“Well, Mr. Stone, what is your opinion of our vintage wine?”
“I’m impressed,” Nathan lied, “but I can’t believe you’re taking it all the way to Colorado just to sell it to the saloons.”
She laughed. “Hardly, Mr. Stone. Because of the mines, Colorado has wealthy men to whom price is no object. We will sell to the highest bidder, by the bottle or by the case.”
“It’s out of my reach, then,” said Nathan, “and I’m obliged for the sample. I reckon I’ll turn in, so I can get an early start in the morning.”
Taking his saddle, Nathan led his horse upriver a hundred yards. There he settled down for the night. Later there would be a moon, offering enough light for him to learn the secret of the wagon—or to be shot should he be discovered. Empty crept out of the brush and lay down beside Nathan, and there they waited until an hour past moonrise. The camp downriver became quiet, the silence unbroken but for the horses and mules cropping grass. Slowly Nathan made his way along the river bank, keeping within the shadows until he could see the sleeping camp. Moonlight bled through the trees, isolating those who slept in pools of shadow. But only seven of them slept, and that meant one man was on watch. Nathan waited patiently, his eyes on the wagon, until the sentry took a draw from his quirly. Nathan grinned in the darkness. The man was within the shadow of the wagon, his back to a rear wheel, but each time he took a draw from his smoke, the small glow gave away his position. Nathan continued along the river bank until he was well beyond the camp. He then had to cross a clearing and make his way to the wagon, bringing him in behind the man on watch. Once he was able to buffalo the sentry, he would have only until the man regained his senses. In that short interval, he must investigate the contents of the wagon, return to his horse, and make his escape. While the six in uniform were just poor excuses for soldiers, they looked like the kind who could and would shoot to kill. Nathan reached the side of the wagon opposite the sentry, and on hands and knees, began making his way under the old Studebaker.36
“Damn,” the sentry muttered, getting to his feet. The fire had fallen from his smoke, and he brushed it from his clothing. Again he sat down, his back to the wheel; using his hat to shield the flame, he relighted his quirly.
It wasn’t easy, slugging a man through the spokes of a wagon wheel, but Nathan did it. But his victim was only stunned, and Nathan was forced to hit him again. Some of the sleeping men, should they awaken, would easily be able to see Nathan at the tailgate of the wagon, but it was a chance he’d have to take. All of them were between him and his grazing horse, leaving him in a perilous position should he be discovered. The wagon’s canvas pucker was drawn, affording him little room to do more than investigate with his hands. He quickly discovered there were wooden cases stacked high as the wagon bows allowed, and the only choice he had was to remove a bottle from the case André La Mie had already opened. Carefully he lifted out a bottle and froze, for the cold muzzle of a gun was just behind his left ear.
“Don’t you even breathe, Stone,” said Kendall. “There’s nothin’ I’d like better than to just blow your brains out right now, but you got some talkin’ to do first.”
CHAPTER 25
Uvalde, Texas, September 18, 1881
Wes never seemed to gain on the lone horseman, and a few miles west of Uvalde the tracks merged with those of five other horses. The six riders continued on together, and it was obvious they were bound for the border. Even more curious were the tracks of yet another horse that had galloped in from the east. This rider seemed in pursuit of the first six, yet Wes doubted he was part of the gang. Who was he and what was the purpose of his pursuit? Wes had ridden only another mile or two when he saw a rider approaching from the south. He reined up, waiting, and soon recognized Texas Ranger Bodie West.
“Lost them at the border,” said West in disgust, slapping his dusty hat against his thigh. “They hit Bell’s place, I reckon?”
“One of them did,” Wes said. “I didn’t know about the others until all of them came together back yonder a ways.”
“They didn’t rustle any stock,” said West. “Word I got was, they had shot up half a dozen ranches. Nothing but harassment.”
“A hell of a lot more than that at the Bell ranch,” Wes said.
“Somebody hurt?”
“Somebody dead,” said Wes. “Rebecca.”
“My God,” West said, removing his hat. “The little lady. Tell me about it.”
He listened, swearing under his breath as Wes told him the tragic story. When Wes had finished, the young Ranger spoke. His voice was brittle and savage, and his eyes like live coals.
