In the sutler’s store, Nathan and Lacy found many things in short supply and others lacking entirely. There was no sugar, no coffee, no flour, no guns or ammunition. Nathan bought Lacy a new pair of boots, two shirts, and two pair of Levi’s. While they were there, Lieutenant Lanford came in.
“You’re welcome to take your meals with us,” the lieutenant said, “and there are cabins you can use for the night. But I must warn you, unless it’s raining or snowing, I spread my blankets outside, because I don’t much like spiders and other things dropping on me during the night.”
“I’ll be sleeping outside,” Lacy said.
“I reckon I will be too,” said Nathan.
Nathan brought the horses inside the stockade, and since graze was out of the question, each of the animals was given a measure of grain. Watering troughs were plentiful. There being nothing else to do, Nathan and Lacy lay down next to the stockade wall, heads on their saddles.
“I reckon the worst of Indian Territory’s behind us,” Nathan said. “When we reach Fort Dodge, we’ll look for your Colt there.”
It was near suppertime, and when the bugler blew mess call, Nathan and Lacy waited until the soldiers had entered the mess shack. Surprisingly, the strength of the post numbered only thirty-one men, including Captain Chanute. Nathan and Lacy took tin plates, tin cups, and eating tools. There was hot coffee, beans, and fried steak. Almighty tough steak. They were about to take seats at one of the rough tables when Nathan remembered Cotton Blossom. The dog had followed him inside, but, unsure of his status, he waited beside the door. But the soldiers had seen Cotton Blossom, and before Nathan could make a move, a corporal shouted.
“Looky here, boys! I knowed if we waited long enough, somethin’ would come along with teeth enough to eat cookie’s steak.”
Everybody laughed except the disgruntled cook, and more than one soldier beckoned to Cotton Blossom. They offered him hunks of steak, and with his belly overriding his distrust, he wasted no time in accepting the food. The men whooped and hollered, for this was a rare diversion. When Cotton Blossom had accepted each offering, he trotted back to the door and sat down.
“I swear,” said the cook, “the dog’s got better manners than the lot o’ ye scutters.”
As Nathan and Lacy departed Camp Supply the following morning, a burial detail dug a grave for the soldier who had been killed the day before.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Lacy said. “You were right. There were so few soldiers, they wouldn’t have had a chance without your rifle.”
“We owe them our lives,” said Nathan. “I made a difference because those renegades split their forces and because I had the element of surprise. When you have to fight, take the offensive and do it on your own terms.”
Nathan and Lacy reached the Cimarron, rode across and entered Kansas. The sun was barely noon-high. They rode on, and after resting the horses, allowed them to drink sparingly when water was available.
“We’ll reach Fort Dodge before dark,” Nathan predicted.
Following Lieutenant Lanford’s directions, they rode on across the muddy Arkansas, following it westward. The fort, when they first saw it, was all that Camp Supply hadn’t been. The stockade had a look of permanence, and beside the river, Union soldiers marched in close-order drill. Sentries walked in parapets high above the walls, and Nathan heard one of them shout to someone below. Nathan and Lacy had been seen, and as they approached the huge gates, they were swung open. A sentry stood before him, his rifle at port arms.
“Identify yourselves and state your business,” the soldier ordered.
“I’m Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied, “and the lady is Lacy Mayfield. We are civilians, bound for Colorado Territory.”
Fort Dodge, Kansas. August 5, 1867.
Again Nathan and Lacy met with the post commander. This time it was Major Hennessy, and Nathan told him nothing except that they were on their way to Colorado. Again they visited the sutler’s store, and it seemed to have just about everything, including a saloon. Nathan had no trouble finding the Colt pocket pistol, so he bought one, along with four hundred loads for it. The men in the adjoining saloon were all eyes, despite Lacy’s shirt and Levi’s. Most of them were bearded, and from their dress, buffalo hunters. There was one, however, who had the look of a professional gambler or gunman. He was dressed in a dark suit, flowing red tie, flat-crowned hat, and polished black boots. A Colt was tied low on his right hip. He sauntered out of the saloon and into the store. Removing his hat, he bowed before Lacy.
