Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  Houston, Texas November 24, 1877

  Byron Silver reached the Ranger outpost astride a bay horse he had hired at a livery. He was dressed like the cowboy he had once been, and a Colt was thonged down on his right hip. He introduced himself as he met Vivian and Captain Dillard for the first time. He then turned to Barnabas and Bess McQueen and greeted them warmly.

  “The first and last time I was with you folks, I’d been shot,” said Silver, “and I’m not sure the present circumstances are much better. I reckon we’d better make ourselves as comfortable as we can while Captain Dillard tells us what he has learned.”

  “Howell,” Captain Dillard said to another Ranger, “I’ll be in my office for a while, and I’m not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Howell.

  Captain Dillard was last to enter the small office. He closed the door behind him and then took a seat behind his desk, while his four companions settled into chairs facing him.

  “Based upon what I have learned,” Captain Dillard said, “I have every reason to believe Nathan Stone has been wrongly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. I talked to him at length, and his story has a ring of truth. First, I’ll tell you what Nathan told me, and then I’ll tell you how they rushed him through a trial without presenting a shred of proof, just flimsy circumstantial evidence.”

  Captain Dillard talked for three-quarters of an hour. When he ceased speaking his companions remained silent for a moment. Barnabas McQueen was first to speak.

  “My God, anybody who knows Nathan Stone can see this for the lie that it is. Nathan and Vivian have been working with me, racing horses. He was going to San Antonio to get a pair of Indian-gentled horses I bought.”

  “This is all so foolish,” Vivian said. “Why would Nathan risk his life and reputation stealing ten thousand dollars he would have to split with two other men? He has twenty thousand dollars on deposit in a New Orleans bank. Honest money.”

  “I’ve known Nathan for ten years,” said Silver, “and while his fast gun has forced him into some situations he would have avoided if he could, he would never take a dishonest dollar. I’d stake my life on that.”

  “So would I,” Bess McQueen said.

  “I can add little to that,” said Captain Dillard. “The Rangers know and respect him, and based on what I’ve learned, I believe we should appeal his conviction immediately.”

  “Prepare the necessary papers,” Silver said, “and I’ll file them.”

  “Here they are,” said Captain Dillard. “They’ve been ready for three days.”

  “We’ll be here until a decision has been reached,” Barnabas said. “How long do these things take?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Captain Dillard, “with Sheriff Littlefield opposing it, and with Judge McClendon siding him, it could take months.”

  “And all that time Nathan has to remain in prison,” Vivian said. “Mr. Silver, is there no way he can be released while his case is being appealed?”

  “None that I know of,” said Silver. “The first step toward freeing him is to appeal his conviction, and unless the appeals court overturns it, the conviction will stand. Should his conviction be upheld, then we can demand a new trial.”

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Barnabas said, “but how long will that take?”

  “As long or longer than the appeal,” said Captain Dillard. “Once a man is behind bars, the courts move slowly.”

  “I can’t remain here more than a month,” Silver said. “Captain Dillard, I’ll have to depend on you and the telegraph to keep me informed. I’ll arrange to be here if and when his appeal is heard, and for a new trial if there is one.”

  “I may have given Nathan false hopes,” said Captain Dillard. “I believe you should go to Huntsville and tell him we’re appealing his conviction, and that it’s going to be long and drawn out.”

  “I intend to,” Silver said. “He also needs to know that if the appeal is unsuccessful, a new trial may take even longer.”

  “Vivian, Bess, and me will go with you,” said Barnabas.

  Huntsville, Texas December 1, 1877

  Nathan’s three companions were silent as to their intentions, but as their day began in the laundry, the trio’s eyes were on him. With his conviction being appealed, the last thing he wanted was to become involved in a prison break. It could only hurt his chance of a successful appeal and perhaps lengthen his sentence. Since he had no idea what Borg, Hez, and Staggs had in mind, he must wait for them to make their move and then somehow foil their plan.

