“Riding him across a field is one thing,” said Vivian. “Winning a race with him might not be so easy.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to ride Diablo as long as you’re here,” Harley said. “I just want you to know that I can, and that I’m not here to help Barnabas hold on to you. October fifth, at Beaumont, I’ll be riding Petalo, and we’re going to win. Do you want to see me ride him now?”
“No,” said Vivian. “I’ve had enough of your showing off for one day.”
She took Diablo’s reins and went stomping back toward the horse barn. Barnabas winked at Harley, and Harley laughed.
“Shame on the two of you,” Bess said, “baiting her like that.”
“When it comes to women,” said Nathan, “there’s just a thin line between heaven and hell, and from one day to the next a man never knows which side of the line he’s likely to be on.”
Barnabas and Harley laughed uproariously, while Bess tried mightily not to.
“I feel a little guilty,” Harley said. “She’s found something she enjoys, something she can do well, and now I’m horning in. She resents that. I won’t be surprised if she leaves with Nathan, just to spite me.”
“If she does, so be it,” said Barnabas. “There’s room for both of you. Horse racing is becoming so popular, there’s going to be more and more two-day events. Perhaps Vivian will better understand that after the races at Beaumont.”
Beaumont, Texas October 4, 1879
Vivian said very little in the days that followed. Barnabas insisted on arriving early on Thursday, although the first race wasn’t scheduled until two o’clock Saturday afternoon. To escape the silent Vivian for a while, Nathan and Harley visited some of the town’s saloons. They were about to enter a place called The Blue Moon when Nathan turned away.
“What is it?” Harley asked.
“The grulla there at the hitch rail,” said Nathan. “That’s the horse I was riding when I stumbled on to those bank robbers.”
“How can you be sure? There’s plenty of grullas around. You’re riding one.”
“Those saddlebags,” Nathan said. “They have silver buckles, and they came from old Mexico. King Fisher gave them to me. King’s brand—a K inside a crown—is burned into the leather beneath one of the flaps. Let’s have a look.”
Nathan unbuckled one of the flaps, revealing King Fisher’s brand.
“Well, by God,” said Harley, “all we got to do is wait until that coyote heads for the horse, and you’ve got one of them.”
“They could still be together,” Nathan said. “I’d like to take them alive, wire Captain Dillard, and have the bastards sent to Huntsville.”
“Given a choice, they ain’t likely to give up without a fight,” said Harley. “Maybe if we both throw down on them, it won’t end up in a shoot-out.”
“This is not your fight, Harley,” Nathan said.
“Maybe not,” said Harley, “but if there’s two of them, I’m buying in.”
They waited three-quarters of an hour, and Nathan grew impatient.
“I’m going inside and challenge the varmint ridin’ that grulla,” Nathan said. “He could have left the horse here and gone somewhere else.”
“Then I’m goin’ with you,” said Harley.
“If you’re going,” Nathan said, “go in first. Go to the bar and order a beer. I’ll call out the man ridin’ the grulla. If there’s two of them, and they both decide to fight, then one of them is yours. If there’s just the one man, stay out of it.”
“You’re callin’ the shots,” said Harley, heading for the swinging doors.
Nathan waited, counting slowly to a hundred. He then entered the saloon, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lamplit interior before making his move. He counted nine men. Four of them sat at a table playing poker, two were at a table in the comer, and three—one of them Harley—stood at the bar facing the door.
“I want some talk with the gent ridin’ the grulla,” said Nathan. “The one totin’ fancy saddlebags with silver buckles.”
One of the two men at the corner table stood up. “What might you be wantin’ with him?”
“I’d be wantin’ him to show me a bill of sale,” Nathan said. “That’s my horse.”
“I’ll meet you outside, then,” said the stranger, kicking back his chair.
“Go ahead,” said Nathan. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He headed for the door—a little too readily, Nathan thought, as he stepped in behind him. Suddenly a Colt roared behind them, and the man ahead of Nathan turned on him, his hand streaking for his Colt. Nathan seized the wrist with his left hand and slammed his right fist into his antagonist’s jaw. Only then did he turn to see what had happened behind him. The second man at the table stood beside it, blood soaking the right shoulder of his shirt.
“He was about to shoot you in the back,” said Harley, his Colt still cocked and ready.
“I’d appreciate you gents takin’ your trouble somewheres else,” the barkeep said.
“We aim to,” said Nathan. “Where can we find the sheriff?”
“Him or his deputies will find you,” the barkeep said. “He’s hired extra men because of the races Saturday an’ Sunday.”
Within minutes, a man with a star on his shirt and a shotgun in the crook of his arm entered the saloon. Nathan didn’t wait for him to speak.
“These hombres—the one on the floor and the one drip-pin’ blood—are wanted for bank robbery in Houston. I want them locked up and a telegram sent to Captain Dillard at the Ranger outpost.”
“I’m Lytle Hays,” said the lawman. “I’m just a deputy. You’ll have to talk to Waddy McLean, the sheriff.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Nathan said, “but I’m takin’ this pair of coyotes with me.”
