The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  “I’m obliged,” said Nathan.

  For two weeks Nathan made the rounds of various saloons, vainly seeking some clue to the remaining three men on his death list. One night, while at the bar in the Silver Dollar, Nathan heard that Wild Bill Hickok was in the house. He found Hickok observing a poker game. Hickok wore his hair down to his shoulders. His black pin-striped trousers were stuffed into the tops of stove-pipe boots. His stiff, white shirt had ruffles down the front and hung open at the throat. His unbuttoned black vest partially covered the forward-turned butts of his pearl-handled revolvers. An expensive pinch-creased black Stetson was tilted back on his head. Two of the five men dropped out of the game and Hickok took an empty chair, his back to the wall. Nathan took the other chair, and the two of them played for an hour without winning a single pot.

  “Gentlemen,” Hickok said, “Lady Luck is a faithless wench who appears to have forsaken me. I bid you adieu.”

  “I’d have to amen that,” said Nathan, getting to his feet. “Belly up to the bar,” he told Hickok, “and I’ll buy. At least we’ll get something for our money there.”

  Hickok laughed, appreciating the humor. It was still early and Nathan had grown tired of saloons. It soon should be suppertime at Cherry Creek Manor, and unless Nathan intended to eat in town, it was time he rode out. Having made Hickok’s acquaintance, he found himself reluctant to leave.

  “It’s near suppertime,” Nathan said. “Will you join me?”

  “Why not?” said Hickok. “There’s something to be said for a bad night at the games of chance. It frees a man to seek decent nourishment, instead of hunkering over a poker table all night, grazing off the saloon free lunch.”

  Nathan found himself liking Hickok immediately, for he was an amiable man with a sense of humor and apparently, some degree of education. However, there was much that Nathan had yet to learn. When sober, Hickok had a way with women, an undefinable charm that in no way seemed affected. On the other hand, he possessed a violent temper that often manifested itself when he was drunk. Hickok chose one of the more fashionable restaurants, and in the lobby was a placard announcing the opening of a comedy, My American Cousin, at the Palace Theatre. Nathan swallowed hard, for Lacy Mayfield’s name was prominently displayed. When Nathan and Hickok were about to leave the restaurant, Hickok paused before the placard.

  “I’ve never seen a mining town that didn’t have some kind of theatre,” Hickok said, “and I’ve never attended this one. Tonight would be a good time to go. Will you join me?”

  “I reckon I’ll go,” said Nathan. “A man can’t spend all his time in the saloons.” The truth of it was, Nathan had been doing exactly that, allowing it to serve a twofold purpose. While he sought some information on the three men on his death list, he was using the activity as a means of ridding his mind of Lacy Mayfield. With her in mind, the very last place he wanted to go was the Palace, where her memory would be personified for a painful two hours. However, he told himself, it wasn’t his nature to run and hide from anything or anybody. He would attend her damn play, taking a seat as near the stage as he could. Nathan and Hickok arrived early, and despite it being an opening night, they were able to get seats near the front row, at center stage.

  For a while Nathan was uncomfortable watching Lacy perform. However, the stage was well lighted, and after the intermission, the girl discovered Nathan in the audience. Where her earlier performance had been flawless, she now began to stumble over her lines.

  “She keeps looking this way,” Nathan said to Hickok. “I think she’s got her eye on you.”

  “I’d not be surprised,” said Hickok, dead serious.

  When the play was over, many of the patrons gathered near the stage in hopes of speaking to some of the cast, but Lacy Mayfield didn’t appear. But Monte Juno did. He wasted no time in confronting Nathan.

  “Damn you, he said, ”you made her nervous.”

  “Is that a fact?” said Nathan. “Why, this is the first time I’ve ever seen her on stage. I’m so taken with her, I might just be here every night for the run of the play.”

  Juno was so furious his mouth worked, but no words came out. He stomped away and Nathan laughed.

  “Ah,” Hickok said, seeing the light. “The plot thickens.”

  “She gave me the boot for him,” said Nathan, “and you can see why. I’ve never looked worth a damn in a clawhammer coat and top hat.”

  “It’s a hardship,” Hickok replied, biting his upper lip and jiggling his flowing mustache. “He looks like the kind who’d live off a lady’s wages.”

