Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “Collins,” Captain Dillard said, “come over here.”

  Collins got up and shambled over to the cell’s barred door.

  “He has the broken nose,” said McDaniel, “and the mole above his left eyebrow. I’d say this is the man who took money from me during the robbery.”

  “You’d swear to that in court?” Captain Dillard asked.

  “Yes,” said McDaniel.

  “Collins,” Captain Dillard said, “you’ve been identified as one of the men who held up a Houston bank two years ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I didn’t do it,” said Collins.

  “We have evidence enough to hold you,” Captain Dillard said. “It’ll be up to you to convince a judge and jury that you’re innocent.”

  “You got nothin’ against me,” said Prinz. “Let me out of here,”

  Too late he realized his mistake. Collins turned on him, his face a mask of fury.

  “Damn you,” Collins bawled, “you was right there with me, just like in Waco.”

  Prinz came off his bunk swinging, and his fists slammed Collins against the bars of the cell.

  “Back off, Prinz,” said Captain Dillard, drawing his Colt.

  Prinz returned to his bunk and sat down.

  “Sheriff,” Captain Dillard said, “take Collins out of there and lock him in another cell. I believe he’ll be a valuable witness, and we don’t want Prinz trying to influence him.”

  The next morning, preparing to return to New Orleans, Nathan and Harley stopped to talk to Captain Dillard.

  “Collins refused to take the rap by himself,” said Captain Dillard. “He implicated Prinz as well as Schorp, the man you shot, Nathan. In fact, Collins sang loud enough to convict the two of them for a similar bank robbery in Waco three years ago. We lost them there for lack of evidence, so this promises to be a particularly sweet victory. On behalf of the Rangers, I want to commend the both of you for capturing this pair.”

  “I reckon I had a selfish motive,” Nathan said. “There was a time when I’d have been content to gut-shoot the pair of them, but that would have been too sudden. I reckon I’ll get more satisfaction out of them doing five years in Huntsville prison.”

  “If they’re convicted of robberies in Houston and Waco,” said Captain Dillard, “they’ll be lucky to get off with ten years.”

  New Orleans October 17, 1879

  With Empty trotting ahead of them, Nathan and Harley rode into the McQueen place. Vivian seemed to have settled down, and during supper Nathan and Harley recounted their success in Houston.

  “I’m glad we can finally close the door on that infamous experience in Houston,” said Barnabas. “We have two more big weekends between now and Christmas. Both are two-day events, with races on Saturday and Sunday. Vivian will be riding Diablo. Harley, I want you to ride Petalo in the first event and Modelo in the second.”

  “Just win me two more races with long odds,” Nathan said, “and I’ll be a rich man.”

  The events were held at Natchez and Vicksburg, and all the McQueen horses were big winners. Because of his loss in Beaumont, Diablo ran against longer odds but redeemed himself gloriously.

  “That’s enough,” said McQueen. “Let’s enjoy the holidays and let the horses rest.”

  But they were in for a surprise. A week before Christmas, looking like a down-and-out Texas cowboy, Byron Silver rode in. Tied behind his saddle was a sheepskin-lined long coat, and thonged down on his right hip was a Colt revolver.

  “Tarnation,” said Nathan suspiciously, “when you show up, there’s usually trouble on your heels, like a pack of lobo wolves.”

  Silver laughed. “You should talk. Every time you wander off on your own, you end up in somebody’s juzgado. There’s Missouri, Texas, and God knows how many others from which you somehow managed to escape without my help. You owe me, big time.”

  “And you’re here to collect,” said Nathan.

  “Amigo,” Silver said, adopting a hangdog look, “you misjudge me, and I am deeply wounded. Fortunately, I heal rapido.”

  “Well, get down and come in,” said Barnabas. “You and Nathan can pick at one another later. Bess will have supper on the table by the time you stable your horse and wash up.”

  “Go on in the house,” Harley said. “I’ll rub down and stable your horse.”

  “He hasn’t even worked up a good sweat,” said Silver. “I just bought him in town.”