  As the end of the day drew near, Nathan found Borg constantly at his side, so it was no surprise that, when the time came, Borg made the first move. In an attempt to distract the two guards, cursing loudly, Borg seized Nathan in a bear hug. But he wasn’t quick enough. Nathan drove his right knee into Borg’s groin, twisted free, and slammed a right to Borg’s jaw. Borg collapsed like an empty sack. The two prison guards hadn’t fallen for the trick. They remained where they were, their Winchesters covering Staggs and Hez. One of the guards pulled an alarm chain, bringing a prison official and two more armed guards. Nathan couldn’t hear what was being said, but one of the original guards pointed to Borg, who sat up, rubbing his jaw.

  The prison official, whose name was Corrigan, spoke to the pair of guards who had accompanied him.

  “Take him to solitary.” He then turned and spoke to Nathan. “He jumped you. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Nathan. “He took me by surprise.”

  “Starting Monday,” Corrigan said, his eyes on Staggs and Hez, “you will be assigned to kitchen duty. Guards, escort these men to the mess hall, keep an eye on them until they have eaten, and then take them to their cells.”

  When Staggs and Hez had been taken away, Corrigan spoke to Nathan.

  “Stone, that was fast thinking. You prevented what I suspect might have become a nasty incident. Such an act will not go unnoticed.”

  Nathan said nothing. While he had won Corrigan’s approval, his three former companions would regard what he had done as nothing less than betrayal. If he remained in the prison for any length of time, he had no doubt the trio would find a time and place to come after him with vengeance on their minds.

  Houston, Texas December 3, 1877

  Byron Silver, Vivian, and the McQueens set out for Huntsville, with Empty running ahead of them. The hound seemed aware that they were going to the place where he had been forced to leave Nathan. They arrived an hour past noon, and Silver arranged for them to see and talk to Nathan. While he obviously was glad to see them, he seemed subdued and said little.

  “Captain Dillard told us what you’ve told him,” Silver said. “Now why don’t you tell us in your own words? Maybe you’ll remember something you didn’t tell him.”

  “I doubt it,” said Nathan. He repeated what he had told Captain Dillard. “What I don’t understand is what became of my horse.”

  “Grulla, wasn’t it?” said Silver.

  “Yes,” Nathan replied. “Not the only one, by any means, but those fancy saddlebags had silver buckles, and were made in Mexico. King Fisher gave them to me.”

  “That’s something,” said Silver. “From what Captain Dillard has learned, the sheriffs posse found no horses, and that means they must have been taken away by the pair of outlaws who escaped. I’ll have the captain pass the word along to the Rangers, and they’ll all be watching for those saddlebags.”

  “I appreciate everything that all of you are doing for me,” Nathan said, “but I’ve been dealt a bad hand. Sheriff Littlefield accepted me as one of the bank robbers, no questions asked. The man who fired at me, that I had to kill, was shot at close range and from the front. Sheriff Littlefield testified that the two robbers who had been wounded were shot from behind. Two men escaped, taking two extra horses with them, one of which was mine. I can’t believe Littlefield didn’t find the tracks of four horses and couldn’t see that only two of them were being ridden.”

 
“That’s just some of the things that don’t add up,” said Silver. “Captain Dillard thinks these and other things Sheriff Littlefield overlooked or dismissed may be used to overturn your conviction. If your appeal is denied, we’re going to petition the court for a new trial, and we’re going to destroy Sheriff Oscar Littlefield.”

  “It couldn’t happen to a more deserving old busardo,” Nathan said, “but petitions and appeals take time. How long am I likely to be stuck here?”

  “I won’t give you any false hope,” said Silver. “Appealing your conviction can take as long as six months, with Sheriff Littlefield and Judge McClendon opposing it. If that falls through, it could take as long or longer to win you a new trial.”

  “Damn,” Nathan said. “You can’t stay here that long, can you?”

  “No,” said Silver. “I took a month’s leave. However, I’ll be in touch with Captain Dillard by telegraph, and he or some of the other Rangers will be here to talk with you as often as they can. You won’t be alone, and you won’t be forgotten.”

