The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  “It may be risky,” said Silver. “Stumberg may be arriving any time.”

  “It’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Nathan replied.

  Silver took the bay’s halter rope and Nathan, with Cotton Blossom ahead, set out for the stand of trees. But soon he was well into the woods and out of sight of the house.

  “Well, by God,” Nathan said, when he reached McQueen and Eulie. “How did you know I was here?”

  “We didn’t,” said McQueen. “I learned that Stumberg’s horses were down here and we hoped to get a look at them. What are you doing here?”

  “There was trouble aboard the steamboat in St. Louis,” Nathan replied. “Stumberg kicked me and Silver off the boat and sent us here. We’ll be here until the race at Gretna.”

  “We saw the piece in the paper,” Eulie said. “Has there been trouble because of that?”

  “There’s been some shooting,” Nathan said, “but we believe it’s Stumberg’s doing. We’re supposed to think, along with everybody else, that Gavin’s gun-toters are after us. We’re figurin’ we’re being set up to draw suspicion from Stumberg. We look for some gunplay during the race, because we can’t see Stumberg’s thoroughbreds winning on a quarter-mile track.”

  “Neither can I,” said McQueen. “There’ll be only twelve horses entered, including Stumberg’s, and I’m convinced Diablo can beat the lot of them.”

  “Who’s riding him?” Nathan asked.

  “I am,” said Eulie.

  “Then do this,” Nathan said. “Keep your head down, on the horse’s neck. McQueen, bring your Winchester and ride your fastest horse. Stay near the finish line. There’s cover on both sides of the track, so be prepared to shoot to either side. I have a feeling that Stumberg aims to position me and Silver on our horses somewhere along the track, and we’ll draw some of the fire, but perhaps not all of it. Stumberg needs an edge in this race, and I believe he deliberately planted that newspaper story to blame any gunfire on Hargis Gavin.”

  “So he might dispose of you and Silver,” said McQueen, “and if necessary, shoot any horse or rider that might cost him the race. He could then blame the shooting on Gavin, denying any responsibility.”

  “That’s how I see it,” Nathan said. “We’ve been fired on twice, and we could have been shot dead both times. Since we weren’t, this has to be a setup for what’s to come.”

  “I believe you,” said McQueen. “When you think about it, Hargis Gavin would be a damn fool to go gunning for you and Silver. If either of you were gunned down, Gavin would get the blame. Do you want me to bring more men who will shoot if need be?”

  “No,” Nathan said. “Three of us can handle it. Too many armed men might arouse suspicion and get some of them killed needlessly. Be ready to ride out quickly. I believe Silver and me will have to run for it, and I’d like for us to lay over at your place for the night, if you’ll risk it. We’ll arrange not to ride in until after dark.”

  “Come on,” said McQueen.

  “I’d better be gettin’ back,” Nathan said, Stumberg may show up at any time.“ He shook McQueen’s hand and then Eulie’s, and saw the worry in her eyes.

  Eulie held Cotton Blossom to prevent him following Nathan, while he hurried back to the stable as quickly as he could.

  “I don’t believe you were seen,” said Silver, as Nathan stepped into the corridor of the barn.

  Nathan explained McQueen’s and Eulie’s circumstances to Silver without unnecessary detail, and Silver asked no troublesome questions. He was quick to voice the same fear that Nathan had left unspoken.

  “That hombre ridin’ Diablo may be in more danger than we are,” Silver said. “Those skunks with rifles could pretend to be Gavin’s men, shooting at us, when they’re really firing at McQueen’s horse or the rider.”

  “I’m afraid of that,” said Nathan, “the more I think about it. I believe Stumberg aims to win this race, that he’s using us to justify enough gunfire to give his horses an edge, and then send gunmen after us. That’s when we’ll be rattlin’ our hocks for McQueen’s place, once the race is done.”

  Stumberg arrived in the afternoon, after the rain had begun. Nathan and Silver saw him coming down the rise, swallowed up in a yellow slicker. He left it hanging on a wooden peg near the barn door.

  “How are the horses comin’ along?” he asked.