“Dalton Gibbons, ma’am, and I’d be pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“The lady’s with me,” Nathan said grimly, “and she won’t be making your acquaintance.”
“Oh?” said Gibbons. “And who are you? Her daddy?”
“Close enough,” Nathan replied, and his right fist against Gibbons’s chin had the solid sound of an axe thunking into a log. Gibbons crashed into a wall, bringing down a shelf of lamp globes. They smashed in a crescendo of tinkling glass, bringing everybody from the store and the saloon on the run. One of those drawn to the scene happened to be a United States marshall who had been assigned to the territory. It was he who confronted Nathan.
“I’m Marshal Jed Summerfield,” he said. “I suppose you had a good reason for that.”
“I’m Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied. “He was molesting the lady who is with me.”
A big man, six-and-a-half feet tall and weighing near three hundred pounds stalked up to Nathan. He was dressed in striped trousers, white boiled shirt, and sleeve garters. He ignored the marshal, speaking to Nathan.
“I don’t care a damn what your reason was, pilgrim. You owe me money. Pay up, and then get the hell out of here.”
Gibbons had gotten groggily to his feet and was approaching Nathan, fire in his eye and blood oozing from the corners of his mouth. The marshal hauled him up short, leaving Nathan to face the big man from the store. There seemed only one way out.
“I’ll pay for the globes,” said Nathan. “How much?”
“A dozen of them at a dollar apiece. Ever’ damn globe I had in stock.”
It was more than they were worth, but Nathan paid. He then took Lacy’s arm and guided her out of the store. Throughout the ordeal, she had spoken not a word, and when she finally spoke, it did nothing to improve Nathan’s mood.
“I’m sorry you had to fight because of me.”
“There was nothing else I could do,” Nathan said. “He came after you like you were a saloon whore. I don’t like that damn marshal, either. Come on. We’re riding to Colorado.”
They rode west, following the Arkansas River, Cotton Blossom running on ahead. They weren’t more than a dozen miles from Fort Dodge when Nathan reined up.
“Why are we stopping?” Lacy asked. “There’s another hour of daylight.”
“I have some unfinished business to attend to,” said Nathan, dismounting. “Get down.”
She dismounted. Nathan unsaddled her horse and his own, and then unloaded the packhorse. By then, the dust along their back trail was obvious, even to Lacy.
“He’s following us,” Lacy said. “What are you going to do?”
“I reckon that’ll be up to him,” said Nathan. “I’ll shoot the varmint if he won’t have it any other way.”
She took notice of the grim set of his jaw and wisely said no more. As she had begun to learn, life on the frontier was one absolute after another. The only middle ground was that where the weak and indecisive were buried. Dalton Gibbons reined up a hundred yards away and shouted his challenge.
“You surprise me, Stone. You didn’t strike me as being the kind who would run, denying me satisfaction.” He dismounted, his hand near the butt of his Colt.
“There’s no satisfaction in dying,” Nathan replied, beginning his walk. “I don’t believe in killing a man for his first mistake. You’re about to make your second and last. It’s your play, when you’re ready.”
Speechless, Lacy Mayfield
looked on in horror. Trying to watch them both, she found she could not, for her eyes were drawn to Nathan. His hands swung at his sides, as though drawing a pistol was the farthest thing from his mind. The distance lessened until only eighty yards remained. Seventy. Sixty. Forty.
Gibbons drew first. Lacy caught the movement from the corner of her eye, and while he seemed incredibly fast, Nathan’s Colt was already spitting lead. Gibbons’ arm sagged, and his single shot slammed into the dirt at his feet. He seemed to stumble, and when he fell flat on his back, a gust of wind took his hat, cartwheeling it toward the river. Not looking back, Nathan slid his Colt into the holster and headed for the grazing horses.
“We’ll ride a ways yet, before we make camp,” he said.
Colorado Territory. September 10, 1867.
Nathan and Lacy took their time, following the Arkansas River until they were out of Kansas. Gradually the land changed. Far to the west, snow had silvered the peaks of a mighty mountain range.24
Eventually they came upon a large boulder, across the face of which some untalented soul had scrawled “Colorado Terr.”
