Autumn of the Gun (40 page)

 

A few miles ahead, Burris, Doak, and Sellers took their time, scarcely able to believe their good fortune.

“These hosses ain't crowbaits,” Burris said. “They ought to bring two hunnert apiece, easy.”

“Burris,” said Sellers, “you don't never think any farther than saddle broncs. This pair is considerable more than that.”

Rebecca only half-listened to them. While she had seen Wes fall and lay unmoving, she couldn't believe he was dead. She was thankful they hadn't searched her, for she still had her Colt under the waistband of her Levi's. Her shirttail concealed the butt of the weapon, for she had pulled the shirt out against the heat. Burris had her horse on a lead rope, while Doak and Sellers each led one of Bell's horses. Rebecca realized she couldn't defend herself against the three of them, but when they came for her—to strip her, use her—she vowed she would kill at least one of them.

 

Wes struggled on, his head pounding. The sun seemed hotter than it probably was, and when he reached a small stream, he bellied down and ducked his head under the water. The outlaws had jumped him at breakfast time, before he'd even had coffee, and he felt the worse for it. When Wes again took the trail, he studied the tracks. The horses were walking, proof enough the outlaws were in no hurry. Wes lengthened his stride, believing that he could catch up to them before the inevitable happened. Before they mistreated Rebecca.

Jess Delaney and Sheriff Garrett reined up before riding into town.

“I got nothin' against you trying to force Seaborn to tell what he's done with your money,” Garrett said, “but don't lose sight of the fact he's a criminal. As such, he could pull a gun and start shooting.”

“Give all of us time to reach the Silver Dollar,” said Delaney, “and then move in next to a window. It'll be after six o'clock and dark by then. I want Cash to get the idea that he might squirm out of this by giving us back our money. But he'll know better if he happens to see you.”

Jess Delaney said nothing about what he had learned, or about his plans. Naturally, the house dealers would be there, and so would Cash Seaborn, for this would be his night to remain until closing. However, when Hiram Kilgore and Ward Guthrie showed up, there might be trouble with Seaborn. Two bartenders had charge of the saloon until six o'clock, and Seaborn rarely arrived before then. With that in mind, and without giving any reason, Delaney asked Hiram Kilgore and Ward Guthrie to be present at five-thirty. Nathan and Katrina were always there early, and it would allow Delaney to prepare them for what was about to happen.

“I saw Sheriff Garrett in town a while ago,” Nathan told Kate. “That means Delaney's planning a showdown tonight.”

“It's going to be interesting,” said Kate. “I'm wondering how they're going to force Seaborn to return all the money he's replaced with counterfeit coins.”

“Maybe by lettin' him think he can get out of it by resigning from the Silver Dollar and returning the money,” Nathan said.

“You don't suppose he
can
get out of it that easily, do you?”

“No,” said Nathan. “Horton Goodner, the banker, is aware of it, and I doubt he'd allow a crime of such magnitude to go unpunished.”

 

Nathan and Kate reached the Silver Dollar at twenty minutes past five. Delaney, Kilgore, and Guthrie were already there.

“All of you gather around close,” Delaney said. “I have a lot to say, and I don't want outside ears hearing it. Please don't interrupt until I'm finished.”

“Seaborn's not here,” said Guthrie.

“This involves Seaborn,” Delaney said. “We'll have a question for him when he gets here.”

Delaney began with the bank's disclosure that the Silver Dollar's deposits had resulted in massive amounts of counterfeit eagles.

“Damn it,” Hiram Kilgore shouted, “why weren't we told?”

“You have been told,” said Delaney. “Stomping around and raising hell would have resulted in allowing the culprit to take the money and run. As it is, we're going to confront him in a few minutes, with enough proof to send him to territorial prison.”

“By God,” Ward Guthrie shouted, “you're saying Cash Seaborn robbed us.”

“Yes,” said Delaney, “and I'm telling you I have the proof. Now sit down and shut up so I can fill you in on the rest of it.”

