Lanham dressed like a gambling man, and Nathan liked his looks. He appeared to be in his fifties, with silvery hair and direct brown eyes. He sported a leather vest over a white boiled shirt, a black string tie, and striped trousers.
“Take your dog around to the back of the restaurant,” Lanham said when they left the saloon. “I’ll bring Elsie out back to meet you and feed the dog. Then we’ll eat.”
“My land,” said Elsie after she had met Nathan, “your poor dog looks half starved.”
“It’s the nature of the beast, ma’am,” Nathan said. “He’s a hound, and he looks like a rack of bones all the time. That’s why his name is Empty.”
“You may have to change his name after a while,” said Elsie. “We serve three meals every day, and there’s always leftovers. When you come to eat, just bring him around to the kitchen door.”
Nathan laughed. “I won’t have to bring him. After you’ve fed him the first time, he’ll be here on his own.”
Nathan and the saloon owner sat down to eat before the restaurant became crowded, and while Norris Lanham didn’t speak quite as openly as Mel and Susie Holt, he supplied much of the background on Tombstone and the people who lived there.
“With Virgil the marshal and Wyatt a deputy sheriff, you’re a mite deep in Earps,” said Nathan. “Who usually shows up if you need a lawman?”
“Usually Sheriff John Behan,” Lanham said. “Virgil’s been here a time or two.”
“I knew Wyatt when he was a lawman in Dodge,” said Nathan. “I don’t know any of his brothers.”
“Virgil and Morgan are all right,” Lanham said, “but I believe they’re often influenced by Wyatt.”
While the saloon owner had said nothing negative about Wyatt Earp, he had implied much, none of it lost on Nathan Stone. Dinner finished, they talked for a few minutes more over coffee.
“I’d like one free night,” said Nathan. “Sunday, if possible.”
“Sunday it is,” Lanham said. “Most of my regulars are cowboys, sheepmen, and a few miners. Sunday’s my slow night. When can you start?”
“Tonight,” said Nathan. “Six o’clock early enough?”
“Six o’clock Monday through Thursday,” Lanham said. “Friday and Saturday nights, come in at seven. Those nights we’re open until three the next morning.”
Nathan’s first night at the New Orleans Saloon was uneventful. After eleven o’clock, there was no demand for a house dealer. The few patrons seemed content to hunch over the tables, nursing their beers. A few minutes before midnight, Nathan was leaning on the bar, talking to the barkeep, when a stranger in a dark suit entered the saloon.
“Sheriff Behan,” said the barkeep under his breath.
Behan approached the bar, nodded to the barkeep, and eyed Nathan questioningly.
“I’m Nathan Stone,” said Nathan. “House dealer.”
“Sheriff John Behan,” the lawman said. “I always like to know who the dealers are.”
“I don’t blame you,” Nathan said. “I was sheriff in Dodge for a while and, my friend, I don’t envy you your job.”
Behan laughed. “Believe it or not, there are some who’d like to have it.”
He moved on, a quiet man dressed all in black, like a preacher or undertaker, with a black bow tie over a white boiled shirt.
Wednesday night, Nathan’s second night at the New Orleans, began quietly. At six-thirty, a distant church bell chimed, summoning the faithful to prayer meeting. It offered a contrast in a town fraught with strife, and for a moment it reminded Nathan of his childhood. Long ago, in Virginia, there had been a church on the town square, and in its tower a great brass bell ...
“Damn,” said the barkeep when four men shouldered their way into the saloon, “it’s the Clantons and the McLaurys.”
“Bottle an’ four glasses,” said one of the four as they approached the bar.
He dropped his money on the bar and took the tray with bottle and glasses. The four made their way to a table.
“That’s Ike and Billy Clanton with their backs to us,” the barkeep said, “and the two that’s facin’ us is Frank and Tom McLaury.”
The barkeep’s voice trailed off, for Tom and Frank McLaury were watching. Not until the four eventually left the saloon did the barkeep speak again.