  “Oh, he has a place of his own,” said Nathan. “Saloon and gambling house called Monte’s Hacienda. I’ve been meaning to drop in for a neighborly visit and try a few hands at his tables. I hear he serves only rye and bourbon, catering to gents with an educated thirst.”

  “By the saints,” Hickok thundered. “Let us not delay this visit any longer. I have been known to down good rye until the sun rises or until I can’t.”

  Hickok was becoming well known on the frontier, and certainly in its many saloons. Monte’s Hacienda was no different. He was met at the door by Monte Juno himself, and while he welcomed Hickok, he cast dark looks at Nathan, who grinned at him. Hickok looked around, saw no gambling tables, and headed for the stairs. Nathan followed. The second floor was devoted entirely to gambling, although there was a bar along one wall. Hickok paused at the bar.

  “Bottle of rye,” he thundered.

  The bartender produced the bottle and a glass.

  “Another glass,” Hickok bawled. “What do you reckon my pard’s gonna drink out of? His hat?”

  There was a burst of laughter and the bartender hurriedly brought another glass. Hickok snatched the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other and went looking for a table. One of the poker games had dwindled down to two participants and the house man. Hickok took a chair, his back to the wall, and Nathan took one across the table from him. Hickok belted down two shots of rye, while Nathan drank nothing. He hung his vest on the back of an empty chair and got down to some serious five-card stud. The house man was nervous, his eyes on the forward butts of Hickok’s Navy Colts. The fickle Lady Luck who had scorned Nathan and Hickok earlier now smiled on them abundantly, as Hickok took the first and second pots, while the third and fourth went to Nathan. The other two gamblers eyed the house dealer suspiciously, as Hickok took the fifth pot and Nathan the sixth. It was time for Juno to appear, and he did.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “this game is over.”

  “Like hell it is,” shouted one of the losing gamblers. “I want a chance to git my money back.”

  “Some other time,” said Juno. His eyes shifted from the empty whiskey bottle to Hickok, who was now gloriously drunk.

  “Well, hell,” Hickok muttered, “we got to make our own fun.”

  With dazzling swiftness he drew the Navy Colts, firing first one and then the other. Four seperate pyramids of bottled whiskey exploded, while the long mirror behind the bar came down in a tinkling crash. Three men piled on Hickok while a fourth swung a Colt at Nathan’s head. He caught the arm, slammed the man’s face into the surface of the table, and buffaloed him with the muzzle of one of his own Colts. He tried to go to Hickok’s aid, but as was the case with most saloon brawls, men leaped into the fray for the sheer hell of it. Bottles flew, chairs smashed into walls, tables broke, and Colts roared. A slug struck a hanging lamp, showering men with burning oil. Nathan went down under an avalanche of bodies and somebody drove a knife into his left arm, just below the shoulder. A Colt roared close by, and one of the men pinning him down screamed.

  “Enough, damn it,” a bull voice roared. “This is the law.”

  It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Men got to their feet nursing bloody noses, spitting blood from smashed mouths, rubbing throbbing heads. Blood dripped off Nathan’s fingers from the knife wound in his upper arm, but Hickok had been shot three times. Once in the left side, and once in each upper thigh. Th
e sheriff was dressed in a town suit, gray Stetson, and black polished boots, but the shotgun he carried was all business.

  “You varmints got some walking to do,” he said. “Is anybody unable?”

  Hickok, gripping the edge of a table, managed to get to his feet.

  “Damn it, Sheriff,” a man complained, “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with all this.”

  “I expect none of you jaspers had anything to do with it,” said the lawman, “so I aim to be fair. I’m lockin’ all of you up, and you can tell it to the judge in the morning.”

  - “I’m hurt,” a man complained.

  “I’ll send the doc around to patch up them of you that’s needful of it,” said the sheriff. “Now get movin’, all of you.”

  They moved, Hickok limping, as were some of the others. There were twelve men. Hickok and Nathan were locked in one cell, while the others were divided two or three to a cell.

  “You got the worst of it,” Nathan said. “That doc’s taking his own sweet time gettin’ here.”

  “It’s painful,” said Hickok, “but I’ve been hurt worse. What about you?’”

