The Killing Season (52 page)

“It does, sir,” said Nathan. “I'll do my best to rid you of them, and to warn the post commander at Fort Griffin.”

“Thank you,” Captain Selman said, offering his hand. “Consider yourself welcome here any time.”

Nathan took the officer's hand, anxious to reach Fort Griffin and rid himself of the troublesome Dismukes.

Nathan wisely said nothing to the Dismukes about the letter he carried to the post commander at Fort Griffin. He would wait until he reached the fort before informing the troublesome clan they weren't welcome. After Captain Selman had them released from the guard house, Nathan allowed the surviving Dismukes time to bury Lon.

“Preacher,” said Nathan, approaching the Reverend Kilgore, “you could say a few words over the Dismukes boy.”

“I could,” Kilgore replied, “but for one thing. I have been taught that when one can say nothing good, it's best to say nothing at all.”

Nathan said no more, allowing the Dismukes to proceed with the burying in whatever manner they chose. After lowering the body into the grave, they stood around it for a few minutes before filling it and mounding the dirt. Finally they returned to their waiting wagon and clambered aboard, Tally taking the reins. Nathan led out, riding south. Thanks to the Dismukes, their departure was two hours late, and when they paused for the night, Nathan estimated they had traveled not more than ten miles. The third day after leaving Fort Elliott, Nathan's uneasy alliance with the Dismukes blew up.

“We ain't follerin' you no further,” Tally Dismukes announced, as Nathan was about to move out. “Take the sky pilot and his woman an' go on without us.”

“I might remind you,” said Nathan coldly, “that you're no longer welcome at Fort Elliott, and I'm delivering a letter to the post commander at Fort Griffin, barring you from that post.”

“I ain't surprised,” Tally growled. “We owe you a powerful lot, Stone. Now, you just git goin', and we'll do as we damn please.”

Nathan said no more. They were grown men, and despite his threats, he couldn't see it as his responsibility to force them to follow him to Fort Griffin, especially since they, as a result of Captain Selman's warning, would be barred from the post. He looked back once, and only the Kilgore wagon was following. The Dismukes hadn't even harnessed their teams to the wagon. It was evident they didn't want Nathan knowing what destination they had in mind, but having taken their measure, he thought he knew.

“Pa,” said Ellis, “I ain't wantin' to be locked in that guard house no more. They ain't nothin' we can do fer Lon. Why can't we just go on to Fort Griffin?”

“You heard what Stone said,” Tally snarled. “We're still a hunnert mile from the damn place, an' already we been barred. Besides, we ain't done with them blue bellies back yonder at Fort Elliott.”

“But there must be near five hunnert soldiers,” said Gabe. “We ain't got a chance.”

Tally laughed. “Not in a fair fight, mebbe, but us Dismukes ain't bound to fight fair. We still got that case of dynamite in the wagon. We'll circle that soldier fort in the dark, an' with some short fuses, we'll blow the place to hell an' gone.”

“I like it, Pa,” Cyrus said. “That'll show 'em they can't push us Dismukes around.”

“We owe that bunch at the Mobeetie saloon a thing or two,” said Tally. “Maybe we'll mosey by there and empty their cash drawer.”

 

Two hours before sundown, Nathan reined up, waiting for the Kilgore wagon to reach him. The Kilgores said nothing, and Nathan spoke.

“Next water we come to, we'll make camp. I'm riding back to Fort Elliott to warn the post that the Dismukes are likely returning. I'll rejoin you as soon as I can.”

“But that's unfair to us,” Kilgore complained. “You agreed to lead us to Fort Griffin, and that means without delay.”

“Wrong,” said Nathan. “I promised to guide you to Fort Griffin, but time involved is up to me. This is the frontier, and a man is guided by circumstances, not time. There is a chance that men will die unless I warn Captain Selman at Fort Elliott. It's not quite fifty miles, and I should be back here by dawn. Put out your fire before dark and keep to your wagon. I'll see you in the morning.”

