The Dawn of Fury (45 page)

“I've had supper,” said Nathan, “but I wouldn't refuse some hot coffee.”

When they were seated at the table, an elderly Negro woman poured their coffee. Nathan nodded to her.

“This is Lizzie,” said Hayden. “We couldn't get along without her. She stayed on when the others left, although we could offer her nothing more than food and a roof over her head.”

“I thankful,” Lizzie said. “With the damn Yankees all aroun', we lucky to have that.”

Despite himself, Nathan laughed. As so often was the case, the liberated Negroes thought of themselves as Southerners and resented the intrusion of carpetbaggers, scalawags, and Union soldiers.

“I wanted Mr. Stone to talk to you, Daddy,” said Viola. “He stands to lose a lot of money if Daybreak loses the race tomorrow. Since he's already laid his money down, I suppose there's nothing he can do, but I think he has the right to know what we're up against.”

“I agree,” said Hayden. “We got no sheriff here, but I've contacted the Texas Rangers in Austin. They've promised to send help. Besides that, I aim to have a dozen armed men handy.”

“That's precaution enough,” Nathan said. “Where will the race be run?”

“Right down the main street of town,” said Hayden. “Come on to the barn and have a look at the horse your money's on.”

Hayden lighted a lantern and the three of them walked to the big red barn. Viola went in first, and there was a nickering welcome. She led the horse out of his stall, and Nathan was impressed with the big gray. He stood a good fourteen hands, a stocky, deep-muscled, and sturdy-legged animal. His chest was deep, his withers low, his hindquarters powerful. His neck was thick while his head was broad and short.

“I like the looks of him,” said Nathan. “He'll be hard to beat in a quarter-mile run, if I'm any judge. I believe one of us should stay here with him tonight, and I'm volunteering. Cotton Blossom will warn me if anybody comes near.”

There was no trouble during the night. Nathan slept in the hayloft and Cotton Blossom in the stall next to Daybreak. When Viola Hayden came to milk the cow, Nathan and Cotton Blossom returned with her to the house. In the kitchen, next to the stove, Lizzie fed Cotton Blossom, while Nathan sat down to breakfast with the Haydens.

“I've been hearing about this Wild Bill Longley ever since I got here,” Nathan said, “and I have yet to see him. Where is he?”

“Laying low,” said Hayden. “He's had run-ins with the law before, and he's become cautious. The Rangers were looking for him last year, and I'd say he's looking for them to return. But even if he don't show, he's got a passel of friends like Driggers and McKowen who are hell-raisers in their own right.”

After breakfast, Jesse Hayden rode out to call on some friends, having them arm themselves to prevent trouble in town. Nathan would ride in with Viola.

“The race doesn't start until three o'clock,” said Viola, “but I'd like to be in town by noon. There'll be friends I haven't seen since this time last summer, and I want some time to visit. After the race, there'll be a street dance. It's a custom the Negroes began, back in the slave days, and they don't object when some of the rest of us take part. There'll be someone blowing a mouth harp, another with a fiddle or banjo, or maybe a guitar. Would you like to stay for that?”

“I don't think so,” Nathan said. “Remember, I have a five-hundred-dollar bet with twenty-to-one odds. If you win that race, somebody's going to owe me ten thousand dollars. They might find it easier just to shoot me.”

“Please don't joke about such things,” she cried. Impulsively she leaned across the table and took his hands in hers, and he was touched by the concern in her green eyes. The pleasant interlude ended when the grandfather clock in the parlor struck eleven.

“My stars,” Viola laughed, “we've been sitting here three hours. Please saddle the horses. I'll be ready by then.” She went through the kitchen and out the back door.

“She gone to the outhouse,” Lizzie chuckled.

“That must be an almighty big coffee pot, Lizzie,” said Nathan.

“It don' be that big,” Lizzie said from the kitchen. “I refill it t'ree times.”

When Nathan and Viola reached town, every hitch rail was occupied by saddle horses or mules, and there were countless buckboards and wagons, some of which had brought entire families for the event. Many had brought basket lunches, while others crowded into the cafes and saloons.

“God,” said Nathan, “everybody in the county must be here.”

“Close to it,” Viola agreed, “and some from other counties as well.”

Room had been made at one of the hitch rails for the horses entered in the race. Jesse Hayden was already there, and he took charge of Daybreak. Viola hurried away to talk to friends, while Nathan wanted to talk to Hayden.

“I got eight men lined up,” said Hayden with satisfaction, “so with you an' me, there'll be ten of us. Better yet, there's a Ranger here. Captain Jennings just rode up from Austin. I've talked to him, and he doesn't think Longley will have the nerve to try anything.”

“I'd like to talk to this Captain Jennings,” Nathan said. Every Texas Ranger carried a black book of wanted men. It was often referred to as “Bible Two,” second in importance to the Holy Bible. If any of the five killers that Nathan was seeking were wanted in Texas, the Rangers would know. Even if he must reveal his oath of vengeance to gain the cooperation of these vigilant Texas lawmen, he would do so. Some families had spread their lunches beneath giant oaks, and it was there that Nathan found the Texas Ranger, Captain Sage Jennings. The familiar star in a circle was pinned to his vest and a Colt revolver was tied low on his right hip. He was taking advantage of an invitation to share some fried chicken.