  “By God, I knew it,” Nathan said. “You wouldn’t buy a horse if you didn’t have plans that involve considerable travel, and you won’t be needin’ that heavy sheepskin coat around here.”

  “Damn,” said Silver, “a man can’t come south for a little vacation without having his motives questioned by the Pinkertons.”

  “You insult me,” Nathan said. “Draw, you varmint.”

  They were on the back porch, digging at one another, when Bess came to the door.

  “Supper’s ready,” said Bess.

  “Then let’s eat,” Silver said. “If he don’t mend his ways, I can shoot him anytime.”

  They were finished with supper and enjoying extra cups of hot coffee when Silver got around to revealing the true nature of his visit.

  “A couple of years back,” said Silver, “Congress passed what they called a Desert Land Act. Supposedly, it was intended to help small ranchers by making available desert land at twenty-five cents an acre, for a hundred and sixty acres. A man could then irrigate the land and eventually, for a dollar an acre, own it.”

  “Captain Ferguson at Fort Worth told me about that,” Nathan said.

  “Then you have some idea as to what went wrong, and why,” said Silver.

  “Yes,” Nathan replied. “The whole thing is a legalized land-grab, ramrodded through Congress by wealthy ranchers. They’ll buy up thousands of acres of land for a dollar and twenty-five cents an acre.”

  “Exactly,” said Silver. “A man with money can hire several dozen cowboys, with the stipulation they are to each file on a quarter section, eventually signing it over to the big rancher who’s paying them thirty dollars a month.”

  “That sounds illegal,” Barnabas said.

  “Not unless there’s conclusive proof,” said Silver, “and by that, I mean proof that the wealthy ranchers are paying men to file on land they have no intention of improving. Land that is later to be handed over to a man who isn’t legally entitled to it.”

  “And how do you aim to prove that?” Nathan asked.

  “I thought you and me might mosey up to Wyoming’s Powder River Basin,” said Silver. “It shouldn’t be too hard to hire on with one of these big guns and pick up some solid evidence.”

  “Or a good dose of lead poisoning,” Nathan said.

  “That may very well go with the territory,” said Silver. “If you go, it will be strictly as a volunteer. Washington hasn’t authorized me any help.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Harley said.

  “Barnabas needs you here,” said Nathan. “I’m forty pounds heavier than you and not able to ride those horses.”

  “He’s right,” Vivian said. “Besides, they’ve worked together before.”

  “Indeed we have,” said Silver. “Nathan took over and finished an assignment for me when I was wounded. If it hadn’t been for him, two years of important undercover work would have been wasted.”

  Nathan laughed. “You see how he is. He builds me up until I can’t refuse. That’s why I’m always calling on him for help, because he owes me.”

  “When are you planning to go?” Barnabas asked.

  “I thought we’d wait until after Christmas,” said Silver. “I have enough pull to get us and our horses steamboat passage to St. Louis, and from there to Cheyenne on the Union Pacific. From Cheyenne, we’ll be maybe two hundred miles from where the Powder forks to the south.”

  “I reckon you know who these wealthy ranchers are,” Nathan said.

  “Yes,” said Silver. “I only had to determine w
ho within the territory had contributed the most money to help re-elect various senators and congressmen. A man with a ten-cow spread can’t afford such generosity.”

  “Once you’ve gathered evidence,” Vivian asked, “what can be done?”

  “I’ve been told his land-grab can be reversed,” said Silver, “but we must prove to the federal government’s satisfaction that wealthy ranchers are taking over these lands through fraud. Naturally, we can’t get proof against them all, but once we can prove one’s doing it, then I can demand an investigation of the others. I aim to force them to give up the land they’ve taken illegally.”

  “I have to admire your dedication to truth and justice,” Barnabas said. “I must admit I haven’t thought too highly of the Congress since that Yankee congressman swindled us out of twenty million dollars buildin’ the Union Pacific.”16

  Silver laughed. “I’m sorry I can’t counter all the sins of the United States Congress, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Two days after Christmas, Nathan and Silver rode to New Orleans, where they boarded a steamboat for St. Louis. Their horses were stalled on a lower deck, while Empty went with Nathan and Silver to their small cabin. The dog sat there between the bunks, looking uneasy.

