The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  Captain Bennett arrived at Hatton’s office with his patrol mounted and ready to ride. There were a sergeant, a corporal, and four privates.

  “Captain,” Hatton said, “as foolish as this may sound, accept it in all seriousness. There’s a dog at the gate, and if he’ll lead, you are to follow him. It’s Nathan Stone’s dog. Stone rode to Indian Territory last night in search of a band of thieves and killers. Wherever he is, he’s in trouble, seriously hurt or dead.”

  “Necessary tools for a burial detail, sir?” Captain Bennett asked.

  “Later, Captain,” Hatton said. “Tend to the living first. Bring me a full report of your findings and we’ll take it from there. Dismissed.”

  When the patrol had left his office, Hatton set about building a fire in the stove from the coals of the night before. He needed coffee to sustain him for a while. From what seemed a great distance, he could hear the barking of a dog ...

  Barely conscious, Nathan heard the chirp of birds. Suddenly they became silent, and he tried to draw and cock a Colt, but neither hand had the needed strength. There was a rustling among the leaves and grass, and Nathan felt Cotton Blossom’s wet nose against the back of his hand. There were voices, and while he didn’t know them, they weren’t the voices of killers looking for him.

  “There he is!” one of the soldiers shouted.

  “Corporal Evans,” said Captain Bennett, “you’re in charge of getting him out of here and back across the river. You’ll need two men to bear the stretcher and two to make way for it. Sergeant Goodner, you’ll come with me.”

  Corporal Evans and his four men got Nathan on to the stretcher and while the privates began the ordeal of getting the stretcher through the underbrush, Corporal Evans led Nathan’s horse. As Captain Bennett and Sergeant Goodner approached the cabin near the mouth of the arroyo, they marveled at the outlaw hideaway. Each man drew his revolver, for they knew not what might lie ahead. While the door to the cabin was open, they approached it with caution until they could see the booted foot of El Gato. They quickly learned there was nobody else in the cabin, and it was Sergeant Goodner who made an astonishing discovery in one of the small rooms.

  “Lord Amighty, Captain, come have a look at this!” Goodner shouted.

  It was a veritable fortune in currency and gold, much of it in the green strongboxes used by the military for transferring payrolls.

  “You’ll have to remain here, Sergeant,” said Captain Bennett, “until I have reported to Lieutenant-Colonel Hatton. A recovery of this magnitude will turn Washington on its ear. Let’s move on and be done with this.”

  The two men approached the bunkhouse with caution, although both doors stood open. They stepped in, revolvers drawn, and froze. Blood had pooled and dried on the floor and splattered the log walls. There were ten dead men, but the eyes of the two men were drawn to the horror that was the remains of young Mary Stone. When the soldiers turned away, it was Sergeant Goodner who spoke for them both.

  “What they got was too good for them. May their souls burn in hell for eternity for what they did to her.”

  Nathan Stone was taken to Fort Dodge more dead than alive, and as he hovered near death for three days, it seemed he lacked a will to live. But there was an indomitable spark that flamed anew, and he began slowly to recover.

  Fort Dodge, Kansas. April 1, 1872.

  For the first time since he had been wounded, the post doctor allowed Nathan to get up and walk about. In the afternoon, a private came looking for him.

  “Sir, you have a visitor. He’s waiting for you in the post commander’s office.”

  Joel Netherton got to his feet when Nathan stepped through the door, and offered his hand. Nathan took it.

  “So that’s what you came to Kansas City to tell me,” Netherton said.

  “Yes,” said Nathan. “I’m not a man to sail under false colors, and that’s what I had been doing. I thought I was holding back for Mary’s sake. If I’d been a man with the strength of my own convictions, she would be alive today.”

  “I want you to know we made a ninety-percent recovery on every one of the robberies. I’m proposing a ten-thousand-dollar reward on behalf of the Kansas—Pacific, and you’ll be getting another five thousand five hundred for the outlaws. It was an extraordinary piece of work, and you may yet receive a medal or commendation from the Congress. Your friend Byron Silver’s working on that.”

