“It’s taking a long time,” said Vivian. “Is he going to help us?”
“Yes,” Nathan said, “but he’s offering too much help. All I need from him is to have that telegram sent from New Orleans, with Barnabas McQueen’s name signed to it.”
After Nathan had telegraphed his answer to Silver, it was a while before the telegraph key again rattled a request to receive. Frowning, Nathan read the message.
“What is it?” Vivian asked.
“He doesn’t like the idea of signing McQueen’s name to a telegram without Barnabas knowing about it,” said Nathan. “He wants to send Captain Powers to alert Barnabas to the plan. If Barnabas agrees, then the telegram will be sent.”
“That’s smart,” Vivian said. “For all we know, when Jackman learns of the telegram signed by Barnabas, he might send his killers after the McQueens to finish the job. It’s the least we can do, warning Barnabas. Who is Captain Powers?”
“Part of a federal force stationed in New Orleans. Once, after Silver and I had been ambushed—the day Eulie was shot—the McQueens took Silver in and patched him up. It was then that Captain Powers became friends with Barnabas and Bess.”5
“You have powerful friends, Nathan. I’d like to meet this Byron Silver.”
“You may have the opportunity,” said Nathan. “One way or another, we seem to come together every few months.”
The telegraph again chattered for permission to send, and Nathan granted it. Quickly he took down the brief incoming message. It said:Powers being contacted stop. Fort Smith being contacted stop. Stand by.
“I don’t doubt Barnabas will go along with us,” Nathan said, “but why is he contacting Fort Smith? If the McQueens have left the hospital, Powers will have to ride out to the McQueen place. We could be here awhile. I’d better tell Captain Ferguson.”
Taking the messages he had received pertaining to military business, Nathan knocked on Captain Ferguson’s door.
“Silver’s going to be a while getting back to me,” Nathan said. “I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity.”
“You aren’t,” said Ferguson. “Stay with the instrument if you like. You can receive any messages intended for me.”
Nathan returned to the telegrapher’s shack, taking down several messages for Captain Ferguson while he waited for a response from Silver. Three hours later it came.
Barnabas approves stop. Message three days stop. Marshal from Fort Smith.
“Damn it,” said Nathan, “I didn’t ask for help from Fort Smith. Why couldn’t he just send the telegram and leave the rest to me?”
“I’m glad he’s sending help from Fort Smith,” Vivian said. “I have a pistol, but I’ve never shot anyone. You could be up against four of Jackman’s gunman, as well as Jackman himself. But how will the marshal find us?”
“He’ll know we’re returning from Fort Worth,” said Nathan. “He’ll intercept us before we reach Shreveport. I’ve spent considerable time at Fort Smith, and I’m not unknown.”
Nathan and Vivian stayed the night in Fort Worth, and at first light said goodbye to Captain Ferguson. Their second day on the trail, a few miles west of Shreveport, Empty turned back to meet them, growling a warning.
“Somebody up ahead,” said Nathan. “Rein up.”
Another hundred yards and they would have entered dense woods. Nathan shouted a challenge.
“Come on out, keepin’ your hands up.”
Hands shoulder high, the rider trotted his horse into the open, and the westering sun glinted off the badge pinned to his vest. He laughed.
“Nathan Stone, it’s good to see you again. Is it all right if I put my hands down?”
“I reckon,” said Nathan. “Come on.”
“You know him, then,” Vivian said.
“Yes,” said Nathan. “It’s Mel Holt. Him and me stood off a bunch of killers once.”6
Holt reined up, put out his hand, and Nathan took it.
“Mel,” Nathan said, “this is Vivian Stafford, sister to a friend of mine.”
“Pardner,” said Holt, his eyes on Vivian, “I purely admire your judgement. Has this friend of yours got another sister like her?”
Vivian blushed and Nathan laughed.
“There’s a spring up ahead,” Holt said. “Let’s make camp and cook some supper. Then we got some talkin’ to do.”
Holt listened while Nathan unfolded the story, concluding with his plan to force the gambler, Rutledge Jackman, to lead them to the stolen McQueen horses.
