The Killing Season (45 page)

“You're taking a chance coming here,” Silver said. “Why did you?”

“Because I'm accomplishing nothing at the Slaughter house,” said Nathan, “except for providing a target for some hombre with a shotgun. Did you read the story in today's Saint Louis paper about the breakup of the Slaughters and Hohnmeyers?”

“Yes,” Silver said, “but we kept you out of it. Bristow said he would.”

“That's not what concerns me,” said Nathan. “Annie told me Slaughter was taking a room in town. The newspaper makes it a point of saying Slaughter moved into the Hohnmeyer house. There has to be a reason they're both together.”

“Don't go waltzing all around this thing,” Silver said. “I know you've got some kind of handle on it, or you wouldn't be here. Right now, I don't care a damn about proof, if you've got a good, solid hunch. What is it?”

“Annie and Myrtle have nothing to do with this conspiracy in which Slaughter and Hohnmeyer are involved, so I haven't gone looking for any evidence. You won't find the money at the house, either.”

“Then where the hell is it?” Silver growled. “Bristow's already gone after questionable banks, and found nothing. We're virtually certain it's not at the distilleries. What about Hohnmeyer's house?”

“No,” said Nathan. “I believe it's been sent, a little at a time, to some point where it can be taken out of the country. I figure Mexico or South America.”

“Solid thinking,” Silver said, “and if that's the case, Slaughter and Hohnmeyer have to fly the coop. But when, and how?”

“Tell Bristow to have men at every railroad terminal and every steamboat landing. Not to arrest Slaughter and Hohnmeyer, but to trail them. Somehow, they're going to try and escape, and it will only make sense if the money's somewhere waiting for them.”

“You're right,” said Silver. “I don't know how I know, but I do. Go on back to the Slaughter place and play out your hand. You'll know when to call on me again.”

 

Slaughter and Hohnmeyer made their move three days after Nathan had met with Byron Silver. It was past midnight. Nathan and Empty sat on the porch. The wind was out of the west, and Nathan smelled smoke. He left the porch, getting away from the house and its surrounding trees, and to the west he could see an ever-growing pink cloud. Quickly he saddled his horse and with Empty running alongside, he rode toward town. The house, when he arrived, had fallen in. All the efforts of the horse-drawn fire wagons had been futile. Sheriff Rainey took off his hat, wiping his face with a bandanna.

“The Hohnmeyer place, I reckon,” said Nathan.

“It is ... was ...” Sheriff Rainey said. “How did you know?”

“Just guessing,” said Nathan. “Where's Slaughter and Hohnmeyer?”

“In the house, as far as I've been able to determine,” Rainey said. “I've asked around, and found a saloon where Slaughter and Hohnmeyer were drinking. The barkeep says they were drunk and rowdy, and he made them leave. Somebody from the saloon was goin' their way, and he saw ‘em to the front door. Nobody saw 'em after that.”

“That was some hell of a fire, to just suddenly break out,” Nathan said. “It's been hot as blazes all day, so you can forget about a fireplace, and I can't imagine a pair of drunks firing up a cookstove, can you?”

“No,” said Rainey, “I can't. Soon as the ruins cool down some, I aim to look around. It'll be a grisly search, because if Slaughter and Hohnmeyer was in there, I'll have to find some remains before I can break the news to Annie and Myrtle.”

“How can you identify a man after he's gone through something like that?”

“Hell, I don't know,” Rainey said. “I've never had to do it before. I'm inclined to take the word of the gent who saw them from the saloon to the house. He said they was just purely owl-eyed by the time they got home.”

“Good luck,” said Nathan.

It was almost two o'clock in the morning when Nathan reached the Pioneer Hotel, and following the familiar knock, it was a while before Silver got to the door.

“Come in,” Silver said. “I was about to get up in six more hours, anyway.”

“You said I'd know, and you were right,” said Nathan. “It's time.”

Quickly he told Silver of the fire, and of the circumstances that pointed to the deaths of Slaughter and Hohnmeyer.

