The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  Try as he might, Nathan was unable to recognize any landmarks, for the snow had changed everything. He realized they had reached Cocodrilo Rancho only when he reached the spring, a few hundred yards south of El Gato’s cabin. Nathan dismounted, leading the black. He would leave the horse at the cabin and proceed on foot to the bunkhouse. But by the time he reached the cabin, the girl had the door open.

  “You came back!” she cried joyously. “You came back for me.”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I’ll have to silence the two men at the bunkhouse. If you have any coffee, put some on to boil. I’ll be back.”

  He started for the bunkhouse, thankful it had no windows. He would be discovered only if Breed or Kirkham opened the door before he was able to get the drop. He had no intention of killing them, unless they forced him to. In the pocket of his sheepskin coat was strong twine that he had brought for the occasion. He drew his right-hand Colt, cocked it, and slammed open the bunkhouse door. Breed and Kirkham sat up on their bunks, grabbing frantically for their weapons. Nathan fired once, the lead ripping into the floor between the two men. It had the desired effect. They froze.

  “Belly down on the floor,” Nathan ordered. “I only want what’s mine, and I reckon you gents won’t interfere if you’re tied good and tight.”

  “Damn you,” Kirkham snarled, “we’ll freeze.”

  “That’s a chance you have to take,” said Nathan, “unless you’d prefer I just shoot you.”

  Given the alternative, they sprawled face down on the floor. Nathan had only begun to tie Kirkham’s hands behind his back when Breed made his play. He rolled over, but got no farther, for Nathan slugged him just above the eyes with the muzzle of his Colt. Breed lay still.

  “Get up,” Nathan told Kirkham, loosing his bonds. “Stretch out on your bunk. I’ll give you a break.”

  Kirkham did so, and Nathan lashed each of his ankles to the foot of the bunk and each of his wrists to the head. He then dumped Breed on his bunk and lashed him down as he had Kirkham. It was more consideration than they deserved, but they might be many hours away from discovery, and he was leaving them in positions not all that torturous. He took their Colts, opened the door, and flung them far out into the snow. He then shouldered the packsaddle and stepped out the door. Cotton Blossom was already near the corral, and Nathan quickly caught up and loaded the packhorse. He led the animal back to the cabin where Mary Holden waited, and knocked on the door. She let him in, and he smelled the coffee.

  “I heard a shot,” she said, “and I was afraid ...”

  “Nobody’s hurt,” said Nathan. “Breed and Kirkham are tied to their bunks. They’ll be a mite stiff, but they’ll get over it. Can you ride?”

  “Yes,” Mary said, “but not like this ... I ...”

  “I’ll take one of these saddles,” said Nathan, “and saddle you a horse. But you can’t travel the way you are. Until we can do better, can’t you wear some of El Gato’s duds? Take a warm shirt, Levi’s, and a coat. Find a pair of boots, shoes, something to protect your feet, even if they’re too large. I can get you something decent once we’re away from here, but it’s almighty cold out there.”

  “I’ll try to find something,” she said dubiously. “The coffee’s ready.”

  Nathan found a tin cup and drank most of the coffee. By then, Mary had returned with an assortment of things, including a pair of boots.

  “You can change out here by the fire,” said Nathan. “I’ll go to the corral and catch you a horse. Which of these saddles do you prefer?”

  “The one nearest the door,” she said. “That’s mine. They took my horse, too. He’s dark gray, a grulla.”

  Nathan took the saddle and headed for the corral. There were three more horses, one of them a grulla, and Nathan caught him without difficulty. He led the horse back to the cabin and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” she said.

  He almost laughed, for she looked like a scarecrow. The sleeves of the blue flannel shirt came well over her hands, and the legs of the Levi’s were a foot too long. They were far too large in the waist, too, for when she bent down to roll up the legs, the Levi’s slid down around her ankles.

  “Oh, damn,” she cried, “I can’t do it.”

  “You’ll have to,” said Nathan, “until we can do better. He must have an extra belt somewhere.”

  Nathan managed to find one, and with his knife, cut some extra holes. The boots were too large, but with three pair of socks, she made them fit. Then, wearing a coat that swallowed her small frame, Nathan hoisted her into the saddle. They rode southeast, the snow covering the tracks of the horses ...

  Chapter 33

  While the snow had changed the landscape, the Chisholm wagon road had been in use for three years as a cattle trail, and would be well defined. It would lead them south to Red River, and crossing that, they would be less than an hour from Dallas or Fort Worth. Mary Holden rode well, trotting her grulla easily alongside his black.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Fort Worth, Texas,” said Nathan. “I need some sleep and some hot food, and you need some clothes and boots that fit. Time enough to get you back to Kansas, after El Gato and his bunch have returned to Indian Territory.”

  “I’m not going back to Kansas,” she said.

  “You have kin somewhere else, I reckon,” said Nathan.

