to an easy, unhurried life that Nathan Stone had never believed he could tolerate. He dreaded to see it end, and thus kept putting off his decision to call on Netherton and the Kansas-Pacific until events forced the railroad to take drastic measures on its own. In September, outlaws blew up the track a few miles west of Abilene, killed two railroad guards, wounded three others, and made off with fifteen thousand dollars. Descriptions given by the surviving railroad guards all pointed to El Gato as leader of the outlaws. It was too much. The Kansas-Pacific began advertising in the newspaper for men to pursue and capture the renegades, dead or alive. The pay was a hundred and fifty dollars a month, with ammunition and food furnished. Each man would take the oath of a United States deputy marshal. The Kansas-Pacific was offering a reward of five hundred dollars for each of the robbers, dead or alive. The governor of the State of Kansas would sign John Doe execution warrants.

“By God,” Nathan said, “they're going too far.”

“Why?” Mary asked. “I'm glad they're getting serious.”

“Too damn serious,” said Nathan. “I can go along with everything except the John Doe execution warrants. They allow a man, in the name of the law, to kill anybody. To positively identify a man in an execution warrant is one thing. To issue a John Doe execution warrant for a person unknown is inviting a law-sanctioned posse to become bounty hunters, killing for the reward.”

“Are you . . . still going with them?”

“I don't know,” Nathan said. “I want to talk to Joel Netherton.”