  “We’re walking, trotting, and slow-galloping them for an hour or more every day,” Silver said. Nathan said nothing.

  “Good,” said Stumberg. “Had any trouble?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Silver replied.

  “Good,” said Stumberg smoothly. “I was a bit concerned. Somehow that old fool at the newspaper connected the two of you with those Gavin gunmen who jumped you near the river.”

  Silver kept his silence and so did Nathan. It would have been a perfect opportunity to have told Stumberg about the hidden riflemen, and when they did not, Stumberg donned his slicker. Before leaving, he spoke once more.

  “Keep the horses in shape.”

  Silver nodded, while Nathan didn’t even afford him that. Stumberg was almost to the house before Silver spoke.

  “He wasn’t here to see about the horses. What he really wanted to know was, are we fools enough to believe Gavin’s bunch was throwin’ lead at us.”

  “That being the case,” Nathan said, “the cards are on the table. Now he knows that we know this foolishness about Gavin coming after us is just a cover for something else. I think we just increased our chances of gettin’ shot dead before that race ends.”

  At supper, Antoine wore a spotless chef’s hat and apron, obviously in compliance with Drew Shanklin’s order.

  “God, I’m glad Stumberg’s gone,” the cook said. “Something must have happened. I heard a little of what was said to Shanklin. Stumberg won’t be here for the race, ’cause he’s goin’ to be in St. Louis an’ won’t be back until Sunday.”

  “That’s December thirtieth,” said Silver. “What do you think happened?”

  “I dunno,” Antoine said, “but the steamboat ain’t goin’ back to St. Louis until that last week in December, when he goes with it. There was some talk about the dark of the moon and a sailin’ ship. I didn’t hear no more.”

  Antoine had nothing further to say and Silver didn’t press him. When Nathan and Silver left the house, they found it had been raining hard. The rumble of thunder and a rising wind brought the promise of a stormy night. There being little else to do, Nathan and Silver dragged off their boots and stretched out on their bunks. Weary of the silence, Nathan spoke.

  “What do you make of Stumberg giving up his gambling shuttle to and from St. Louis?”

  “I reckon what happened in St. Louis shook him,” Silver said. “That, and he no longer has a captain. He’ll back off for a while, likely until after the first of the year.”

  “If we’re to believe what Antoine told us,” said Nathan, “Stumberg will be in St. Louis the week of the horse race, returning on Sunday. Why?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Silver said. “I expect hell will bust loose sometime durin’ that race, and Stumberg wants to be as far removed from it as possible.”

  Nathan had the same feeling—a premonition—and it had sunk its spurs into his mind. It had rankled him since he’d learned Eulie would be riding Diablo. But he knew Eulie Prater well enough to understand the futility of trying to change her mind.

  New Orleans. December 16, 1866.

  In his upstairs office at Old Canal House, French Stumberg chewed on an unlit cigar and studied the quartet of men before him. He knew them well, knew their capabilities, for they were killers Stumberg had successfully dealt with on more than one occasion. The four—Ringo, Jarvis, Sloan, and Brodie—killed without remorse, shooting from ambush. As usual, Stumberg had been careful to have them arrive after dark. Should their mission fail in any way, he dared not risk their implicating him. Finally he spoke.

  “December twenty-ninth, I want the fou
r of you near the track at Gretna. Ringo, I want you on one side of the track and Jarvis on the other, within rifle range. Your targets will be the horse handlers you’ve been harassing at McDonoughville. They will be mounted, and I want you to hold your fire until the race is well under way. Then I want them cut down.”

  “You got it,” Ringo said. “Five hundred each.”

  “Sloan,” said Stumberg, “I want you and Brodie to ride to McDonoughville. I want you to slip in behind Mayfair House and observe my two horses as they are being exercised. It’s damned important that you know them, because you are going to give them an edge in that race. You are to shoot the riders of any two or three horses that are threatening mine. But above everything else, keep this in mind: You are not to fire at any riders until Ringo and Jarvis have dropped their men.”