“If he leads us to the stolen horses,” said Holt, “that’s all the proof I’d need or want. You realize, of course, that we must call on them to surrender and take them alive if we can.”
“Yeah,” Nathan said. “I’ve been behind the badge myself. But don’t go gettin’ your hopes up. This bunch will have four horses, no bills of sale, and two witnesses alive and able to identify them.”
“Whatever happens,” said Vivian, “I feel better having you here. Nathan would have gone after them alone.”
“I’m known in Shreveport,” Holt said. “I’ll have to remain outside of town until it’s time to take Jackman’s trail. When he rides out, look for me to the south, along the Red.”
“Be there at first light,” said Nathan. “We don’t know when that telegram will reach Jackman’s friend, the sheriff.”
“I’ll be ready,” Holt said.
Nathan and Vivian rode on toward Shreveport.
“You didn’t plan to take them alive, did you?” Vivian asked.
“No,” said Nathan. “I reckon I can’t blame Silver, keepin’ me within the law. He once went to court in Kansas City to defend me against a charge of murder.”7
Shreveport June 28, 1877
“I’m going back to the Five Aces Saloon,” Nathan said. “The telegram from New Orleans should arrive sometime tomorrow, and I want to be sure Jackman’s there to get word of it.”
Empty remained with Vivian at the boardinghouse while Nathan made his way to the saloon. For a Thursday night, business seemed exceptionally good, and there were three poker games in progress. Nathan went to the bar and ordered a beer, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Looking around, he recognized none of the men at the tables. Several newcomers bellied up to the bar, and one of them said something that caught Nathan’s attention.
“My money’s on that big black gelding of Jackman’s. It should be some race.”
“Yeah,” said his companion, “but it’s near two hunnert miles to Little Rock.”
“Gents,” Nathan said, “I couldn’t help overhearin’ talk about a race in Little Rock, and I’d admire to know when it’s goin’ to be.”
“July fourth,” said one of the men. “Quarter mile. Five-thousand-dollar purse.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said.
Finishing his beer, he was about to leave when one of the house dealers knocked on a door beyond the farthest end of the bar. Jackman opened the door, the dealer entered, and the door was closed. Jackman was in town to receive word of the telegram being sent to the sheriff, and that answered another of Nathan’s questions. He returned to the boarding house.
“That didn’t take long,” said Vivian.
“Mostly, I wanted to be sure Jackman’s in town,” Nathan said, “and he is. But while I was in the saloon, I learned there’s going to be a big race at Little Rock on July fourth, and it seems Jackman’s planning to enter McQueen’s Diablo.”
“Unless he gets slapped in the face with a good reason not to,” said Vivian. “Like the telegram from New Orleans.”
“That’s goin’ to leave him in an almighty embarrassin’ position,” Nathan said. “I overheard two men discussing Jackman’s big black, and that’s how I learned about the race. I’d say, from their conversation, the black is a recently acquired horse. It almost has to be McQueen’s Diablo.”
“If he’s committed himself to entering Diablo in that race,” said Vivian, “how’s he to know that Barnabas didn’t
send that same telegram to every sheriff in half a dozen states? What’s he going to do?”
“Being a gambler myself,” said Nathan, “I’m counting on him backing out of that race in Little Rock. It’s all he can do, and now he’s got to come up with some way of disposing of the four horses taken from the McQueens.”
“Without bills of sale, what can he do, except turn them loose?”
“He might sell them in Mexico with no questions asked,” Nathan said, “but that’s a long drive with no proof of ownership. Tomorrow I expect Jackman to lead us to the four horses and the four varmints that took them.”
“You don’t think they’re at his stable?”
“No,” said Nathan. “I think he’s cautious enough to keep them hidden for a while, so he’ll have to assign men to watch them. Who would be more likely than the four varmints that took them from McQueen?”
“I don’t know,” Vivian said. “It’s hard to disagree with a man who’s right as often as you are.”
