St. Louis, Missouri. February 12, 1866.
Nathan reined up near the steamboat landing just as a big sternwheeler was preparing to depart. A mighty blast of the whistle frightened Nathan’s horse and Cotton Blossom behind him. Nathan rode on along the river, following a winding, rutted street. There were warehouses, cafes, saloons, and bawdy houses. Just as Nathan rode past a dive called the Emerald Dragon, a man was thrown bodily out the door. Somewhere ahead there was a shot, followed by loud cursing. Nathan took the first side street that led away from the river. He needed to find a hotel or boardinghouse and a livery for the horse, but he wanted to distance himself from the brawling, hell-raising riverfront. The streets were crowded with bearded mountain men with packs, ex-soldiers, fancy women, dogs, gamblers, hard-eyed men with tied-down guns, and a variety of others who did not seem to fit into a category. None of them gave Nathan a second look, and he felt all the more certain that the men he was seeking might linger here for a while. Perhaps some of them lived here.
Nathan didn’t like being too far from his horse, so he sought a hotel with a livery nearby. He finally chose a boardinghouse. The sign said Rooms by the Day, Week, or Month. Behind the place, across an alley, was a livery. Nathan entered the boardinghouse, Cotton Blossom at his heels. A tall, thin old lady got up from a rocking chair. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles, had eyes like an eagle, and looked as though she had seen more of the world than she would have cared to.
“I need a room for a few nights,” Nathan said. “You got anything against my dog?”
“Not yet,” she snapped. “He makes a mess, you clean it up or pay to have it done. Dollar a night, five dollars a week, twenty dollars a month. You pay in advance.”
“A week, then,” said Nathan, handing her the money. “If I decide to stay longer, I’ll pay well in advance.”
“First room on the left, at the head of the stairs,” she said. Her eyes seemed to soften a little as she handed him the key.
The room was nothing to get excited about, but it was clean. There was an iron bed with straw tick, clean sheets, a pillow, and a pair of blankets. There was an ancient dresser, and on the wall above it, a cracked mirror held in place with bent nails. There was a blue granite wash basin, a matching water pitcher, and a single chair. A coil of rope lay next to the only window, one end tied to the iron leg of the bed. The fire escape. Nathan placed his saddle in the corner, along with his bedroll.
“Make yourself at home, Cotton Blossom. I aim to rest my bones for a bit before I go out and have a look at this town. If this ain’t the jumpin’-off place, it’ll do till a bettei one comes along.”
Nathan lay down across the bed and rested for an hour. By then it was nearly supper time, and he hadn’t eaten since the morning of the day before.
“Come on, Cotton Blossom. Let’s find some grub.”
Nathan avoided the fancy places, choosing one that had no tablecloths and plain wooden benches instead of chairs. The place was virtually empty, and Nathan chose a table near the counter. Cotton Blossom sat on the floor beside him, and the cook in his greasy apron cast a dubious eye at the dog.
“We don’t generally allow dogs in here.”
“I reckon you don’t generally have dogs that are paying customers, either,” Nathan said.
“That’s a fact,” said the cook. “What’ll he be havin’?”
“He’s not particular,” Nathan said. “Just be sure there’s plenty of it.”
Nathan ordered roast beef, fried potatoes, onions, apple pie, and coffee. Cotton Blossom got the trimmings from the beef haunch, and there was plenty.
“No charge for him,” said the cook, as Cotton Blossom wolfed down the food. “He’s got the trimmings from that beef haunch, and I’d just throw them out, anyhow. Never seen a hound in my life that didn’t eat like he was two hours away from death by starvation.”
Being only three or four blocks from his boarding house, Nathan was afoot, and after he and Cotton Blossom left the cafe, Nathan decided to walk another block or two along the street. A buckboard clattered past, going his way, and a young girl was driving. Half a block ahead, as the buckboard neared an alley, a man stepped out and seized the bridle of the horse. He ripped the reins from the girl’s hands and led the horse into the shadows. The girl screamed, and Nathan was off and running. By the time Nathan reached the alley, the girl’s antagonist had dragged her from the buckboard and had his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t cry out again. Nathan drew and cocked his Colt.