Nathan rode northeast, not wishing to catch up to the Dismukes. Empty ran on ahead, dropping back once. The wind was from the west, and Nathan could hear the rattle of the wagon. The Dismukes weren't wasting any time. Once certain that he was ahead of the distant wagon, Nathan resumed a northerly direction. He spared the Grulla, resting the horse often. The Dismukes, if they pushed their teams, wouldn't cover more than twenty miles before being forced to halt for the night and to feed the mules. Pacing himself, resting his horse often, Nathan would reach Fort Elliott well before midnight. Having had experience with the Dismukes, Captain Selman wasn't likely to take the threat lightly.

 

“Halt,” the sentry ordered. “Who goes there?”

“Nathan Stone. I must talk to Captain Selman.”

“He will have retired for the night,” said the soldier. “Can't it wait until morning?”

“No,” Nathan replied. “The Dismukes—those varmints that spent the night in your guard house—are headin' this way, and I reckon they have mischief on their minds.”

“Sergeant of the guard,” the sentry shouted. “Sergeant of the guard.”

Nathan waited until Sergeant Wills arrived. He remembered Nathan, and after hearing of the possible return of the Dismukes, agreed to awaken Captain Selman.

“Sorry to awaken you, Captain,” said Nathan, “but the Dismukes refused to continue on to Fort Griffin. They're evidently on their way here, and I have no idea what kind of arms they may have inside their wagon. You should double your guard, at least, and while I realize the saloon in Mobeetie isn't your responsibility, it's a source of whiskey, which I'm doubting the Dismukes will overlook. You should send some men there in the morning, and keep them there until you resolve this.”

“I respect your observations and the warning,” said Captain Selman. “Whatever they're planning to do, we'll be prepared. Will you stay the night?”

“No,” Nathan said. “I left the Kilgores more than forty miles south of here, and I've promised to return there by dawn. I'll stay the night with you on my way back to Dodge.”

“Do that,” said Selman, “and I'll fill you in on what happens here.”

Nathan rode southeast, wary lest he stumble on the Dismukes's sleeping camp. But he had nothing to fear, for Empty was always out there ahead of him. When Nathan estimated he had ridden thirty miles, he changed direction, riding due south. Nathan had no trouble finding the Kilgore wagon, for its canvas had been silvered by a descending moon. All the mules grazed peacefully. Nathan unsaddled the grulla, allowed the animal to roll, and then rubbed him down. He then picketed the horse near the mules and spread his blankets near the creek, to sleep for what remained of the night. Empty lay down beside him, and Nathan ruffled the dog's ears. He would always miss Cotton Blossom, but there was much comfort in knowing the valiant hound had left behind a son who was rapidly walking in his sire's footsteps.

 

The Kilgores arose at dawn. They spoke not to Nathan, nor he to them. He took the time to broil bacon for himself and Empty, and finished with that, he made himself a pot of strong coffee. The Kilgores were ready and waiting for him, but he finished his coffee before saddling the grulla. He wanted only to deliver the surly, silent Kilgores to Fort Griffin and be rid of them. Nathan led out, riding south, Empty running ahead. The Kilgore wagon followed, and Nathan stepped up the pace. They might reach Fort Griffin in another five days.

Nathan was readily shown into the office of Fort Griffin's post commander, where he was greeted cordially by Captain Webb.

“This telegram came to me from Captain Selman, at Fort Elliott. It didn't seem to require an answer. It's worded in such a way that I believe he intended for you to tell me what it's all about.”

He handed Nathan the message, and it was brief. It said:

It had been signed by Captain Selman. Nathan began with the fight at the saloon in Mobeetie and concluded with his all-night ride to warn Selman the hell-raising Dismukes were apparently returning to Fort Elliott.

“I can see where the letter Selman sent by you is now unnecessary,” Webb said. “I'd say we all owe you a vote of thanks. He for your timely warning, and me for you not having brought them to Fort Griffin.”

“I got saddled with them in Dodge City,” said Nathan. “They were bound for here, and Captain Selman had seen enough of them to know they were trouble, especially after they got their hands on some whiskey. One of the sons started the fight in which he was killed, but his kin wouldn't accept that. They must have returned to the fort with some fool idea of getting revenge.”