  “I’ll stay here until you’re free, Nathan,” Vivian said, “however long it takes.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Nathan, “but it would serve no good purpose. Barnabas, I want you and Bess to go home, taking Vivian and Empty with you. Since I never made it to San Antonio, you can go there and get the horses I was supposed to bring you.”

  “No,” Vivian said, “I’m staying with you.”

  “I don’t want you out here alone,” said Nathan. “There’ll be horse races all over Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi, and Barnabas had plans to enter Diablo in all of them. Didn’t you, Barnabas?”

  “Well ...” Barnabas said.

  “Vivian, Barnabas, Bess,” said Silver, “you can arrange for Captain Dillard to wire you information, just as he has promised to do for me. Nathan has the Texas Rangers on his side, and if anything should happen to him, the Rangers will raise hell and kick a chunk under it. None of you can do more than that.”

  “He’s talking sense,” Nathan said. “It’s bad enough, me being stuck here without the rest of you having to hunker around, waitin’ for something to happen. If we have to go for a new trial, that’ll be soon enough for you to return here.”

  It was a telling argument, and after handshakes with Silver and Barnabas, and tearful goodbyes from Vivian and Bess, the four departed. Nathan returned to his duties in the laundry, feeling dejected and more lonely than he’d ever felt in his life.

  Staggs and Hez avoided Nathan in the mess hall, but when they looked at him, the hate in their eyes was obvious. While Nathan wasn’t unfriendly, he didn’t go out of his way to make friends. It came as a surprise one Sunday morning in the mess hall, when a slender man with dark hair, a horse face, and a lopsided grin sat down on the bench across the table.

  “You look like a gent that keeps his mouth shut and minds his business,” the stranger said.

  “I try,” Nathan replied.

  “So do I. My name’s Hardin. John Wesley Hardin. You must have heard of me, but nothin’ good, I reckon.”

  Nathan grinned, in spite of himself. “Not a single word. I’m Nathan Stone.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” said Hardin. “Muy bueno with the pistola.”

  Nathan said nothing and Hardin continued.

  “How long you in for, if I ain’t bein’ nosey?”

  “You are,” Nathan said. “I got five years for bank robbery.”

  “I’ll likely be here the rest of my life,” said Hardin. “My daddy named me after John Wesley, the preacher. He had hopes of me bein’ a sky pilot, but I ended up workin’ for the other side.”13

  Nathan didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking, and changed the subject.

  “After the day’s work is done, what does a man do with himself in a place like this?”

  “Speakin’ for myself,” said Hardin, “I generally head for my bunk after supper. I’m in the field from sunup to sundown, part of a maximum security detail, every man of us in leg irons. Every guard’s equipped with a shotgun and orders that if shooting becomes necessary, shoot to kill.”

  He looked at Nathan, a lopsided grin on his haggard face, no trace of humor in his eyes. He was difficult to talk to, and when Nathan said nothing, Hardin continued, this time on a lighter note.

  “Sundays, now, I generally go to the library after dinner.”

  “What kind of books do you read?” Nathan asked.

  “Law.”

  Nathan found that amusing and hardly knew how to respond. Hardin laughed.

  “I been raisin’ hell since I was ten, on the outs with the law since I was eleven, and now I’m twenty-four. I aim to learn something about the law. Hell, if I ever get out of here, maybe I’ll open me a law office.”14

  Nathan had heard much about John Wesley Hardin. The man had a reputation as a cold-blooded killer. In 1874, the State of Texas had posted a four-thousand-dollar bounty on his head, dead or alive. Having met the man, it wasn’t easy matching him to a killer who, at twenty-four, had become a legend. To satisfy his curiosity, Nathan went to the prison library that Sunday afternoon. Hardin was there, engrossed in a heavy, leatherbound book.

  “You just might end up with that law office, after all,” said Nathan.

  Hardin looked up, flashed his lopsided grin, and went back to his reading.

  Houston, Texas December 7, 1877

  Vivian and the McQueens were preparing to return to New Orleans.

  “I’ll stay on top of the situation here,” said Captain Dillard, “and as soon as there is any change, I’ll telegraph you.”

