The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  Judge Sam Prater was the first to discover the two soldiers bound and gagged, and wasted no time in venting his wrath on the unfortunate Sergeant Dixon. But for once, Judge Sam Prater had met his match.

  “Sir,” said the sergeant, “you are not my commanding officer and I am not obliged to take orders from you. Yesterday you took advantage of me and my men, engaging us in a questionable activity of which my superiors would not have approved. As I see it, you detained, against his will, a man who had done no wrong. The military isn’t here to assist you in your personal activities, and lest there be some further misunderstanding, I am immediately removing myself and my men from your residence.”

  Unaccustomed to what he considered insubordination, Sam Porter was reduced to a blubbering fury. By the time he could speak, Sergeant Dixon and his men were gone. Eulie Prater chose that moment to descend the stairs, and her outraged father turned his wrath on her.

  “You brazen wench,” he bawled, “throwing yourself shamelessly at some no-account gambler, stripping for him ...”

  “Don’t forget the soldiers,” said Eulie calmly.

  “Damn the soldiers,” Prater shouted. “They allowed that four-flushing coyote to escape. You’ve disgraced us, damn you, and we’ve nothing to show for it.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” said Eulie defiantly. “He’s a man, and I wanted him. I still do. I just went about getting him the wrong way.”

  “Maybe it’s time I taught you some shame,” Prater snarled, removing his wide belt. He caught Eulie halfway up the stairs, and seizing the collar of her gown, ripped it from her body. He took her wrist, flinging her face-down on the stairs, beating her with the belt until his arm grew tired. Without a backward look he left her there, descending the stairs and leaving the house. Three nights later, with only the belongings she could carry behind her saddle, Eulie Prater left, never to return. She rode south, taking with her the two thousand dollars in gold from Judge Sam Prater’s cash box.

  San Antonio, Texas. July 6, 1866.

  There were more soldiers in San Antonio than there had been in Austin, and the government-appointed sheriff eyed Nathan with suspicion. He had made camp south of town, leaving the packhorse and Cotton Blossom there. In postwar Texas, a man appearing too prosperous—leading a packhorse—might be shot in the back for his possessions. To justify his presence, Nathan spent several days playing five-card stud in the Alamo Saloon. He kept all his bets small, attracting no attention. He visited other saloons for brief periods without learning anything about the six men he sought. After four days, he rode south, toward Laredo.

  He would follow the border south to Brownsville. If the killers he sought had ridden into Mexico, he believed the logical place for them to have crossed the border would have been the lonely stretch between Laredo and Brownsville. If, after reaching Brownsville the trail was still cold, he could ride north to Corpus Christi, to Houston, or eastward to New Orleans. So far he had nothing to show for his time in Texas except the killing of a pair of varmints intent on killing him. Nearing Laredo, Nathan didn’t bother riding in. He needed time to think, to plan. He stopped north of town, unsaddled his horse, unloaded the packhorse, and made camp near a creek.

  “By God, Cotton Blossom,” he said to the hound, “I’m sick of towns, sick of saloons, tired of shooting and being shot at. I’ll spread my blankets and stretch out here by the creek. What could possibly go wrong out here?”

  But something could and did. An hour before dark, Cotton Blossom growled and then barked, welcoming someone he recognized. And that was when Eulie Prater rode in.

  “You showed me the goods and I wasn’t interested,” Nathan shouted. “Now why in hell are you following me?”

  “Who says I’m following you?”

  “I say you are,” Nathan snapped. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” she said calmly. “My dear old daddy sent me.”

  “I’ll just bet he did,” Nathan said bitterly. “Did he remember to send your dowry too?”

  “Before I left, he gave me something to remember him by,” she said, dismounting. She removed her shirt, dropped her Levi’s to her ankles, and turned her back to him. From her shoulders to her knees, her body was a mass of ugly scars, and on top of them was the blue-black bruises of a recent beating.

  “Great God Almighty,” Nathan said. “You should have shot the heartless old varmint. Nobody would have faulted you.”

  “I did better than that,” she replied. “I cleaned out his cash box and took his favorite horse.”

