Autumn of the Gun (42 page)

“I am not one to forget,” Childress said. “We'll meet again.”

“You'll find your horses and weapons somewhere ahead,” said Nathan. “Replace the wagon wheel, and you won't be afoot. I'd suggest you leave the mules hitched to the wagon. If anybody gets ambitious, I'll be watching my backtrail, and it'll be your last mule ride.”

Leading the four horses, Nathan circled wide. Empty awaited him on the trail ahead, and again Nathan rode west.

Saturday, the day of the first race, Rebecca still sulked, and it didn't help her disposition when Wes left her to have breakfast with the McQueens and Vivian Stafford.

“The odds were ten to one,” Wes told McQueen.

McQueen laughed. “Better take them while you can get them. Modelo's about to make some changes.”

Wes thought Vivian Stafford looked a bit uncertain, and he wondered if he had been wise, betting all his money on Modelo. Winning, he'd have five thousand dollars. Losing, Rebecca would never let him forget. After breakfast, he returned to the hotel, kicked off his boots, and lay down to rest. Rebecca pretended to be asleep, but curiosity got the best of her, and she spoke.

“I suppose you bet on the horse. Or was it the rider?”

“Both,” Wes said. “When Modelo wins, I'll have five thousand dollars.”

“Suppose he loses,” said Rebecca. “Then what do you get?”

“A kiss from the rider,” Wes said recklessly, “but I don't expect to lose. McQueen's horses are winners.”

Despite Rebecca's dislike for Vivian Stafford, she was there for the race. In competition with fourteen other horses, Modelo beat his closest rival by two lengths. Wes, in his excitement, grabbed Vivian in a bear hug. When he went to collect his money, Rebecca followed. Despite her anger, she was impressed. Many a man labored a lifetime and never saw so much money all at one time.

“I suppose you're going to bet all that on tomorrow's race,” she said.

“Yes,” he said with a straight face, “and I aim to sell our horses and saddles. When I add that to all this—”

“I can hang around the saloons tonight, selling my body,” she said.

He looked at her, half believing, and despite herself she laughed.

“I aim to salt most of this away against hard times,” he told her. “I reckon I'll risk five hundred on tomorrow's race.”

“I'll go with you,” said Rebecca. “I still have money from the sale of those mules. Do you still want to work for Frank Bell, now that you have so much money?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want to become friends with those Lipan Apaches and learn how they gentle horses.”

Nathan rode thirty miles before picketing the four horses. He left them near water, where they could graze, but far enough ahead that their owners would be fortunate to get to them before sundown. The terrain was rough, and the wagon, once they had it repaired, would be slow going. Nathan rode on to the next water before making camp. Childress and his men couldn't possibly catch up to them, and if they did, Empty would announce their coming well in advance.

 

Nathan arose at first light and, after a hurried breakfast, rode west. Empty trotted well ahead. The terrain began to change, and by late afternoon Nathan began seeing literal forests of sagauro that seemed to flourish only in southern Arizona. Many stood taller than a man on horseback, marching up slopes like soldiers, their arms lifted to the heavens of brilliant blue. Nathan reined up.

“Well, Empty, we're in Arizona, but where do we go from here?”

There was Tucson, within a day's ride, or Phoenix a day or more beyond, somewhere to the northwest. He couldn't help remembering the outlaw town on the Gila River, beyond Tucson. There, he and other unfortunates had toiled in virtual slavery, until they had taken control and destroyed their captors. He wondered if the place had become a ghost town, but he had no intention of returning there.
³¹

“Empty,” he said, “I think we'll drift a little farther south and have us a look at Tombstone. I've heard a lot about it.”

As Nathan rode into town, he couldn't believe his eyes. A familiar figure had stepped out of a mercantile, shouldering a sack of grain. Nathan reined up, shouting a greeting.

“Mel Holt, you old tin-star varmint, what are you doin' here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Holt said. He dropped the sack of grain and came to meet Nathan, a grin on his rugged face.