“Remember, I told you not to chase them across the border?”
“Yes,” Wes said, “I remember.”
“That was Bodie West, Texas ranger, talking. Now you’re about to hear from Bodie West, the man, the Texan. Ride the bastards down, if you have to run them all the way to Mexico City. Make them pay in blood.”
“I aim to,” said Wes. “I’ve just learned that a man can ride headlong into a thing that stands taller than the United States Congress and the president, all stacked up in a pile.”
“Amen,” West said. “Good luck.”
He rode forth, not looking back. Wes kicked his horse into a lope and continued on toward the border. When he reached the Rio Grande, it was no more than a trickle. He rode across and found a profusion of tracks where the men he pursued had reined up. He could almost see them as they looked back across the river, smirking. He rested his horse, allowed the animal to drink, and rode on into the wilds of Mexico. He doubted they would attempt to ambush him, for they wouldn’t be expecting pursuit. Eventually they had to hole up. Wes had no idea which of the men had fired the shots that had resulted in Rebecca’s death, but it didn’t matter. He would gun them all down.
Half a dozen miles south of the border, in a secluded cabin, six men sat around a table, sharing a bottle. A fire blazed on the hearth, and a Mexican woman patiently turned a spit on which a beef haunch sizzled.
“Them ranchers won’t be expectin’ us again so soon,” one of the men said. “I say we run off some more hosses tomorrow night.”
“You ain’t bossin’ this outfit, Snake,” one of his companions said. “Bell ain’t got more than two hosses on his place, and some of the others got none.”
“I know I ain’t the boss,” Snake said, “but by God, I oughta be. Ellerbee’s a damn fool, havin’ us hide out with Winchesters, pourin’ lead at them ranchers. All we’re doin’ is lettin’ ’em know we’re still around. Why should they buy more stock, knowin’ we’re just waitin’ to rustle it?”
“Stompin’ around and squallin’ at us won’t change anything, Snake,” said a companion. “Why don’t you jump on Ellerbee and lay your advice on him?”
They all laughed uproariously.
“Maybe I will,” Snake growled.
“Humo,” the Mexican woman shouted. “Humo.”
The room was filling with smoke as it wafted down in great clouds.
“Damn it,” somebody shouted, “this place is afire.”
“Ah, hell,” said Snake, “the chimney ain’t drawin’ right. Open the shutters, some of you, while I git on the roof an’ run a pole down the chimney.”
Having covered the chimney with his coat, Wes Tremayne was awaiting just such a move by the outlaws. When Snake left the cabin, Wes got a stranglehold on him with a brawny left arm. Once, twice, three times the knife in his right hand was driven into the struggling outlaw’s chest. Quickly, Wes dragged the body around to the side of the cabin. The others wouldn’t discover it until they were outside, and then it would be too late.
“Damn it, Snake,” one of the outlaws shouted, “what are you doin’ up there? Smoke’s gittin’ worse.”
Wes had concealed himself within rifle range, prepared for the inevitable finale. What he hadn’t counted on was the presence of the woman, and she was first out the door. Wes held his fire. With his first shot, the element of surprise w
ould be gone. Fortunately, the woman backed away from the cabin, attempting to see what was obstructing the chimney. Coughing and wheezing, the outlaws came out, rubbing their eyes. Wes fired as rapidly as he could jack shells into the firing chamber of the Winchester. The five outlaws died on their feet, without getting off a single shot. The Mexican woman ran screeching into the brush, and Wes lit out on the run toward his waiting horse. For sure, if there were more of the outlaws, the terrified woman would get word to them. Worse, the cabin wasn’t that far from the border, and the shots might have been heard by the Mexican border patrol. From the rise where he had first spotted the cabin, Wes reined up and looked back. There were the bodies of the dead outlaws and no sign of the woman. He felt no remorse, for his mind was full of Rebecca when she had lay dying. His words were for her, as he spoke aloud, and his voice broke.
“Vaya con Dios, Querido. I can do no more.”
Once more he looked back toward the distant cabin as three horsemen entered the clearing. From their sombreros, he judged they were Mexican. He kept his horse at a slow gallop until he crossed the Rio Grande and was again in Texas.
