Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “The way he’s headed,” said Nathan, “the first town will be Amarillo. That’s at least two hundred and fifty miles, and Fort Worth’s twice that. Amarillo’s not much more than a wide place in the trail, so he can’t hide there. We’ll ride the varmint down before he gets to Fort Worth.”

  Nathan rode on. Near the end of his third day on the trail, he crossed the Cimarron, and there he came upon the camp of some soldiers from Fort Elliott, Texas. There was a lieutenant, a sergeant, and five privates. As Nathan rode in, his hands shoulder high, one of the men—Sergeant Willard—recognized him.

  “Come on,” said Willard, “and step down.”

  Nathan dismounted, and Sergeant Willard introduced him to Lieutenant Bruxton, the officer in charge of the patrol.

  “It’s late,” Bruxton said. “You’re welcome to join us for the night. We’ll be returning to Fort Elliott in the morning, and you can ride with us, if that’s where you’re bound. I’ve heard Captain Selman speak of you. He credits you with helping to establish a twice-weekly stage from Dodge to Fort Griffin.”

  “I reckon it’s livened things up a bit,” said Nathan.

  “It has,” Bruxton agreed. “There’s already another saloon, a whorehouse, and a livery at Mobeetie.”

  “The last time I saw Captain Selman,” said Nathan, “he was having problems with just one saloon. I reckon he’s not looking forward to a second one.”

  “He ain’t,” Sergeant Willard said. “We hear he aims to celebrate by enlarging the post guardhouse.”

  Nathan shared his bacon with the soldiers, and it wasn’t until after supper that he got around to telling them where he was bound and why.

  “We met your man yesterday, just before we crossed the North Canadian,” Lieutenant Bruxton said. “His horse was lame, and he seemed relieved when he learned there’s a livery at Mobeetie. There’s nothing but a general store to the south, beyond the Canadian.”1

  “That should slow him down enough for me to catch up to him,” said Nathan.

  “A word of caution,” Lieutenant Bruxton said. “Unless you plan to have him placed under military arrest, I’d advise you not to confront him on post. The last bunch of civilian hell-raisers kicked up such a fuss the noise was heard in Washington.”

  “The Dismukes,” said Nathan.

  “My God, yes,” Bruxton said. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “I can answer that,” said Sergeant Willard. “After Captain Selman banned that bunch from the post, they snuck back with dynamite, with plans to level Fort Elliott. Stone rode back and warned us. Them Dismukes was just plain crazy. We had to shoot ’em down like dogs. If it hadn’t been for Stone, Fort Elliott would have been rubble, and some of us would have been coyote bait.”

  “I don’t look for any trouble at the fort,” Nathan said. “This varmint’s the kind to get himself another horse and ride on. The last thing I want is to involve the military in a purely personal matter.”

  “You have no conclusive proof, then,” said Lieutenant Bruxton.

  “Nothing that would stand up in court,” Nathan replied, “but enough to satisfy me. He had a motive, and he’s running like a scared coyote.”

  “I can understand your position,” said Lieutenant Bruxton. “This is the frontier, and I suspect that for every case taken before a court of law, there are a thousand settled with fast guns.”

  For the thousandth time, Drew Collins cursed himself for not having taken the train to Kansas City. Before reaching the North Canadian, his horse had thrown a left front shoe. That would have been bad enough, but the thrown shoe had struck the animal’s left rear leg, causing a deep, painful cut. He had managed to stop the bleeding, but the horse was unable to bear his weight. He would be lucky, he thought grimly, if the animal held up under the saddle until he could buy another horse. The soldiers had seemed suspicious of him, and meeting them, his pursuer would learn he was afoot. He paused, sleeved the sweat from his face, and squinted along his backtrail. Seeing nobody, he sighed in relief and trudged on toward Mobeetie.

  His fourth day out of Pueblo, Nathan rode out with the soldiers toward Fort Elliott. Nearing the North Canadian, Lieutenant Bruxton reined up.

  “This is where his horse lost a shoe,” said Bruxton.

  “His problem went beyond a thrown shoe,” Nathan said. “There’s dried blood on that clump of grass.”

  “Sir,” said one of the privates, “that horse had dried blood on his left hind leg.”