  “Knife wound,” Nathan said. “I reckon old Juno’s hurtin’ the most. He won’t soon find another bar mirror to replace what he had. When he does, I reckon he’ll be payin’ for it with our money.”

  “Lord” Bill said, “wasn’t that the sweetest sound you ever heard in all your born days, that glass rainin’ off the wall?”

  The doctor eventually arrived, and disinfected and bandaged their wounds. Everybody had been fortunate, for no lead had to be dug out and no bones had been broken. The bunks in the cells were about as comfortable as stone slabs, and nobody slept much. The sheriff showed up early with a proposition.

  “Unless some of you varmints is mule headed enough to want to argue with the judge, Juno’s agreed to let you loose with payment of damages. He figured six hundred dollars, and that’s fifty dollars apiece. Now if there’s anybody that ain’t satisfied with that, tell it to the judge. He’ll fine you fifty dollars, add ten dollars for court costs, and lock you up until you pay.”

  Nobody argued with that. They were turned loose, some of the others casting baleful looks at Nathan and Hickok.

  “I can bring your horse,” said Nathan. “Where is he?”

  “At the livery, near the Albany Saloon,” Hickok replied. “Just leave him there. I have a room at the Tremont House, and I can make it that far.”

  He did, painful as it must have been.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow morning,” said Nathan, “and if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll buy your breakfast. Do you want me to bring you a bottle of whiskey, in case there’s infection?”

  “I want a bottle of whiskey whether there’s infection or not,” Hickok said with a grin, “but there’s a bar in the hotel lobby.”

  Nathan went on his way, taking his horse from the livery and riding back to Cherry Creek Manor. Cotton Blossom came bounding out the kitchen door to greet him, and he was thankful for the friendship of Ezra and Josephine and for their affection for the faithful hound. He stepped into the kitchen, aware of a painful purple bruise beneath his left eye and the ripped, bloody sleeve of his shirt. He found Ezra and Josephine at the kitchen table.

  “I saved you breakfast, if you want it,” said Josephine.

  “I want it more than anything,” Nathan replied. “All I got in jail was a hard bunk, and I paid fifty dollars for it.”

  Ezra laughed, and Nathan told them of meeting Hickok, and of the brawl that had erupted as a result of Hickok’s pistol work in Monte’s Hacienda.

  “From what I’ve seen of Mr. Juno,” said Josephine, “it must have been almost worth fifty dollars.”

  “It almost was,” Nathan agreed. “Hickok’s laid up at the Tremont House, with three bullet wounds. He could have been killed, and all for nothing.”

  “You should have brought him with you,” said Ezra. “I’d like to meet him. We could always send Josephine into the parlor.”

  “You could try,” Josephine sniffed. “If someone as well known as he is shows up here, I want to hear everything he has to say. Besides, from what I have read, he can be a perfect gentleman.”

  “He can be,” said Nathan, “and he is, while he’s sober. He was roaring drunk when he shot up Juno’s place.”

  “He’s still welcome here, if he needs a place to stay,” Josephine said.

  “I’m riding in to have breakfast with him tomorrow, if he’s able,” said Nathan. “I’ll tell him what you said.”

  Nathan spent the day resting and went to bed early. He was awake before first light and on his way into town by sunup. He found Hickok stretched out on his bed, dressed except for boots and hat.

  “You look ready for breakfast,” Nathan said.

  “Hungry as a grizzly just out of hibernation,” said Hickok, “and aimin’ to go, if I have to crawl on hands and knees.”

  Nathan could only marvel at the man’s endurance and rapid recovery. He still limped, but if his wounds pained him, he gave no sign. A restaurant adjoining the Tremont House provided the nourishment Bill so desired.

  “I’ve about had enough of Colorado for a while,” Hickok said. “Another week—mid—July—and I aim to ride back to Hays.”

  “Hays?”

  “Hays City, Kansas,” said Hickok. “They’re holdin’ an election for county sheriff in August. I might just have a go at it.”

  “I might just ride with you,” Nathan said, “if that sets well with you.”

  “Come on, and welcome,” said Hickok. “It’s a comfort, having a gent sidin’ you that’s set with you at the poker table, had his head cracked in your saloon fight, and shared a cell with you in the calabozo.”

