Autumn of the Gun (18 page)

“Maybe we ought to just play poker all night,” said Nathan.

“I wouldn't blame you in the slightest,” Harley said. “You're bunking with sourpuss.”

“Don't be too hard on her,” said Nathan. “She knows she's being unreasonable as hell, but her pride won't let her back down.”

“That's where I was when you found me in Deadwood, drinkin' myself into an early grave,” Harley said. “Wrapped in pride, I was a pitiful package, ridin' shotgun for grub and a place to sleep. Then I was gunned down in a stage holdup, and layin' there more dead than alive, I changed my mind about a lot of things.”

“I think Vivian's being pulled in two different directions,” said Nathan. “Her pride is telling her she belongs with me, while her common sense disagrees. Deep down, she knows, just as I do, that someday I'm going to run headlong into a slug with my name on it. She has a future with Barnabas, none with me.”

“So if she loses enough races for Barnabas, she reckons he'll run her off, forcing her to ride with you,” Harley said.

“I'm guessing,” said Nathan, “but that's how it looks to me. I reckon it's got to reach the point where she no longer seems to have a choice, that Barnabas might show her the gate whether she wants to go or not. You need to win that race tomorrow, and as many more as you can, within the next few weeks.”

 

There were ten horses in the race and Petalo, an unknown, would be running against long odds. An hour before the race started, they were fifteen-to-one.

“I've got a thousand dollars on him,” said Barnabas.

“It being his first race,” Bess said, “do you think that's wise?”

“Maybe not,” said Barnabas, “but not for reasons you suggest. You know Petalo can win, but you have doubts about Harley.”

“Oh, I don't know who I doubt,” Bess said. “Whether it's Harley, Petalo, or the both of them. Mostly, if they win, I fear what it may do to Vivian.”

The favorite was a gray whose name was Caliente. The Horse took the lead quickly, with intentions of widening it, but Petalo was only a length behind. Harley leaned forward on the horse's neck and Petalo began gaining. The two went into the final stretch neck-and-neck, but Petalo slowly but surely pulled ahead, winning by half a length. Afterward, McQueen had one arm draped over Petalo's lean neck and the other about Harley's shoulders. Nathan looked for Vivian, but she was nowhere in sight. Neither was Bess McQueen, and Nathan hoped they were together. When Petalo had been rubbed down and stabled, Nathan, Harley, and McQueen went to collect their winnings. When they returned to their hotel, Nathan found Bess in the room he shared with Vivian.

“I was just leaving,” said Bess.

She went out, closing the door, leaving Nathan and Vivian alone.

“I reckon Harley's satisfied any doubts you've had about him being here,” Nathan said.

“Yes,” Vivian said, so softly he almost didn't hear her.

“Then you have no reason for being angry with Barnabas and Harley, do you?”

“No,” she replied, her voice trembling.

“Vivian, come here,” said Nathan.

When she finally faced him, tears were creeping down her cheeks. Slowly she came to him, buried her face on his shoulder, and wept long and hard. Removing only her hat, he stretched her out on the bed and lay down beside her.

“Now talk, damn it. What's
really
biting you?”

“I ... I can't tell you.”

“Then I'll tell you,” said Nathan. “You want to go with me, yet you want to say here and ride Diablo, but you want someone else to make up your mind for you. You want to be forced into one or the other, don't you?”

“Yes,” she said, in a small voice. “I've never wanted anything as much as I want to continue racing, but I don't want to lose you.”

“You won't lose me,” said Nathan. “I'm never away more than a few months. I always come here to heal and lick my wounds.”

“Until that day,” she said, her voice breaking, “when you'll never ... come back to me.”

“When that day comes,” said Nathan, “there'll be nothing anyone can do, for destiny deals the cards. If I never ride back, then you'll know that I'm resting easy, knowin' you are with Harley and among friends. Can't you accept that?”

“Perhaps someday, but not ... not now ...”