“Tomorrow, then,” said Nathan, “we’ll keep our horses saddled and ready to ride. We don’t know when that telegram’s coming, so we’ll have to be prepared at first light. We’ll attract too much attention if we stake out Jackman’s saloon, but I reckon we can keep an eye on the sheriffs office and learn what we need to know. If he’s aware of Jackman’s shady dealings, when he gets that telegram he should head for the Five Aces at a fast gallop.”
“There’s a cafe and a mercantile across the street from the sheriff’s office,” Vivian said. “Between the two, we should be able to spend some time without arousing anybody’s curiosity.”
Nathan and Vivian had breakfast at the cafe across the street from the jail. It was still early, and there were no other patrons. The cook fed Empty in the kitchen.
“We can prolong breakfast until the mercantile opens,” Nathan said. “Then one of us can browse in the store, while the other takes a rest on the bench out front.”
“I hope that telegram comes early,” said Vivian. “Waiting makes me nervous. I want this to be over and done.”
“We won’t be waiting too long,” Nathan replied. “If I know Silver, that telegram will arrive within two hours.”
Nathan’s prediction was accurate almost to the minute. The clock in the courthouse tower was striking nine when the telegrapher reached the sheriff’s office.
“We’ll soon know,” said Nathan. “Now I’m nervous. If I’ve guessed wrong, Silver may put me down for a damn fool, and Holt will have ridden from Fort Smith for nothing.”
They had been in the cafe having coffee, while Empty waited with the horses. Nathan paid their bill and they exited just in time to see the sheriff step out the door. He set out afoot, since the Five Aces was only two blocks away.
“We’ll walk, leading our horses,” said Nathan. “We want to be just near enough to be sure he’s actually going to the saloon. If he is, after receiving that telegram, it can only mean one thing.”
It was still early and the saloon wouldn’t open for another hour. The sheriff pounded on the door until it was opened. He then went inside and the door was closed.
“We still don’t know if Jackman’s there or not,” said Vivian.
“Likely it was Jackman that opened the door,” Nathan said. “Otherwise, I doubt the sheriff would have gone inside. He wouldn’t likely reveal the contents of that telegram to anyone else.”
“If he does ride out,” said Vivian, “I just hope we can follow without being seen.”
“Not likely we’ll be seen,” Nathan said. “There’s some wild country to the north of here. Mostly deep canyons and brakes along the river. When I was a deputy U.S. marshal, working out of Fort Smith, I chased outlaws through there.”
“Nathan Stone, is there anything you haven’t done?”
Nathan laughed. “Not much. A few miles west of here—along the Red, after it swings into Texas—I had a shootout with the Cullen Baker gang. I rode all the way back to Fort Smith, full of outlaw lead and raging fever.”8
“My God, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“I know,” said Nathan. “Escape death often enough and you become fatalistic. I know that someday there’ll be a slug with my name on it. Until then, I’m invincible.”
Vivian shuddered. “Dear God, don’t talk like that!”
It took only a few minutes for all their suspicions to be confirmed. When the saloon door again opened, Rutledge Jackman stepped out, followed by the sheriff. Jackman said something to the sheriff and he started back the way he had come. Jackman turned down the boardwalk in the other direction.
“He’s going to send a rider, or he’s going himself,” Nathan said. “My guess is that he’s on his way to a livery.”
That proved to be the case. After Jackman had ridden away, Nathan and Vivian mounted their horses and followed. Once Empty knew they were trailing the distant rider, he loped on ahead.
“We don’t have to keep him in sight,” said Nathan. “Empty will guide us. Hold back, while I ride downriver for Mel Holt.”
Vivian rode on while Nathan turned south. He found Holt waiting, almost within sight of the town.
“Jackman’s on his way,” Nathan said.
Without a word, Holt trotted his horse beside Nathan and they rode north. Within minutes they caught up to Vivian, and Holt tipped his hat.
“Jackman’s headed toward the river,” said Vivian. “I’ve lost sight of Empty.”
“He’ll double back,” Nathan said, “when he realizes we’ve fallen behind.”
They rode on in silence, and the terrain became more rugged as they progressed. Empty loped back to meet them and Nathan reined up.
