Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “She’s never been a burden,” said Nathan. “If I didn’t care for her, I wouldn’t be concerned about something happening to her.”

  “Like what happened in Pueblo,” Harley said. “We understand and appreciate your concern, but she’s willing to take the risk. I’m willing, because she needs a man like you. I know you would fight to the death for her, and no man who ever lived could do more than that. Take her, with my blessing. She’s at the Dodge House. Why don’t you ride over there and tell her what you’ve decided?”

  “I will,” said Nathan. “Tomorrow I’ll be riding back to Fort Elliott. I left my grulla there and I promised to return the horse Collins stole from the livery at Mobeetie.”

  Nathan rode on to the Dodge House and wasn’t surprised to find Earp slouched in a chair in the lobby. He glared at Nathan through slitted eyes, but Nathan ignored him.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Vivian cried when she opened her door. “Come in and tell me what’s happened.”

  She closed and locked the door, and Nathan told her everything, up to and including the showdown with Drew Collins.

  “Wyatt Earp may be a wonderful town marshal,” she said, “but I can’t stand him. Now he’ll make it as hard on you as he can, because you’ve made him look small.”

  Nathan laughed. “He doesn’t cast as long a shadow as he thinks. Harley and me just had a talk, and we’ve decided you’re better off with me, bein’ shot at, than bein’ stalked by Señor Earp while Harley’s away.”

  “Do you mean it?” she cried. “Do you really want me?”

  “I mean it,” said Nathan, “and I do want you. I just don’t want you shot, but neither do I want Earp hounding you. I’ll buy you a horse, a saddle, and saddlebags. We’ll leave for Fort Elliott and Mobeetie in the morning.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said. “Will you be joining Harley and me for supper?”

  “Yes,” said Nathan, “and for now, you’d best stay where you are. Earp’s out there in the lobby.”

  CHAPTER 2

  St. Louis, Missouri May 27, 1877

  “Grandma, why can’t you tell me somethin’ about my pa? Who was he?”

  Young John Wesley Tremayne would soon be eleven years old. John Tremayne—his grandfather—had been dead a year, leaving Anna to raise the boy as best she could. Now it was up to her to lie to the boy, and she sighed.

  “John, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “Don’t call me John,” he begged. “Call me Wes, like Wes Hardin, the outlaw.”

  “I will not,” said Anna. “You were named after your grandfather, John, and my own father, Wesley.”

  The boy stomped out in disgust. Anna Tremayne removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. Now that John was gone and her own health was failing, what was going to become of the boy? He had been given his grandfather’s watch; inside the cover was the only photograph they had of Molly Tremayne, John Wesley’s mother. She had died at the boy’s birth, and all they knew of the affair that had led to the child’s arrival was the little she had written in her diary. There were the dates—the days Anna and her husband had been away, leaving Molly alone at home—and a man’s name. Nathan.2 They hadn’t known the diary existed until Molly was dead. She had told them nothing. The final entry, written the day before Molly had died, had been a message to John and Anna Tremayne:I am truly sorry. Sorry for what I have done, and sorry to so burden you. The child is to be told nothing.

  Approaching her time, Molly Tremayne had been deathly ill, screaming as she awakened from her sleep, and troubled with premonitions of her own death. John and Anna had fulfilled her wishes, telling the boy not even the little they knew or suspected. Now, more than ever, Anna Tremayne regretted having lived a lie, for she feared the bitterness she could see in the cold blue eyes of young John Wesley Tremayne.

  Fort Elliott, Texas May 28, 1877

  “While we’re here at Fort Elliott,” said Vivian, “I want you to buy me a pistol and a supply of shells. If I’m going to be shot at, I intend to shoot back.”

  “You should have told me before we left Dodge,” Nathan said. “The .31-caliber Colt pocket pistol is a mite easier to handle, but the sutler’s store may not have them.”

  Nathan had returned the stolen horse to the livery in Mobeetie, and the horse that Lieutenant Bruxton had loaned him to the quartermaster’s corral. Vivian led her horse as they walked back to the orderly room and the post commander’s office. Sergeant Willard grinned at them as they entered the orderly room.