“To what part of it are we going?” Lacy asked. “Denver,” said Nathan. “Virg Dillard told you he had friends there, that they were interested in a silver mine. These hombres could be the very bunch of varmints I’m after, and if I have to ride through a lot of mining towns, I’d as soon start with the biggest one. One thing I forgot. We should have bought coats, gloves, and more blankets.”
“I’ve never seen it so cold, so early in the fall,” said Lacy. “We’d be lots warmer if we ...”
“Slept together,” Nathan finished.
“Yes,” she said, not looking at him.
“Tonight, then,” Nathan said, “unless you change your mind.”
She didn’t.
Nathan broke ice so the horses could drink and for the making of breakfast coffee.
“Soon as we reach a town with a mercantile,” he said, “we’ll outfit ourselves with warm clothes. Some long handles, if we can find them.”
“Long handles?”
“Wool underwear,” Nathan said. “They cover you all over, from your neck to your feet.”
“They sound nice,” she said, “but how do you ...”
“There’s a flap in the seat,” said Nathan. “It unbuttons.”
They continued riding northwest, and after two days, had come upon no town or settlement.
“Good cattle country,” Nathan observed, “but it’ll be hell in winter, when the snow’s neck deep.”
Chapter 25
Denver. September 20, 1867
There were many mercantiles in Denver. Choosing one of the largest, Nathan and Lacy found an enormous selection of clothing. They each chose a sheepskin-lined, waist-length coat, sheepskin-lined gloves, and a dozen pair of wool socks.
“Now,” said Nathan to the bespectacled clerk, “we want some heavy wool long handles.”
“We ... ah ... don’t have them for ladies, sir,” the man said, embarrassed.
“I kind of expected that,” said Nathan. “Is there any law against a lady wearing a man’s long handles?”
“Ah ... not that I know of, sir.”
“Then we’ll take six pairs of them,” Nathan said. “Three to fit her, and three to fit me.”
After considerable inquiring, Nathan learned of a boarding place to the south of town known as Cherry Creek Manor. There was a livery, and the owners—Ezra and Josephine Grimes—reminded Nathan of his friends, Barnaby and Bess McQueen. Nathan only told them Lacy’s first name.
“Dollar a day for you and the wife,” said Josephine, “or twenty dollars a month. That’s with meals. The livery’s Ezra’s business. He’ll take care of your horses.”
“Dollar a day, per horse,” Ezra said, “or twenty dollars a month. That’s with grain.”
“Here’s a hundred dollars for all of us, for a month,” Nathan said. “Do you object to Cotton Blossom, my dog?”
“Not as long as he behaves himself,” said Josephine. “I’ll feed him for free, long as he ain’t too picky.”
“He’s easy satisfied,” Nathan said. “He’ll eat anything that don’t bite him first, and all he expects is that there be plenty of it.”
“Bring him with you to the dining room,” said Josephine, “and he can eat in the kitchen. Breakfast is at seven, dinner’s at noon, with supper at five. You’re welcome to use the parlor from seven in the morning until ten at night. We have a pretty respectable library, too. Ezra used to teach school.”
The “manor” consisted of a series of cabins, each with two large rooms. They were built of logs and were well sealed, and although they shared a chimney, each had its own fireplace. Nathan unlocked the door to their side, and they found it adequate and comfortable. The bed, made of cedar, had a feather tick. There was a dresser with an attached mirror, two ladderback chairs, a white porcelain pitcher with matching basin, and a chamber pot. There were curtains on each of the two windows and a heavy oval rug on the wooden floor.
“They think I’m your missus,” Lacy said, “and you didn’t tell them any different.”
“Why bother?” said Nathan. “You’re playing the game, so you might as well have the name.”
They were two hours away from supper, and Lacy donned a pair of the long handles. Nathan watched her fall on the bed, burying herself in the feather tick.
“We have plenty of time,” she said. “Why don’t you join me?”
“With or without your long handles?”
“Without,” she said.
Supper proved to be an interesting affair, for most of the “boarders” who gathered at the table were professional people. Ames Tilden interested Nathan, for he was president of Denver Bank and Trust, one of the first banks in the Territory. He and Eva Barton took control of the conversation, and everybody else listened. Eva, as Nathan and Lacy learned, was an actress, performing nightly at Denver’s Palace Theatre.
