“Pardner,” said Nathan, “I’m guiding some wagons to Fort Griffin. Captain Selman was kind enough to invite me to eat with you gents tonight and in the morning. This is my dog. His name’s Empty, and he purely lives up to it. Will you feed him, too?”
“If he can eat what Washington sends us, he’s welcome,” the cook replied. He quickly won Empty’s confidence with a tin plate of meat scraps.
Despite the military rations, Nathan enjoyed the meal. The soldiers were friendly, and he saw nothing wrong with telling them of the proposed stage run from Dodge City south to Fort Griffin. He spent a pleasant hour there, before going back to his place beside the creek, where his horse grazed. Several hundred yards away, cook fires were going before the Indian tepees. The Kilgores had already prepared their supper, and the fire had died down to coals. Suddenly there was a clatter of hooves, and astride one of the mules, Cyrus Dismukes rode in. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, his shirt had been torn off, and his upper body was a mass of bleeding cuts. He fell off the mule, gasping, and it was a moment before he could speak.
“Them soldiers ... jumped us. They ... done kilt Lon, an’ ... they’re beatin’ hell out’n ... the others ...”
Despite his vow not to become involved, Nathan couldn’t afford to ignore the fight, since it involved the soldiers. By now, he knew the Dismukes well enough to doubt that such a brawl had engulfed them through no fault of their own. Such uncivilized conduct by the Dismukes might sour the military on other emigrants, making them unwelcome at the forts, and Nathan Stone along with them. Quickly he saddled the grulla and set out for the saloon in Mobeetie. He arrived in time to see Tally Dismukes emerge head-first through a window in a shower of glass. From inside there came the sound of bottles smashing, and a woman screamed. Nathan hit the ground running, and when he entered the saloon, a bottle shattered inches from his head, showering him with glass. Lon Dismukes lay on his back in a pool of blood, his throat slashed. The two remaining Dismukes were behind an upended table, while a dozen soldiers were advancing, some of them with knives in their hands.
“That’s enough,” Nathan shouted. He drew his Colt and fired twice into the ceiling.
“Step aside,” said a voice behind Nathan.
Six armed soldiers entered the saloon. Quickly they disarmed their knife-wielding companions and backed them up against the wall. One of the military policemen turned on Nathan, pointing with the muzzle of his rifle toward the bloody Dismukes.
“Mister, do you know those men?”
“I’m afraid I do,” Nathan said. “They’re on their way to Fort Griffin, and we stopped here for the night. I have no idea how this started. I came to break it up, because just this evening I met with Captain Selman, and I want no trouble with the military.”
Before it went any further, a barkeep came forward. Pointing to one of the soldiers, he spoke.
“He cut the man on the floor after the hombre come after him with a broken bottle.”
“You Dismukes heard the charge,” said Nathan. “What do you have to say?”
“He cut Lon without no cause,” Tally bawled. He pushed his way back into the saloon, limping, bleeding from numerous cuts.
“That’s a damn lie,” some of the soldiers shouted.
“They’re right,” the barkeep said. “The dead one wanted one of the women, but she was with one of the soldiers. They fought over her, and he lost.”
“Will that satisfy you soldiers,” Nathan asked, “if we call the killing justified?”
“Hell, no, we ain’t callin’ it justified,” Tally Dismukes shouted. “We ain’t leavin’ here till we git the bastard that killed Lon.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” said Nathan. “I’m not involved in this. I’ll let these men from the post put you in the stockade and the post commander can decide what to do with you. I aim to tell him that this entire affair appears to have been your fault, and I’m washing my hands of the lot of you.”
One of the soldiers had Tally covered with a rifle, while two others hustled Ellis and Gabe to their feet.
“Damn it,” Tally cried, “we’re civilians. You can’t lock us up.”
“Wrong, mister,” said one of the soldiers. “There’s no law here except martial law, and that’s us. Move!”
“Soldier,” said the barkeep, “there’s another of the varmints. He run off.”
“He’s there beside the creek, where they all should have been,” Nathan said.
“Stone, you Judas bastard, we’ll git you fer this,” Tally shouted.