  “And just what the hell am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. “You know I’m not lookin’ for a woman. You’ll only be in the way.”

  “Do with me what you please,” she said, “as long as you allow me to go with you. I can’t blame you if you hate me. What I did was wrong, and I’m sorry. Take me on your terms, but take me. I can’t go back. Ever.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to,” he said, “but I’m a gambler, and I live in a hard world where it’s shoot or be shot. I have nothing to offer you.”

  “Oh, but you do,” she said. “You’re a man. You’re every inch a man, and to a woman, that’s the most important of all.”

  Nathan unsaddled her horse and Eulie cooked their supper. Eventually she must know of the vengeance trail that he rode, and he vowed to tell her just as soon as the time seemed right. She spread her bedroll next to his, beside the creek. Sometime during the night he found her against him, her arm flung across his chest. He didn’t push her away ...

  In the light of dawn, Nathan had a better look at his new companion. She saw him appraising her and spoke.

  “I cut my hair short and dressed like a man. I thought that would make it easier on us both.”

  “Smart thinking,” said Nathan, “especially if your heart-broken old daddy sends somebody looking for you.”

  “If he sends anybody looking for me,” she said bitterly, “it’ll be to take back his gold and hang me for a horse thief.”

  “I don’t know how this is going to work out,” Nathan said. “I reckon this is goin’ to play hell with my nerves, you dressing and acting alike a man. I spend a lot of time in saloons, because that’s where the gambling is. There may be drunks with their drawers down. There’ll be swearing and all manner of dirty talk. It’s no place for a woman.”

  “I can’t say it won’t be a strain on me, remembering to think, act, and talk like a man,” she replied, “but it’s the only way. Besides, this is the frontier, and I can rope, ride, and shoot. There’s a .31-caliber Colt in my saddlebag. Damn it, I’m not some prissy female with lace on her drawers.”

  “I believe you,” he said with a grin. “If you wore any drawers, I’d not expect to find any lace on ’em.”

  They spent a few days and nights in Laredo, and not once was there any trouble. Eulie played her part well, and Nathan began breathing a bit easier. It was a strange relationship that began to appeal to him, for after all they had gone through at the Prater house, there were few secrets between them. The time Nathan spent in the saloons was again wasted, for he learned nothing of the killers he was seeking. Leaving Laredo, they took their time riding along the border. When they reached Brownsville, Nathan wanted to cross the river into Old Mexico. Matamoros was just across the border.

  Matamoros, Mexico. August 2, 1866.

  Matamoros proved to be a squalid little hamlet where chickens wandered aimlessly along the dirt streets. A goat eyed them over a backyard fence. Suddenly gunfire erupted in a rundown shack a hundred yards up the street. A man in dark trousers, frock coat, and top hat backed out the door. His left arm, bloody, hung useless, while in his right hand a Colt roared. He backed into the street only to have a crackle of gunfire begin behind him from a shack on the other side of the street. The border was less than a hundred yards distant, but from the lone gunman’s position, it might as well have been a hundred miles.

  “Eulie,” Nathan shouted, “take the pack horse and ride for the border. I’m going
to try and snatch him away from those lobos.”

  Eulie rode for the border, watching fearfully over her shoulder. It was a fool thing to do, but Nathan galloped his horse down the narrow street, and the little man in the top hat saw him coming. Holstering his Colt, he used his good hand to grasp the one Nathan offered. The rescue was as unexpected as it was impossible, and it took the attackers totally by surprise. Nathan wheeled his horse, and even carrying double, the animal was soon out of range of the hostile guns. Eulie sat her mount on the Texas side of the river, Cotton Blossom beside her. Nathan reined up, allowing the man he had rescued to slide off the rump of the horse. The stranger wore a white silk shirt and a black string tie that matched his dark trousers and frock coat. He removed his top hat, running fingers through several bullet holes. Then he laughed, revealing white, even teeth beneath a flowing moustache.

  “Friend,” said the little man, “Ben Thompson owes you. Anything I own or ever hope to own, just ask, and it’s yours.”