 

Breakfast was a happy affair, as Vivian attempted to get back on the good side of everybody.

“I've been behaving like a selfish, spoiled brat, and I—”

“You sure as hell have,” Harley cut in. “Try that again and I'll take a switch to you.”

“I can't say that I won't ever do it again,” said Vivian, “but I'm apologizing for this time. I just hope Diablo will forgive me.”

“You'll find horses more forgiving than people,” Barnabas said. “Ride him with a kind hand, confidence, and determination, and he'll run his heart out for you.”

“Their names are Lonzo Prinz and Rufe Collins,” Captain Dillard said. “While neither has a record, they were once arrested on suspicion of bank robbery and released for lack of evidence. It was Collins who tried to back-shoot you, Nathan.”

“I realize them having my horse and saddlebags won't be enough to convict them,” said Nathan. “There must be some way of forcing them to talk.”

“So far, nothing beyond their names,” Captain Dillard said. “In the morning, the bank tellers who were on duty at the time of the robbery will have a look at these two.”

“Does that include Sheriff Littlefield's son, who identified me?”

“No,” said the Ranger. “After his relationship to Littlefield came to light in Austin, he left the bank and nobody knows where he is. We could have tracked him down and maybe convicted him of perjury, but you were set free and we believed justice had been done.”

 

When Nathan and Harley reached the jail the following morning, Captain Dillard was already there. Sheriff Littlefield nodded to Nathan and Harley. When the tellers arrived—McDaniel, Terrel, and Wilkerson—Captain Dillard questioned them.

“Before you see these men, do any of you recall anything about them, such as color of hair, eyes, and possible scars?”

“Only two of them came into the bank,” said Terrel.

“That's true,” Captain Dillard said. “The third man stayed with the horses.”

“They were masked,” McDaniel said, “but the man who came to my window had a mole just above his right eyebrow, and his nose was crooked, like it had been broken.”

“I can't help you,” said Wilkerson. “The man who took money from me had no marks I can recall. He had dark hair, down to the collar of his shirt.”

“We're going to ask the three of you to look at these men,” Captain Dillard said. “I'd advise you not to make any claims unless you're willing to swear to them in court.”

Prinz and Collins sat on their bunks, staring at the men in the jail corridor.

“The man with the bandaged arm,” said McDaniel. “I'd like a closer look at him.”

“Collins,” Captain Dillard said, “come over here.”

Collins got up and shambled over to the cell's barred door.

“He has the broken nose,” said McDaniel, “and the mole above his left eyebrow. I'd say this is the man who took money from me during the robbery.”

“You'd swear to that in court?” Captain Dillard asked.

“Yes,” said McDaniel.

“Collins,” Captain Dillard said, “you've been identified as one of the men who held up a Houston bank two years ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn't do it,” said Collins.

“We have evidence enough to hold you,” Captain Dillard said. “It'll be up to you to convince a judge and jury that you're innocent.”

“You got nothin' against me,” said Prinz. “Let me out of here,”

Too late he realized his mistake. Collins turned on him, his face a mask of fury.

“Damn you,” Collins bawled, “you was right there with me, just like in Waco.”

Prinz came off his bunk swinging, and his fists slammed Collins against the bars of the cell.

“Back off, Prinz,” said Captain Dillard, drawing his Colt.

Prinz returned to his bunk and sat down.

“Sheriff,” Captain Dillard said, “take Collins out of there and lock him in another cell. I believe he'll be a valuable witness, and we don't want Prinz trying to influence him.”

 

The next morning, preparing to return to New Orleans, Nathan and Harley stopped to talk to Captain Dillard.

“Collins refused to take the rap by himself,” said Captain Dillard. “He implicated Prinz as well as Schorp, the man you shot, Nathan. In fact, Collins sang loud enough to convict the two of them for a similar bank robbery in Waco three years ago. We lost them there for lack of evidence, so this promises to be a particularly sweet victory. On behalf of the Rangers, I want to commend the both of you for capturing this pair.”