“There it is,” Silver said. “Just as you predicted, and I passed it on to Bristow. We'll soon know if he took you seriously or not.”

“The easy part's over,” said Nathan. “Now I've got to ride back to Slaughter's home and talk my way out of Annie's and Myrtle's clutches.”

Silver laughed. “If you're able to get loose, come on back to the Pioneer. I reckon we can justify staying here until we get some word from Bristow.”

 

“But we need you more than ever, now that we're alone in the world,” Annie begged.

“Yes,” Myrtle said. “We now have two distilleries, and we know absolutely nothing about running them.”

“Neither do I,” said Nathan, “and I'm a slow learner.”

Nathan was spared further agony by the arrival of Sheriff Rainey.

“Ladies,” Rainey said, “I have been told to inform you that the United States Department of the Treasury has seized both distilleries and frozen both bank accounts.”

“Damn them!” Annie cried. “For what reason?”

“They're Federals,” said Rainey. “I'm not sure they need a reason, but that's between you and them.”

“I'll save you a thousand dollars a month,” Nathan said. “I'm resigning my position.”

“Must you go?” Annie asked. “We could make it up to you in other ways.”

“Many other ways,” Myrtle added.

Nathan mounted up and rode back to town with Sheriff Rainey.

“A right handsome pair,” said Rainey with a grin. “Too bad you didn't hang around and see what kind of trade they had in mind.”

“I think I know,” Nathan replied.

B.H. Bristow returned to St. Louis specifically to thank Nathan Stone.

“It was just as you predicted, Stone,” said Bristow. “They rode a hundred miles south of here before boarding a steamboat to New Orleans. I telegraphed our agents there, and they followed Slaughter and Hohnmeyer to a million dollars in gold. I'm sure there will be a reward....”

“If there is,” Nathan said, “send it to Annie Slaughter and Myrtle Hohnmeyer. While they're not widowed after all, I reckon Slaughter and Hohnmeyer will go to jail.”

“We're going to do our best,” said Bristow. “So far, we've arrested 176, and have recovered more than three million dollars in taxes.”

“Let me know if Grant goes after a third term,” said Nathan, “and I'll stay as far away from the telegraph as I can get. You'll be on your own.”

“Hell, he may not survive this term,” Silver said. “The man has no friends. The best he can hope for is a better class of enemies.”
¹⁹

Nathan only wanted to leave St. Louis, and he and Empty departed on the first steamboat bound for New Orleans. The river was calm and the skies were blue, and they spent their daylight hours on the upper deck. Empty still was wary of strangers, and kept close to Nathan, but the trip south was uneventful. When the steamboat had docked in New Orleans, Nathan and Empty were the first ashore. Nathan hired a hack to drive him to the McQueen place, and Empty trotted along behind.

“Bess had started to worry about you,” McQueen said, as Nathan came into the house.

“And you didn't,” said Bess.

Empty reared up on Bess and could almost look her in the eye.

“That dog has grown some since he left here,” Barnabas said.

“He's still a little nervous when there's too many people around,” said Nathan, “but he proved himself when I needed him. If he didn't inherit anything else, he's got his daddy's ears and his appetite.”

“Supper will be ready in a few minutes,” Bess said. “When we've eaten, tell us about your stay in Saint Louis.”

“I've been out of touch with Texas,” said Nathan. “Has there been any news from that direction since I've been gone?”

“Same old foolishness,” Barnabas said. “The Horrell-Higgins feud flared up again. Pink Higgins done some shootin' in Lampasas County. There's been fights in Mason City and all over Mason County, in what they're callin' the Mason County War. Really, it's between the Anglos and Germans. There's been lots of cattle rustling, with each side blamin' the other. Scott Cooley, the gent that's doin' most of the hell-raising, used to be a Texas Ranger, and he's already killed two men.”

“Gold has been discovered in the Black Hills, in Dakota Territory,” said Bess.

“I'd forgotten about that,” Barnabas said. “There's already been a party from here set out for the diggings. There's going to be some dead men, sure as hell. The government ceded that land to the Indians. Now that gold's been found, Washington has promised all manner of things, trying to regain control of Indian land.”