  “You’re an observing man, Private,” Lieutenant Bruxton said. “That’s a hazard of having a horse throw a front shoe.”

  “We should catch up to this gent before he gets to Mobeetie,” said Sergeant Willard.

  “Maybe not,” Nathan said. “He’ll know I’m gaining on him, and he might have gone on, not stopping for the night.”

  “If that’s the case,” said Lieutenant Bruxton, “he’ll reach Mobeetie ahead of us.”

  “As liveries go,” Sergeant Willard said, “that one in Mobeetie ain’t nothin’ to get all excited about. They rent horses to the girls from the whorehouse and the saloons, but I’d be surprised if they got any for sale.”

  “That won’t matter to Collins,” said Nathan. “A coyote that’s low-down enough to back-shoot a man ain’t above stealin’ a horse.”

  “From the sign,” Sergeant Willard said, “he’s resting more often. The horse may be weakening, and this gent ain’t wantin’ to tote that saddle.”

  When at last they could see the distant buildings that made up Mobeetie, nothing seemed amiss. But as they drew nearer, Lietenant Bruxton pointed toward the livery. A roan horse stood with head dropping. A man stepped out of the livery with a bucket in his hand, halting when he saw the riders approaching.

  “That’s Ike Hollister, the livery owner,” said Lieutenant Bruxton.

  Hollister set the bucket down before the spent roan and turned to face the riders.

  “Well, Ike,” Lieutenant Bruxton said, “I see you’ve been horse trading.”

  “Hoss tradin’, hell,” said Ike. “I gits up this mornin’ and finds this poor critter just a-standin’ here near dead. Next thing I knows, some skunk’s behind me with a pistol in my back. He near knocks my brains out, and when I wakes up, he’s done took my bay. Best damn hoss I had.”

  “What can you tell us about the thief?” Lieutenant Bruxton asked.

  “Nothin’,” said Ike sourly. “Damn it, I told you he come up behind me. I never laid eyes on the skunk. Since we ain’t got law here, what do you aim to do about it?”

  “Speaking on behalf of the army, there’s not much we can do,” Lieutenant Bruxton replied, “but here’s a man who might be able to help you. This is Nathan Stone.”

  Ike eyed Nathan skeptically, and Nathan quickly repeated his reason for following Drew Collins.

  “I hope you gut-shoot the varmint,” said Ike, “but that won’t help me none, after he’s rode my hoss to death.”

  “I’ll catch up to him before he’s had time for that,” Nathan said, “and I’ll return your horse. How far ahead of me is he?”

  “Maybe two hours,” said Ike.

  “Lieutenant,” Nathan said, “I’ll need a fresh horse. I’ll leave my horse here, and clear it with Captain Selman.”

  “You don’t have any time to spare,” said Lieutenant Bruxton. “Come on to the post and I’ll see that you get a horse. I don’t believe Captain Selman will object to that, do you, Sergeant Woodard?”

  “No, sir,” Sergeant Woodard said.

  At Fort Elliott, Lieutenant Bruxton had one of the privates cut out a big dun from the quartermaster’s corral. Quickly Nathan removed the saddle from the grulla and one of the privates took it away to be rubbed down, fed, and watered.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Nathan. “Tell Captain Selman I’ll see him when I return.”

  Nathan mounted and rode out, Empty loping along behind. Since he had no idea what might be the fugitive’s destination, Nathan prepared to ride in a circle until
he eventually found the trail. To his surprise, he found the trail immediately; it headed due north.

  “Well, by God,” Nathan said to himself, “unless he changes course, he’s headed for Dodge, and since it’s less than sixty miles, he’ll get there ahead of me. If Mr. Wyatt Earp is still town marshal, this ought to be interesting.”

  Nathan rode at a slow gallop, sparing the horse, knowing he couldn’t overtake Collins. There was little doubt the bushwhacker intended to take the train, but unless the schedules had all changed, his luck had run out. The eastbound would have already passed through Dodge, and the westbound wouldn’t arrive there until two o’clock in the afternoon. Nathan doubted that Collins would travel west, for that would return him to Pueblo, the scene of his failed ambush.