  “He’s never cared much for steamboats,” said Nathan.

  “Neither have I,” Silver said, “but they’re handy, getting from one place to another. I reckon we’ll get our fill of the saddle after we reach Cheyenne.”

  “When we reach Wyoming Territory, are we going to use our own names?”

  “I reckon we’ll be safe enough,” said Silver. “Our comin’ out of this alive depends on us looking and acting like a pair of not-too-well-off, drifting cowboys.”

  “Which brings another question to mind,” Nathan said. “Cowboys looking for work don’t often show up in the dead of winter. How do we account for that?”

  “We don’t go looking for work,” said Silver. “I’ve learned something about these high rollers, and they have their own waterhole in Cheyenne, the Cattleman’s Club. With the wind whistlin’ through the peaks and the mountain passes neck-deep in snow, I reckon this bunch will be settin’ before the fire, passing the bottle and shufflin’ the cards.”

  “That’s not the kind of diggings where a pair of out-of-work cowboys are likely to fit in,” Nathan said.

  “I know that,” said Silver. “It’s up to us to devise some way of meetin’ one of these hombres, to interest him in hirin’ us. Haynes McCutcheon and Chad Buckalew are two of the most likely.”

  “Meaning they already own more than their share of range,” Nathan said.

  “Ain’t it always that way? Like we say in Texas, all I want is the land that adjoins mine.”

  Reaching St. Louis, they found there wouldn’t be a Union Pacific westbound until the next afternoon. After stabling the horses, they found a boardinghouse where Empty was welcome and took a room for the night.

  “I’m almost afraid to suggest we go out on the town,” said Nathan. “I still remember that night we stopped in that riverfront saloon for a few hands of poker. We were damn lucky to get out of there alive.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Silver replied, “I’d as soon have a steak and then bed down for the night. I never sleep much on a steamboat.”

  Nathan and Silver took their time at breakfast, since the Union Pacific’s westbound did not depart until two o’clock.

  “Don’t look now,” said Silver, “but that hombre with the tied-down Colt has taken a damn strong interest in one of us. He’s been watching us ever since we sat down.”

  “If he’s still here, and still watching us when we’re ready to leave,” Nathan said, “I’ll make it my business to introduce myself. When some ranny gets that interested in me, I become almighty curious. I don’t have that many friends.”

  “Neither do I,” said Silver. “Friends come and go, but enemies and back-shooters stack up like cord wood.”

  Finally, when Nathan had a chance to observe the stranger, he didn’t like the looks of the man. He was young, not more than twenty-one or -two. There was a half smirk on his face—the mark of many who considered themselves badmen—and he was dressed all in black, including his flat-crowned hat.

  “I’ll pay for breakfast,” Silver said when they were ready to leave, “and I’ll back your play if there’s trouble.”

  Approaching the table, Nathan spoke.

  “You’ve been taking my measure ever since I sat down. Do I know you?”

  The stranger laughed. “I doubt it, but I know you. You’re Nathan Stone, the killer.”

  “I’m Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied coldly. “What do you want of me?”

  “I’m Mitch Sowell, and I’m callin’ you out. I’ll meet you in the street.”

  “I have no fight with you,” said Nathan.

  “Oh, but you do,” Sowell replied. “You have a reputation, and I aim to fight you for it.”

  “Please,” said the nervous cook, sensing trouble, “no fighting in here.”

  “Nathan,” Silver said, “go ahead. I’ll follow him out and watch your back.”

  It was a deliberate insult, an implication that, given the chance, the cocky young gunman might shoot Nathan in the back. Nathan nodded, heading for the door. Empty had already been fed and was waiting outside. Once Nathan was through the door, Sowell got to his feet.

  “Hold it,” Silver said. “You’ll go out when he’s facing you.”