“There’s been a cuss fight goin’ on all summer, with the Clantons and McLaurys on one side and the Earps on the other. I hope there’s none of ’em in here when they start pullin’ guns.”
“You really think it’s coming to that?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah,” said the barkeep, “and I ain’t by myself. Most ever‘body knows it’s comin’. We just ain’t sure of the time and place.”
“I’ve heard some talk,” Nathan said. “What position is the town taking?”
“Most folks ain’t takin’ sides,” said the barkeep. “Some—the church-going’ bunch—is down on Wyatt Earp. He run out on his wife and married another woman.”33
The following Sunday, Nathan rode out to Mel Holt’s ranch for dinner. Empty had identified them as friend and took his place on the back porch.
“Well,” said Holt, “I reckon you’ve jumped in amongst ’em. How is it?”
Nathan laughed. “No trouble yet. A pair of Clantons and the McLaurys came in and shared a bottle.”
“There’s rumors of more rustlers comin’ to the territory,” Holt said, “and they’re all bein’ sheltered by the Clantons and the McLaurys.”
The first trouble involving Nathan Stone took place not in the saloon but in the New Orleans Restaurant next door. Nathan had gone there for supper, and to his surprise Doc Holliday took the table next to his. The waitress who brought Holliday his coffee appeared nervous, and her trembling hand lost its grip. The cup struck the table, splashing coffee all over the front of Holliday’s boiled shirt, bringing him to his feet in an instant. Cursing, he seized the frightened waitress by the arm and she screamed.
“Let her go, Holliday,” Nathan said.
In a single motion Holliday turned and went for his gun, only to find himself looking into the muzzle of Nathan Stone’s Colt.
“I think you owe the lady an apology for your ungentlemanly conduct,” said Nathan.
Furious, Holliday looked as though he might pull the gun, although Nathan already had him covered, but Elsie Lanham intervened.
“Is there a problem here,” Elsie inquired.
“I don’t think so,” said Nathan. “Mr. Holliday was a mite upset when his coffee was spilled, but he’s gotten over it. Haven’t you, Holliday?”
“Yes,” Holliday choked, almost in a whisper.
“I’ll wait on you myself,” said Elsie, “and if you’ll bring your soiled shirt to me, I will see that it’s washed and ironed.”
“Never mind,” Holliday said in his clipped, emotionless voice. “I am leaving.”
Seizing his top hat and cane, Holliday stalked out the door without looking back.
“I’m sorry,” the offending waitress sobbed. “I was afraid of him.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Nathan. “Elsie, it was an accident. He may not come back, and if he doesn’t, you won’t be hurt.”
“I agree,” Elsie said, “but I’m not all that sure about you. He’s a dangerous man.”
“When the occasion calls for it,” said Nathan, “so am I.”
CHAPTER 23
Medina, Texas March 1, 1881
Tameka and Wovoka, the Lipan Apaches Frank Bell employed to gentle his horses, had a hut of their own, and Wes Tremayne spent much of his free time there, listening to the aged Indians talk about horses. Having spent most of their lives near the white man, the old ones spoke English well and they seemed amused at Wes Tremayne’s interest. Wes spoke to them regarding the three men Frank Bell had hired, and found them sharing his own suspicions.
“We know of them,” said Wovoka. “They steal from us three summers ago.”
“You should have hunted them down,” Wes said. “Why
didn’t you?”
“We still with Lipan tribe,” said Tameka. “Have treaty with white man. Chief say we not fight.”
“A treaty with the white man shouldn’t allow white outlaws to steal from you,” Wes said. “You’re not living with the tribe now. I believe these and other whites will steal from Frank Bell as they once stole from your people. Will you not fight?”
“We fight,” said Wovoka. “We will.”
“You have the Winchester, the long gun?”
“Si,” they replied in a single voice.
“Starting tonight,” said Wes, “here is what I wish you to do.”
Quickly, Wes laid out his plan for protecting the horses, and the old Indians nodded in satisfaction. Wes then went . on to the house, where he would make Frank Bell aware of as much of the plan as he wished the rancher to know.
“Mr. Bell,” Wes said, “I have a plan to protect the horses.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Bell.