Delaney spoke rapidly, and while his partner's mouthed curses, they remained silent. But the silence was temporary. When Delaney had finished, there were angry outbursts from Kilgore and Guthrie.

“Damn it,” Kilgore roared, “with all this proof you got, why ain't the bastard in jail?”

“Because we don't know what he's done with our twenty thousand dollars,” Delaney roared.back. “We lose that and we're ruined. We're going to try and bargain with him. If he returns what he's taken and resigns, he goes free. Otherwise, we'll prosecute him to whatever extent the law allows.”

“You're forgetting something,” said Nathan. “There's been a crime committed and you can't promise Seaborn the law won't prosecute. Is Sheriff Garrett aware of your plan?”

“No,” Delaney admitted. “All he knows is that we're going to try and negotiate for the return of our money.”

Cash Seaborn paused before the Silver Dollar. From within, he could hear the angry voices of Delaney, Kilgore, and Guthrie. Across the street, leaning against an awning post, stood Sheriff Pat Garrett. Hitching up his trousers, Seaborn buttoned his coat, concealing the Remington revolver shoved under his belt.

The sun seemed to balance on the rim of the western horizon, granting a few final moments before the coming of the night. The chill fingers of the west wind caressed Wes Tremayne, reminding him that his coat was tied behind his saddle. He hadn't eaten since supper the night before, and his belly growled with the lack of food. Without faltering, he went on, knowing that for Rebecca time was running out.

 

“The next good water,” Doak said, “let's stop for the night.”

While his companions said nothing, the thought had crossed their minds. The day had been long, and they had stopped only to rest the horses. Covertly, they eyed Rebecca, who pretended they didn't exist. The first stars were out before they found suitable water. The spring gurgled out from beneath a mass of rock at the deep end of an arroyo. There was a runoff from which the horses could drink, and enough of a rim to shield the camp from a chill wind. Rebecca eyed the rim approvingly. It might also allow Wes to get the drop on the outlaws when he caught up to them. Despite her predicament, she smiled to herself, aware of how much she had changed. Her first days with Wes had been fraught with terror, for it had seemed death was stalking him, never more than a heartbeat away. Now, having seen him shot down before her eyes, she didn't doubt that he lived or that he would be coming for her. One of the outlaws had a small fire going, and it was Doak who shouted at her.

“You! Gather some wood for the fire.”

The three of them sat on the rocks near the spring, passing around a bottle. There was no way Rebecca could reach the horses without being seen, so they weren't concerned about her escaping. Beyond the spring's runoff, she gathered damp leaves and piled them on the small fire. As the flames bit into the leaves, smoke billowed up into the evening sky in great clouds. It was Sellers who finally took notice of what she was doing.

“Damn you,” Sellers shouted, “stop that.”

He ran to the fire and kicked the smoking mound of leaves, scattering them.

“I didn't see that much wood,” said Rebecca innocently, “but there's plenty of leaves.”

“Git away from the fire,” said Sellers.

“What's bitin' you, Sellers?” Doak asked, taking another drink from the bottle.

“Damn you,” said Sellers, “it was you told her to feed the fire. The fool woman sent up enough smoke to be seen in Dodge City.”

“Maybe,” Burris said, “but so what? The Comanches ain't a threat no more. Nobody else is likely to be interested.”

But someone was interested. A few miles away. Wes Tremayne eyed the distant smoke and set out to reach it. The outlaws would never be so careless. The smoke meant Rebecca was still alive.

Cash Seaborn entered the Silver Dollar, pausing just inside the door. Nearest him sat Nathan and Kate, while directly ahead of him his three partners waited.

“Come on in and set down, Cash,” Delaney said. “We have something to discuss with you.”

“I'm comfortable where I am,” said Seaborn. “Since when do you find it necessary to include the house dealers in our discussions?”

“This particular discussion involves them,” Delaney said. “You're responsible for that. The bank has informed us of peculiar circumstances surrounding our account. All evidence points to you, Cash, and there's more than enough to convict you. Return the money to us, resign, and you can walk away a free man.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Seaborn. “You've drummed this up to boot me out, to take what's mine.”

