“I intend to,” Eulie said. “It’s something I want to do. Besides, you don’t need me, unless it’s to bury you.”
“You have no obligation to do that,” said Nathan, “and I’m not asking for your approval. I just believe you should know what I aim to do, and I reckon I’ll have to tell McQueen.”
The bell called them to supper, and despite Nathan’s determination, he didn’t relish telling Barnabas McQueen of his decision. Not after Silver had told him of Stumberg’s plan to force his thoroughbreds into the coming race. Again Barnabas and Bess joined them for supper, and Nathan delayed his revelation as long as he could. Finally he swallowed hard and waded in.
“I reckon I’ll be staying in town,” he said. “Just take what I’ve paid toward room and board against what Eli will be paying. I’ll need to leave Cotton Blossom here too.”
“We’ll be sorry to lose you,” said Bess.
“You won’t be,” Nathan said, “when I tell you why I’m going.”
He told them of the events of the day, not sparing himself. What he did not tell them was that this possible alliance with French Stumberg would be his way of finding Dillard and Snider, two more of the brutal killers he had trailed from Virginia.
“I can understand how you got involved,” said Barnabas, “and I have to agree with your friend Silver on several counts. He’s dead right about Hargis Gavin. He’d have his men burn this place to the ground, shooting us all as we ran out. Regarding my fight with Stumberg, Silver told it straight. Frankly, if I had to chose between Gavin and Stumberg, Stumberg is the more ethical of the two. But that doesn’t diminish the fact that he’s using his thoroughbreds to force us to recognize professional gambling at the track.”
“Haven’t you had betting at the track before?” Eulie asked.
“Yes,” said McQueen, “but nothing of the magnitude Stumberg has in mind. He’ll bring gamblers all the way from St. Louis, and like all professionals, he’ll find some means of fixing the races. Big-time gambling took over the track at Natchez, and now it’s about finished. There was a big stink when word got out that jockeys were being paid to throw the races.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Nathan said, “and I’m against it. I’ve done my time as a house dealer, and I refuse to slick deal.”
“I don’t hold it against a man for doing what he feels he must,” said McQueen. “Since you were accidentally caught up in this shootout with Gavin’s men, nobody could fault you for just riding on. When Gavin learns you’re with Stumberg, that’ll be all the more reason for Gavin having you gunned down.”
“I’ve considered that,” Nathan said, “but I have my reasons for staying in New Orleans. One of them is that I resent being pushed around, when all I have done is defend myself. Besides, there may be a way I can help you keep big-time gambling away from your track.”
“I’ll be everlastingly grateful if you can,” said McQueen, “but don’t underestimate Stumberg. While I consider him slightly more ethical than Gavin, I have no doubt that death will be swift and sure if he so much as suspects you’re about to cross him. Be damn careful, and if the lead gets too hot and heavy, run for it. We can hide you for a while.”
It was more than Nathan had expected. Eulie could remain at the McQueen place, and, thanks to McQueen’s tolerance, in a hostile town where he needed one the most, Nathan had a friend.
“I’m obliged, Mr. McQueen,” said Nathan. “I’ll be riding back to town tomorrow morning, before Gavin’s bunch makes any lasting ties between me and you. But before I go, tell me as much as you can about the Gavin and Stumberg organizations.”
“It won’t be a lot,” McQueen said, “and some of it’s only rumor. Gavin pretty well controls the inner city, while Stumberg’s gambling houses are all in outlying areas. He sends carriages into town every night, offering free transportation to and from his places. I’m told there’s a carriage at the St. Charles Hotel every night at seven, and when the steamboat is here, sometimes it takes half a dozen carriages or more, transporting the gamblers to and from Stumberg’s places. On the surface, that doesn’t sound too bad, but that’s where the rumors come in. There’s talk that Stumberg’s involved in white slavery, taking young women to Mexico and selling them.”
“My God,” said Nathan, “that’s serious. It should be a Federal crime.”