  Nathan laughed. He had never known a man like Wild Bill Hickok. After leaving Hickok, he visited some of the shops in Denver, purchasing some new Levi’s, shirts, and socks. It was too early for most of the saloons to be open, and there were still a few Nathan had not visited. These were often more of a whorehouse than a saloon. Nathan had heard of Laura Evans’s Bagnio, but had never been there. Despite the early hour, the place was open, and it seemed that Laura herself was behind the bar. Nathan thought she must have been an attractive woman once, but the years and her profession had taken their toll. Three men leaned on the bar, apparently regulars, for all were laughing at some private joke. Nathan finished a beer and was about to leave, when something one of the men said gained his undivided attention.

  “... glad you got rid of that bastard, Milo Jenks.”

  “Pardner,” Nathan said, “I’m not one to butt into a private conversation, but I heard you mention Milo Jenks. I’ve been looking for him.”

  The man laughed. “Ask Laura. She knows him well.”

  But Laura Evans didn’t think it was funny. “If you’re a friend of his,” she said, “get the hell out of here. You’re not welcome.”

  “Ma’am,” said Nathan, “I’m no friend. He’ll wish he’d never laid eyes on me.”

  “In that case,” Laura said, “try Monte’s Hacienda. The two-faced, two-timing skunk that’s calling himself Monte Juno is Milo Jenks. At least that was his name when he first showed up here.”

  “I’m obliged,” said Nathan. He tipped his hat and left hurriedly.

  The three men at the bar watched Nathan out the door, and the one who had mentioned Jenks spoke.

  “I’d say Mr. Jenks has a past, and that some of it’s about to make some big changes in his future.”

  “Praise be,” Laura Evans said. “Gut-shooting’s too good for him.”

  Milo Jenks, now known as Monte Juno, wasn’t to be found at the saloon, for the place wasn’t open. There was the sound of hammering from somewhere inside, and Nathan guessed the upstairs was being cleaned up and repaired. He waited across the street, but Jenks didn’t show. He was probably out with Lacy, Nathan thought with disgust. He grew tired of waiting and returned to the Tremont House, thinking he would spend the afternoon with Hickok,
but he got no answer when he knocked on the door to Hickok’s room. Nathan had his supper in the restaurant adjoining the Tremont House, and when it was near time for the play to begin at the Palace Theatre, he went there. Others were waiting near the stage door, probably for Lacy’s arrival, and Nathan joined them. When Jenks drove up in the buckboard, Lacy stepped down. Nathan must wait until she was out of the line of fire, and as she approached the theatre, he started toward the buckboard. Then he shouted his challenge.

  “You in the buckboard, Milo Jenks. Get down. I’m going to give you more of a chance than you gave my family, back in Virginia.”

  “You got the wrong man,” Jenks shouted.

  “No,” said Nathan. “Get off that seat and face me like a man, or I’ll kill you where you set.”

  “No,” Lacy Mayfield screamed. She ran toward Nathan, about to throw herself at him, when Jenks fired. Once, twice he fired, and the slugs stopped Lacy in her tracks. She stumbled forward and fell face down at Nathan’s feet. Jenks fired a third time, but the slug went over Nathan’s head. He drew his right-hand Colt and shot Milo Jenks twice, through the chest. The outlaw stumbled back against the buckboard team, spooking them. They bolted, leaving the dying outlaw lying in the dust. Women screamed and men cursed, but Nathan Stone was oblivious to it all. His heart was heavy, recalling the days past when young Lacy Mayfield only wanted to be somebody ...

  Chapter 30

  Every witness swore that Milo Jenks had fired first, that his slugs had struck Lacy, and that only then had Nathan shot Jenks. Lacy’s funeral was a nightmare that Nathan Stone wanted only to forget. Wild Bill Hickok was there, and when Lacy had been laid to rest, Hickok approached Nathan.

  “I reckon this is a bad time to talk,” Wild Bill said.

  “There won’t be any good times for a while,” Nathan replied.

  “I’m ridin’ out for Hays in the mornin’,” said Hickok.

  “I’ll be riding with you,” Nathan said.