The Killing Season (50 page)

There were shouts from the jury box, and McClendon pounded his gavel for silence. When he finally got it, one of the jurors spoke.

“Your honor, we find Nathan Stone not guilty, and our hats is off to him for a damn good piece of work. He give the varmint more of a chance than he deserved.”

The courtroom went wild, and Judge McClendon gave up trying to restore order and retired to his chambers. A dozen men waited to shake Nathan's hand, including Sheriff Roscoe Peeler. Daniel Hankins was roundly cursing his attorneys.

“I've never seen such bungling,” Hankins snarled. “You let Silver, a backwoods bumpkin, tromp hell out of you and disgrace me.”

“Hankins,” said Kritzer, “you'd best just crawl back to your small-town bank where your ignorance don't matter. Byron Silver is affiliated with the attorney general's office in Washington, and he can practice law before the U.S. Supreme Court.”

Nathan and Silver finally broke loose and left the courthouse. It wasn't even noon, but in a festive mood, they found a fancy cafe and ordered steak.

“God,” said Nathan, “no wonder the Federals swear by you. I've been in court a few times, but I've never seen anybody as slick as you.”

Silver laughed. “I always stick to the truth. That was pretty shrewd on your part, recognizing that locket. That was enough to brand Bart Hankins for a skunk, as far as the jury was concerned, but with Charlie Ekert's testimony, old man Hankins won't dare open his mouth again. He's finished.”

“All I wanted was a self-defense verdict,” Nathan said. “I don't find any pleasure in destroying a man.”

“It's no different than pulling a gun,” said Silver. “Daniel Hankins, for all practical purposes, has been shot through the head. When you go after a man with a gun or with a judge and jury, finish him. If you don't, sooner or later he'll come after you, and next time, you may be holding a busted flush.”

“Ah, hell, I know it,” Nathan said, “but I feel sorry for the girl, Katie.”

“After she spat in your face?”

“Even after that,” said Nathan. “Thanks to her daddy, vindictive old buzzard that he is, she'll have the rest of her life to remember her brother for a renegade and a killer.”

“Too bad you can't take some time off and go with me to Dakota Territory,” Nathan said. “It might be your last chance to see a boom town fired up by a gold strike.”

“Sorry,” said Silver, “but I had to get somebody to cover for me while I've been here in Kansas City. Now, every time he gets a hankerin' to go hunting or fishing, he'll call in all my debts.”

Nathan had promised, before leaving Kansas City, to meet with Foster Hagerman of the AT and SF and Sheriff Harrington, from Dodge City. When he parted company with Silver, he rode on to the railroad terminal, believing he knew what his two friends had in mind. But Nathan was weary of riding the rails, and was prepared to reject any proposal to resume working security for the railroad. But that wasn't quite what his companions had in mind.

“Now that the Indian problem is about to be resolved,” Hagerman said, “there are more and more settlers wishing to travel to north Texas and eastern New Mexico. There is no railroad any closer than Dodge City, and there's an increasing demand for men to guide emigrants from Dodge to points south. Pay would depend on the distance and the number of wagons. From Dodge to Fort Griffin, Texas, you could earn as much as three hundred dollars.”

“I'm bound for the diggings in Dakota Territory,” said Nathan. “There, it's possible I could earn three hundred dollars in one day. Or maybe an hour.”

“It's also possible you could go broke keeping yourself in grub, and end up without a
peso,”
Hagerman said. “It'll cost you more than ten dollars a day, just to eat, and in two more months, there'll be blizzards howling in from the Rockies. The strike in the Black Hills isn't even three months old, and there's not a hotel or boardinghouse any closer than Cheyenne.”

“My God,” said Nathan, “I've never seen you so fired up. Are you expecting
that
much business from emigrants?”

Harrington laughed. “He hasn't quite told you all of it. There's talk of a twice-a-week stage line from Dodge into Texas, and if it comes to pass, that will add considerably to the amount of mail the AT and SF is able to deliver. While there's not a whole lot in between, there's a hell of a lot of soldiers and civilians at Fort Griffin, while Fort Worth's not that far away. Just delivering government mail to those two outposts could buy Hagerman two or three new locomotives. Just looking at him, can't you tell he's hungry
^?
”

“He does look a mite lank,” Nathan said. “I reckon these emigrants will be buying the wagons, mules, and oxen in Dodge. Have you managed to get your hands on the wagon yard and the livery?”