“At night, move all the horses into one of the barns. Post Gerdes, Withers, and Strum outside with Winchesters. Order them to shoot anybody approaching the barn between dusk and dawn.”
“I reckon that’s about all we can do,” said Bell. “Where are you plannin’ to be?”
“Out there in the dark, with a Winchester,” Wes said. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed the most. If the rustlers strike, we’ll have to hit them as hard as we can, because there’ll be no tracking them until dawn.”
“I’ll take a Winchester and join you, then,” said Bell.
“No,” Wes said. “You may be needed to defend the house. Until this is settled, I’d like Rebecca to spend her nights there with you and Martha.”
Bell was quick to agree, while Rebecca was reluctant.
“Why can’t I bring my gun and come with you?”
“Because I don’t know what to expect,” said Wes. “If I end up shooting at shadows, I want to be sure you’re not one of them.”
Wes had suggested that Bell relay orders to Gerdes, Strum, and Withers, and Bell did so. Well before dark, Tameka and Wovoka, armed with Winchesters, took the position Wes had assigned them. After supper, Wes took his Winchester and left the Bell house, disappearing into the gathering darkness.
“I hope it all works out according to his plans,” said Rebecca.
“He seems like a resourceful young man,” Martha Bell said.
After five quiet nights, Frank Bell began to doubt the outlaws would strike.
“Somebody has to report to them,” said Wes. “They’ll want to know where the horses are being kept and what kind of defense you have planned.”
“How do you suppose they’d be learning that?” Bell asked.
“I reckon we’ll know more about that after the attack,” said Wes.
Outwardly there was no charge in the ranch routine, except that all the horses were now being taken into one of the barns at night. The three men Frank Bell had hired were dutifully taking their positions at dusk. The Indian horse trainers retired to their hut at the end of the day. Only Wes Tremayne knew that the pair of Lipan Apaches crept out into the night with their deadly Winchesters, their eyes on the trio standing watch at the barn. The attack came late on a Sunday night. Winchesters roared in the darkness and ranch house windows exploded with a tinkling crash. Seizing his own Winchester, Frank Bell fired at muzzle flashes. He doubted the effectiveness of his fire until somewhere beyond the line of marauders another Winchester cut loose. Wes Tremayne! They had a cross fire going!
“Back off and ride,” somebody shouted.
The attack on the house ended as abruptly as it had begun. Frank Bell ceased firing, and in the silence that followed, there were footsteps on the back porch.
“Hold your fire,” Wes said. “I’m comin’ in.”
He came in, Winchester under his arm, and Rebecca ran to him.
“What about the horses?” Bell asked.
“Let’s go have a look,” said Wes. “There was some shooting near the barn.”
One of the big barn doors stood open, and a horse nickered.
“Tameka,” Wes called. “Wovoka.”
Two figures separated themselves from the shadows, Winchesters at the ready.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Bell asked.
“I told them of the thieves,” said Wes, “and asked them to watch the barn, to guard against the rustlers.”
“That’s what I expected of Gerdes, Strum, and Withers,” Bell said. “Where are they?”
“Them rustlers,” said Wovoka. “Them steal, them die.”
He vanished into the shadows, Tameka following.
“Come on, Mr. Bell,” Wes said. “They have something to show you.”
The clouds slipped away and a pale quarter moon added its light to that of the distant twinkling stars. They reached Withers’ body first. The three horses he had taken had been tethered to a pine limb, and were nickering their fear at the smell of blood. Gates and Strum were soon found in similar positions, just as dead, near the horses they had taken.
“Well, by God,” said Bell, “while the rest of the bunch was blastin’ hell out of the house, these three varmints was takin’ the horses.”
“Yes,” Wes said, “the attack on the house was a diversion. The three at the barn were part of the gang and were taking the horses.”
“I played right into their hands when I hired the varmints,” said Bell.
“It couldn’t have worked out better if you’d planned it,” Wes said. “We were able to take them on our terms.”
“But how did you know? How did Tameka and Wovoka ... ?”