  “So that’s why you’ve had Ringo an’ me throwin’ lead at them hombres that’s workin’ with your hosses,” Jarvis said. “We’re supposed to be gunnin’ for them, and a stray slug or two just happens to blow some riders out of the race. Them that’s threatin’ yours. That’ll look fishy as hell, I think.”

  “By God,” Stumberg shouted, “I’m not paying you to think, and I’ll not have you questioning or second-guessing my motives. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah,” Jarvis growled, his hard eyes meeting those of Stumberg’s. “It’s your funeral. We won’t be stickin’ around to defend your good name.”

  “Wait a damn minute,” Sloan bawled. “There’s one thing that ain’t clear. Me an’ Brodie gits five hunnert a man, just like Ringo an’ Jarvis. Now you’re wantin’ us to shoot maybe three riders if they’re threatenin’ to cost your hosses the race. We plug an extry rider, that’s an extry five hunnert. Is that clear?”

  “I don’t know that a third rider will figure into it,” said Stumberg. “I’m only saying that it’s possible, that if the situation arises, you are to act in my best interests. If you and Brodie account for more than two riders, you will be paid accordingly. I am as good as my word.”

  Sloan’s laugh was nasty, without humor. “In our line of work, mister, we don’t take nobody’s word. Not even yours. We always done whatever you paid us to do, an’ you paid in advance. It ain’t gonna be no different this time.”

  “Very well,” Stumberg said, striving to control his temper. “Ringo will take an extra five hundred. If there is a third rider, Ringo will see that the man who earns the extra money receives it. Ringo, there is twenty-five hundred dollars in this envelope. Take it, count it, and then get the hell out of here.”

  Ringo took the envelope from the desk. Counting it, he found there were twenty-five one-hundred-dollar green-backs. He nodded to Stumberg, opened the door, and stepped into the hall. Without a word, Jarvis, Sloan, and Brodie followed.

  French Stumberg sighed. They were scum. It rankled him, having to come to terms with the likes of them. But this would be the last time, he promised himself. If everything went as planned, he would take his millions and retire to a life of ease in Mexico or South America.

  After leaving Nathan Stone, McQueen and Eulie rode in silence. When McQueen eventually spoke, it was about what Eulie had expected.

  “You don’t have to ride Diablo in the race,” McQueen said. “I believe you will be in some danger, and in good conscience, I can’t hold you to such a promise.”

  “You’re not holding me to it,” said Eulie. “I’m holding myself to it. It’s something I want to do. Do you realize how little would ever be done if we all just set on our hunkers and shied away from everything that was just the least bit dangerous?”

  McQueen laughed. “You have a point, and I’d have to agree. But despite what Nathan said, there’s a precaution I intend to take. I aim to have some other horse owners on hand with Winchesters. If Stumberg’s people start anything, maybe we can finish it.”

  McDonoughville. December 16, 1866.

  “Tomorrow,” Byron Silver said, “I have business in New Orleans. Before first light, I’ll lead my horse into those woods where you met with your friends. After breakfast, I’ll ride out.”

  “I reckon you wouldn’t be going without a good reason,” said Nathan. “I can stay out of sight, and unless Shanklin actually comes down here, you’ll have a chance to go and return without him knowing.”

  “Thanks,” Silver said. “All I can tell you is that I’m about to play my hole card. If anything happens to me, it could involve you. If it does, you won’t be alone. When the time comes, you’ll know all I can tell you.”

  Nathan and Silver went to breakfast as usual and saw nobody except Antoine. When they returned to the barn, Silver waited awhile. Finally he got up, stomped into his boots, and tipped his hat over his eyes. Nathan said nothing. The burden was all on Silver, and he spoke.

  “I should be back by noon. If I don’t make it, you’d do well to ride out and keep going. Adios.”

  Silver rode far enough west that he would not be observed as he passed Gretna. He reached the south bank of the Mississippi a mile west of the ferry landing and rode along the river until he reached the crossing. He shouted and waved his hat until he got the attention of the ferrymen on the New Orleans side of the river. If anybody cared enough to ask, the ferrymen would have no trouble remembering him. He paid his dollar, and, reaching the farthest bank, rode north. His first stop in New Orleans was at a mercantile that carried a wide variety of tools. It was still early and a bored clerk stood behind the counter.