New Mexico Territory November 3, 1881
Nathan had no choice. He returned the wine bottle to the case from which he’d taken it and backed away from the wagon. By then the rest of the camp was fully awake, and it was the woman—Kit La Mie—who took charge.
“It is regrettable, Mr. Stone, that you obviously do not believe what you were told.”
“I had trouble sleeping,” Nathan said. “I just wanted another shot of that wine.”
“I might have accepted that if you had asked, but your actions suggest something entirely different. Who sent you after us?”
Nathan laughed. “And your actions suggest a guilty conscience, Mrs. La Mie.”
“He ain’t the kind to talk,” said Kendall. “Let me pistol whip the bastard.”
“That’s a mite heavyhanded for military discipline, Captain Kendall,” Nathan said.
“Hell,” said one of the privates, “Captain Kendall ain’t had time to learn. He ain’t been in that uniform but two weeks.”
“Damn you, Baird,” Kendall said, “shut your mouth.”
“All of you hold your tongues,” Kit La Mie snapped, “or I’ll dismiss the lot of you.”
“Mrs. La Mie,” said Nathan, “you can drop the play-acting for my benefit. I’ve forgotten more soldiering than these saloon rats will ever know.”
“I daresay you have,” Kit La Mie said, “and that’s created a problem for you, Stone. I had hoped we wouldn’t have to kill you.”
“You murdered the soldiers who once wore those uniforms,” said Nathan. “What’s one more dead man?”
“Damn it, Kit,” André shouted, “he knows about the nitro.”
“He does now, you fool,” said Kit.
Nathan now knew enough to buy time, to bargain for his life, and he laughed in their faces before he spoke.
“You didn’t stand a chance of getting away with it. Only the government’s allowed to have nitroglycerin. You’ll never be able to dispose of it.”
“It won’t make any difference to you, federal man,” said André. “You’ll be dead.”
“Wrong,” Nathan said. “If I don’t telegraph Washington from Pueblo, it’s all of you who’ll be dead.”
“Hell,” said Kendall, “he’s bluffing.”
Nathan laughed. “Can you afford to risk it, Captain?”
His words dripped with sarcasm, and Kendall would have shot Nathan point blank if André La Mie hadn’t seized his arm. The slug blasted into the ground at Nathan’s feet.
“Damn you, Kendall,” said La Mie, “he’s right. We can’t afford to risk it. He was able to trail us this far, and he knows about the soldiers. We’ll have to take him with us. He may be useful as a hostage, if the federals are waiting for us in Pueblo.”
“How in hell are the federals goin’ to know we’re bound for Pueblo?” Gannon wanted to know.
“They know you and your bunch bushwhacked those soldiers,” said André, “and they were able to get Stone here well ahead of us. Why shouldn’t they know the rest?”
“He’s right,” Kit said. “Kendall, you keep Stone covered. André, get behind him and take his weapons. He goes with us.”
But none of them were aware of Empty, and using the shadows for cover, the dog had crept under the wagon. He waited until André was between Nathan and the wagon and then darted out, sinking his teeth into La Mie’s leg. La Mie howled in pain, and Nathan used the distraction to good advantage. He turned, his left arm seizing La Mie, while a cocked Colt appeared like magic in his right hand. When he spoke, his voice was cold, deadly.
“Now, Mrs. La Mie, you tell your play soldiers to lift their weapons and throw them over yonder in the brush. One bad move and André’s backbone—assuming he has one—won’t be his any longer.”
“You heard him,” said Kit La Mie. “Dispose of your weapons.”
“No, by God,” Kendall shouted.
He pulled the trigger, and again his slug tore into the ground, for Nathan had shot him in the right shoulder. His pistol thudded to the ground.
“Anybody else?” Nathan asked.
The others carefully drew their weapons and tossed them away.
“André is going to walk me to my horse,” said Nathan. “Whether or not he’s able to walk back will depend on the rest of you varmints. Let’s go, André.”
Using La Mie as a shield, Nathan backed away from them until he was lost in shadows beneath sheltering trees. Reaching his horse, he hit La Mie upside the head with the muzzle of his Colt and eased the unconscious man to the ground. Quickly he saddled his horse and rode north, Empty a fleeting shadow ahead of him.