  “Captain Selman’s expecting you,” said the sergeant.

  Nathan opened the door to Selman’s office, and he and Vivian stepped inside. Except for more gray in his hair, Selman had changed little. He stood up to greet them.

  “Lieutenant Bruxton told me you had stopped long enough to borrow a fresh horse and had gone on your way,” Selman said. “I trust your mission was successful.”

  “It was,” said Nathan. “I’ve returned your horse, along with the one stolen from the livery in Mobeetie. Do I owe anything for the loan of the horse?”

  “We’ll call it even,” Selman replied, “since you recovered the horse taken from Ike’s livery. With the army bein’ the only law in these parts, he’d have never let us forget we had fallen down on the job. Will you folks be staying the night?”

  “If you can put us up,” said Nathan. “My dog didn’t make it any farther than the mess hall.”

  Captain Selman laughed. “The cooks haven’t forgotten him. They never have anything to throw out while he’s here.”

  “I’ve been away from the newspapers and the telegraph for a while,” Nathan said. “Is there anything of importance happening?”

  “Congress finally got together long enough to agree on one sensible bill,” said Selman. “Reconstruction is over, and the people are again in control of their local governments.”

  “Thank God,” said Nathan. “It’s been hard times.”

  “It’s been hard on the military, too,” Selman said. “We’ve had to enforce an unpopular law that most of us thought harsh and vindictive. I doubt we’ll ever live it down.”

  “I think you will, Captain,” said Nathan. “Most folks are coming to realize that many of their problems originate in Congress. I came west right after the war and I’ve always been treated fairly by the military.”

  “It’s kind of you to adopt that attitude,” Selman replied, “but it seems we no sooner put out one fire than Congress starts another. According to the telegraph, there are small ranchers in Wyoming calling for soldiers to prevent a range war.”

  “Why, hell,” said Nathan. “Wyoming’s still a territory.”

  “Of course it is,” Selman said, “but there are petitions for statehood cropping up all over the frontier, and it’s only a matter of time until those territories become part of the Union. Supposedly, that’s why the Congress passed the Desert Land Act back in March.”

  “And it’s already causing trouble?”

  “In spades,” said Captain Selman. “The act provides for the sale of a hundred and sixty acres of land at twenty-five cents an acre to anyone willing to irrigate a portion of the land within three years, and at the end of that time, to pay an additional dollar an acre to secure ownership.”

  “That sounds reasonable enough,” Nathan said, “but I reckon it ain’t workin’ out that way.”

  “No,” said Selman. “While the bill was passed supposedly to help pioneers, it is doing exactly the opposite. Apparently, it was lobbied through Congress by a few wealthy cattlemen as a means of acquiring enormous tracts of land for next to nothing. As the small ranchers have pointed out, a man with money can gobble up thousands of acres. He needs hire just four men and get their signatures on the proper papers, and he has control of a full section. Six hundred and forty acres.”

  “And that’s what’s happening in Wyoming,” said Nathan.

  “In the Powder River Basin,” Selman replied. “Some of them have picked up blanket Ind
ians, had them sign the necessary papers, and claimed land in their names. Have you ever known an Indian to even get close to anything resembling work?”

  Nathan laughed. “Such as irrigation?”

  “You get the idea, then,” said Selman. “With Congress on the outs with President Hayes, there’ll be no soldiers deployed, but there’ll be trouble in Wyoming for somebody. The Powder River may run red.”

  On that somber note, Nathan and Vivian left Selman’s office. Sergeant Willard then led them to a cabin that had been assigned to them for the night.

  “Supper’s at five,” Sergeant Willard said. “I’ll see you then.”

  “You get along well with the military,” said Vivian when Willard had gone.

  “They’ve been more than decent to me,” Nathan said, “and on the frontier a man needs all the friends he can get. Besides, they’ve had the telegraph and I’ve often needed it. I never know when I’ll have need of it again. Remember how it got word to us when Harley had been shot?”