“It is,” McQueen replied, “and that’s how the rumors—if they are that—got started. Stumberg came here five years ago, and during the war, he had nobody watching him except Hargis Gavin. But now the Federals are in the saddle, and they’re under considerable pressure from the folks back East. Too many women have come to New Orleans never to be seen again.”
“You’re telling me that if I throw in with Stumberg, I may be up against more than the possibility that Hargis Gavin will have me shot dead.”
“Your words,” said McQueen, “not mine. While what I’ve just told you is only rumor, there are some cold, hard facts that can’t be ignored. Stumberg has picked up on a trend that first caught on in San Francisco, which involves staffing all his gambling houses with those young women wearing ... well, very little. ‘Pretty Girls Saloons’ is what they’re called in California.”
“The saloons and gambling houses could be stepping-stones to Old Mexico and white slavery, then,” Nathan said.
“Precisely,” said McQueen. “That would account for the many young women missing without a trace. I’m telling you this, rumors included, so that you may decide how far you want to go with Stumberg.”
“I’m obliged,” Nathan said, “and I’ll keep it strong on my mind. It kind of makes Gavin sound like small potatoes, by comparison.”
“Which he is not, by any means,” said McQueen. “Gavin is the power behind every sleazy New Orleans honky-tonk. 9 He supplies one or more house dealers, depending on the size of the place, and collects anywhere from fifty to eighty percent of the gambling take. Some owners get nothing, their only profit being from the sale of drinks.”
“I reckon that backs up Silver’s story,” Nathan said. “He told me that Gavin has the law in the palm of his hand, forcing the local saloons to work with him, or else.”
“That’s it,” McQueen agreed. “A few saloon owners tried to buck Gavin, only to learn they had two choices. They could fall in line, taking what Gavin offered, or close their doors. If they balked, Gavin sent some men to their place and a fight broke out. When they were done, the place would be a shambles of busted chairs and tables and broken bottles. If that failed, the Gavin-controlled law could declare the place a public nuisance and close it.”
“Gavin and Stumberg,” said Nathan. “By God, Shakespeare was right. There is small choice in rotten apples.”
Chapter 13
After breakfast, having said goodbye to the McQueens, Nathan followed Eulie back to the cabin they had shared only twice and perhaps never again. There was little to be said, and while Nathan wanted to be on his way, he was reluctant to go.
“I might as well ride in and talk to Silver,” he said.
“Before you do,” Eulie said, “come inside for a minute.”
He did so, and without a word, she threw her arms around him. It was the kind of farewell he had dreaded and had hoped to avoid, but there were no tears. Eulie backed away, and when she spoke, her voice was steady.
“Nathan, keep your temper, and don’t shoot unless you have to.”
Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded and stepped out the door. When he set out for the barn, to saddle his horse, Cotton Blossom followed.
“Not this time, Cotton Blossom,” said Nathan. “Stay.”
Before riding out of sight beyond the McQueen house, Nathan looked back. Eulie stood before the cabin, Cotton Blossom beside her, and Nathan had a chilling premotion that he might be seeing them for the last time. But he swallowed hard, tugged his hat down over his eyes, and rode on. After the attempted ambush he rode warily, and reached town without incident. The St. Charles dining room served breakfast until hal
f-past ten, so Nathan again had trouble finding room at one of the hitching rails for his horse. Entering the dining room and failing to find Silver there, he went on through the restaurant to the hotel lobby. The St. Charles was plush beyond belief, with banks of windows reaching from the floor almost to the high ceiling. Gold velvet drapes matched the thick carpet, which continued up the stairs and down the halls. Nathan looked around the lobby and then quickly mounted the stairs. Reaching the third floor, he looked down the hall, and finding it deserted, knocked on the door to 301.
“Identify yourself,” said a voice from within.
“Nathan Stone.”
There came the sound of a deadbolt being drawn, and the door opened just enough for Nathan to enter. He did so. Silver, fully dressed except for his hat and boots, held a cocked Colt in his right fist. He thumbed down the hammer before he spoke.