The three Dismukes were marched back to Fort Elliott, leaving the wagon where it stood. Nathan unharnessed the remaining three mules and led them back to the creek to join the one Cyrus had ridden. He was hunkered on the creek bank, washing the blood from his face and upper body. He stood up as Nathan approached.
“Lon started the fight in which he was killed,” Nathan said. “I tried to get the lot of you out of it by calling things even, but your daddy wouldn’t have it. So all of you will be locked in the stockade until the post commander decides what to do with you.”
“No,” Cyrus cried, “don’t let them keep us here.”
“Your daddy made that decision,” said Nathan.
Two of the soldiers came, and despite all his protests, Cyrus was taken to join the rest of the Dismukes. Less than an hour later, one of the soldiers came for Nathan.
“Captain Selman wants to talk to you in his office.”
Nathan entered the post commander’s office and found the captain behind his desk, his face grim.
“Stone, I realize this isn’t your doing, but I’m going to ask your help in resolving it. Like I told you, I have trouble enough keeping the men who are garrisoned here from killing one another, without civilian help from elsewhere. I’m going to turn this bunch loose in the morning on two conditions. One, I want them out of here at first light, and if they return, they’re subject to being shot. Two, I have prepared a letter to the post commander at Fort Griffin, which you are to deliver. He is being warned of this incident here, and I am suggesting that these men—the Dismukes—be barred from the post in general, and the sutler’s store in particular. God forbid that they should get their hands on any more whiskey. Does my decision meet with your approval?”
“It does, sir,” said Nathan. “I’ll do my best to rid you of them, and to warn the post commander at Fort Griffin.”
“Thank you,” Captain Selman said, offering his hand. “Consider yourself welcome here any time.”
Nathan took the officer’s hand, anxious to reach Fort Griffin and rid himself of the troublesome Dismukes.
CHAPTER 28
Nathan wisely said nothing to the Dismukes about the letter he carried to the post commander at Fort Griffin. He would wait until he reached the fort before informing the troublesome clan they weren’t welcome. After Captain Selman had them released from the guard house, Nathan allowed the surviving Dismukes time to bury Lon.
“Preacher,” said Nathan, approaching the Reverend Kilgore, “you could say a few words over the Dismukes boy.”
“I could,” Kilgore replied, “but for one thing. I have been taught that when one can say nothing good, it’s best to say nothing at all.”
Nathan said no more, allowing the Dismukes to proceed with the burying in whatever manner they chose. After lowering the body into the grave, they stood around it for a few minutes before filling it and mounding the dirt. Finally they returned to their waiting wagon and clambered aboard, Tally taking the reins. Nathan led out, riding south. Thanks to the Dismukes, their departure was two hours late, and when they paused for the night, Nathan estimated they had traveled not more than ten miles. The third day after leaving Fort Elliott, Nathan’s uneasy alliance with the Dismukes blew up.
“We ain’t follerin’ you no further,” Tally Dismukes announced, as Nathan was about to move out. “Take the sky pilot and his woman an’ go on without us.”
“I might remind you,” said Nathan
coldly, “that you’re no longer welcome at Fort Elliott, and I’m delivering a letter to the post commander at Fort Griffin, barring you from that post.”
“I ain’t surprised,” Tally growled. “We owe you a powerful lot, Stone. Now, you just git goin’, and we’ll do as we damn please.”
Nathan said no more. They were grown men, and despite his threats, he couldn’t see it as his responsibility to force them to follow him to Fort Griffin, especially since they, as a result of Captain Selman’s warning, would be barred from the post. He looked back once, and only the Kilgore wagon was following. The Dismukes hadn’t even harnessed their teams to the wagon. It was evident they didn’t want Nathan knowing what destination they had in mind, but having taken their measure, he thought he knew.
“Pa,” said Ellis, “I ain’t wantin’ to be locked in that guard house no more. They ain’t nothin’ we can do fer Lon. Why can’t we just go on to Fort Griffin?”
“You heard what Stone said,” Tally snarled. “We’re still a hunnert mile from the damn place, an’ already we been barred. Besides, we ain’t done with them blue bellies back yonder at Fort Elliott.”