“I last saw you in Little Rock,” said Nathan. “You helped me corral some thieves and recover Barnabas McQueen's horses. We raced McQueen's Diablo and won big time. You were going back to Fort Smith to turn in your badge and buy a place in South Texas.”

“Places and people change,” Holt said. “Ride out to my place for supper and I'll tell you all about it.”

Holt hoisted the sack of grain up, mounted his horse and led out. Nathan followed. Empty trotting alongside, as they headed north. Free of town, Nathan caught up.

“Come on,” said Nathan. “Talk.”

“I reckon there's some things I should tell you before we reach the house,” Holt said. “Do you remember Susie Horrell?”

“Yes,” said Nathan. “Sister to Molly.”

“I wanted Susie and she wanted me,” Holt said, “but you know the Horrells. They got no interest in anything except shootin' anybody that looks like a Higgins or speaks kindly of one. Mart told me to get the hell away and to stay away. It was quit the country or spend all my time fightin' Susie's kin, so here we are. I got a blessed plenty of shootin' and bein' shot at while I was a deputy marshal in Fort Smith.”

“Congratulations, Mel,” said Nathan. “You're smarter than you look.”

Holt laughed. “I know. I count my blessings every day.”

They reined up at Holt's barn, and when they had unsaddled and rubbed down their horses, they started for the log house. It looked well built, and there was real glass in the windows. Mel Holt was a Texan, tried and true, and Nathan was amazed at how much the man reminded him of Byron Silver. Susie met them at the door.

“Susie,” Holt said, “you remember Nathan Stone, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Susie, “although I've never met him. But he doesn't look anything like the Horrells described him. There are no horns, no spike tail, and no cloven hooves.”

Nathan laughed. “With all due respect to your kin, Susie, I reckon they see everybody in that light, if he ain't a Horrell.”

“That's the God's truth, if it was ever spoken,” Holt said.

They all laughed, appreciating the humor and its proximity to the actuality.

“Wash up and go to the table,” said Susie. “The coffee's ready, and I'll have supper in a few minutes.”

The dining table was in the kitchen. There was a wood stove, a split-log floor, and the table and chairs had been hand crafted from pine. The plates, cups, and saucers were of bone china, while the eating tools were silver plated. On a big glass plate was two-thirds of a chocolate cake.

“Stay out of the cake,” Susie warned. “I have a beef roast and potatoes coming.”

“Tarnation,” said Nathan. “If I'd known all this was waitin', I'd have been here a mite sooner.”

“We're glad you're here,” Susie said.

“Yeah,” Holt agreed. “It's good to see a friendly face. I hope you'll stay awhile.”

“Maybe I will,” said Nathan, “but I'll have to find something to occupy my time. All I know is how to pull a gun and deal cards.”

“You've come to the right place, then,” Holt said. “The town's full of saloons, and the country's split into two factions.”

“Yes,” said Susie. “The rustlers against the rest of us.”

“What about the law?” Nathan asked.

“John Behan's sheriff,” said Holt, “and in June, Virgil Earp was appointed marshal.”

“Then I reckon Wyatt's here, too,” Nathan said.

“Hell, they're
all
here,” said Holt. “Wyatt's deputy sheriff of Tombstone, and he owns a piece of the Oriental Saloon, the classiest place in town.”

“Wyatt doesn't think too highly of me,” Nathan said. “In Dodge, I had to shoot a no-account gambler, after Earp had ordered me to leave him be.”

“Some of us don't think too highly of Wyatt Earp,” said Susie. “He left his wife, and he's just married another woman.”

“That's the least of our worries, where Earp's concerned,” Holt said. “The man has a lust for power. Since coming here, he's tried twice to be appointed Cochise County sheriff. Earp tried to influence the county commissioners through a shady deal with the Clantons and the McLaurys, and it blew up in his face.”

“Who are the Clantons and McLaurys?” Nathan asked.

“Thieves,” said Holt. “Cattle, horses, mules. They were caught with six army mules and had changed the U.S., brands to a D.8. That's one of their lesser crimes.”