“I don’t mean to seem inhospitable, but I don’t have many visitors.”
“And among them,” Nathan said, “few friends.”
Silver’s laugh was brittle, without humor. “Among them, no friends. Present company excepted, of course.”
“I’ll come right to the point,” said Nathan. “As I rode back to McQueen’s yesterday, somebody cut down on me with a rifle.”
“I don’t see any holes in you,” Silver observed. “It must have been a warning shot. Hargis Gavin has officially invited you to either become the guest of honor at a funeral or leave New Orleans. Have you come to say goodbye?”
“One thing I don’t like about you, Silver, is your damned untimely sense of humor. What do you think?”
“I think I’d better introduce you to French Stumberg. You have the kind of sand he likes in a man, and you don’t run just because you’re up against a skunk who has you outgunned and wants your head on a platter. Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes,” Nathan replied.
“I haven’t,” said Silver. “You can drink coffee while I eat.”
Nathan said nothing, waiting while Silver tugged on his boots and found his hat. They stepped into the hall and Silver locked the door behind them. After making sure nobody observed him, Silver took from his coat pocket a spool of fine thread. He unwound and snapped off a length of it, tying one end to the knob of the door. The other end he looped over the head of a slightly protruding nail in the door frame, beneath the knob. In the dimness of the hall, the slender thread was invisible.
“I can’t figure you,” Nathan said. “You have gunslingers after your hide, yet you’re camped out on the third floor of the fanciest place in town.”
“I have my reasons,” said Silver. “They know where to find me, but as you pointed out yesterday, I’m not likely to be gunned down here in the hotel. At least not in a crowd. Gavin has the law in his pocket, but there’s still some limits. Besides, Stumberg likes having me here. It’s a slap in the face, a way to rankle Gavin. Stumberg picks up the tab for the room and grub.”
Silver said no more, for they were descending the stairs to the lobby. Most of the breakfast crowd had cleared out of the dining room. Silver, when a waiter approached, pointed to an isolated table from which the entire room could be seen. There were two chairs next to the wall. Silver took one and Nathan took the other. The waiter brought a tray with a fancy porcelain pot full of coffee and two fancy porcelain cups. Silver ordered breakfast and sipped his coffee.
“Well, damn it,” Nathan said impatiently, “tell me something about French Stumberg.”
“No,” Silver replied. “I prefer to wait and let you draw your own conclusions. I may have said too much already. He’ll be in town sometime tonight.”
“Here at the hotel?”
“No,” said Silver. “He never comes here. He’ll be coming in from St. Louis. The Queen of Diamonds will be docking just before sundown. There’ll be a carriage arriving at the hotel at seven o’clock. It will take us to the Old Canal House, on Old Canal, north of here.”
Nathan said no more, drinking his coffee while Silver dug into his food. Not until he had finished his breakfast did Silver finally speak.
“You’re welcome to spend the rest of the day in my room. I wouldn’t recommend wandering about town, after that near miss yesterday afternoon.”
“I’ll accept that invite,” Nathan said, “but first I have to find a livery and stable my horse.”
“There’s one within sight of the hotel,” said Silver, “but it’s not the cheapest in town.”
“I didn’t reckon it would be,” Nathan said. “I have money.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Silver. “If you hire on with Stumberg, you’ll likely have to sell your horse and saddle.”
“I’ll be damned if I do,” Nathan replied. “Nobody, Stumberg included, will ever own me that completely.”
The livery was but a short distance away, and Nathan made arrangements to leave his horse and store his saddle. His saddlebags and bedroll he took with him. On their way through the lobby, Silver stopped at the desk and bought two newspapers, something Nathan had neglected to do. One of them was an eight-page local weekly, while the other was a recent issue of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Reaching the door to 301, Silver found the slender thread unbroken. He removed it, unlocked the door, and they entered. Silver shot the deadbolt, sat down on the bed, and removed his boots. Nathan was studying the newspapers.
“I don’t know why I bother with those,” said Silver, “except they’re a way to kill time.”
