The Dawn of Fury (59 page)

“Five-card stud. Ten dollars a throw.”

While it was Nathan's favorite game, a few losses played hell with a man's roll. Covering all bets, he could lose as much as forty dollars in a single game. On the first draw, Nathan received a face-down hole card and a face-up jack. He put his ten dollars in the pot, noticing that Thompson had drawn a face-up ten. On the second draw, Nathan drew a face-up seven, while Thompson got a second ten. Each of them added another ten dollars to the pot. On the third draw, Nathan drew another jack, while Thompson got a third ten. Each man cast another ten dollars in the pot and received a fourth face-up card. Nathan drew another face-up seven, while Thompson drew a fourth ten. Come showdown, Nathan's hole card proved to be a third jack, while Thompson's was a fourth ten. But another gambler took the pot with four kings. Nathan lost two pots before winning one, and after that, he took two more. He lost another, and dropped out, breaking even. Ben Thompson had lost two hundred and forty dollars, not having won a single pot. He dropped out of the game when Nathan did, and while he seemed calm enough, Nathan could see a storm building in his eyes. Thompson paused at the head of the stairs.

“If you're of a mind to sample the grub,” Nathan said, “I'm buying.”

“Another time,” said Thompson. Turning, he walked farther down the hall and disappeared through another door.

Nathan went on down the stairs to the first floor. Viola and Rankin were no longer at the table. The other two men were lingering over drinks, and Nathan took the bull by the horns and approached their table.

“There was a lady with you gents a while ago,” Nathan said, “and I wanted to talk to her. Do you know if she's still here?”

“Oh, she's here,” one of them said, “but I reckon she's busy. Old man Rankin took her upstairs, and they wasn't goin' to play poker.”

“Rankin wasn't, anyhow,” the second man added, and they both laughed.

Nathan turned away, furious. How did you defend a woman's honor when she had none, when she had willingly become a whore?

Nathan had started up the stairs, uncertain as to what he should do, when somewhere ahead of him there was a shot. He took the steps two at a time and when he reached the upper hall, doors were open and men looked questioningly at one another. When a second shot rang out, Nathan was better able to place it. He started down the row of doors on the other side of the hall. When he tried the first two, he found them locked, but the third opened easily. Nathan stepped into the room, aware that others were behind him. A lamp burned beside the bed, and on it lay Nate Rankin and Viola Hayden. Wearing only his socks, Rankin clutched his bloody belly.

“She ... shot me,” he groaned. “She ... gut-shot ... me ...”

Beside him lay the naked body of Viola Hayden, a Colt in her limp hand and the side of her head a bloody mess. Nathan backed away, sick to his very soul. Others had seen the gory sight, and there were shouts of confusion.

“Rankin's still alive,” a man bawled. “Somebody get the doc.”

But Viola Hayden had known what she was doing, and by the time the doctor arrived, Rankin had joined her in death. Nathan walked slowly down the hall, toward the stairs, recalling the last words he had heard her speak.

“Neither will I, Viola,” he said aloud. “Neither will I ...”

Nathan had no idea where Jesse Hayden was buried, but he was feeling a burden to lay Viola to rest beside her father. It was still early—not more than an hour after Viola's terrible act of vengeance—when Nathan went looking for Captain Jennings.

“Yes,” Jennings said, “I know where Jesse's buried. There's a little graveyard not far from where they lived. In the morning we'll rent a buckboard and take her home.”

On Monday, August thirty-first, Nathan and Jennings claimed Viola's body from a local undertaker. They split the cost of having her laid out, and of a decent coffin. With Nathan driving the buckboard and Jennings riding alongside, they were about to leave when Ben Thompson rode up.

“I didn't know the lady,” he said, “but I've heard she had cause, and I admire her for playing out her hand. I'm riding along to pay my respects.”

Captain Jennings said nothing. Nathan, knowing the Ranger's opinion of Thompson, spoke.

“Come along, then,” said Nathan.

Thompson rode on one side of the buckboard and Jennings on the other. It was still early and Austin had not yet come alive. They reached the little church with its adjoining burying ground shortly past noon. It came as a pleasant surprise to Nathan to find many people gathered before the church. One of them was a black-robed preacher.

“They were neighbors to the Haydens,” Captain Jennings said. “I sent a rider out last night, believing they all would want to know. The grave should be ready.”

It was, and the lifelong friends of the Haydens had not forgotten. They wept, heaping wildflowers on the new-made grave beside that of Jesse Hayden.

Nathan had heard of Ben Thompson's younger brother, Billy. In some ways, it was said, Billy was the complete opposite of Ben, while in other ways they were disturbingly alike. Like Ben, Billy had a short fuse, was moody and quick to take offense, and was lightning fast with a Colt. Ben had a room at the Capitol Hotel, and it was there—in the lobby—that Nathan met Billy for the first time.