  “I’ll never forget that,” said Vivian. “Where are we going when we leave here?”

  “First to Fort Worth and then to New Orleans,” Nathan said. “I like to leave word with Captain Ferguson where I can be reached. Then we’ll go on to New Orleans. When I’m tired of drifting, of shooting and being shot at, I spend a few weeks—or months—with my friends Barnabas and Bess McQueen. They have a horse ranch, and Eulie’s buried next to the horse barn.”

  “They’ll always remember you being there ... with her,” said Vivian. “Do you think I’ll be welcome?”

  “Of course you will,” Nathan said. “That’s where I told Harley he could reach us if he needs to.”

  “It sounds nice,” said Vivian. “What will we do there?”

  Nathan laughed. “As little as possible. We’ll eat, sleep, and maybe attend a horse race or two. Barnabas trains horses and races them.”

  Nathan and Vivian spent a pleasant hour over supper in the enlisted men’s mess hall and then went to the sutler’s store, seeking a weapon for Vivian.

  “We don’t get much call for the .31-caliber Colt,” they were told, “so we don’t sell ’em new. But we got a secondhand piece. Belonged to a gambler that couldn’t back up his bluff with his gun.”

  “We’ll take it,” said Nathan, “along with two hundred rounds of ammunition, a pistol belt, and a holster.”

  “It’s still early,” Vivian said. “What are we going to do now?”

  “We’re going back to the cabin,” said Nathan, “and for the next several hours, you’re going to practice drawing and cocking that pistol. It won’t be worth a damn to you until you can draw and fire without shooting yourself in the leg or foot.”

  Fort Worth, Texas June 1, 1877

  “I reckon we’ll stay the night,” said Nathan, “and give you a chance to meet the post commander, Captain Ferguson.”

  Ferguson welcomed them, and after visiting with the captain in his office, Nathan and Vivian were assigned quarters for the night.

  “You have impressive friends, Nathan,” Vivian said.

  “Captain Ferguson was lacking a post telegrapher once,” said Nathan, “and I filled in until he could get a man assigned. The captain hasn’t forgotten.”3

  “How far are we from New Orleans?”

  “About five hundred miles,” said Nathan. “Taking our time, we’re a week away.”

  Leaving Fort Worth, they rode eastward, bearing a little to the south. There were no large towns, and many of the villages through which they passed had no hotel or boardinghouse. Often they cooked over an open fire and slept near a spring or a creek. Empty ran on ahead, and their journey was without incident. They crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, and spent the night there before riding on to New Orleans. As they followed the river south, one of the big boats passed, its paddle wheel churning as it headed north.

  “They’re so grand looking,” said Vivian. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to one.”

  “When we’re ready to leave New Orleans,” Nathan said, “maybe we’ll take one to St. Louis.”

  “I’d like that,” said Vivian. “There’s so much I’ve never seen or done.”

  New Orleans June 9, 1877

  “We won’t spend any time in town,” Nathan said. “I’m fair-to-middlin’ sure there’s at least a few hombres here that would like to see me dead.”

  They rode on until they could see the roof of McQueen’s horse barn. Empty ran on ahead, and without hesitation took the tree-lined road toward the distant McQueen house. A breeze whispered through the leaves of the majestic oaks, and their shade offered pleasant respite from the sun.

  “It all looks so peaceful,” said Vivian.

  But looks were deceiving. Empty began barking, and a buzzard flapped sluggishly into the sky, coming to rest atop the horse barn.

  “Something’s wrong,” Nathan said, kicking the grulla into a gallop.

  Vivian followed, reining up behind Nathan as they neared the house. It had a vacant look, and the front door stood open. Empty awaited their arrival, growling deep in his throat. Nathan’s heart sank when he discovered what had attracted the buzzards. Near the house lay the mutilated remains of Barnabas McQueen’s four hounds. As unnerving as the sight was, the odor was worse. Nathan’s horse shied at the smell of death and, reining up, he dismounted. Vivian reined up, waiting, as Nathan went closer. Quickly he turned away and returned to the grulla.