  Two days after Nathan rode out of Pueblo, the doctor pronounced Vivian Stafford able to travel. The next morning, she and Harley, accompanied by Foster Hagerman, boarded the eastbound, returning to Dodge. It so happened that Harley Stafford had gone to the railroad depot to talk to Foster Hagerman. He looked out Hagerman’s office window just in time to see Drew Collins riding toward the depot.

  “By God,” said Harley, getting to his feet, “yonder comes that damned back-shootin’ gambler, Drew Collins.”

  “That can’t be,” Hagerman said. “It makes no sense,”

  “Sense or not,” said Harley, “he’s here. I don’t know how he escaped Nathan, but he won’t escape me. Damn him, he’s goin’ to die.”

  Harley stepped out the door. “Collins,” he shouted, “you’re covered. Get down off that horse.”

  Ignoring the challenge, Collins kicked the horse into a gallop. Mounting his own horse on the run, Harley galloped in pursuit. Drawing his Colt, he blasted two shots at the fleeing Collins. But fate took a hand on behalf of Drew Collins. Marshal Wyatt Earp stepped out into the street, a Colt in his hand, forcing Harley to rein up.

  “Damn it,” Harley shouted, “he’s a killer. He shot my sister from ambush in Pueblo.”

  “Can you prove that?” Earp asked, in his most infuriatingly calm manner.

  “No,” said Harley, “but he did it.”

  “Not good enough,” Earp said. “Put the gun away or I’ll jail you for disturbing the peace.”

  Furious, Harley holstered his Colt and rode on in the direction Collins had gone. But Earp followed and hailed Collins as he was about to enter Delmonico’s. Collins waited, and Harley couldn’t believe the nerve of the man.

  “Mister,” said Earp, “the gent on the horse claims you shot his sister in Pueblo. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Collins laughed. “I just rode in from Texas, Marshal. I’ve never been in Pueblo in my life, and I’ve never seen this man before, until he took to throwin’ lead at me.”

  Earp glared at Harley and, without a word, he rode back to the railroad depot, where he found Hagerman waiting for him.

  “That bastard, Earp,” said Harley in disgust, “takin’ that coyote’s word over mine. He threatened to jail me for disturbing the peace.”

  “I’ll admit he seems kind of slow witted at times,” Hagerman said, “but for the sake of the railroad, we have to get along with him.”

  “Maybe you do,” said Harley, “but I don’t. I’m no longer with the railroad. I quit, as of right now.”

  “Oh, damn it,” Hagerman said, “you don’t have to quit. Collins can’t hide behind Earp forever. When he moves on, you follow. Earp’s jurisdiction doesn’t go beyond Dodge.”

  “When I follow, I’ll have Nathan Stone with me,” said Harley. “Unless Collins set up another ambush and pulled it off, Nathan will be here.”

  A little more than two hours later, Nathan reined up before the depot. Dismounting, he stepped into Hagerman’s office without knocking.

  “He’s here,” Hagerman said. “Harley went after him, and Earp got in the way.”

  “Where’s Harley now?”

  “Stalking Collins,” said Hagerman. “For the sake of the railroad, I warned him against antagonizing Earp, and he threatened to quit the railroad.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Nathan said. “Is Dodge that hard up for a lawman?”

  “I didn’t accept his resignation,” said Hagerman. “He has my permission to follow Collins when he rides out, beyond Earp’s jurisdiction.”

  “He won’t be riding out,” Nathan said. “He’ll hunker right here and wait for the next eastbound.”

  “Where are you going?” Hagerman asked as Nathan turned toward the door.

  “Fortunately, I don’t work for the railroad,” said Nathan.

  “I can’t stand behind you if you go against the law,” Hagerman said.

  “I don’t recall asking you to,” said Nathan as he mounted his horse.

  Hagerman watched him ride away. He genuinely liked Nathan Stone, and rued the day Nathan stepped over the line and went against the law.

  Nathan found Harley leaning against a hitch rail, across the dirt street from the Long Branch Saloon.

  “He’s in there, I reckon,” said Nathan, dismounting.

  “Yeah,” Harley said, “and so is Earp. He’s had a mad on for me ever since I came here. With Hagerman’s help, he’s using this Collins coyote to put me down.”