“I didn’t know anything for sure,” said Wes. “I’ve had enough dealings with outlaws that I didn’t trust the men you had hired, and when I spoke to Tameka and Wovoka, they recognized Gerdes, Strum, and Withers as horse thieves who had stolen from the Lipan Apaches in the past. They saw a chance to even an old score, and I had them watching the three hombres you hired.”
“Well, hell, you could of told me, and—”
“It would have been the word of two old Indians against
that of three white men,” Wes finished. ”Now you can see with your own eyes what these men were about to do. Is there any doubt in your mind?”
“None,” said Bell. “I just wish we could have gunned down the others.”
“You don’t know that we didn’t hit some of them,” Wes said. “We were shooting at their muzzle flashes. Come first light, we’ll take a look.”
“There’ll be tracks,” said Bell. “Since they didn’t get away with any horses, there ain’t much reason for ’em ridin’ for the border. Let’s go after the varmints.”
“I’d agree,” Wes said, “but we’d be leaving the ranch and the horses unprotected.”
“Yesterday, I’d have felt that way myself,” said Bell, “but no more. I reckon Wovoka and Tameka are worth a dozen white men, even if I knew that many I could trust.”
“Give them the run of the ranch, with the authority they need,” Wes said. “These old ones take pride in the horses they have gentled, and they’ll greet horse thieves with lead, just as they did tonight.”
“I believe it,” said Bell. “There’s a hell of a lot more to them than just horse savvy. I aim to visit that Lipan village and hire some more of them, if they’ll come.”
Tombstone, Arizona Territory September 15, 1881
During his off hours, Nathan made it a point to visit the elegant Oriental Saloon. On one of those occasions, he encountered both Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. Neither man had anything to say, but when Nathan’s eyes met theirs, there was no mistaking the open hostility. Nathan had a beer and left the saloon.
“Rustling’s on the upswing,” Mel said when Nathan next visited the Holts. “Virgil and the rest of the Earps has been accusin’ the McLaurys and the Clantons.”
“I know,” said Nathan. “I’ve been hearing the same talk. You’re right. I reckon some powder will be burnt before this is over.”
/> Norris Lanham had some advice for Nathan.
“We can’t keep them out of the saloon, Nathan, but we can avoid getting sucked into the fight. Don’t give any one of them an excuse to pull a gun.”
“Suppose I catch one of them slick dealing?”
“You’ll have to call them on that,” said Norris. “Just try to avoid killing anybody. I’d not want you shot in the back as a grudge killing.”
“You think they’d resort to that over a poker hand?”
“Probably not the Earps or Holliday,” Norris said. “I suppose it’s a matter of pride with them, but not so with the McLaurys and the Clantons. They were here long before the Earps and Holliday arrived, and there were plenty of unsolved murders, every one of them from ambush.”
“Holiday and the Earps are pushing their luck, then,” said Nathan. “It’s one thing to have a man face you in an even break, and another to have him shoot you in the back.”
“True,” Lanham said, “but such an ambush could backfire. If Holliday or one of the Earps were ambushed, there wouldn’t be much doubt as to the guilty parties. That would result in open season on the Clantons and McLaurys, and they would become outlaws, to be shot on sight.”
“Then the Earps and Holliday are trying to push the Clantons and McLaurys into an open fight,” said Nathan.
“I wouldn’t want you crediting me with the possibility,” Lanham replied, “but can you come up with anything else that makes sense?”
“No,” said Nathan. “There’s a reason for everything, and only a damn fool gets himself gunned down in another man’s fight. I’m going to just stand back and watch this one from the sidelines. What’s Holliday’s stake in this, besides his being friendly with Wyatt Earp?”
“Holliday has more cause for a grudge than the Earps,” Lanham said. “For the past several years, there’s been a rash of stage holdups. Last March, the McLaurys took the stand and testified against Holliday, implicating him in a stage robbery in which two men were killed. Holliday was acquitted, but it resulted in his everlasting hatred for Frank and Tom McLaury.”
Autumn of the Gun Page 33