“Maybe he’s found their camp,” said Holt.
“No,” Nathan said. “He’s just making sure he hasn’t lost us.”
Empty again took the trail, turning northeast toward the river.
“The camp’s somewhere north of here, along the Red,” said Nathan. “Likely some dry canyon, with a runoff for water.”
The next time Empty doubled back, he growled deep in his throat.
“He knows where they are,” Nathan said. “We’ll leave the horses here and continue on foot. Silver wanted you here representing the law, Mel. Take charge from here on.”
“Oh, hell,” said Holt, “with or without a badge, you think like a lawman. You know the rules. We’ll cover them from two directions, and then we’ll order them to drop their guns and show bills of sale for the horses. Besides horse stealing, there’s a charge of attempted murder. I don’t expect them to surrender.”
Empty led them to the lower end of an arroyo that angled away from the river. There was abundant mud where the runoff from the Red had been swallowed by sand. Leading into the arroyo were many horse tracks.
“You take one side and I’ll take the other,” said Holt. “We’ll try and catch them in a cross fire from the rim. Wait for my challenge. If they come up shooting, then I reckon I don’t have to tell you how to answer them.”
Nathan crept along the rim, Vivian following. At first the willows and undergrowth along the canyon floor kept them from seeing anything, but eventually they could see a clearing in which nine horses grazed. One of them—a big black—Nathan recognized as Barnabas McQueen’s Diablo. Five men stood in the clearing, and while Nathan was unable to understand Jackman’s words, the anger in his voice was unmistakable. Suddenly, Holt challenged them.
“Deputy U.S. Marshal! You’re under arrest!”
Just for a heartbeat they froze, and then every man went for his gun. But there was swift thunder from the rims as the deadly cross fire took its toll. One man cut loose with a Winchester, and was the first to die. Jackman’s horse was still saddled. He mounted, still throwing lead at Nathan’s position, and Nathan shot him out of the saddle. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Empty trotted out of the brush and stood there looking at the carnage.
“Come on,” Holt shouted. “I’ll need you to identity those horses.”
&nb
sp; “You first,” Nathan shouted back. “McQueen’s four are branded with a small crown on the left hip.”
Nathan and Vivian remained on the rim until Holt reached the horses and examined the brands.
“You called it straight, amigo,” Holt shouted. “Crown brands on four of them. Come on. We’ll ride back to town and have the sheriff send a wagon for the bodies. I’m going to demand an inquest, call the two of you as witnesses, and establish the guilt of this bunch.”
CHAPTER 4
Led by Mel Holt, Nathan and Vivian reined up before the sheriff’s office with the four McQueen horses on lead ropes. The sheriff stepped out the door, his hand on the butt of his Colt.
“Sheriff?” Holt inquired.
“Yep,” said the lawman. “Webb Haddock. What can I do fer you?”
“Maybe fifteen miles north of here, there’s five dead men in an arroyo on the west bank of the Red. One of them is Rutledge Jackman. The other four coyotes stole these horses in New Orleans, leaving their owners for dead. I called on them to surrender and they came out shooting.”
“Why . . . why, you can’t do . . .” Haddock stammered.
“I can, and I have,” said Holt. “I’m a deputy U.S. marshal from Fort Smith and my authority overrides yours. I’ll want an inquest. For the record, I have witnesses who will testify to attempted murder. The stolen horses speak for themselves.”
“Damn it,” Haddock shouted, “Mr. Jackman is—”
“Dead,” said Holt, “and he had you to thank. After you showed him that telegram a while ago, he led us to these horses and the four skunks that took ’em.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no telegram,” Haddock snarled.
“I aim to visit the telegraph office,” said Holt. “The telegrapher should be able to help you remember. Now, you set up that inquest for nine o’clock in the morning. I’m going to report this incident when I return to Fort Smith.”
With that, Holt turned away. Nathan and Vivian followed him down the street, leading the McQueen horses and seeking a livery. Holt put up the horses, cautioning the liveryman that the animals were recovered stolen property, the responsibility of the U.S. government.
Autumn of the Gun Page 6