  “I need a key made,” Silver said. “Can you do it?”

  “Yeah,” said the clerk, “but I’ll need another key or a pattern.”

  “I have a wax impression,” Silver said. From his pocket he took a red bandanna, and from its folds a small beeswax cube.

  “That should be satisfactory,” the clerk said, examining the impression in wax. “It’ll take me a little while.”

  “I have other business,” Silver said. “Where is the telegraph office?”

  “On St. Charles, two blocks west of the hotel.”

  Silver rode west along a less-traveled side street until he was sure he was past the hotel. He had lived there almost three months, and he couldn’t risk being recognized. He found the telegraph office, and using the desk provided, wrote a brief message. There was nobody in the office except the operator, and he studied Silver’s message.

  “This don’t make no sense to me,” he said, looking over his glasses.

  “No matter,” said Silver. “It’s not addressed to you.”

  “Eighty-five cents. You expectin’ it to be answered?”

  “No,” said Silver. He pocketed his change and left the office. Returning to the mercantile, he found his key was ready.

  “Fifty cents,” the clerk said. “If it don’t work, or if it’s just hard to turn, bring it back and I’ll hone’er some more. No charge.”

  “Thanks,” Silver said, with a grim chuckle. If he ever had need of the key, it had to work on the first try. There would be no time or need for another ...

  Dismounting, Silver led his horse into the corridor of the barn. He had been gone a little more than three hours.

  “I’ll take care of him for you,” Nathan said.

  “Thanks,” Silver replied. He sat down on his bunk, tugged off his boots and dropped his hat over them.

  “I’ve seen nobody since you rode out,” said Nathan from the corridor, while he unsaddled the sweating horse.

  Silver said nothing. On the inside of his right boot, just below the mule-eared top, there was an all but invisible slit in the leather. Into this concealed place Silver slipped the newly made key. Now he could only wait for the fateful race, barely two weeks away. During this time he needed to talk to Nathan Stone. Doing so would greatly endanger Stone’s life, but Silver could not trust anyone else. For that matter, how far could he trust Nathan Stone? It was a crucial, perhaps fatal, decision. He would delay it as long as he could ...

  Chapter 18

  McDonoughville. December 22, 1866.

&nbs
p; It was exactly one week before the race when Stumberg returned to Mayfair House. At breakfast, Antoine had whispered a warning to Silver, so that he and Nathan were not caught off guard when the boss arrived. Contrary to his usual nature, Stumberg seemed jovial.

  “Bring out the horses,” he said, “and let me have a look at them.”

  Nathan led the bay and Silver the chestnut. They walked the animals to and fro while Stumberg nodded approvingly. Finally he beckoned them to him and then he spoke.

  “Red and Jake Prinz will be riding for me. The race will begin at two o’clock next Saturday afternoon. Drew Shanklin will be representing me, and I want you to take the horses to him at the track no later than half-past twelve. Silver, when the race begins, I want you mounted and two thirds of the way toward the finish line. You will be on the west side of the track. Stone, I want you mounted and in a similar position on the opposite side of the track. Have your rifles ready, for Hargis Gavin may be seeking vengeance. I expect him to attempt it in a manner that will endanger you, embarrass me, and cost me the race. Mind you, I can’t be sure, but be prepared. This information has been sent to me anonymously.”

  “Likely by the same varmint that had our names printed in the newspaper,” Nathan said.

  The implication was clear enough, and though Stumberg kept his silence, the hard eyes that bored into Nathan spoke volumes. The gambler walked away and up the hill toward Mayfair House.

  “Never kick sleeping dogs when you don’t have to, and don’t stomp a sidewinder that ain’t strikin’ at you,” said Silver.

  “Hell,” Nathan said angrily, “I don’t feel the need for stayin’ on the good side of a varmint layin’ plans to have me shot dead.”

  When Nathan had unsaddled and rubbed down Silver’s horse, he led it into a stall and returned to the tack room. He sat down on his bunk, dragged off his boots, and hung his hat over them. He eyed Silver, but Silver said nothing. Finally Nathan spoke.