  “I’m obliged, Joel, but I don’t want any of that.”

  “But you’ve earned it ten times over,” said Netherton.

  “I don’t care,” Nathan said bitterly. “It’s like ... God, it’s like I’ve sold Mary ... put a price on her ...”

  “I think I understand,” said Netherton. “When you’re up to it, come to Kansas City. The board of directors would like to meet you.”

  “No offense, Joel, but I’d rather not.”

  Fort Dodge, Kansas. April 10, 1872.

  At Lieutenant-Colonel Hatton’s request, Nathan met with him before leaving the post. The officer handed Nathan an envelope containing two sheets of paper.

  “That’s a report on the outlaws,” Hatton said. “Using Washington sources, such as army records, we’ve assembled a background on each of them. Most of them, with the exception of El Gato, were deserters. El Gato was wanted for a variety of things, from robbery to murder, in both Mexico and Texas. Some of them were using assumed names, while some used their own.”

  “Thank you,” said Nathan, tucking the envelope in his pocket.

  “I suppose it’s none of my business where you’re going from here,” the officer said, “but some of us feel like we have an investment in you. You have potential, son. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  “Sir, I’m obliged for everything you’ve done,” said Nathan. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I may go. How do you suddenly have the props kicked out from under you, seen your world wither and die before your eyes, and then try to start over?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Hatton said. “Just remember, you’re welcome here, and if there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask. Good luck.”

  Nathan left the office, mounted his horse, and rode out, Cotton Blossom trotting beside him. As he rode, he read the report Hatton had given him, detailing the criminal records of the outlaws. Dade Withers had been guilty of murdering another soldier and escaping from prison. His age was given as twenty-three, and he had been born in Charlottesville, Virginia.

  Kansas City, Missouri. April 29, 1872.

  “Eppie,” Nathan said, “I want you to have Mary’s horse and saddle.”

  The old lady wept for Mary and wept for Nathan when he rode away.

  Springfield, Missouri. May 15, 1872.

  “I seen your picture in the paper,” the kid said, “and I hear you’re fast with a gun. Well, I’m faster than you, and I aim to prove it.”

  He wasn’t a day over seventeen and he had been waiting until Nathan left a mercantile with his purchases. As though by magic, people had gathered to see one of them die. Nathan waited until the last second, his hand not moving until the kid cleared leather. The kid stood there, a hitch rail supporting his dying body, staring unbelievingly at the blood pumping from a hole in his chest. Slowly the life drained out of his eyes and he fell, his Colt clutched in his dead hand. Nathan stood there looking at him, sick to his very soul. He had been given no choice. Then, as though from far away, he heard the talk he was destined to hear again and again ...

  “... gun-slingin’ varmint’s kilt little Rusty Limbaugh, from over yonder in Smelterville.”

  “... never seen the like. He’s a born killer. It’s in his eyes ...”

  “... kid never had a chance ... damn killer ... oughta be strung up ...”

  When the sheriff came, even the lawman was intimidated, and some of the onlookers laughed. Nathan rode silently away, leading his packhorse, Cotton Blossom trotting alongside. But there would be no escape, for Nathan had been branded a killer. It would beco
me a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Nathan Stone had no illusions about what lay ahead. One who gained a reputation with a fast gun had only one means of escape, and that’s when he faced a man with a faster gun. To finish what destiny had begun, Nathan rode on, the clock always ticking, toward the killing season ...

  Epilogue

  1866 • The James-Younger gangs robbed the Clay County Savings Bank, Liberty, Missouri.

  • Ben Thompson, after quarreling over a card game, shot a police officer in Matamoros, Mexico.

  1867 • Cullen Baker shot and killed a storekeeper who demanded money owed him.

  • Wild Bill Longley and his partner, Johnson McKowen, angry over a horse race, shot up a street dance in Lexington, Texas, killing two and wounding two.

  • Ben Thompson pulled a gun in Austin, Texas, saving a judge from a street gang.