  “You seemed a mite outgunned,” Nathan said. “I reckon your horse is still over there.”

  “He is,” said Thompson, “and some no-account Mex will get a good mount at my expense. What kind of damn fool would pause for a poker hand in such a miserable place as that? They couldn’t raise ten pesos if they sold every goat and chicken in the place.”

  Nathan laughed but Eulie did not. She didn’t like this man. He had been shot, he was bleeding, and but for Nathan’s heroic rescue, would have been dead. But he laughed, and in his eyes there was excitement, joy, madness.

  Nathan Stone didn’t know it at the time, but this would become a turning point in his life. He had just become the friend of the notorious Ben Thompson, one of the deadliest killers to ride through the pages of Western history.

  As though seeing her for the first time, Thompson turned his eyes on Eulie, and cold chills crept up her spine. She felt as though he were stripping her, looking beyond what she appeared to be, seeing her for what she was. Beneath her male clothing, she felt all the more like a woman, and for one of the few times in her hard life, she was afraid ...

  Chapter 6

  Despite all the gunfire, Ben Thompson had suffered only a flesh wound to his left arm, above the elbow. The doctor who tended the wound said nothing. Brownsville was aware there had been shooting in the cantinas across the river, and normally nobody cared. It mattered not if the Mexes got drunk, if they fought, or if they eventually shot one another. But today was different. Two Americans had escaped in a hail of Mexican lead, one of them having ridden into the very teeth of the fight to rescue the other. When Thompson, Nathan, and Eulie left the doctor’s office, men had gathered outside a saloon across the street.

  “Friends of yours?” Nathan asked with a grin.

  “I doubt it,” said Thompson, without changing expression. “None of them offered any help when I had a pack of Mexes doing their damndest to ventilate me. I aim to find a livery, buy a horse, and be as far from this town as I can get before dark.”

  Thompson bought a bay gelding and the trio rode north, within sight of the Gulf of Mexico. Eulie neither trusted nor liked Ben Thompson, And there was little said until they made camp for the night. It wasn’t the Western way to ask a man his intentions, so Nathan and Eulie had no notion as to Thompson’s until the little man finally volunteered the information.

  “I aim to ride north,” said Thompson after supper. “Long as you folks are headed my direction, I’ll ride with you. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Come along,” Nathan said, “and welcome. I’ve never seen the ocean. I aim to follow the coast to Corpus Christi, Galveston, and maybe Houston.”

  For two days, Ben Thompson spoke only when spoken to, and for the most part, kept his silence. When they rode three abreast, Eulie kept Nathan between herself and Thompson. Cotton Blossom remained well behind, for he had no liking for the silent Thompson. It was late in the afternoon of the third day, when they were approaching Corpus Christi, that finally Thompson spoke again.

  “When I leave here, I’ll be riding north. Until then, I want some town-cooked grub and a hotel bed.”

  “We have our packhorse and all the comforts of home,” said Nathan, “so I reckon we’ll find us a fresh-water spring or creek and pitch camp.”

  “After supper,” Thompson said, “I’ll be checking out the saloons along the waterfront. Ride in and join me for some poker, if you like.”

  “Thanks,” said Nathan. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good luck.”

  Thompson rode on ahead without looking back. When he was well beyond hearing, Eulie spoke.

  “I know you’re a gambler,” she said, “but I hope you don’t go looking for him. Death rides with him.”

  “He’s a strange one,” Nathan said. “I don’t believe I’d like to face him across a poker table.”

  “My God,” said Eulie, “he scares me to death. If it hadn’t been for you, he’d be lying dead in the street of the dirty little Mexican town. As he stood there bleeding from a gunshot, I couldn’ believe what I saw in his eyes. It was pure madness. There was the joy and excitement of a child who has just taken part in a game. Thank God he’s riding north.”

  “Well, it seems I’m a friend of his, whether I like it or not,” Nathan said. “Anyway, our trails may never cross again.”

  But Nathan Stone had never been more wrong in his life.

  Corpus Christi, Texas. August 5, 1866.