“Let's go eat,” Billy suggested, “and then find us a poker game.”

After supper they went to De Oro saloon, where Ben and Billy bought into a game of five-card stud. Recalling the fury in Ben's eyes after his loss at the Cattleman's Emporium, Nathan backed off. When it came to gambling, one Thompson at a time was plenty. But Billy lasted for only a few hands. He began sharing a bottle with William Burke, an army sergeant, and Burke wanted to leave.

“I'm goin' to a whorehouse 'fore I git too drunk,” said Burke. “Any of you man enough to go with me?”

“Hell,” Billy said, “anything you can do, I can do better, and twice as often.”

But as it turned out, both Burke and Thompson were too drunk, for when they reached the whorehouse, three other soldiers—friends of Burke—were outside. An argument ensued and Billy Thompson left, cursing the soldiers. He returned to De Oro Saloon as Ben and Nathan were leaving. But Sergeant Burke had followed Billy.

“Damn you,” Burke shouted, “I'll kill you.”

Billy Thompson turned, drew, and fired once. There were many witnesses to the shooting besides Nathan and Ben, two of whom were soldiers who knew Burke. To everybody's surprise, including Billy Thompson, Sergeant William Burke was unarmed. There was ugly talk directed at Billy Thompson, and the military was about to become involved, for the soldiers had quickly mounted and had ridden away. None of this was lost on Ben Thompson.

“Billy,” said Ben, “get your horse and let's ride.”

They rode out without so much as speaking to Nathan. It was still early, but he returned to his room at the hotel. Tomorrow he would ride out, bound for Colorado. While he had a good friend in Captain Jennings and a certain liking for fiery Ben Thompson, he felt the need to leave Austin, for strong on his mind was the tragic loss of Viola Hayden.

Nathan had checked out of his hotel and taken his horse from the livery, and was having breakfast when Captain Jennings joined him.

“I saw you when you came in,” Jennings said, “and you looked like a man about to take to the trail.”

“I'm bound for Colorado,” said Nathan. “I left my dog with friends there and I'm afraid he'll forget who I am.”

“Our friend Ben Thompson's in jail,” Jennings said. “The Federals are considering filing charges against him for helping Billy escape last night. He could have beaten that, but Ben's never been one to leave well enough alone. Five years back, he had a shooting scrape with James Moore. Last night, after helping Billy escape, Ben ran into Moore again, in a saloon. They had words and Ben shot and wounded Moore. Ben went before a magistrate a while ago. Would you believe he cussed the man and threatened to kill him, once he got his gun?”

“God,” said Nathan, “what's going to happen to him now?”

“He'll do some time,” Jennings said. “Just watch the newspapers.”

Nathan considered visiting Ben Thompson before riding out, but what good would it do? The little gambler would be in a vile mood, and Nathan's mind was burdened enough. He rode northwest, following the Rio Colorado. Despite the Comanche raids in northwest Texas, Nathan left the Colorado when it made its westward turn, riding in a more northerly direction. Before reaching the Red, he crossed another river whose name he didn't know.
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Reaching the Red, Nathan found tracks of unshod horses, but they were many days old. Searching his memory, he tried to recall the other rivers that lay ahead. After the Red, there was the Canadian, the North Canadian, the Cimarron, and finally, after he was into Colorado, the Arkansas. Nathan never heard the shot, for the slug struck him above the left ear and flung him out of the saddle. The black horse stopped, looking back at its fallen rider, but Nathan Stone didn't move. Suddenly a bearded apparition appeared. His hair long and bushy, he wore no hat, while animal hide covered his thin body and his feet. Under his arm was a .50-caliber Sharps. The black horse was about to spook when the strange man spoke. The black perked up its ears and allowed the stranger to take the reins. He led the horse to where Nathan lay. Kneeling, he felt for a pulse.

“The varmint's alive,” he said aloud, “an' he don't look like no damn Yankee.”

He lay down the Sharps long enough to hoist Nathan across his saddle. He then led the black north, toward the distant Canadian River. Reaching the river, he followed it west until its channel became deeper and its banks rose higher and higher as he progressed. Finally there was nowhere to walk, shy of the water, and he stepped into it, leading the horse along the shallows. He eventually reached a dry shelf that was the start of a break in the river's high north bank. The entrance to the cave was such that it was invisible unless one waded the river westward. The stranger led the black horse inside, and after easing the still-unconscious Nathan to the cave's stone floor, he unbuckled the pistol belt, removing Nathan's twin Colts. He then unsaddled the black horse. Finally he stirred up the coals from an earlier fire, and filling a blackened pot from the river, put some water on to heat. Suddenly Nathan groaned and stirred, lifting a hand to his bloodied head.

“Git yer hand away from there, boy. I'll fix it when the water's hot.”

Slowly Nathan sat up, shaking his head. Finally he was able to focus his eyes on the bearded old man before him.