Abilene, Kansas. July 12, 1871.
Nathan found no record of John Wesley Hardin at any of the hotels, and when he was about to admit defeat, he found Withers’s scrawled signature on an out-of-the-way hotel register. The date was July ninth.
“By God,” Nathan said, “that’s what I’ve been looking for. Withers was still in Abilene two days after Hardin killed the second man. That means that Withers is no longer riding with Hardin.”
“Is that going to make him any easier to find?” Mary asked.
“Yes. I ... hell, I don’t know,” said Nathan. “It means Withers has kept his nose clean enough to sign his own name. I’m going to at least ask at the livery. His horse may have a Texas brand.”
“Jist one Texas brand I seen lately,” the liveryman grinned. “XIT.”
Nathan turned away without even thanking him.
“That’s no help?” Mary asked.
“My God, no,” said Nathan, looking at her pityingly. “The XIT is likely the biggest damn spread in the world. It covers ten counties. That’s what XIT means: Ten in Texas. I doubt there’s a cowboy west of the Mississippi who hasn’t ridden for XIT.”
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a dumb cow,” she said. “I’ve never been anywhere until I met you.”
“Sorry,” said Nathan. “I keep forgetting that.”
“You know Withers isn’t here,” Mary said, “because the date on that hotel register was July ninth. Unless he stayed somewhere else for a longer time.”
“That makes no sense,” said Nathan. “If I stay at a hotel for one night, why the hell wouldn’t I stay there till I was ready to leave town?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “We’re talking about Dade Withers, not you.”
“You’re right,” said Nathan grudgingly. “It makes no sense, but I can’t ride on without knowing for sure.”
Nathan studied as many hotel registers as he was permitted to see, and didn’t find Withers’ signature again.
“Now where are we going?”
“He could have ridden to Hays, Dodge, or even Denver,” Nathan said. “We’ll try Dodge first, and then Hays. If I don’t find him in either place, then I reckon we’ll ride farther north.”
“If you find no further trace of him in Kansas,” said Mary, “how do you know he didn’t just ride back to Texas?”
Speechless, Nathan leaned on his saddle and rubbed his eyes. Why did a woman always have to be so right?
Chapter 35
In Texas, riding with John Wesley Hardin, Dade Withers had taken part in several robberies. While nobody had been killed, Withers had welcomed Hardin’s decision to join the trail drive bound for Wichita. Withers had been drawn to the Texas outlaw because of Hardin’s lightning-fast draw and his devil-may-care attitude, but while crossing Indian Territory with the trail drive, Hardin had shot and killed an Indian without cause. Withers realized that Hardin had a hell of a temper, and he killed for any reason, or for no reason at all. Withers had thus reached the sobering conclusion that just riding with such a man could get him gunned down or hanged on the same limb as Hardin. When he had reached Kansas, Withers had just begun to breathe a little easier when, in the space of just two days, Hardin had killed two more men. Hardin had been forced to leave town in a hurry, so it hadn’t been difficult for Dade Withers to sever his ties with the outlaw.
Now Withers was riding southwest, for he had heard of the lawless tent city on the bank of the Arkansas, soon to become Dodge City. Withers didn’t bother stopping at Fort Dodge, but rode eight miles west, where he paid for a cot in the tent that was soon to become a hotel. Withers then spent the rest of the day sizing up various businesses. Most of them, except for the mercantile, still occupied tents. He quickly decided the mercantile was his best bet for some fast money, for thanks to the soldiers and civilians at Fort Dodge, it did a landslide business. While in Wichita, Withers had seen a map of the state, and he judged that, on a fast horse, he was less than an hour from Indian Territory. He could be well on his way before the marshal took the trail, if he even bothered.
But Dade Withers would have hurriedly scrapped his plan to rob the store, had he known that others were of the same mind. Breed and Vanardo had already spent half a day in the tent city, and even as Withers settled down on his cot for the night, the two renegades rode south, bound for Indian Territory. Their report would bring El Gato and his outlaw band to the tent city the next evening, just after dark. The new mercantile had prospered and the vultures had begun to gather ...
Unsure as to where he should ride next, Nathan had chosen Fort Dodge, in hopes he could avoid Hays. Mary had been quiet since leaving Abilene, and to break the lengthy silence, Nathan spoke.