  Corpus Christi was but a village, located on the left bank of the lower Nueces River. There seemed to be no official buildings, and many of the habitations were tents. As was the case in most frontier towns, settlers had congregated along the river, while a few had settled on the shores of the bay that entended inland to the northeast. Fledgling village though it was, two sailing ships were anchored offshore. Goods must be loaded or unloaded well beyond the breakwater after having been rowed to or from the ship by lighter.1 Such a vessel, constructed of logs and heavy planks, lay alongside a dock on which freight from one of the anchored vessels were being unloaded. A dozen men wrasseled the barrels and crates to the lock. Finished, they released the lighter and took up oars, preparing to fight their way through the breakwater for another load. Nathan and Eulie had reined up on a bluff that was a good forty feet above sea level and the existing town. There was a cooling breeze from the Gulf, and the blue expanse of water seemed to stretch to infinity.

  “I’ve never seen anything so magnificent,” Eulie said. “Let’s make our camp right here.”

  “It’s a temptation,” said Nathan, “but we’ll need water, and I’d as soon the whole town not be able to keep an eye on us. I expect we’d better ride down and find us a place alongside the river or up yonder at the far end of the bay.”

  When they had descended the bluff, Corpus Christi seemed a little more impressive. There was a two-story hotel and a general store that had been built of lumber. Other buildings were of logs. There were four saloons. All of them were housed in tents, thanks to the mild climate. The dock had been built far enough from the village to allow for expansion, and what appeared to be a warehouse was under construction. Pilings that would become the four corners had been driven deep into the ground. Nathan and Eulie avoided the main street, riding along the upper bank of the Nueces until they found a fresh-water spring that was surrounded with sufficient graze for the horses.

  “If there’s no livery,” Nathan said, “I hope the mercantile has grain. A horse can’t live forever on grass.”

  Nathan unsaddled the two animals while Eulie began unloading the packhorse. Freed from their burdens, the three animals headed for the water. Their thirst quenched, they rolled, shook themselves, and began to graze.

  “Nathan,” said Eulie, “if I’m going to travel as a man, I’ll need some things to complete my outfit. First thing, before we go anywhere else, I’ll want to go to the store.”

  “We’ll go to the mercantile first, then,” Nathan said, “but you’re a pretty believable gent, just like yo
u are.”

  “Nathan,” she sighed, “I have just three shirts, none larger than this one I’m wearing. See how tight it is across the front? How many men have you known who filled out their shirts like this?”

  “Now that you mention it,” he grinned, “you’re the first.”

  “I’ll want some shirts a size or two larger, and I have a few yards of muslin in my saddlebag. I’ll use some of it to make myself a binder before we go to the mercantile.”

  “A binder?”

  “A tight band of cloth that will flatten my chest and prevent movement that might cast some doubt on me being a man.”

  “Smart,” said Nathan. “Without it, there’s movement aplenty.”

  “I aim to buy a holster and belt for my Colt, too,” she said. “I’d not be much of a man, riding unarmed.”

  “Pack an iron,” Nathan said, “and you’ll eventually have to use it.”

  “I can use it, and I’m damn sudden with it. I’m faster on the draw than most of the men who grew up around Waco. I owe that to my father. He wanted a son, and drove my mother to an early grave because all she could produce was daughters. He was hell-bent on me becoming the son he never had and would never have. He refused me a woman’s underclothes, forced me to ride astraddle like a man, and saw to it that I spent two hours every day drawing and dry-firing a Colt. By the hour, he forced me to draw against him, both of us using empty Colts. God forgive me, how often I wished my pistol had been loaded.”

  This time it was Nathan who turned away, not allowing his eyes to meet hers. They were a mix of remembering, of bitterness, of hate, painting for him a picture more graphic than he wished to see. He now understood a disturbing fact that had escaped him when she had stripped, revealing the scars on her body. They hadn’t been the result of a single beating, but were an accumulation of many years. Eulie started the supper fire and went about preparing the meal. Cotton Blossom had drifted off somewhere, exploring this new and unfamiliar territory. They were down to final cups of coffee when Nathan spoke.