“He’s gone,” La Mie shouted, regaining his senses. “Get him.”
“Get him yourself,” Kendall bawled. “I’m shot.”
Nathan reined up, listening to them curse one another.
“We can’t be more than a hundred and fifty miles south of Santa Fe, Empty. There’ll be soldiers and the telegraph. That much nitroglycerin calls for a telegram to Byron Silver in Washington.”
Confusion reined at the wagon, as André La Mie staggered back into the clearing. Not one of the pseudo soldiers had made a move to go after Nathan, and Kit La Mie was in a fury. She turned on the still-shaken André.
“Since he’s escaped,” she said, “we’ll have to abandon the wagon, take a pair of the mules, and ride.”
“Like hell,” said the phony Sergeant Gannon. “You promised us a cut when this wagonload of stuff was sold, and we bushwhacked that soldier escort to git it. Now we just ain’t about to give it up. You, missy, git over yonder and patch up Kendall’s wound. Come mornin’, we’re takin’ this wagon north, like we planned, and we ain’t gonna be takin’ it slow.”
“You damn fools,” André said, “all that wagon needs is one good jolt, and there’ll be bits of you scattered all over the territory.”
“Maybe,” said Gannon, “but you promised us money. Big money. And we ain’t of a mind to be done out of it by you not havin’ the sand to see it through.”
Even the wounded Kendall joined the others in a chorus of angry approval.
“We’re not risking federal prison for the likes of you,” Kit La Mie said, “and we’re not risking being scattered all over New Mexico by the careless handling of that wagonload of nitroglycerin. Now you find Stone and silence him and we’ll go on from there.”
“Hell,” said Private Ponder, “we can’t trail him in the dark.”
“You’d better give it a shot,” André La Mie said. “A man on a good horse can be in Santa Fe by late tomorrow.”
“He’s right,” said Kit. “Allow Stone to reach a town where there’s a lawman, and the lot of you will be backed up against a wall, facing real soldiers with loaded rifles.”
Half a dozen miles north, Nathan reined up, listening. The La Mies and their cut throat bunch had two choices. They could fol
low him with the intention of silencing him, or they could abandon the wagonload of deadly explosive and escape.
“They’ll be followin’ us, Empty,” said Nathan. “That woman’s a regular wampus kitty with three-inch claws, and I expect that bunch of make-believe soldiers has been promised part of the spoils. I reckon we could stay ahead of the varmints, but it purely rubs me the wrong way to tuck my tail and run. We’re a good seven hours from first light. We’ll just settle down and wait for them.”
San Antonio, Texas September 20, 1881
Wes had no trouble finding the Texas Ranger outpost, and Bodie West didn’t seem in the least surprised to see him.
“I’d like to leave a message for Frank Bell,” Wes said.
“Write it out,” said Bodie. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
Taking the pencil and paper that Bodie offered, Wes wrote:Mr. Bell, Rebecca has been avenged. There are six less skunks to bother you. Wes.
“It’s not private,” Wes said, passing the message to the Ranger. “Read it.”
West read it quickly and extended his hand. Wes took it.
“You won’t be riding back to Bell’s, I reckon,” said West.
“No,” Wes said. “I left Rebecca there, and it’ll be hard enough, forgetting, without it all bein’ so ... close to me.”
“I understand,” said West. “I’ll get your message to Bell, and I promise nobody else will ever see it.”
“I’m obliged,” Wes said. “I’ll see you again before I ride out.”
“Do that,” said West. “Meet me here in the morning, and I’ll buy your breakfast.”
While Wes didn’t hold much with saloons, they occasionally served as a means of occupying one’s mind, crowding out unpleasant or painful memories. Wes had developed a liking for poker and always won more than he lost, so he made the rounds of the better saloons. He was invited upstairs at the Cattleman’s Emporium, but the near-naked girls on the floor distracted him and he soon left. He sat in on a poker game at the Star and took three pots in a row. One of the other men got up and leaned across the table, his hard eyes on Wes. Finally he spoke.
Autumn of the Gun Page 36