“Let her go,” said Nathan.
“I reckon not,” the stranger said. “You drill me, and it’ll be through her.”
But the girl was resourceful and the odds changed in a heartbeat. She went limp and slipped out of the man’s grasp. His hand flew to the butt of his Colt, but before he cleared leather, Nathan shot him just below the Durham tag that trailed from the left pocket of his shirt. Nathan seized the girl from the ground and hoisted her onto the buckboard’s seat. He vaulted to the seat in the driver’s position, took the reins and backed the buckboard out into the rutted street. He trotted the horse as fast as he dared, lest they draw unwanted attention, taking the first side street. Only then did he speak to the girl.
“They’ll be looking for us,” he said. “Where can we hide ourselves, the horse and the buckboard?”
“Drive to my house,” she said. “There’s a barn.”
He followed her directions and they were soon out of town. Although the house and barn seemed secluded, the trip took only minutes, and Nathan judged they were no more than two or three miles from town. The girl got down, opened the gate, and closed it behind them. She again got down when they reached the barn and opened the doors for Nathan to drive in. When she had closed the big doors, Nathan spoke.
“We left a dead man back there, ma’am. While I unhitch the horse and rub him down, maybe you’d better tell me what this is all about. You can start with your name. I’m Nathan Stone.”
“I’m Molly Tremayne, and that was Frank Larkin. He’s a brute, and he’s been after me for months. Mama and Daddy took a boat to Memphis, and I drove them into town.”
“They’d go to Memphis and leave you here alone?”
“Why not? I’m twenty-one years old, and I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Well, you were screeching pretty fierce when the brute—old Frank—drug you out of the wagon. Should I have minded my own business and let him have his way with you?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “It’s time he was taught a lesson. Daddy always liked Frank, and he’d just laugh when I’d tell him ...”
“So old Frank felt like he had a claim on you,” Nathan said.
“Yes, damn him. He’d waylay me every chance he got, and ...”
“So I shot and killed a man who was about to violate you with your daddy’s blessing,” said Nathan.
“He was going to kill you,” she shouted.
“Not until I interrupted his fun,” Nathan said. “How do I know he hasn’t had you before, and was just comin’ back for seconds?”
Nathan caught the foot she drove at his crotch and threw her flat on her back, her long skirt swirling over her head. She directed some very unladylike language at him so hard his ears rang. Nathan caught her in a bear hug, pinning her arms, kissing her hard on the mouth. She fought furiously, but he didn’t let up, and she began to respond. His arms went around her waist and hers around his neck. When they finally came up for air it was Molly who spoke.
“No man’s ever had me,” she said softly, “and none ever will. Not until I’m ready. Come on to the house.”
Molly Tremayne was a beautiful woman, with dark shoulder-length hair and deep brown eyes that were almost black. Snow had begun falling, and as the night wore on, Nathan knew he would be there at the dawn. He forgot the dead man in the alley, the vengeance trail that he rode—everything—except that moment. In the lonely years to come, as he rode the long trails, he would not forget young Molly Tremayne, for she was
about to leave him a legacy that would haunt him until the day he died.
Cotton Blossom had slept on the hearth, and Molly fed him his breakfast behind the kitchen stove. She then prepared breakfast for Nathan and herself. Little was said until they were finishing their coffee, and it was Molly who finally broke the silence.
“I’ll drive you into town for your horse and saddle,” she said.