  “I’ll be here a while, yet,” Silver said. “After you shake the tree, it’s interesting to step back and see what falls. I aim to see that Nathan’s appeal makes it through the proper channels without delay.”

  “I’m so glad,” said Vivian. “I don’t feel so bad about us leaving, with you and Captain Dillard in charge.”

  “If I’m needed,” Silver said, “all of you know how to reach me. Should I be away from Washington, any messages will be forwarded, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Twice a month,” said Captain Dillard, “I’ll either visit Nathan or send someone else. I will see that he knows we’re working toward his release.”

  Huntsville, Texas December 14, 1877

  The only time the prison inmates came together, except for work details, was in the mess hall. By the time Borg had been released from solitary, Staggs and Hez had begun a campaign to ostracize Nathan. When he sat down at a table to eat, others who were seated there got up and moved. Nathan countered their rejection by seating himself at an empty table. At the start of his third day of eating alone, John Wesley Hardin placed his tin tray on the table across from Nathan and sat down to breakfast.

  “I don’t know what you got,” said Hardin, “but it must be contagious as hell.”

  “It is,” Nathan said. “Borg, Staggs, and Hez tried to drag me into a jail break, and I didn’t go along.”

  Hardin laughed. “I heard about that. They’re callin’ you a Judas to your own kind.”

  “My kind, hell,” said Nathan, in disgust. “If I wasn’t trapped in here, I wouldn’t squat and eat within a hundred miles of any of this bunch.”

  Hardin laughed again, his hard blue eyes twinkling. “My feelings exactly, amigo, and if I’m any judge of yellow coyotes, this bunch is workin’ their way into a killin’ mood. I’d not be surprised if they all jump you sometime soon.”

  “You’re not making any friends,” said Nathan.

  “Considerin’ what I got to choose from,” Hardin said, “then maybe I don’t want any. Present company excepted, of course.”

  It was Nathan’s turn to laugh, and his laugh was bitter. “My luck’s taken such a rotten turn, they’ll stomp hell out of me, and it’ll be me that goes to solitary.”

  Nathan had heard of prison riots where men like him had been singled out for retribution. The mess hall was the obvious place, for nowhere else did
all the inmates come together at the same time. Should the brawl become serious enough, one of his adversaries—Borg, Hez, or Staggs—could kill Nathan without being caught in the act. It was a cowardly method of destroying an enemy—the killers hiding among a surging mass of struggling men and preventing prison officials from fixing individual responsibility for any deaths. It all came together at suppertime, the day before Christmas. Hardin, who had continued taking his meals with Nathan, spoke.

  “This is it, amigo. Borg, Hez, and Staggs ain’t got the sand to take their seats at our table, but every day they’ve been workin’ their way closer. They’re at the table next to us, and they’ll try to take you in the thick of the fight. They’re likely armed with makeshift knives.”

  “Hardin, this is not your fight,” said Nathan. “There are other tables.”

  Hardin laughed. “But none as interesting as this one. Somebody in the back of the hall will start the dance, but don’t look for Borg, Hez, and Staggs to jump in immediately. We don’t make our move until the whole bunch rushes us. Then we flip this table on its side and force them three bastards to come after us.”

  Nathan said nothing, for it seemed the convicted killer at the table with him wanted this anticipated conflict. Hardin’s cold blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and on his lean, horsey face was that lopsided, don’t-give-a-damn grin. Suddenly, near the front of the mess hall, there was a shouted curse. Men surged to their feet, shouting and began throwing tin trays and cups.

  “It’s time, amigo,” Hardin shouted.

  Nathan leaped to his feet and the two of them overturned the table, its top toward the sea of men who surged forward. Then the unexpected happened. The two guards from the front of the mess hall dropped behind the overturned table, one at each end. Facing the ugly snouts of two shotguns, the surging men dropped back. Even Borg hesitated, but Hez and Staggs leaped the table. Each man had in his hand a piece of kitchen cutlery he had hidden and honed for the occasion.