  1868 • The James-Younger gangs robbed a bank in Russellville, Kentucky.

  • John Morco murdered four people in California.

  • Ben Thompson shot a man in Austin, Texas. He served two years in prison.

  • Billy Thompson shot and killed a soldier in Austin. He escaped.

  1869 • Cullen Baker was poisoned in Arkansas by a group of men that included his father-in-law.

  • Wild Bill Hickok was wounded in a saloon brawl in Colorado Territory.

  • Wild Bill Hickok, while county sheriff in Hays, Kansas, shot and killed a man who resisted arrest.

  • Wild Bill Hickok, while sheriff of Hays, Kansas, shot and killed a troublemaker who had started a riot.

  • Frank and Jesse James robbed a bank in Gallatin, Missouri, killing one man.

  • Frank and Jesse James, holed up in a farmhouse in Clay County, Missouri, shot it out with a posse, and escaped.

  1870 • Wild Bill Hickok was involved in a brawl with soldiers in a Hays, Kansas saloon. Hickok shot two soldiers, one of whom died.

  • Wild Bill Longley shot and killed a soldier in Kansas.

  1871 • John Wesley Hardin, being transferred from Marshall, Texas, to the jail at Waco, shot a guard and escaped.

  • John Wesley Hardin shot and wounded two Mexicans in Gonzales County, after a quarrel over a card game.

  • John Wesley Hardin, while on a trail drive, shot and killed an Indian in Indian Territory.

  • John Wesley Hardin shot and killed a man in Abilene, Kansas.

  • John Wesley Hardin shot and killed a man in Bluff City, Kansas.

  Don’t miss another Ralph Compton novel featuring the ultimate gunfighter Nathan Stone

  THE KILLING SEASON

  Available from Signet Books

  Arriving in the late afternoon, Nathan found himself looking forward to a bath, town grub, and a clean bed. Checking in at the hotel, he bought copies of The St. Louis Globe-Democrat and The Kansas City Liberty- Tribune. As Nathan left the hotel lobby, the desk clerk studied the register and then looked at the clock. His relief would arrive within the hour. Then he would talk to Sheriff Harrington ....

  Following his bath and a change of clothes, Nathan headed for a cafe. The cook recognized Nathan and Cotton Blossom.

  “Steak cooked through,” said the cook, “sided with onions, spuds, pie, and hot coffee.”

  “That will do for starters,” Nathan said. “After feedin’ Cotton Blossom and me, you may have to close up and restock. We’ve been on the trail for a spell, without decent grub.”

  Cotton Blossom headed for the kitchen while Nathan took a back table. Reading the St. Louis paper, he found little of interest, and finishing that, turned to the Kansas City edition. In an item from Wichita, Edward Beard had begun construction on another saloon and dance hall, vowing to have it in operation by October. Ben Thompson and his troublesome brother Billy had spent the night in jail, following a brawl in a Kansas City saloon. The unpredictable pair had left town the next day, traveling west.

  When the door to his office opened, Dodge City’s Sheriff Harrington looked up.

  “Come in, Harley. Somebody rob the hotel?”

  “Nathan Stone—the gent with the dog—checked in a while ago.”

  “He’s at the hotel now?” Sheriff Harrington asked.

  “No,” said Harley. “After takin’ a room, him and the dog went out. Do you reckon there’s a reward?”

  “I don’t know,” Harrington replied. “I had a telegram from the Pinkerton office in Kansas City, and all they asked was that I write them immediately if Nathan Stone showed up. They made it a point to say he has a dog with him.”

  “No reward, then,” said Harley, disappointed. “A man wanted by the law ain’t likely to be signin’ his own name on a hotel register.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Harrington replied. “While the Pinkertons trail bank, train, and stage robbers, they don’t limit themselves to that. I expect folks with money can hire them to track missing persons too. I’ll telegraph them, tell them Stone’s here, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Receiving Sheriff Harrington’s telegram, the Pinkerton office in Kansas City sent an operative with the message to a Kansas City hotel. Hate-filled eyes read the telegram and steady hands loaded a Colt revolver. The recipient of the telegram checked out of the hotel and took a hack to the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad terminal. The schedule said the next train to Dodge would depart within the hour, arriving there before dawn ....