“If these forts ever come up to strength, I reckon we’ll end up sleeping on the ground. No more vacant officer’s quarters.”
“Maybe by then you won’t be riding all over the frontier,” Mary said. “What would it take to get you to settle down in one place?”
“I don’t know,” said Nathan. “Do you want me settled down in one place?”
“It would be nice,” she said, “when you have a son or daughter.”
“What?” he said, reining up. “Are you ... ?”
She laughed at the expression on his face. “Not yet. But how would you feel ... if I were?”
“I reckon I’d be proud,” he said. “God knows, I’ve done little else in which I can take pride.”
Fort Dodge, Kansas. July 15, 1871.
Dade Withers waited until suppertime before entering the mercantile, for when one clerk went to eat, the other would be alone in the store. Withers entered the mercantile, browsing until the first clerk had gone, then waiting impatiently until the last customer departed. Only then did he approach the counter. When the clerk looked up, he found himself facing a masked man with a cocked Colt revolver.
“Put the money in this sack,” Withers said, “and you won’t be hurt.”
Quickly the clerk complied, and while there were many bills, it seemed to Withers they were mostly of small denomination.
“The rest of it,” Withers growled. “The gold too.”
It was Monday, following a busy weekend, and the nervous clerk had hoped to get off as easily as he could by sacking only the paper money. But now he began piling handfuls of double eagles into the sack. Finally he held up his hands.
“That’s all,” he said. “I swear that’s all.”
Withers grabbed the sack, and holding the Colt steady on the clerk, began backing toward the door. Already the sun had slid below the western horizon, with purple shadows announcing the coming of darkness. Withers was no sooner out the door when it was shattered by a shotgun blast. Before the angry clerk could cut loose again, Withers was mounted and galloping away. He removed his bandanna from his face. He felt like shouting, for he had pulled it off without firing a shot, and he didn’t have to share it with anyone else. At least that’s what he thought, but circumstances changed quickly. Comfortable with the shielding darkness, he slowed his horse to a walk, only to find himself surrounded by horsemen. Even in starlight there was no mistaking the muzzles of revolvers, and Withers groaned inwardly. They could kill him ten times over. Finally a figure in a Mexican sombrero spoke.
“I admire an ambitious man, señor, but not when his ambition robs me of what is mine. You will come with me as my guest and we shall discuss your ... future.”
“Damn you,” Withers snarled. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“It is that, señor, or I kill you. The choice is yours.”
“I’m ridin’ with you,” Withers said, swallowing hard.
Nathan and Mary went directly to Fort Dodge, arriving the day after Dade Withers had robbed the store. The post commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Hatton, knew Captain Ferguson well, and Hatton had been impressed with Ferguson’s letter of recommendation. He was cordial as Nathan and Mary were shown into his office. Without going into detail, Nathan told Hatton of his search for the
outlaw, John Wesley Hardin, and of the trail that had played out after Hardin’s gunplay at Abilene.
“I don’t know if this fits in or not,” Hatton said, “but yesterday at dark, a lone gunman robbed the mercantile at tent city. Marshal Summerfield investigated last night. Tell him I’ve authorized the release of information he may have, and you may want to talk to the men at the store.”
“I’m obliged, sir,” said Nathan. “May we impose on your hospitality for the night?”
“You may, and welcome,” Hatton said. “The corporal will show you to your quarters. See me again before you leave the post.”
Nathan left Mary and Cotton Blossom in the cabin that Hatton had assigned them and went looking for U. S. Marshal Jed Summerfield. Nathan didn’t like the man, but he had jurisdiction over all of western Kansas and went out of his way to see that nobody forgot.
“One man, masked, entered the store just at dark,” said Summerfield, “and escaped with a large amount of gold and paper currency. That’s all I can tell you.”
“The robber must have left a trail,” Nathan said. “Which way did he go after leaving the store?”
“Toward Indian Territory,” said Summerfield shortly.
“Did you trail him, or do you just feel pretty strong that he headed for the Territory?”
“Mister,” Summerfield said, his face going red, “when you’re in hollerin’ distance of the Territory, you don’t have to watch a robber ride over the line to know he’s there.”