“What was Earp doing with these varmints?” Nathan asked.

“It's a pretty accepted fact that the Clantons and McLaurys are friendly to every outlaw in the territory. The Benson stage was held up and a man was killed. Earp believed if he could bring the robbers to justice, it would help his chances of becoming sheriff in the next election. He was satisfied that Jim Crane, Billy Leonard, and Harry Head had been responsible for the stage robbery and the killing. He was also aware that these men were on good terms with the Clantons and McLaurys. There was twelve hundred dollars reward on each of the three robbers. Wyatt Earp met with Ike Clanton and Frank McLaury, and offered them the reward—thirty—six hundred dollars—if they would turn in the three stage robbers. Earp wanted to personally capture them.”

“My God,” said Nathan. “And they agreed?”

“That's the word,” Holt said, “but only if the rewards would be paid for the outlaws, dead or alive, and that Earp kept his mouth shut about the betrayal by Ike Clanton and Frank McLaury.”

“I've never liked Earp,” said Nathan, “but I never believed he'd stoop that low just to gain advantage.”

“He didn't gain any advantage,” Holt said. “Before Clanton and McLaury could lure the stage robbers within Earp's reach, the men were killed by horse thieves. After that, the Clantons and McLaury's began threatening the Earps.”

“That's not hard to figure,” said Nathan. “The Clantons and McLaurys had revealed their connection to outlaws, and they rightly suspected they couldn't trust Earp, knowin' his ambition to become a lawman.”
³²

“That's the way I see it,” Holt said. “There's been threats flung from both sides, and the time's comin' when there'll be gunplay.”

“Supper's getting cold,” said Susie. “I fed your dog on the back porch.”

“I'm obliged,” Nathan said. “It's been a while since we've had decent grub. I reckon there's nothin' I've got to say that stands as tall as that beef roast.”

There was no more conversation until they were into the chocolate cake and a second pot of coffee. Susie spoke.

“If you're going to be here awhile, you're welcome to stay with us. We have room.”

“I'm obliged,” said Nathan, “but that wouldn't be wise. I don't know that Earp would trouble you on my account, but he might. There must be a good boardinghouse in town that won't object to Empty, my dog.”

“You're still welcome to stay with us,” Holt said. “I can't imagine a man carrying a grudge from another time and another town. I own this place free and clear, and nobody's goin' to tell me who can or can't bunk here. Not with the Clanton and McLaury ranches bein' friendly to outlaws.”

“No,” said Nathan. “Stay out of it if you can. I aim to find me a saloon that needs a house dealer, and I'll be more comfortable in a boardinghouse nearby.”

“In that case,” Holt said, “try Inez McMartin's place on Third Street. As for saloons, the New Orleans is one of the better ones. By that, I mean there's no whorehouse on the second floor. Sorry, Susie.”

“Mel Holt, stop acting like I'm one of those prissy town women,” said Susie. “I knew what a bawdy house was, time I was twelve.”

Nathan laughed, and Holt looked a little sheepish. Susie came to his rescue, speaking to Nathan.

“You're welcome to eat with us anytime, but if you do eat in town, the New Orleans Restaurant is right next to the saloon. I've been there. They're both on Fourth Street, next to Brown's Grocery.”

“I'll ride in before dark,” Nathan said. “With so much rustling going on, how are you making out?”

“Better than most,” said Holt. “When we first came here, I casually mentioned that I'd been a deputy marshal. And I have a brand that nobody can alter with a running iron or cinch ring.”

Nathan laughed. “I'll want to see that.”

“It's the M H connected,” Holt said. “The fore leg of the M is connected to the upper hindleg of the H. I haven't lost a cow.”

“We don't have that many,” said Susie.

“If they can't change your brand,” Nathan said, “they'll wait for your natural increase and come after your un-branded calves.”

“Our best crop won't be along until spring,” said Holt. “If you're still here, and these rustlers are still helping themselves, I'll hire you to side me.”