“With you in charge of security of the Queen of Diamonds,” Nathan said, “I’d reckon you’d be stayin’ with it most of the time.”
“I spend all my time with it while it’s docked here,” said Silver, “but when Stumberg goes to St. Louis, I have time on my hands.”
“That’s kind of obvious,” said Nathan. “You ever wonder why he goes to St. Louis and you’re always left here?”
“I try not to wonder out loud about anything that could get me shot dead,” Silver replied. “Unless you have some kind of death wish, let me give you some strong advice. If Stumberg takes to you, keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and your pistol handy.”
His eyes met Nathan’s and there wasn’t a hint of a smile.
As the day dragged on, Nathan read both newspapers, starting with the Globe-Democrat. From it he learned that the James and Younger gangs were still robbing banks in Missouri, and that the crazed Cullen Baker was loose somewhere in Arkansas. Not until he began reading the local weekly did Nathan find anything of real interest.
“God,” Nathan said aloud, “what a crazy damn fool.”
Silver had been stretched out on the bed, half asleep. He opened one eye and spoke.
“Are you referring to me or to yourself?”
“Neither,” said Nathan, rising from his chair. “Ben Thompson.”
“The little varmint that’s sudden death with a pistol,” Silver said. “Do you know him?”
“I met him in south Texas,” Nathan replied. “Last I saw of him, he was riding north toward San Antone.”
“He’s the kind that wears out his welcome pretty quick,” Silver said. “I didn’t know he was here. What’s he done now?”
“Picked a fight with somebody in one of the saloons,” said Nathan, “and they settled in with knives. Had themselves locked in an icehouse, with no light. Thompson was cut pretty bad, but managed to walk away. The paper’s a little shy on details. By the time they got word, it was too late to talk to Thompson. He found a doc, got himself patched up, and rode away.”
“I’ve heard that Ben’s younger brother Billy is even worse than Ben,” Silver said. “Either of them is sidewinder-mean, but the two of ’em together, I hear, is a keg of powder with a short fuse.”10
“Then I hope I never get involved with them both at the same time,” said Nathan. “I manage to scare up all the trouble I can handle, without help.”
Nathan and Silver took an early supper, going to the hotel dining room shortly past four o‘clock. Again Silver tied the tiny thread a
fter locking the door, and was careful to see that it was unbroken upon their return. They had whiled away a little more than an hour in the dining room and still had the better part of two hours until the seven o’clock departure for Stumberg’s gambling house.
“I reckon,” Nathan said by way of conversation, “you’re sure Stumberg will be at this gambling house. Me, I’d first be sure the boat’s at the landing.”
“You don’t know Stumberg,” said Silver. “If the Queen isn’t there come sundown, then the damn thing’s sunk somewhere between here and St. Louis.”
There seemed nothing more to say, and Nathan leaned his chair back against the wall, dozing. After what seemed only a few minutes. Silver spoke.
“Time to go. By the time we get down there, the coach will be waiting.”
Again, after locking the door, Silver tied the thread in place, and they made their way down the stairs. The stage was waiting, and it proved to be a red and green Concord, drawn by four matched bays. The stage itself bore no markings, nothing to indicate who it belonged to or where it was bound. Byron Silver confidently mounted the step and took one of the three remaining seats. Nathan followed. All the other passengers were men, well dressed, apparently affluent. They paid little attention to Silver, but eyed Nathan Stone with some interest, thanks to his pair of tied-down Colts. It was already dark, and Nathan knew only that they traveled west along St. Charles. When the coach finally slowed, it took a right on what Nathan guessed was Old Canal, for the lights of town faded quickly and the coach jounced over a not-too-well-kept dirt road. They rattled across a wooden bridge and drew up before a rambling two-story house. A long front porch stretched the length of it and carriage lamps flickered on either side of the wide double doors. The other passengers left the coach and Silver fell back so that he could speak to Nathan without being overheard.
The Dawn of Fury Page 17