  Nathan halted a dozen yards down the boardwalk, facing the cafe, his back toward the morning sun. As he awaited the inevitable, his shoulders seemed to sag with weariness. As Sowell left the cafe, men paused, while others quickly removed themselves from the line of fire. Nathan tried one more time.

  “Sowell, I have no fight with you. Back off while you still can.”

  Sowell laughed. “You got to fight. There ain’t no way out.”

  “When you’re ready, then,” Nathan said.

  Nathan wanted nobody contesting his claim of self-defense. He waited until Sowell had his Colt free of the holster, before making his move. He then drew and fired once. Sowell stumbled back against a hitch rail, dropping his weapon without firing a shot. Finally his knees buckled, and he fell face down. There was only the whisper of the wind, as the echo of the single shot died away. Other men came on the run, and there was talk, as those who had seen the event related it to those who had not.

  “... chain lightning. I never seen his hand move ...”

  “He’s a natural-born killer, if I ever saw one ...”

  “One of you fetch the sheriff,” Silver ordered.

  The sheriff’s office was in the next block, and the lawman arrived quickly. Nathan had holstered his Colt, saying nothing until the sheriff asked the inevitable question.

  “Who shot this man, and why?”

  “I shot him,” said Nathan, “and I’m claiming self-defense.”

  The sheriff turned to the onlookers. “Did any of you see it?”

  Half a dozen men responded, Silver among them. After an unpleasant hour, the killing was declared self-defense, and Nathan was allowed to go.

  “Damn it,” Nathan said, “I’m going to hide out somewhere until train time.”

  “No point in that,” said Silver. “You were justified.”

  “I’m always justified,” Nathan replied, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  An hour before train time, Nathan and Silver saw their horses and saddles loaded into a boxcar. Empty disliked locomotives as intensely as he did steamboats, and Nathan had to force him aboard a passenger coach. A well-dressed woman whose hat was festooned with an ostrich feather glared at Empty with obvious distaste, and Empty growled at her.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming January 3, 1880

  Before leaving the train, Nathan and Silver donned their sheepskin-lined coats. There was snow on the ground and even more falling, and the west wind chilled them to the marrow of their bones.

  “I don’t like to question
the government’s judgement,” said Nathan, “but why in hell couldn’t this investigation have been done in warm weather?”

  “My boy,” Silver said, “the wheels of government turn slowly. The powers that be have known about this problem for two years. I have long since ceased to question orders handed down by my superiors. Let’s get the horses to a livery and ourselves to a hotel.”

  “I reckon we’d better,” said Nathan. “It’ll be dark in an hour and then, by God, it’ll really get cold.”

  “I’ve never been here before,” Silver said. “Do you know the town?”

  “I know you can see the lights of the Plains Hotel from here,” said Nathan, “and as I recall there’s a livery across the street from the hotel.”

  “Then let’s head for that hotel and the livery,” Silver said. “If I’m any judge, there’s a blue norther on the way.”

  Quickly they saddled their horses and, with Nathan leading, they following the railroad track eastward for a ways, before cutting back to the south. Through blowing snow, they could see the bulk of the Plains Hotel ahead of them. The horses picked their way through deep snow that blanketed the street, veering away from the hotel and toward the welcome warmth of the livery. Inside, Empty shook himself, creating a snow shower. In the office was a glowing red stove, which the liveryman seemed reluctant to leave.

  “Grain our horses,” Silver said, “and store our saddles.”

  “Saddles in the tackroom,” the liveryman said.

  “Thanks,” Silver said. “We’ll see you when the storm blows itself out.”

  The storm seemed to have grown in intensity as they fought their way back to the hotel. Stomping the snow off their boots, they entered the lobby. Hanging lamps cast their cheerful glow, while a fire roared in an enormous fireplace. A bar stretched along one wall, and there were a few tables and chairs for those who wished to sit and drink or engage in various games of chance. In the very back of the room were two billiard tables, the balls racked and ready.

  “Tarnation,” said Silver, “I’ve never seen a better equipped hotel. Is there a good place to eat close by?”