“But there must be near five hunnert soldiers,” said Gabe. “We ain’t got a chance.”
Tally laughed. “Not in a fair fight, mebbe, but us Dismukes ain’t bound to fight fair. We still got that case of dynamite in the wagon. We’ll circle that soldier fort in the dark, an’ with some short fuses, we’ll blow the place to hell an’ gone.”
“I like it, Pa,” Cyrus said. “That’ll show ’em they can’t push us Dismukes around.”
“We owe that bunch at the Mobeetie saloon a thing or two,” said Tally. “Maybe we’ll mosey by there and empty their cash drawer.”
Two hours before sundown, Nathan reined up, waiting for the Kilgore wagon to reach him. The Kilgores said nothing, and Nathan spoke.
“Next water we come to, we’ll make camp. I’m riding back to Fort Elliott to warn the post that the Dismukes are likely returning. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”
“But that’s unfair to us,” Kilgore complained. “You agreed to lead us to Fort Griffin, and that means without delay.”
“Wrong,” said Nathan. “I promised to guide you to Fort Griffin, but time involved is up to me. This is the frontier, and a man is guided by circumstances, not time. There is a chance that men will die unless I warn Captain Selman at Fort Elliott. It’s not quite fifty miles, and I should be back here by dawn. Put out your fire before dark and keep to your wagon. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nathan rode northeast, not wishing to catch up to the Dismukes. Empty ran on ahead, dropping back once. The wind was from the west, and Nathan could hear the rattle of the wagon. The Dismukes weren’t wasting any time. Once certain that he was ahead of the distant wagon, Nathan resumed a northerly direction. He spared the Grulla, resting the horse often. The Dismukes, if they pushed their teams, wouldn’t cover more than twenty miles before being forced to halt for the night and to feed the mules. Pacing himself, resting his horse often, Nathan would reach Fort Elliott well before midnight. Having had experience with the Dismukes, Captain Selman wasn’t likely to take the threat lightly.
“Halt,” the sentry ordered. “Who goes there?”
“Nathan Stone. I must talk to Captain Selman.”
“He will have retired for the night,” said the soldier. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No,” Nathan replied. “The Dismukes—those varmints that spent the night in your guard house—are headin’ this way, and I reckon they have mischief on their minds.”
“Sergeant of the guard,” the sentry shouted. “Sergeant of the guard.”
Nathan waited until Sergeant Wills arrived. He remembered Nathan, and after hearing of the possible return of the Dismukes, agreed to awaken Captain Selman.
“Sorry to awaken you, Captain,” said Nathan, “but the Dismukes refused to continue on to Fort Griffin. They’re evidently on their way here, and I have no idea what kind of arms they may have inside their wagon. You should double your guard, at least, and while I realize the saloon in Mobeetie isn’t your responsibility, it’s a source of whiskey, which I’m doubting the Dismukes will overlook. You should send some men there in the morning, and keep them there until you resolve this.”
“I respect your observations and the warning,” said Captain Selman. “Whatever they’re planning to do, we’ll be prepared. Will you stay the night?”
“No,” Nathan said. “I left the Kilgores more than forty miles south of here, and I’ve promised to return there by dawn. I’ll stay the night with you on my way back to Dodge.”
“Do that,” said Selman, “and I’ll fill you in on what happens here.”
Nathan rode southeast, wary lest he stumble on the Dismukes’s sleeping camp. But he had nothing to fear, for Empty was always out there ahead of him. When Nathan estimated he had ridden thirty miles, he changed direction, riding due south. Nathan had no trouble finding the Kilgore wagon, for its canvas had been silvered by a descending moon. All the mules grazed peacefully. Nathan unsaddled the grulla, allowed the animal to roll, and then rubbed him down. He then picketed the horse near the mules and spread his blankets near the creek, to sleep for what remained of the night. Empty lay down beside him, and Nathan ruffled the dog’s ears. He would always miss Cotton Blossom, but there was much comfort in knowing the valiant hound had left behind a son who was rapidly walking in his sire’s footsteps.