“I reckon I had a selfish motive,” Nathan said. “There was a time when I'd have been content to gut-shoot the pair of them, but that would have been too sudden. I reckon I'll get more satisfaction out of them doing five years in Huntsville prison.”

“If they're convicted of robberies in Houston
and
Waco,” said Captain Dillard, “they'll be lucky to get off with ten years.”

With Empty trotting ahead of them, Nathan and Harley rode into the McQueen place. Vivian seemed to have settled down, and during supper Nathan and Harley recounted their success in Houston.

“I'm glad we can finally close the door on that infamous experience in Houston,” said Barnabas. “We have two more big weekends between now and Christmas. Both are two-day events, with races on Saturday and Sunday. Vivian will be riding Diablo. Harley, I want you to ride Petalo in the first event and Modelo in the second.”

“Just win me two more races with long odds,” Nathan said, “and I'll be a rich man.”

The events were held at Natchez and Vicksburg, and all the McQueen horses were big winners. Because of his loss in Beaumont, Diablo ran against longer odds but redeemed himself gloriously.

“That's enough,” said McQueen. “Let's enjoy the holidays and let the horses rest.”

But they were in for a surprise. A week before Christmas, looking like a down-and-out Texas cowboy, Byron Silver rode in. Tied behind his saddle was a sheepskin-lined long coat, and thonged down on his right hip was a Colt revolver.

“Tarnation,” said Nathan suspiciously, “when you show up, there's usually trouble on your heels, like a pack of lobo wolves.”

Silver laughed. “You should talk. Every time you wander off on your own, you end up in somebody's juzgado. There's Missouri, Texas, and God knows how many others from which you somehow managed to escape without my help. You owe me, big time.”

“And you're here to collect,” said Nathan.

“Amigo,”
Silver said, adopting a hangdog look, “you misjudge me, and I am deeply wounded. Fortunately, I heal
rapido.”

“Well, get down and come in,” said Barnabas. “You and Nathan can pick at one another later. Bess will have supper on the table by the time you stable your horse and wash up.”

“Go on in the house,” Harley said. “I'll rub down and stable your horse.”

“He hasn't even worked up a good sweat,” said Silver. “I just bought him in town.”

“By God, I knew it,” Nathan said. “You wouldn't buy a horse if you didn't have plans that involve considerable travel, and you won't be needin' that heavy sheepskin coat around here.”

“Damn,” said Silver, “a man can't come south for a little vacation without having his motives questioned by the Pinkertons.”

“You insult me,” Nathan said. “Draw, you varmint.”

They were on the back porch, digging at one another, when Bess came to the door.

“Supper's ready,” said Bess.

“Then let's eat,” Silver said. “If he don't mend his ways, I can shoot him anytime.”

They were finished with supper and enjoying extra cups of hot coffee when Silver got around to revealing the true nature of his visit.

“A couple of years back,” said Silver, “Congress passed what they called a Desert Land Act. Supposedly, it was intended to help small ranchers by making available desert land at twenty-five cents an acre, for a hundred and sixty acres. A man could then irrigate the land and eventually, for a dollar an acre, own it.”

“Captain Ferguson at Fort Worth told me about that,” Nathan said.

“Then you have some idea as to what went wrong, and why,” said Silver.

“Yes,” Nathan replied. “The whole thing is a legalized land-grab, ramrodded through Congress by wealthy ranchers. They'll buy up thousands of acres of land for a dollar and twenty-five cents an acre.”

“Exactly,” said Silver. “A man with money can hire several dozen cowboys, with the stipulation they are to each file on a quarter section, eventually signing it over to the big rancher who's paying them thirty dollars a month.”

“That sounds illegal,” Barnabas said.

“Not unless there's conclusive proof,” said Silver, “and by that, I mean proof that the wealthy ranchers are paying men to file on land they have no intention of improving. Land that is later to be handed over to a man who isn't legally entitled to it.”