“So you're working for the railroad, guiding emigrants south. For what purpose?”

“I don't have the foggiest notion, Captain, except that they want to come,” said Nathan. “They're Easterners, and with the plains Indians under control, I don't understand why they need or want a guide. I had three wagons. I left one of them—along with four women—at the saloon in Mobeetie, and brought you the third one. All you're getting this trip is a sourpuss preacher and his wife.”

Captain Webb sighed. “I wondered what—or who—would replace the Comanches, and I can't say the alternative looks much better.”

 

Nathan spent only one night at Fort Griffin. He was determined to have some better understanding with Foster Hagerman before guiding any more emigrants south. While he was perfectly capable of keeping his charges in line, he felt like a schoolmarm. Spring was a hell of a long ways off. One more bunch of rotgut-drinking, hell-raising misfits like the Dismukes, and he'd drop the whole deal right back in Foster Hagerman's lap. Nathan rode until near sundown, pausing near a spring for the night. With Empty close by, he was safe enough, and he slept soundly.

“We're considerably in your debt,” Captain Selman said. “Two nights after you warned us, the Dismukes showed up. They had a case of dynamite, with short fuses, and they came at us from four directions. If we hadn't been expecting them, ready for them, then God knows how much damage they might have done. They were like mad men, refusing to surrender, and we had to shoot them down.”

There came a knock on Captain Selman's door, and given permission, a first lieutenant entered. He saluted. Captain Selman returned it, and the lieutenant spoke.

“Sir, it's Sergeant King again. He started a brawl over a woman last night, and one of the barkeeps in the Mobeetie saloon laid him out cold with a bung starter.”

Captain Selman sighed. “He's alive, I suppose?” He sounded mildly disappointed.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied, “but he may have a concussion. He's being examined at the dispensary now. What do you want done with him?”

“Fine him a month's pay and lock him in the guard house for ten days,” Selman said.

The lieutenant saluted and departed. Captain Selman said nothing, and it was Nathan who finally spoke.

“I reckon the women I brought down from Dodge are causing their share of trouble.”

“Yes,” said Selman, “but we can hardly blame that on you. If men don't have women, they'll fight over something else. I've busted sergeants back to corporals and corporals back to privates, but there's so little difference in the pay, nobody gives a damn.”

Nathan spent the night at Fort Elliott, and he and Empty ate with the enlisted men.

“Captain,” said Nathan, as he prepared to leave, “thank you for your hospitality. We'll likely be seein' you again in a few days.”

Nathan had just left Texas and entered Indian Territory. About to cross the North Canadian River, he reined up and dismounted. The grulla wanted water, but he restrained it until the animal had rested. It was then that he saw the buzzards circling a few miles up ahead. Something or somebody was dead, or soon about to be. Nathan mounted and rode on across the North Canadian, bound for the Cimarron. Well before he reached the river, Empty circled back to meet him, evidence enough that something was wrong. Nathan eased the grulla down to a walk, hooking his right thumb in his gun belt, near the butt of his Colt. He saw the dead horse first, and the animal still wore a saddle. The horse had been shot through the head. There was an agonized groan and Nathan followed it to a shallow arroyo. The man lay on his back, and he had been gut-shot, for blood soaked the shirt where it covered his belly. Above the left breast pocket of his shirt was pinned a lawman's badge. The holster on his right hip was empty. The lawman's hat was missing and his receding hair was gray. He looked to be in his fifties, and when Nathan knelt beside him with a canteen, the wounded man's eyes fluttered open.

“I'll do what I can for you, pardner,” Nathan said.

“Ain't ... much ...” the man gritted. “I'm ... gut-shot....”

It was true. Without question he was a dead man, the only uncertainty being how long he might suffer before death mercifully took him.

“Best if you don't talk,” Nathan said. “I'll get some blankets ...”

“No ... no ... ,” the wounded man gasped. “No ... time. Need ... to ... talk ...”

“Then tell me who you are and what happened,” said Nathan. “Maybe I can catch up to the varmint that shot you.”