  “What killed them?” Vivian asked.

  “They were shot,” said Nathan. “We’ll leave the horses next to the barn and go on to the house on foot. Keep your pistol handy; I don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

  Remembering the McQueens had always entered the house through the kitchen, Nathan ignored the open front door. Vivian followed him around the house, waiting as he tried the back door. It opened readily, and she followed him into the kitchen. A chair lay on its side and fragments of a broken dish were scattered on the floor. A length of stove wood lay under the table, while on the otherwise clean white tablecloth there were flecks of dried blood.

  “They put up a fight,” said Nathan, “but they were taken away. The dogs have been dead maybe two days.”

  “What could have happened to them, and why?” Vivian asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Nathan, “but I have an idea. Barnabas bought and trained horses. Expensive horses. Let’s have a look in the barn.”

  There were no horses in the barn. Vivian stepped out ahead of Nathan, and he closed the door. Immediately he began looking for tracks, and there were plenty.

  “The trail’s two days old,” Nathan said. “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t kill Barnabas and Bess instead of taking them along.”

  “Empty’s found something,” said Vivian.

  The dog ran toward them, and with a yip turned and ran back the way he had come.

  “Let’s ride,” Nathan said. “He’s found a trail.”

  They rode at a slow gallop, Empty keeping well ahead of them, and when they reached a patch of bare ground, Nathan reined up, studying the tracks.

  “Ten horses,” said Nathan, “four of them on lead ropes. Allowin’ mounts for Barnabas and Bess, there’s four of the varmints.”

  The trail led to the south; occasionally the distant blue of the Gulf of Mexico could be seen through the trees.

  “This makes no sense,” Nathan said. “The way they’re headed, there’ll soon be water everywhere except behind them. That leaves just one possibility.”

  “A boat,” said Vivian.

  “Yes,” Nathan replied, “and that’s where we’ll lose them.”

  But the trail began veering back to the west, following the shore line, and the blue of the gulf was clearly visible to their left. Entering a profusion of undergrowth, willows, and cane, they were forced to dismount and lead their horses. Suddenly, before them was the desolate remains of a cabin. The shake roof was gone, and the standing walls were so mossed over they were all but invisible.
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  “We’ll have to take it slow,” Nathan said softly. “They could be holed up here.”

  But somewhere within the ruins, Empty yipped three times.

  “Empty says it’s safe,” said Nathan. “Come on.”

  They found Barnabas McQueen first. He lay face down, his hands bound behind him, and he had been shot twice. In the back.

  “Vivian,” Nathan said, “see if you can find Bess.” Cutting the bonds, Nathan tried both wrists, but failed to find a pulse. Frantically, he sought the big artery in the neck, sighing with relief when he found a spark of life.

  “I found Bess,” said Vivian.

  “How bad?” Nathan asked.

  “Bad enough,” said Vivian. “She’s been stripped, brutalized, and shot, but she’s still alive. She’s burning up with fever.”

  “So is Barnabas,” Nathan said, “but at least they’re alive. We must get them to a doctor, pronto, and we’ll need a buckboard. We’re only three or four miles south of town. I’ll leave Empty with you, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Nathan galloped away. The only livery he knew of was across the street from the St. Charles Hotel; he had no time to search for one any closer, so he went there.

  “I need a buckboard and team,” he told the liveryman. “I’d like to leave my horse with you and claim him when I return the buckboard. I have some sick folks in bad need of a hospital. Where’s the nearest one?”

  “Five blocks down St. Charles, on the left,” said the liveryman. “It’s the Le Croix.”

  “Thanks,” Nathan said. Climbing to the box, he flicked the reins, guiding the team into the cobbled street.

  Waiting for Nathan, Vivian looked around for Bess McQueen’s clothing. Finding none, she wrapped the unfortunate woman in a blanket. She then went to see about Barnabas, and was startled to find his eyes open, watching her.

  “Who ... are ... you?” he croaked.

  “Vivian Stafford. I’m with Nathan Stone. He’s gone for a buckboard.”