  The shriek of a locomotive whistle awakened Nathan. Cotton Blossom had reared up on his hind legs, looking out the window into the darkness.

  “Just a train comin’ in, Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said. “With the railroad through town. It’s like trying to sleep next to a steamboat landing. It’s a good two hours before first light.”

  A single passenger stepped down from the train, and taking a seat on a bench, waited for the town to awaken.

  With the first gray light of dawn, Nathan arose. Leaving his room key at the desk, he and Cotton Blossom headed for the cafe. Immediately after breakfast, they would strike out north toward Ellsworth. But suddenly, from behind there came a command that drove all thought of food from Nathan’s mind.

  “Nathan Stone, this is Sheriff Harrington. I need to talk to you.”

  His hands shoulder-high, Nathan turned slowly around. Harrington’s Colt was thonged to his right thigh and he looked all business. But the sheriff wasn’t alone. The girl had short dark hair under a flat-crowned hat. Her boots were scuffed, her Levi’s faded, and an old red flannel shirt looked too large. She looked maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, and her eyes were brimming with hatred. Before the sheriff could speak another word, she drew from the folds of her shirt a Colt revolver. There was no doubt she intended to kill Nathan.

  “Hey!” Sheriff Harrington shouted. Seizing her arm, he forced the muzzle of the Colt toward the ground, and the roar of the weapon was loud in the morning stillness. But the girl was resourceful and cat-quick. Facing Harrington, she drove a knee into his groin, and using his moments of agony, wrested the Colt free.

  But she now had Nathan Stone to contend with, for he no longer had any doubts as to her intentions. Before she could cock and fire the Colt, he caught her wrist, and when she tried to knee him as she had the sheriff, he seized her ankle. Using that and the hold he had on her wrist, he lifted her off the ground and slammed her down on her back. She let go of the Colt and Nathan kicked it back toward the hotel. Sheriff Harrington had regained his composure and stood there waiting for the girl to get up. She ignored Nathan, turning her anger upon the sheriff.

  “You could help me,” she snapped, struggling to her knees.

  “I could lock you up for attempted murder,” Harrington said coldly. “and I might yet, you little catamount. You lied to me. You told me you only needed to talk to Stone.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I do want to talk to him, to tell him who I am. Then I aim to kill him, because he murdered my brother.”

  “You don’t have to tell me who you are,” Nathan said. “You’re from Missouri, and you’re one of t
he Limbaughs.”

  “Amy, by name,” said Sheriff Harrington. “Do you know her?”

  “No,” Nathan replied, “but I know why she’s after me. I had to shoot her hotheaded brother or he’d have shot me. There’s just a hell of a lot she hasn’t told you, sheriff, and I aim to fill in the gaps. Then I want to know how she dragged you into this.”

  “We’ll talk in my office,” said Harrington. “We’re starting to draw a crowd.”

  The three of them walked the short distance to the lawmen’s office. There were four cells, none of them occupied. Harrington pointed to the first one.

  “In there, Amy. I aim to hear Stone’s side of this. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

  Harrington locked the cell door, took a seat behind an old desk and nodded toward the only other chair in the room. Nathan sat down and started talking. When he had finished, Harrington got to his feet.

  “What you’ve said has the ring of truth,” the sheriff said, “but I aim to telegraph the attorney general’s office in Jefferson City, Missouri. That’s as much for your benefit as my own. I figure if they hear from enough lawmen, all of us raisin’ hell, the state might get to the bottom of this, and clear you.”

  “I’m more interested in getting the Pinkertons off my trail,” Nathan said. “They’re after me so this female sidewinder can fill me full of lead, and she has no legal right. I’m of a mind to ride to Kansas City and pull some Pinkerton fangs.”