“No,” said Hagerman, “I'll have to be satisfied with emigrant fares to Dodge and if a stage line comes to pass, the increased mail delivery.”

“Aside from Hagerman needing the money,” Sheriff Harrington said, “you might want to take this on for a while, until they take some of the rough edges off that gold camp. If you went there in the spring—say next April—there might be some hotels and boardinghouses to shelter you from the blizzards.”

“Better yet,” said Hagerman, “you'd have the whole summer to strike it rich and get out of there before the blizzards come.”

“Damn it,” Nathan said, “you varmints just won't let a man have any peace. Suppose I agree to this pilgrim caravan; when do I start?”

“As soon as you can get back to Dodge,” said Hagerman. “Your first run is to Fort Griffin, and there'll be three wagons.”

“Hell,” Nathan said, “I thought you were here because you were concerned that I might be strung up, when all you wanted was to get me back in harness, making money for you.”

Harrington laughed. “He was concerned you might be strung up. Then he wouldn't have had anybody to lead those wagons to Fort Griffin.”

They all laughed together, and then Hagerman got serious.

“I will be grateful if you'll help me get this off the ground. Washington assures me the problem with the plains Indians has been resolved. Quanah Parker and the last of the Comanches surrendered three months ago.”
²²

“Then all I'll have to bother with are the outlaws from Indian Territory,” said Nathan.

“They shouldn't be that much of a problem,” Hagerman said. “Once a stage line has been established, there may be some valuable shipments, but emigrant wagons shouldn't be much of a temptation.”

“It sounds safe enough,” said Nathan, “but if there are no Indians and no outlaws, why do you need me?”

“Because I can't promise you there'll be no outlaws,” Hagerman said, “and because we are dealing with Easterners who fear for their lives.”

“And you think one man's going to convince them they're safe,” said Nathan.

“Not just
any
one man,” Hagerman replied. “Nathan Stone. Even in the East, you have a reputation.”

“You're nine feet tall, bite rattlers to watch them die, and so tough you wear out your britches from the inside,” said Sheriff Harrington. “At the very sight of you, grown men cringe and the ladies swoon.”

“By God,” Nathan said, “I have enough problems without such foolishness as that bein' spread around. I'll have some damn fool testing me with a gun every day.”

Hagerman laughed. “I haven't gone quite that far, but it will be a comfort to people who are new to the frontier, knowing there's a man of your experience guiding them.”

“I'm to be a guide, then.”

“Yes,” Hagerman replied. “In case of outlaws, you would dispose of them, of course.”

“Of course,” said Nathan.

“I can count on you, then?”

“Until spring,” Nathan said. “Then, despite expensive grub, blizzards, and a total lack of hotels, I'm riding to Dakota Territory.”

“I've arranged a boxcar for your horse,” said Hagerman. “We leave in one hour.”

Nathan again had a room at the Dodge House, courtesy of the AT and SF. Hagerman had arranged for him to meet the emigrants whom he would guide south. They were all to meet for supper in Delmonico's dining room. Taking time to shine his boots and brush his hat, Nathan wore his usual garb. When he arrived, there was Foster Hagerman and eleven emigrants. Hagerman performed the introductions.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your guide, Nathan Stone. Starting at my left, this is Owen and Emma Kilgore. The Reverend Kilgore is bound for Fort Griffin. Next, there's Tally Dismukes and his sons, Gabe, Cyrus, Lon, and Ellis. They're going to Fort Griffin. Finally, bound for Mobeetie, there's the ... ah ... ladies, Mamie, Cora, Winnie, and Eula.”