Nathan had told her nothing about himself except that he had returned following four years with the Confederate army. He eyed the girl uneasily, aware that she was living in a dream that soon must become a nightmare. How was he going to leave her? Did he even want to? He had shared her bed last night, and in all probability, he would do so again tonight. She had given him all a woman had to give. Neither spoke as she drove him into town, allowing him time to think. He had gone to war before he’d been old enough to shave, and this was his first experience with a woman. Now he was beset with conflicting emotions, not knowing how he could ride away and leave her, yet knowing that he must. The hold she had on him was strong, but the oath he had taken on his father’s grave was stronger. He directed her to the boardinghouse, and when she reined up before it, he stepped down from the buckboard. When she had driven away, he went to his room, retrieving his saddle and bedroll. Taking a loss on most of a week’s rent, he crossed the alley and saddled the black horse. Before leaving town, he stopped and bought a copy of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
There was a piece on the front page of the paper about Frank Larkin’s death. Before the police had discovered the body, it had been robbed. Even the dead man’s boots had been taken, and robbery was the suspected motive. Nathan sighed. He had killed a man to save a woman’s virtue, and had then taken her for himself. And now this woman believed-as she had every right to, after last night—that she had a commitment from Nathan Stone. But she did not know it was a commitment he could not honor without being haunted by the last words of his dying father. Nathan returned to the Tremayne house, rode to the barn, and unsaddled the black horse. Without a word, Molly let him into the house. He sat down at the kitchen table and proceeded to read the rest of the newspaper. When he had finished, he looked up and found her eyes on him. She spoke with some sarcasm.
“Are we just going to sit here and look at one another until it’s time to go to bed?”
Nathan felt his face turning nine shades of red and his tongue seemed to have grown to the roof of his mouth. When he finally spoke, it was only to humiliate himself further.
“I .. uh ... was thinkin’ of sleepin’ in the barn tonight.”
To his total surprise, she laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. She then got up, sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. Embarrassed, unsure of himself, Nathan said nothing. Molly spoke softly.
“I was the ... first?”
“You were,” he admitted. “Was it ... I ... that obvious?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a man blush before.”
They laughed and Cotton Blossom trotted in from the kitchen to see what was going on. The rest of the day was pleasant, and their second night was spectacular. Lightning struck the next morning during breakfast.
“Now that the war’s behind you, what sort of trade do you have in mind, Nathan?” Molly asked.
There it was. She had caught him with a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. Carefully he set the cup down on the table.
“Daddy has influence in town,” she continued. “He could secure you a position ...”
Her voice trailed off as she read the terrible truth in his eyes. Before he spoke, she knew.
“Molly,” he said, the words choking him, “I can’t stay here. Please, let me tell you what I must do.”
She sat there in the stoney silence, and with every word he spoke, he could see her slipping farther and farther away from him. When he had finished, the very life seemed to go out of her, and when she finally spoke, her words were bitter.
“Killing these men will accomplish nothing, Nathan, except that in time you’ll sink down to their level.”
“Maybe,” said Nathan. “but it was my father’s dying request. That means something to me.”
“And I don’t? You can just ride away and forget what we have ... ?”
“Damn it,” he shouted desperately, “I didn’t say I’m never comin’ back. I will. I just don’t ... know when.”
“Then I’ll make it easy for you,” she shouted. “If you can just ride away, after ... after ... this, then don’t bother coming back at all. Now, damn you, get out of here, and if you’re determined to go straight to hell, then be on your way.”
Nathan heard her bolt the door behind him, and with heavy heart he walked to the barn, Cotton Blossom following. Returning to town, he left his horse at the livery. He still had his room at the boardinghouse, so he toted his saddle and bedroll up the stairs, dropped them on the floor, and lay down on the bed. Cotton Blossom lay down next to the saddle, watching him.
“Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said, “leave the women alone. They’ll keep you walkin’ a thin line between heaven and hell, and come the morning, you never know which side of the line you’ll be on.”
Having nothing better to do, Nathan went out, bought the latest edition of the Globe-Democrat and returned to his room. He stretched out across the bed and on the front page read an account of a bank robbery in Clay County, Missouri. On February 13 the James and Younger gangs had taken sixty thousand dollars from the bank at Liberty, killing one man. The outlaws had made their escape, a posse in pursuit. On page two there was a photograph—an engraving—of a man that brought Nathan to his feet. The accompanying story said the man’s name was Bart Hankins, and that he had just returned home to Nevada, Missouri after serving with the Confederacy, and would become the vice president of his father’s bank.
“By God,” said Nathan aloud, “that’s one of them. The damned albino.”
There was a map on the wall at the railroad depot, and Nathan hunted for Nevada, finally finding it in western Missouri, almost on the Kansas line.