“That's Sioux territory,” said Nathan. “I reckon they've learned what the white man's word is worth.”

“They have, for a fact,” McQueen said. “Sheridan and his men tried to enforce the law by keeping whites off Indian land, but it was like trying to hold back a buffalo stampede. Miners have swarmed into the territory by the hundreds, defying the government as well as the Sioux. Now Washington's making things worse by hunting down Indians who have killed trespassing miners. There are rumors that George Custer and the Seventh Cavalry will be sent into the territory to control the Sioux.”

“According to the newspaper,” said Bess, “it was Custer who first announced there was gold in the black hills.”

“I've heard some pretty grim things about Custer and his method of dealing with the Indians,” Nathan said.

“So have I,” said Barnabas. “The Federals are going to regret the day they send Mr. Custer to Dakota Territory to try and make peace with the Sioux.”

“I've never been to the Dakotas,” Nathan said. “Maybe I'll go there and see what it's like in a gold-crazy boom town.”

“Nathan,” said Bess, “someday ...”

“I'm going to die,” Nathan finished. “Bess, every man is born with the seeds of death in him. The only unanswered questions are the time and the place. If I stayed here long enough, I'd be gunned down in New Orleans.”

Barnabas laughed. “So you've become a wanderer, avoiding that time and place.”

“For as long as I can,” Nathan replied. “There's something—I call it a premonition—that bears on my mind, telling me it's time to move on. It touched me today just before the steamboat docked, and it's never been stronger than it is right now.”

“Have you ever resisted?” Bess asked.

“Once,” said Nathan. “The day Eulie was shot and killed.”
²⁰

“You can't take the blame for that,” Barnabas said. “She was determined to stay here for that horse race. She wouldn't have gone with you.”

“No,” said Nathan, “and that's all the comfort I've had. That, and the possibility that she had played out her hand, that she had come to the time and place.”

“I still miss her,” Bess said softly, “and I tend her grave often.”

“I'm obliged,” said Nathan, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Barnabas, I'm going to give up the packhorse. He's yours. You can have the packsaddle, too. Most of my money is in a Kansas City bank, and I aim to leave it there. I'll be leaving them instructions that if they don't hear from me within two years, whatever is left in the account is to be paid to you and Bess.”

“Nathan,” Barnabas began, “we don't expect ...”

“I know you don't,” said Nathan, “but I have no family. When I reach that appointed time and place, I want that money to go to someone who matters to me, and that's you and Bess.”

Bess hurried to the kitchen for more coffee, although their cups were almost full. It was a moment before Barnabas could speak.

“If that's the way you want it, Nathan. We're honored that you feel that way. Bear in mind that you're always welcome here.”

 

On July fifth, Nathan rode away from the McQueen place, Empty trotting on ahead. It seemed strange, not having the faithful packhorse on a lead rope, but Nathan could travel farther and faster. Reaching New Orleans, he found a saddlery and bought the largest pair of saddlebags available. He then went to the mercantile and bought enough provisions for a week on the trail. He and Empty could survive on jerked beef if necessary, but he refused to deny himself hot coffee. Being too large for the saddlebags, he secured the coffeepot in his bedroll and rode northwest, toward Shreveport. The money he carried was in double eagles, and except for a hundred dollars, was secured in his saddlebags. With what he had told the McQueens strong on his mind, he had decided to ride through Kansas City and make necessary arrangements with the bank. He spent his first night in the little town of Winfield, a few miles from Shreveport. Keeping to the small towns, he hoped to lessen the possibility that he might be recognized. The hotels and cafes were less pretentious, and less likely to turn up their noses at a dog. On the frontier, a man was lucky to own one good horse. Without the packhorse, Nathan believed he would attract less attention, and at the same time, avoid any suggestion of wealth. He had enough gun trouble already, without the possibility of thieves at every bend in the trail. The second day of travel took him across the Red River and into Indian Territory. There he spread his blankets beside a spring, and knowing the danger, didn't light a fire.