Hays led the way to the sheriff’s office as Nathan and Harley, their Colts drawn, marched the two captured men ahead of them. The sheriff saw them coming and swung the door back for them to enter.
“Waddy,” said the deputy, “these hombres with Colts drawn have a story for you. The jaspers they’re coverin’ started some gunplay in the Blue Moon. Somethin’ having to do with a bank robbery in Houston.”
“For the time being,” the sheriff said, “until I get some facts, lock those two in a cell and fetch a doc for the one that’s bleeding.”
When the two men had been locked in a cell and Hays had gone for a doctor, Nathan told his story, leaving out nothing.
“I don’t remember the robbery or the original trial,” said Sheriff McLean, “but I do recall the new trial in Austin. So you’re the gent that was railroaded into Huntsville.”
“Yes,” Nathan said, “and that’s why I didn’t just shoot those two varmints we just marched in here. I want them to take their turn in Huntsville.”
McLean laughed. “I can’t say I blame you, but there’s a matter of proof.”
“That’s why I want you to telegraph Captain Dillard at the Ranger outpost,” Nathan said. “I want this pair taken back to Houston so those bank tellers can have a look at them.”
“I can’t hold them, even overnight,” said McLean, “without some charges. Suspicion of a two-year-old bank robbery won’t be enough.”
“Well, hell,” Harley said, “hold them for attempted murder. If I hadn’t plugged the one that’s bleedin’, he’d have shot Nathan in the back.”
“I can do that,” said McLean. “I won’t bother questioning them. If they’re guilty, as you say, the crime is out of my jurisdiction. It’s a job for the Rangers. I’ll send that telegram to Houston.”
Nathan and Harley waited, and while McLean was gone, Deputy Hays returned with a doctor to attend the wounded man. The sheriff was gone for an hour, but when he returned, he had a reply from Captain Dillard.
“There’s a something in here for you,” McLean said, passing the message to Nathan.
Quickly Nathan read the few words, and then read them again.
Hold suspects on suspicion of bank robbery stop
. Rangers coming for them October sixth stop. Suggest Stone return to Houston.
“Are you answering this telegram, sheriff?” Nathan asked.
“Already did,” said McLean. “Told him I’ll hold these gents for the Rangers.”
“Then I’ll telegraph him,” Nathan said. “Come on, Harley.”
Nathan and Harley found the telegraph office and sent the telegram.
“I reckon we’d better find Barnabas and tell him we’ll be riding on to Houston,” said Harley.
“You don’t have to go,” Nathan said.
“I reckon I do,” said Harley. “I can testify that both them varmints was ready to fill you full of lead. Why would they have tried that if they wasn’t guilty as hell?”
“You have a point,” Nathan said. “Reason enough for you to ride along.”
Harley laughed. “I got a better reason than that. Me and old Petalo’s goin’ to win that race on Sunday, and Vivian will likely sulk all the way back to New Orleans.”
There were only nine entries in Saturday’s race, and the favored horse was a dun whose name was Jack Rabbit. Vivian seemed preoccupied and had little to say.
“Vivian, are you all right?” Barnabas asked.
“Of course I’m all right,” said Vivian shortly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“She ain’t all right,” Harley said, under his breath. “She’s still on the prod, and if I’m any judge, Diablo’s goin’ to pick up on her mood. Don’t bet your money on this one.”
Diablo came in a poor third. Vivian sat there white-faced, as though in shock, and as Nathan tried to help her dismount, she fought free of him. Harley led Diablo away to be rubbed down. Nathan glared at Vivian in disgust.
“So I lost,” she shouted. “Why don’t you shoot me?”
“That would be too easy on you,” said Nathan mildly. “You’ve had a burr under your tail entirely too long. You might as well get used to losing until you improve your rotten disposition. The horse senses your mood, and as long as you don’t give a damn, neither will he.”
Vivian refused supper and went to bed. The McQueens were in a somber mood, and to escape them, Nathan and Harley made the rounds of the saloons in Beaumont. They sat in on a poker game and came out winners, Nathan with two hundred and Harley with a hundred and twenty-five.
“Maybe we ought to just play poker all night,” said Nathan.
“I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest,” Harley said. “You’re bunking with sourpuss.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” said Nathan. “She knows she’s being unreasonable as hell, but her pride won’t let her back down.”
“That’s where I was when you found me in Deadwood, drinkin’ myself into an early grave,” Harley said. “Wrapped in pride, I was a pitiful package, ridin’ shotgun for grub and a place to sleep. Then I was gunned down in a stage holdup, and layin’ there more dead than alive, I changed my mind about a lot of things.”
“I think Vivian’s being pulled in two different directions,” said Nathan. “Her pride is telling her she belongs with me, while her common sense disagrees. Deep down, she knows, just as I do, that someday I’m going to run headlong into a slug with my name on it. She has a future with Barnabas, none with me.”
“So if she loses enough races for Barnabas, she reckons he’ll run her off, forcing her to ride with you,” Harley said.