  “None that I claim,” she replied. “Ma and Pa married against the wishes of her family and his. Now they’re all dead. Them that’s left—aunts, uncles, cousins—I don’t know them. I don’t know where they are, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Then you have nowhere to go?”

  “Nowhere,” she said, “unless I go with you.”

  “You can’t go with me,” said Nathan. “It wouldn’t be ... proper. I’m older than you.”

  “Pa was ten years older than my Ma.”

  “I’m not looking for a wife,” Nathan said firmly.

  “I’m not offering you one,” she replied. “Just tell people we’re married. When you get tired of me, I’ll go away.”

  “I’m no-account,” said Nathan, “but I’m more of a man than that. Let’s just say I have my reason—an almighty good reason—for not wanting a woman riding with me. Can’t we let it go at that?”

  She said no more, but he had the feeling this wasn’t over. He suspected that when her hair was cut and she was dressed decently, Mary Holden was going to be an almighty pretty girl, more temptation than he could resist on a regular basis.

  Fort Worth, Texas. January 28, 1871.

  The snow ceased before they reached the Red, and by the time Nathan and Mary rode into Fort Worth, there were patches of bare ground everywhere.

  “First we must report to the post commander,” Nathan said. “Then we’ll find you some clothes that fit. Then we’re going to find someplace where there’s a roof over our heads, and I aim to sleep for two days.”

  Nathan asked to speak to the post commander, and found Captain Ferguson was still there. He recognized Nathan, and seemed somewhat amused at his poorly clothed companion.

  “We’ve ridden across Indian Territory,” said Nathan, “and we’re needing quarters for several nights. I realize this is a military post, Captain, but I’d be glad to pay.”

  “It’s not our custom to rent quarters,” Ferguson said, “but in deference to your wife . . .”

  “She’s . . . this is ...” Nathan was caught off guard, and Mary cut in.

  “Mary,” said the girl glibly, “and we’re most obliged, Captain. You are a gentlemen.”

  Ferguson grinned like a mule eating briars, turning them over to a waiting corporal, and he led them to a small cabin that customarily housed a pair of officers at the post’s bachelor officer’s quarters. The corporal let them in and closed the door, leaving them alone. The room was small, and there was just one bed.

  “Damn,” Nathan said, glaring at her.

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t have gotten this cabin if it
weren’t for me,” she said.

  “You can have the bed,” he told her. “I’ll spread my blankets on the floor.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “You don’t need a wife.”

  “Come on,” said Nathan wearily. “We’ll go to the sutler’s and get you some clothes that fit.”

  Mary Holden was small, and it was difficult to fit her in men’s clothes. The man who tried to assist them was at first amused, but he became irritated as the task consumed more and more time. Finally he came up with a suggestion that was too much.

  “Sir,” he said to Nathan, “have you considered allowing her to wear ... ah ... more ladylike apparel? Perhaps a floor-length skirt?”

  “Pardner,” Nathan said, “have you ever seen a lady hike her leg over a saddle, wearin’ a skirt? Would you want your missus doin’ that?”

  Others had heard the exchange, and men roared with laughter, but one of those who had overheard came to Nathan’s aid.

  “I’m Lieutenant Masters,” he said, “and my wife’s a seamstress. Just buy as close as you can to what you need, and it won’t cost that much to have everything altered to fit.”

  “That’s most kind of you,” said Mary, again jumping in ahead of Nathan. “Tell me where I can find her.”

  “Here,” Masters said, “I’ll write it down for you.”

  He did so, and the embarrassed clerk managed to select shirts and Levi’s of a size near enough to Mary’s that they could be altered. To Nathan’s everlasting relief, the store had wool socks and boots that fit well enough, and while the sleeves on the sheepskin coat were a little long, it would do. They returned to the cabin Ferguson had assigned them, and no sooner had Nathan closed the door than Mary began removing the too-large clothing of El Gato.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nathan demanded.

  “Taking off his clothes,” she said. “I want out of them.”

  “But yours have to be altered,” Nathan protested.

  “When I go to have them altered, I’ll wear them,” she said. “You say you need sleep, and I don’t feel safe walking around this place alone. I’ll wait until you can go with me.”

  She had already removed the shirt, and when she loosened the belt, the Levi’s fell down to her ankles. Despite all his resolutions, Nathan stared at her, and she laughed.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Take these boots off.” She sat down on the bed, extending her feet, and he dragged El Gato’s boots off. She discarded the Levi’s and stretched out on the bed.

  “Nice bed,” she observed. “More comfortable than the floor.”

  Nathan had left the horses and the packsaddle at the post livery and his saddlebags were under the bed. Finally it occurred to him he had forgotten Cotton Blossom. He opened the door a little, wary of Mary Holden stretched out on the bed. Cotton Blossom poked his head around the corner of the cabin, and started reluctantly for the door. He paused, looked around, decided that the cabin was the lesser of many evils and came inside. Mary called to him, and he seemed more confident. Nathan removed his hat, his gunbelt, and then his boots. He stretched out on his back on the other side of the bed, which didn’t offer all that much room.