Nathan nodded, saying nothing. The Kilgores sat there stem and unsmiling, as though their faces might crack like a looking glass and tinkle to the floor. On the other hand, the Dismukes all wore overalls, brogan shoes, and wide grins. Tally Dismukes looked about two-thirds drunk, with the sons at varying stages in between. The four women were all dressed in revealing clothes and looked as though they might have recently departed one of the many whorehouses in Kansas City or St. Louis.

“You will be leaving the wagon yard in the morning at dawn,” said Hagerman. “If you have questions, I'm sure Mr. Stone will be glad to answer them.”

“Yeah,” said Gabe, who looked to be the youngest of the Dismukes. “Is them guns fer show, or can you use 'em for real?”

“I can use them when I have to,” Nathan said coldly, “but sometimes a good spanking or switching is all it takes.”

That struck the rest of the Dismukes as hilariously funny. They slapped their thighs and stomped their feet, drawing venomous looks from the Reverend Owen Kilgore. The four questionable women cast covert glances at Nathan and giggled among themselves.

“If there are no more questions,” said Hagerman, “all of you are free to prepare for an early start in the morning.”

“Damn,” Nathan said, when the unlikely bunch had departed, “where did you come up with
them?”

Hagerman laughed. “The three groups are paying a hundred dollars each for your company from here to Texas. It should be an interesting experience.”

Nathan sighed. “I reckon before I get there, compared to this bunch, the Indians and outlaws won't seem so bad.”

 

When Nathan arrived at the wagon yard, Empty shied away from the strangers. Much to Nathan's surprise, the wagons were to be drawn by mules, instead of oxen. Mules had to have grain, and Nathan quickly learned that none of his charges had provided any. The women were the most aggravating.

“Well, now,” said Mamie, “that just don't make no sense at all. Back in Kentucky, the critters lived on grass.”

“Ma'am,” Nathan said angrily, “those mules won't pull that wagon from here to Texas without grain. Until there's a hundred pounds of grain in that wagon, I'm not taking it out of this wagon yard.”

The Reverend Owen Kilgore just looked at Nathan, and he spoke next to the sober but hungover Dismukes clan.

“We can't afford no grain,” Tally said, “less'n we cut back on our grub.”

“Or the whiskey,” said Nathan. “This damn wagon won't be going anywhere until you buy some grain for the mules.”

Nathan tied the reins of the grulla to a hitch rail and sat down on the edge of a water trough. Empty sidled over and sat down beside him, his eyes on the strangers with the wagons. The Reverend Kilgore was the first to comply with Nathan's request, rearranging the contents of the wagon to make room for the sack of grain. The four women—to the horror of the Kilgores—hoisted their skirts and began removing money from their secret places, while the Dismukes clan looked on in open admiration. Finally, when the show was over, Tally Dismuke arranged for the necessary sack of grain.

“Prepare to move out,” Nathan shouted. He rode out, Empty trotting beside him.

Nathan looked back, and the wagons had fallen in behind him, the Kilgore wagon in the lead. Nathan sighed. At least they seemed capable enough to handle their teams and the wagons. They covered what Nathan believed was fifteen miles, stopping occasionally to rest the teams. Despite the fact they were all traveling together, there were three separate camps, and Nathan felt welcome in none of them. They were near a creek, and Nathan had picketed the grulla well away from the mules. Starting a small fire, he made supper for himself and Empty. The others built larger fires, and Nathan was thankful the Indian threat had been resolved. After supper, he went near enough to the wagons for everybody to hear what he had to say.

“We'll be moving out at first light. Anybody of a mind to have breakfast, you'd best roll out early enough to be done with it.”

The Kilgores put out their fire and turned in early, but there was no evidence any of the others intended to follow their example. The laughter and shouting at the Dismukes's fire grew louder. It hadn't taken long for the four females to make friends with the Dismukes, and Nathan hadn't even removed his hat. He was dozing when one of the women screamed. When Nathan reached the Dismukes's wagon, Ellis was straddling a virtually naked Mamie, who was flat on her back.

“Get off her and get up,” Nathan said.

“No, by God,” said Ellis. “She drinks my whiskey, she does what I say.”

Nathan drew his Colt, fired once, and the lobe of Ellis's left ear disappeared in a spray of blood.