“I’m guessing,” said Nathan, “but that’s how it looks to me. I reckon it’s got to reach the point where she no longer seems to have a choice, that Barnabas might show her the gate whether she wants to go or not. You need to win that race tomorrow, and as many more as you can, within the next few weeks.”
There were ten horses in the race and Petalo, an unknown, would be running against long odds. An hour before the race started, they were fifteen-to-one.
“I’ve got a thousand dollars on him,” said Barnabas.
“It being his first race,” Bess said, “do you think that’s wise?”
“Maybe not,” said Barnabas, “but not for reasons you suggest. You know Petalo can win, but you have doubts about Harley.”
“Oh, I don’t know who I doubt,” Bess said. “Whether it’s Harley, Petalo, or the both of them. Mostly, if they win, I fear what it may do to Vivian.”
The favorite was a gray whose name was Caliente. The Horse took the lead quickly, with intentions of widening it, but Petalo was only a length behind. Harley leaned forward on the horse’s neck and Petalo began gaining. The two went into the final stretch neck-and-neck, but Petalo slowly but surely pulled ahead, winning by half a length. Afterward, McQueen had one arm draped over Petalo’s lean neck and the other about Harley’s shoulders. Nathan looked for Vivian, but she was nowhere in sight. Neither was Bess McQueen, and Nathan hoped they were together. When Petalo had been rubbed down and stabled, Nathan, Harley, and McQueen went to collect their winnings. When they returned to their hotel, Nathan found Bess in the room he shared with Vivian.
“I was just leaving,” said Bess.
She went out, closing the door, leaving Nathan and Vivian alone.
“I reckon Harley’s satisfied any doubts you’ve had about him being here,” Nathan said.
“Yes,” Vivian said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“Then you have no reason for being angry with Barnabas and Harley, do you?”
“No,” she replied, her voice trembling.
“Vivian, come here,” said Nathan.
When she finally faced him, tears were creeping down her cheeks. Slowly she came to him, buried her face on his shoulder, and wept long and hard. Removing only her hat, he stretched her out on the bed and lay down beside her.
“Now talk, damn it. What’s really biting you?”
“I ... I can’t tell you.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” said Nathan. “You want to go with me, yet you want to say here and ride Diablo, but you want someone else to make up your mind for you. You want to be forced into one or the other, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, in a small voice. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to continue racing, but I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” said Nathan. “I’m never away more than a few months. I always come here to heal and lick my wounds.”
“Until that day,” she said, her voice breaking, “when you’ll never ... come back to me.”
“When that day comes,” said Nathan, “there’ll be nothing anyone can do, for destiny deals the cards. If I never ride back, then you’ll know that I’m resting easy, knowin’ you are with Harley and among friends. Can’t you accept that?”
“Perhaps someday, but not ... not now ...”
Breakfast was a happy affair, as Vivian attempted to get back on the good side of everybody.
“I’ve been behaving like a selfish, spoiled brat, and I—”
“You sure as hell have,” Harley cut in. “Try that again and I’ll take a switch to you.”
“I can’t say that I won’t ever do it again,” said Vivian, “but I’m apologizing for this time. I just hope Diablo will forgive me.”
“You’ll find horses more forgiving than people,” Barnabas said. “Ride him with a kind hand, confidence, and determination, and he’ll run his heart out for you.”
CHAPTER 9
Houston October 7, 1879
“Their names are Lonzo Prinz and Rufe Collins,” Captain Dillard said. “While neither has a record, they were once arrested on suspicion of bank robbery and released for lack of evidence. It was Collins who tried to back-shoot you, Nathan.”
“I realize them having my horse and saddlebags won’t be enough to convict them,” said Nathan. “There must be some way of forcing them to talk.”
“So far, nothing beyond their names,” Captain Dillard said. “In the morning, the bank tellers who were on duty at the time of the robbery will have a look at these two.”
“Does that include Sheriff Littlefield’s son, who identified me?”
“No,” said the Ranger. “After his relationship to Littlefield came to light in Austin, he left the bank and nobody knows where he is. We could have tracked him down and maybe convicted him of perjury, but you were set free and we believed justice had been done.”
When Nathan and Harley reached the jail the following morning, Captain Dillard was already there. Sheriff Littlefield nodded to Nathan and Harley. When the tellers arrived—McDaniel, Terrel, and Wilkerson—Captain Dillard questioned them.
“Before you see these men, do any of you recall anything about them, such as color of hair, eyes, and possible scars?”
“Only two of them came into the bank,” said Terrel.
“That’s true,” Captain Dillard said. “The third man stayed with the horses.”
“They were masked,” McDaniel said, “but the man who came to my window had a mole just above his right eyebrow, and his nose was crooked, like it had been broken.”
“I can’t help you,” said Wilkerson. “The man who took money from me had no marks I can recall. He had dark hair, down to the collar of his shirt.”
“We’re going to ask the three of you to look at these men,” Captain Dillard said. “I’d advise you not to make any claims unless you’re willing to swear to them in court.”
Prinz and Collins sat on their bunks, staring at the men in the jail corridor.
“The man with the bandaged arm,” said McDaniel. “I’d like a closer look at him.”
Autumn of the Gun Page 13