Seaborn had purposely remained near the door. None of his partners, as far as he knew, was armed with anything more lethal than a derringer, and he was out of range. The only threat to him was Nathan Stone, who was seated. The arm of his chair would slow his draw. Seaborn took a step forward, as though to join his partners, but suddenly turned on Nathan and Kate, a pistol in his hand. The first slug ripped into the tabletop, while the second struck the arm of a chair. The ricochet struck Kate McDowell in the head. Nathan rolled out of his chair and came up shooting. He fired twice, and both slugs tore into Cash Seaborn, who stumbled into a table, hung there a moment, then collapsing on the floor.

“Damn it,” Hiram Kilgore shouted, “you've killed him. Now we'll never get our twenty thousand.”

But Nathan didn't hear. Kate had slid out of her chair and lay on the floor. Nathan knelt beside her, knowing she was dead. Sheriff Garrett burst through the door, a gun in his hand. He looked from Seaborn to Kate, holstered his gun, and removed his hat. The three saloon owners had gotten to their feet, and it was Delaney who spoke.

“We tried to reason with him, Sheriff, but he pulled a gun and started shooting. He was shooting at Stone, and hit the woman by mistake. Stone returned fire.”

“Stone didn't have to kill him,” Kilgore growled. “Wounded, he could have talked.”

It was a shameful, foolish thing to have said, and in an instant, Nathan had seized the front of Kilgore's shirt, standing him on his toes.

“You greedy damned fool,” said Nathan through clenched teeth, “all that matters to you is money. I wish to God it was you layin' there with a hole in your skull, instead of Kate.”

He shoved Kilgore across a table, and amid a tangle of chairs, he thunked headfirst to the floor.

“That's enough, Stone,” Sheriff Garrett said.

Drawn by the shots, other men crowded into the saloon. One of them was Jubal Park, whose cabinet shop served as a funeral parlor when needed.

“Jubal,” said Sheriff Garrett, “have these bodies taken to your place and made ready for burying.”

“Only if the county's payin',” Jubal said. “I ain't gettin' stuck for no more funerals.”

“Prepare the lady for burying,” said Nathan, “and do it proper. I'll pay.”

“We'll pay for Seaborn,” Delaney said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Kilgore. “Livin' or dead, he ain't gettin' another peso out of me.”

“Everybody to the bar,” Ward Guthrie shouted. “Drinks are on the house.”

That got their attention, and as the bodies were being removed, Delaney hung back and spoke to Nathan.

“This has been a most regrettable incident. Will you deal tonight?”

“No,” said Nathan. “Not tonight or any other night. Tomorrow, after the buying, I'll be riding on.”

Nathan said no more, for Ward Guthrie and Hiram Kilgore were approaching, and as he turned away, he heard Guthrie speak to Delaney.

“Come on, Jess. Leave it with the bartenders. We're goin' up to Seaborn's quarters and rip the place apart. He's stashed that money somewhere.”

Exhausted, weak from hunger, Wes looked down on the outlaw camp from the brush that grew along the rim. The outlaws were passing around a bottle. Wes was barely able to see Rebecca, for she had distanced herself from them. Somehow she must be made aware that Wes was alive. From one of the loops on his gunbelt, he took a cartridge and, carefully judging the distance, threw it. It fell in the sand just inches from Rebecca. Using her body to hide her movements from the outlaws, she drew the .38 Colt from beneath her shirt, hoping Wes could see that she was armed. While she had no idea what he might attempt, she didn't believe he could successfully defend himself against three gunmen. Even in the pale moonlight, Wes had seen the pistol and knew they hadn't disarmed her. There was no cover that would allow him to descend the arroyo's rim without being seen, and he circled around to the shallow end. He ground his teeth in frustration, for lack of a means of communicating with Rebecca. Her accuracy with a gun—or lack of it—wouldn't matter if they made their move together. She would distract the outlaws, allowing him the edge he needed. Now he had but one choice, and that was to go in shooting. But that all changed in an instant.