“There’s a new melodrama coming to the Palace,” said Eva excitedly. “It’s Under the Gaslight, and was first presented to New York audiences this past August. Our opening night is December sixth. All of you simply must attend.”25
It was an interesting interlude. Nathan and Lacy remained after the meal, joining some of the other residents in the parlor. Lacy quickly gained the friendship of the actress by asking numerous questions, and when Nathan and Lacy returned to their quarters, Lacy had the promise of passes to the opening performance of the new melodrama.
“I didn’t know you were interested in the theatre,” Nathan said.
“I didn’t know it myself, until tonight,” said Lacy. “Listening to Eva, talking to her, it all came back to me. When Pa died and Ma remarried—when I was so unhappy—I pretended that I lived in St. Louis, that I rode in fancy carriages, that I was somebody. It became real to me, and I ... I believed it.”
“Maybe you should talk to Eva about getting into the theatre,” Nathan said. “I’ve never been to the theatre, but I’ve heard you can learn the trade by becoming an understudy. I reckon you have to work for nothing until you learn what to do and when to do it.”
“God,” said Lacy, “I could never do anything as glamorous as that. I’m just a coward. I escaped into my dreams because I hated my life like it was.”
But the more Lacy saw of Eva Barton, the more she changed. At first, she and Nathan attended the theatre, but Nathan grew tired of the repetition. So there were nights when Lacy went with Eva, remaining backstage.
Nathan spent his days learning the town and visiting various saloons. There were many, such as the Albany, the Windsor, the Silver Dollar, the Brown Palace, and the Denver Bagnio, owned by Laura Evans. Competition was fierce, and some saloons employed barbers. It was a convenient means for more timid patrons to sneak a few drinks before or after a haircut or shave.
But all Nathan’s time wasn’t spent in saloons. He developed a friendship with the banker, Ames Tilden, and taking Tilden’s advice, deposited mo
st of his money in the bank. He had gained the banker’s confidence by expressing an interest in mining. By doing so, it entitled him to ask questions about mines in Colorado Territory. He pursued the lead he had gotten from Lacy regarding the possibility that Clint Foster and Milo Jenks were in Colorado because of a silver mine. But Ames Tilden quickly dashed all his hopes.
“There have been traces of silver to the south of here,” said Tilden, “but it’s all been low grade ore. Nobody’s going to kill himself digging for a pittance in silver, when there’s gold to be had.”
“I reckon not,” Nathan said. “How far south is gold being mined?”
“The most prominent mines,” said Tilden,” are Gregory Diggings, Idaho Springs, California Gulch, and Fairplay. They’re all within a day’s ride, and along the plains, before you get into the foothills approaching the divide. There are some lesser diggings farther south, but most have played out. One such place that’s still being worked—on the Rio Grande, not more than a dozen miles this side of New Mexico Territory—has a town built around the diggings. It’s called Ciudad de Oro.”26
“But you don’t think it’s worth considering.”
“Probably not. There are far more promising mines—gold and silver—in Nevada and southern Arizona. In Nevada, there’s Virginia City, Gold Hill, Wellington, Aurora, Rawhide, Tonopah, Goldfield, Pioche, and Callville. In south central Arizona, there’s the Tip Top and the Vulture. Southwest from there is the Texas Hill, the Ajo, the Cooper, and the Tubec. There are others, I’m sure. There are government maps available, if you’re interested.”
“Get me those maps,” Nathan said, “and I’ll pay for them. What I’m looking for may not be in Colorado.”
Denver. December 4, 1867.
Nathan rode to several of the mines nearest Denver, but found not a trace of either of the men he sought. He wasn’t surprised, as he could not imagine killers involving themselves in anything even close to honest labor. Nathan returned in the early afternoon to Cherry Creek Manor to find Ezra, Josephine, Lacy, Eva Barton, and a local doctor gathered around a sheet-covered utility table in the Grimes’s kitchen. Cotton Blossom lay on his left side. His right hind leg and most of his hindquarters oozed blood.
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