“Then for all you know,” said Nathan, twisting the knife, “he could have spent the night on the prairie, within sight of the fort.”
“I reckon he could have,” Summerfield conceded grimly. “I’m just one man, by God. Suppose you just ride out there and bring him in? When you do, I’ll hand you this tin star and tell you where to stick it.”
Nathan turned away, grinning. Taking his horse from the livery, he rode upriver to tent city. He had some difficulty convincing the proprietor of the mercantile to talk, and even then, he learned only one thing of value.
“He wore a mask,” said the man. “When he left here, he rode south. And his horse had an XIT brand.”
Nathan rode south from the mercantile, and in the first soft ground he came to, found the tracks of a single south-bound horse. He had no difficulty following the trail, but he had ridden less than a mile when he reined up. The single rider he was following had been joined by a band of other riders, all of whom had continued riding south. For ten miles, Nathan followed, and the trail never varied. He counted the tracks of twelve horses, and it soon became evident they were all bound for Indian Territory. He decided that, based on what he had learned, the man who had robbed the mercantile had been Dade Withers. Now it appeared that Withers had acted on behalf of a gang of thieves or had made their unwelcome acquaintance following the robbery. In either case, they all were bound for Indian territory. Now it was back to Nathan Stone versus a band of thieves and killers, and he had an uneasy suspicion he knew this particular band of renegades, and that they would know him. When he returned to Fort Dodge and told Mary Holden of the robbery and the strange circumstances that appeared to link Dade Withers with Indian Territory renegades, her reaction was about what he had expected.
“Nathan,” she begged, “can’t you just forget Dade Withers? This almost has to be El Gato’s gang, and they’ll kill you on sight.”
“Yes,” said Nathan, “I have a feeling it’s El Gato, but I made a vow and I aim to keep it. But I won’t be going alone. I’m going to see how serious the Kansas-Pacific is about tracking down those outlaws.”
“Then please just do one thing for me,” she said, “and I won’t ask anything more. Wait until after Christmas. I’d like to have this to remember, if I never have anything else. I want to spend it at Eppie’s place, in Kansas City.”
She seemed so desperately sincere and the pleading in her eyes was so intense, it made him uneasy. She wouldn’t even be eighteen until November, and she was already so much more than the girl she had been when he had met her less than a year ago.
“All right,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”
In the months to come, as events unfolded, it would be a decision he would never regret. His decision allowed him a kind of freedom, at least for a while, for he knew where Dade Withers was.
Kansas City, Missouri. July 21, 1871.
Nathan and Mary returned to Eppie’s boardinghouse and settled down to an easy, unhurried life that Nathan Stone had never believed he could tolerate. He dreaded to see it end, and thus kept putting off his decision to call on Netherton and the Kansas-Pacific until events forced the railroad to take drastic measures on its own. In September, outlaws blew up the track a few miles west of Abilene, killed two railroad guards, wounded three others, and made off with fifteen thousand dollars. Descriptions given by the surviving railroad guards all pointed to El Gato as leader of the outlaws. It was too much. The Kansas-Pacific began advertising in the newspaper for men to pursue and capture the renegades, dead or alive. The pay was a hundred and fifty dollars a month, with ammunition and food furnished. Each man would take the oath of a United States deputy marshal. The Kansas-Pacific was offering a reward of five hundred dollars for each of the robbers, dead or alive. The governor of the State of Kansas would sign John Doe execution warrants.
“By God,” Nathan said, “they’re going too far.”
“Why?” Mary asked. “I’m glad they’re getting serious.”
“Too damn serious,” said Nathan. “I can go along with everything except the John Doe execution warrants. They allow a man, in the name of the law, to kill anybody. To positively identify a man in an execution warrant is one thing. To issue a John Doe execution warrant for a person unknown is inviting a law-sanctioned posse to become bounty hunters, killing for the reward.”
“Are you . . . still going with them?”
“I don’t know,” Nathan said. “I want to talk to Joel Netherton.”
“The idea of the posse was mine,” Netherton, “and I favor rewards, but I had nothing to do with the execution warrants. Confidentially, some of the Kansas-Pacific stockholders became panicky and through the state legislature, put pressure on the governor.”