The Kilgores arose at dawn. They spoke not to Nathan, nor he to them. He took the time to broil bacon for himself and Empty, and finished with that, he made himself a pot of strong coffee. The Kilgores were ready and waiting for him, but he finished his coffee before saddling the grulla. He wanted only to deliver the surly, silent Kilgores to Fort Griffin and be rid of them. Nathan led out, riding south, Empty running ahead. The Kilgore wagon followed, and Nathan stepped up the pace. They might reach Fort Griffin in another five days.
Fort Griffin, Texas. September 16, 1875
Nathan was readily shown into the office of Fort Griffin’s post commander, where he was greeted cordially by Captain Webb.
“This telegram came to me from Captain Selman, at Fort Elliott. It didn’t seem to require an answer. It’s worded in such a way that I believe he intended for you to tell me what it’s all about.”
He handed Nathan the message, and it was brief. It said:
Disregard letter Nathan Stone bringing stop. Dismukes all dead.
It had been signed by Captain Selman. Nathan began with the fight at the saloon in Mobeetie and concluded with his all-night ride to warn Selman the hell-raising Dismukes were apparently returning to Fort Elliott.
“I can see where the letter Selman sent by you is now unnecessary,” Webb said. “I’d say we all owe you a vote of thanks. He for your timely warning, and me for you not having brought them to Fort Griffin.”
“I got saddled with them in Dodge City,” said Nathan. “They were bound for here, and Captain Selman had seen enough of them to know they were trouble, especially after they got their hands on some whiskey. One of the sons started the fight in which he was killed, but his kin wouldn’t accept that. They must have returned to the fort with some fool idea of getting revenge.”
“So you’re working for the railroad, guiding emigrants south. For what purpose?”
“I don’t have the foggiest notion, Captain, except that they want to come,” said Nathan. “They’re Easterners, and with the plains Indians under control, I don’t understand why they need or want a guide. I had three wagons. I left one of them—along with four women—at the saloon in Mobeetie, and brought you the third one. All you’re getting this trip is a sourpuss preacher and his wife.”
Captain Webb sighed. “I wondered what—or who—would replace the Comanches, and I can’t say the alternative looks much better.”
Nathan spent only one night at Fort Griffin. He was determined to have some better understanding with Foster Hagerman before
guiding any more emigrants south. While he was perfectly capable of keeping his charges in line, he felt like a schoolmarm. Spring was a hell of a long ways off. One more bunch of rotgut-drinking, hell-raising misfits like the Dismukes, and he’d drop the whole deal right back in Foster Hagerman’s lap. Nathan rode until near sundown, pausing near a spring for the night. With Empty close by, he was safe enough, and he slept soundly.
Fort Elliott, Texas. September 20, 1875
“We’re considerably in your debt,” Captain Selman said. “Two nights after you warned us, the Dismukes showed up. They had a case of dynamite, with short fuses, and they came at us from four directions. If we hadn’t been expecting them, ready for them, then God knows how much damage they might have done. They were like mad men, refusing to surrender, and we had to shoot them down.”
There came a knock on Captain Selman’s door, and given permission, a first lieutenant entered. He saluted. Captain Selman returned it, and the lieutenant spoke.
“Sir, it’s Sergeant King again. He started a brawl over a woman last night, and one of the barkeeps in the Mobeetie saloon laid him out cold with a bung starter.”
Captain Selman sighed. “He’s alive, I suppose?” He sounded mildly disappointed.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied, “but he may have a concussion. He’s being examined at the dispensary now. What do you want done with him?”
“Fine him a month’s pay and lock him in the guard house for ten days,” Selman said.
The lieutenant saluted and departed. Captain Selman said nothing, and it was Nathan who finally spoke.
“I reckon the women I brought down from Dodge are causing their share of trouble.”
“Yes,” said Selman, “but we can hardly blame that on you. If men don’t have women, they’ll fight over something else. I’ve busted sergeants back to corporals and corporals back to privates, but there’s so little difference in the pay, nobody gives a damn.”
The Killing Season Page 39