Four days after arriving in St. Louis, Nathan Stone rode out, again heading west. Having added to his supplies before leaving St. Louis, Nathan avoided towns, keeping to open country. He kept his cook fires small, dousing them before dark. Despite Nathan’s precautions, the second day after leaving St. Louis, he discovered two riders on his back trail. Each time he topped a rise he watched for them, and they never gained. He was being followed and when the duo made no attempt to get ahead of him, he could draw but one conclusion. They intended to approach his camp after dark and murder him while he slept. Nathan considered an ambush of his own, but he had no long gun, and this was open country. He could get them within range of his Colt only by allowing them to approach his camp after dark, believing that he slept. With that in mind, he made camp before dark, in a cluster of rocks near a creek. He ate broiled ham, drank hot coffee, and fed Cotton Blossom. He then spread his bedroll, placing some stones under the blankets to give them body. The black horse he picketed near the creek. It was already dark, and he settled down a few yards away from his empty bedroll. He drew and cocked his Colt, his left hand restraining Cotton Blossom. While he appreciated the dog’s vigilance, this was no time for a warning growl. Fearing the black horse would nicker a warning, his pursuers would have to approach on foot.
Nathan waited for what he judged to be an hour, and he knew they were coming long before he heard or saw them. Cotton Blossom began to bristle, and Nathan tightened his hold on the dog, lest he growl or bark. There was no moon, but the starlight would be sufficient, for Nathan had chosen his camp carefully. There was no cover. Nathan listened for the telltale snick of hammers being eared back, but heard nothing. The pair would be approaching with their weapons drawn and cocked. Nathan could barely see them in the dim starlight, but that didn’t matter. The next move was theirs, and if it was what Nathan expected, it would be their last. Suddenly there was a roar of gunfire as the pair cut do
wn on Nathan’s empty bedroll. He fired four times. Once at each muzzle flash, and once to the right and left. Nathan heard what might have been the sound of a fallen pistol striking rock, and then nothing. But the tenseness had gone out of Cotton Blossom, all the assurance Nathan needed that the threat was no more. He took his bedroll, and with Cotton Blossom following, made his way to the creek where his horse was picketed. His pursuers wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would view the grisly remains by the light of day.
St. Joseph, Missouri. February 18, 1866.
Less than a week after their successful robbery of the bank at Liberty, Missouri, the James and Younger gangs were about to strike again. But not all the outlaws favored what Jesse had planned.
“Damn it, Dingus,” said Frank, “it’s too soon. We stirred up a hornet’s nest at Liberty. There’ll be Pinkertons everywhere.”
“Hell, there’s always Pinkertons everywhere,” Jesse said irritably. “Now I say we’re goin’ to take this bank at Nevada, Missouri. It’s south of here maybe a hundred and forty miles, and if there’s a posse, we won’t be that far from Indian Territory.”
“Jesse,” said Cole Younger, “Frank’s right about them Pinkertons. We got sixty thousand at Liberty. Ain’t that enough to satisfy you?”
“There’ll never be enough to satisfy me,” said Jesse. “If you ain’t got the sand to ride with us, you can always go home to your mama.”
With the dawn, Nathan had a look at the two men he had shot. They were well dressed, well armed, and were carrying—between them—three hundred dollars in gold. He took the gold and their Colts, and when he found their picketed horses, discovered that a third horse was equipped with a packsaddle. He loosened the diamond hitch, removed the tarp, and found a side of bacon, tins of condensed milk, coffee, sugar, and beans. On one of the saddled horses there was a Henry rifle, and in the saddlebag a considerable supply of ammunition for the weapon. Looping the reins about the saddle horns, Nathan slapped the two saddled horses on their rumps. He spread the canvas over the packsaddle and retied the hitch. Nathan felt no guilt in the taking of the pack horse, guns, ammunition and gold that had belonged to the pair of bushwhackers. Hadn’t they been about to rob and murder him? He saddled the black and mounted. Then, with the packhorse on a lead rope and Cotton Blossom trotting along behind, Nathan rode west. To Nevada, Missouri.
The Dawn of Fury Page 4