“Hell,” Nathan argued, “you’ll have badge-totin’ bounty hunters shootin’ anybody, just to claim the reward. Can’t you see that?”
“Yes,” said Netherton, “and that’s why I’m seeking to have you appointed U. S. Marshal in charge. All these men will answer to you.”
“Don’t bother,” Nathan said, “because I won’t accept the appointment. I’d still have to obey those damn John Doe execution warrants.”
“I’ve been counting on you,” said Netherton, disappointed.
“Don’t,” Nathan said. “I promised Mary to stay here with her through Christmas. I’m sure you’ll make your move before then.”
“Yes,” said Netherton. “Like I told you, the stockholders are having conniption fits. They’re demanding the heads of every one of those outlaws on a plate before the end of the year.”
“I’m going to make you an offer,” Nathan said. “Send your men after these outlaws. If they haven’t finished the job by the first of the year, then I’ll go after them. But with men of my choosing, and on my terms.”
Netherton laughed. “If that bunch is still free after the first of the year, you can probably name your own terms, up to and including a piece of the Kansas—Pacific.”
“Wonderful,” said Mary, when Nathan told her the news, “but will you be satisfied if Withers is captured or killed by the railroad posse?”
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “The only satisfaction I’d have in tracking him down is having him know why I’m about to kill him. If he’s part of a gang, it won’t be just between him and me. I’ll have to take the varmint any way I can get him.”
Now that Nathan knew where Dade Withers was, he hadn’t kept track of the newspapers as before, nor had he be
en concerned with what came over the telegraph lines. Therefore it came as a surprise when he learned Wild Bill Hickok was marshal of Abilene. He surprised Mary with a suggestion.
“Let’s take the train to Abilene. I want you to meet Wild Bill Hickok.”
She laughed. “Cotton Blossom doesn’t like the train. You should have seen him sliding around in that boxcar while we were taking you to the doctor.”
“We’ll leave him with Eppie,” said Nathan. “If she puts enough food in front of him, he won’t realize we’re gone.”
So in mid-September, Nathan and Mary boarded the only passenger coach on the Kansas-Pacific westbound and rode to Abilene. It wasn’t difficult to find Wild Bill, for he was at the depot when the train stopped.
“I’m pleased to see you again,” Hickok said, wringing Nathan’s hand, “and especially so to see the beautiful young lady. Bill Hickok at your service, ma’am. I never realized old catawampus, here, had such excellent taste.”
“Bill,” said Nathan, “this is Mary. If you say anything about me, then I want your promise you’ll stay as close to the truth as you can.”
“Keeno,” Bill replied. “I won’t say nothin’ about all the other women.”
“I’m obliged,” said Nathan, “and don’t mention the red-eye and the cards, either.”
Mary laughed at their banter, while Nathan marveled at Hickok’s ability to be the perfect gentleman when custom demanded. They took a room at the hotel and had supper with a cold-sober Hickok. The evening was a memorable one, and when the train returned from Hays the following day, Nathan and Mary boarded it for the trip back to Kansas City.
The final event in Hickok’s career as a lawman took place in Abilene on October 5, 1871. Phil Coe, with whom Hickok had already had trouble, had led a mob of Texans on a drunken spree through Abilene. Hickok had sent word to his deputy, Mike Williams, alerting him. At nine o’clock that night there had been a shot, and Hickok had gone to investigate. He had found Coe and several other Texans with guns in their hands. Coe had claimed he had fired at a dog, but Hickok had gone for his guns. Coe had fired at Hickok, hitting his coattails, but Hickok had done much better. His slug had ripped through Coe’s belly and out his back. As Coe had collapsed, another slug from his gun had whipped between Hickok’s legs. At that point, Mike Williams had pushed through the crowd, in hopes of helping Wild Bill. But Wild Bill had seen only the movement, and being surrounded by drunken cowboys, he had turned and fired twice. Both slugs had struck Williams in the head and he had died instantly. Coe, mortally wounded, had died three days later. Hickok had paid the funeral expenses of Mike Williams. Hickok was to be officially discharged as marshal of Abilene on December 13, 1871.38
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