“Captain,” Nathan said, “when you're done with that chicken, I'd like to talk to you. I'm Nathan Stone.”

“I believe I've heard of you,” said Jennings. “These are the Swensons, friends of mine. There appears to be plenty of chicken, if you'd care to join us.” The Swensons nodded in polite agreement.

“Thanks,” Nathan replied, “but I'm not that far from breakfast.”

Nathan leaned against an oak, waiting. He wondered if Jennings had heard of him as a result of that ill-fated shootout in San Antone. While it seemed unlikely, one never knew when the past would deal a busted flush. Jennings got up, dusted off the seat of his Levi's, and headed for Nathan. He opened the conversation with a question.

“Are you the hombre who shot it out with the Baker gang a month or so ago?”

“Yes,” Nathan replied, “but I did a poor job of it. I managed to salt down a pair of varmints sidin' him, but he escaped. One of his pards managed to get some lead in me, so I wasn't any condition to trail Baker.”

“Hell's bells,” said Jennings, “you've accomplished more than the Rangers, the Union army, and half the sheriffs in north Texas combined. We got a wire from Fort Smith, but not in time for us to take Baker's trail.”

“I'm not surprised,” said Nathan. “I rode most of the way back to Fort Smith in the rain.”

“We can use men like you in the Rangers,” Jennings said.

“I've heard the Rangers are having trouble with the Reconstructionist governor,” Nathan said.

“He won't officially recognize us,” said Jennings, “but he won't stop us. The truth is, the Union army is spread too thin. They're trying to build a string of forts in Wyoming Territory, while Quanah Parker and his Comanches are raising hell with every fort and soldier outpost in West Texas. Renegades are as bad or worse than the Comanches, looting and killing south of the Red, then running like coyotes into Indian Territory. That's how Texas inherited that varmint, Tobe Snider. Him and another Reb deserter, Virg Dillard ...”

That's the handle he's ridin' under,” Jennings said. ”Do you know him?”

“I've heard of him,” said Nathan, “and none of it good.”

“Snider and Dillard had cozied up to a renegade outfit from Kansas,” Jennings said, “and the lot of 'em were holed up in Indian Territory. Next thing we knew, Snider was with Cullen Baker. We've heard nothing more about Dillard, but that bunch of renegade varmints is still ridin' across the Red, looting and killing.”

“And as far as you know, this bunch of renegades—including Dillard—is holed up in Indian Territory.”

“Yes,” Jennings said. “From your obvious interest in Dillard, would I be close if I suspected you have a reason for tracking him down?”

“You would,” said Nathan, “and that's why I can't afford to join your ranks as a Ranger. Even if your badge had jurisdiction in Indian Territory, it could get me shot dead as a Christmas goose.”

“It likely would do that,” Jennings agreed. “All I can do is wish you luck and tell you the little we know about Dillard. He carries his revolver on his right hip, butt forward. Only gun-thrower I ever heard of with a cross-hand draw that pulls it with his left.”

“It's uncommon all right,” said Nathan. “Uncommon enough to be remembered. I'm obliged.”

“I'll be here the rest of the day,” Jennings said, “but I don't look for any trouble out of Longley. He prefers picking on people who can't or won't fight back.”

A quarter of an hour before the race, Shadow and Daybreak were led to the starting line. While Nathan was partial to Daybreak, Nate Rankin's horse had good points too. Shadow, however, as Viola had pointed out, must carry more weight than Daybreak. Son Hugh, Nathan observed, had spent entirely too much time at the dinner table. Jesse Hayden and Captain Jennings had joined eight other armed men strung out along the course of the race, lest the elusive Wild Bill Longley and his bunch showed up. Suddenly there was a single shot and the horses were off and running. Viola's Daybreak took an immediate lead. Hugh Rankin wasted no time in using his quirt, but it gained him nothing. It quickly became obvious that Viola had an even greater edge than her opponent's added weight. There was an affinity between the girl and the big gray horse, and Daybreak needed no quirting. The horse was running for the sheer joy of it, and the wild cry of his rider only added to his momentum. Within a few yards, he was a length ahead, then two, and finally a distance the black couldn't possibly regain. Nathan spotted McKowen and Driggers on the flat roof of a saloon, but they did nothing to arouse suspicion. When the big gray had swept past the last of the town and was in the clear, Nathan and the rest of the protective riders rode on to the finish line. When Hugh Rankin dismounted, he made no move to congratulate Viola. Instead, using the quirt, he began raining blows on the tender muzzle of the black horse.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and before anyone else could make a move, Viola caught Rankin's arm on the backswing. Off balance, Rankin lit on his back in a cloud of dust. Furious, he got to his feet and came after Viola with the quirt. Standing her ground, she planted the toe of her right boot in young Rankin's groin. With a groan, he folded like an empty sack. Nate Rankin came stomping through the crowd, his hand on the butt of his Colt.

“What the hell's been done to him” Rankin bawled.

“He went after the girl with a quirt,” said Captain Jennings, “and she gave him a boot so's it got his attention. You'd better get him away from here before somebody shoots him on general principles. Might do it myself.”

“By God,” Rankin shouted, “you ain't heard the last of this.”

“You'd better hope we have,” said Jennings. “If there's trouble, I'll come looking for you.”