  When Mary Holden was sure Nathan was asleep, she got up. The clothing to be altered was much nearer her size than that of El Gato’s. She sat on the room’s only chair and pulled on a pair of the wool socks, and when she looked up, Nathan was looking directly at her.

  “I ... I thought you were asleep,” she stammered.

  “I’m a light sleeper,” he said. “It keeps me alive. Just where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “I was going to have the clothes fixed ...” “That can wait,” said Nathan. “If you don’t aim to sleep, then be quiet so I can.”

  “Would you prefer that I sit here, or may I lie on the bed?”

  “If you aim to get up and down, stay where you are,” Nathan said.

  Nathan was snoring when she again lay down beside him. She wore one of the new shirts and new Levi’s.

  “You forgot the boots,” Nathan said, not bothering to open his eyes.

  She got up, stomped into the new boots, and lay down again. Nathan said nothing, continuing to snore, but he had a hard time suppressing a grin.

  He had no idea how long he had slept, but when he awakened, the girl’s exhaustion had caught up with her, for she slept soundly. Cotton Blossom sat beside the door. Nathan got up and let him out. The sky had cleared and the sun was low on the western horizon. Nathan sat down on the chair, watching Mary Holden sleep. Had she planned to take her clothes to the seamstress, or had she been about to run out on him? He decided she had not, for it made no sense. She had no money and her clothes didn’t fit. She seemed impulsive, restless, and more than a little put out that he hadn’t yielded to temptation and taken her when he had the chance. By her own admission she had nowhere to go, nowhere she wanted to go, and that fueled the fires of Nathan’s suspicion. Nathan had told her he wasn’t seeking a wife and she had denied wishing to become one, but no honest man could take a woman and not feel some obligation to her. He had a strong suspicion she had been counting on that. While he had told her nothing about himself, she was no fool. When he had returned for her, he could have taken her there in El Gato’s cabin, making that a condition for his rescue, but he had not. He was well armed, owned not only horse and saddle, but a packhorse as well. He had readily paid for her new clothes, so she was aware that he wasn’t poor. He shook his head. Women were a paradox, all too often giving themselves to men who in no way suited their dreams, but could offer some small measure of security. On the other hand, a man—or woman, for that matter—who seemed indifferent and unattainable became all the more desirable. Nathan resolved to help Mary Holden in any way that he could, but on his terms, not hers. If, somewhere within her, lived a woman whose feelings were genuine and whose affection was not for sale or trade, then he would be ready and willing to reconsider.

  A knock on the door brought him out of his chair. It was the young corporal who had guided them to the cabin.

  “Captain Ferguson says you and the missus are welcome to eat at officer’s mess. It’s the long, low building directly behind the orderly room.”

  “We’re obliged, Corporal,” Nathan said. He closed the door.

  “I’m starved,” said Mary, sitting up and showing none of her earlier irritation. “Where’s Cotton Blossom?”

  “Outside,” Nathan replied. “You’d better roll up the legs of those Levi’s so’s you can walk.”

  She did, and within a few minutes, the bugler blew mess call.

  “We’ll wait a few minutes,” said Nathan, “and let the soldiers go first. They’re doing us a good turn, and I’m not one to take unfair advantage of a man’s hospitality.”

  When Nathan and Mary reached officer’s mess, Cotton Blossom was already there. A large pan of roast beef trimmings had been left outside the door, and Cotton Blossom had wasted no time in partaking of them. Captain Ferguson sat at a table near the door and nodded to them as they entered. When Nathan and Mary had their trays filled, Nathan spoke to the cook.

  “I’m obliged to you for feeding my dog. Neither of us has been eating very well lately.”

  “My pleasure,” the cook said.

  Nathan and Mary took seats at an empty table near where Captain Ferguson sat talking with two other officers. It soon became apparent that one of the officers was the post doctor and that he and Ferguson were discussing the illness of their telegrapher. Nathan waited for a pause in the conversation, and then spoke to Ferguson.

  “Captain Ferguson, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I was with the Kansas-Pacific Railroad for a while, and I know the code. If you’re in need of a telegrapher, I’d be glad to fill in until you can make some other arrangements.”

  “Stone,” said Ferguson, getting to his feet, “you’re the answer to a prayer. Sergeant DeWitt, our telegrapher, is deathly ill, out of his head with a fever. We’re
authorized two telegraphers, but the post is undermanned. The instrument’s been clattering all day. By now, Washington probably thinks we’ve been overrun by Quanah Parker’s Comanches. When you’ve finished eating, please come to my office. The first thing I want you to do is inform Washington that you’re a civilian, filling in for the one telegrapher they’ve sent me in the four years I’ve been post commander here.”