  “I don’t work for Hagerman,” said Nathan, “and since Collins was shooting at me, this is my fight. I came here for Collins, and I’ll get him, if I have to take Earp’s pistol away from him and bend it over his skull. Come on.”

  With Harley following, Nathan crossed the street to the Long Branch. Wyatt Earp leaned against the bar. Involved in a poker game, Drew Collins sat at a table with three other men. Ignoring Earp, Nathan stalked to the table, where Collins sat facing the door. Collins rose to his feet, his hands shoulder high.

  “You got nothin’ against me, Stone, and I ain’t armed.”

  “You back-shootin’ son,” said Nathan, through clenched teeth, “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Back off, Stone,” Earp shouted, his hand on the butt of his Colt.

  But Nathan might not have heard. He seized Drew Collins by his shirtfront, dragging him across the table. He drove his right fist into the gambler’s face, and Collins went back across the table, slamming into the wall. He stood there, head sagging, but before Nathan could go after him, Earp had drawn and cocked his Colt.

  “One more move out of you,” said Earp, “and I’ll shoot you. Now you turn around and do it slow. Then you loosen your pistol belts and let ’em fall.”

  Nathan turned around slowly, between Earp and Collins.

  “Nathan!” Harley shouted.

  Nathan dropped to the floor and rolled, coming up on one knee, his Colt spitting lead. Collins had drawn a gun from beneath his coat, and his slug ripped into the bar, inches to the left of the startled Earp. Both of Nathan’s slugs had struck Collins in the chest, and he slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor.

  “The back-shootin’ little varmint got what he deserved,” said a railroad man.

  Nathan got to his feet, holstered his Colt, and fixed his cold eyes on Earp. When he spoke, it was loud enough for every man to hear.

  “Mr. Earp, that little sidewinder was about to finish what he started in Pueblo, when he ambushed me and gunned down Vivian Stafford. If it hadn’t been for Harley, he’d have shot me in the back, with you allowin’ it to happen. I’m claiming self-defense.”

  Earp was in a bad position and knew it. Most of the saloon’s patrons were railroad men who, along with the two bartenders, remembered Nathan Stone. Their faces reflected their disgust, and Earp yielded with poor grace.

  “I’m callin’ it self-defense,” said Earp. “This time. You’re not welcome here, and I want you out of town.”

  “I have friends here,” Nathan replied, “and I’ll go when I’m ready. I’m not ready.”

  Some of the men who knew Nathan laughed and others grinned, not so much at what Nathan had said as at the change it had wrought in Earp. His face had gone red; with
out a word he stalked out of the saloon.

  “Everybody to the bar,” said Harley. “The drinks are on me.”

  Nathan and Harley left the Long Branch, mounted their horses, and rode back toward the railroad depot.

  “That was smooth,” Harley said. “You showed Collins up for the back-shootin’ coyote he was. Even Earp could see that.”

  “But he didn’t like seein’ it at his expense,” said Nathan, “and he’ll be watching me. I could end up in his juzgado from spittin’ on the boardwalk.”

  “Vivian’s goin’ to be glad to see you,” Harley said. “She won’t hardly leave the Dodge House unless I’m with her. She can’t stand Earp, and he follows her like a shadow. Since I’m with the railroad, I can’t antagonize Earp without Hagerman comin’ down on me. I’d as well warn you—she’s decided she’d rather risk bein’ shot with you than have Earp follow her around when I ain’t here. I’ve talked to Hagerman but he claims he’s in no position to discipline Earp. Hagerman’s just one of ten men on the town council, and the rest of them are sold on Earp. I’m thinking of quitting the railroad, taking Vivian, and moving on.”

  “For the times,” said Nathan, “it’s a good job. Nothing else pays as well. If you quit, where will you go and what will you do?”

  “I have no idea,” Harley said. “I’ll be doing it for Vivian. I ran out on her once, and I won’t do it again.”

  “I understand,” said Nathan, “and I agree with you. Something must be done. We’re stuck with Earp until he moves on or the town council gets enough of him, and I don’t see you quitting the railroad as a solution. If you’re willing to risk it, and she wants to go, I’ll take Vivian with me.”

  “She wants to go and I’m willing for her to,” Harley said. “We just don’t want you feelin’ like you’ve been boxed in, that she’s become a burden.”