The Dawn of Fury (16 page)

“Oh, hell,” she said in disgust, “it's not that kind of nervous. What I mean is that I doubt we can trust them.”

“Why not?” Nathan insisted. “What are you seeing that I'm not?”

“I'm not seeing anything, damn it. It's ... just a bad feeling.”

The sun had said goodnight to the prairie and purple shadows had crept in before the trio quit the river, shook some of the dust from their clothes and got dressed.

“Time we was splittin' up the watches fer the night,” said Bean.

“I don't trust my hair to the eyes and ears of one man,” Nathan said. “I have a better idea. The three of you take the first watch, and we'll take the second. We'll change at midnight.”

“That ain't fair,” Bean objected. “There's two of you an' three of us. If the varmints is comin' after us in the dark, they're most likely to show up in the stillest hours of the mornin'.”

“That's why we want the second watch,” said Nathan, “because there's also three of us. Cotton Blossom, my dog, will warn us if anybody tries to come close.”

Delmano looked at Cotton Blossom and laughed.
“Feo perro,”
he said.
⁴

Cotton Blossom growled low in his throat, his hackles rose, and he took a step toward the Mexican.

“Easy, Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said, his eyes on Delmano.

“Damn you, Delmano,” said Bean, “keep your mouth shut. You got no right to call anything or anybody ugly. Stone, that's a good idee. That dog knows a heathen when he sees one, an' I'll sleep better, him havin' his ears perked durin' them hours betwixt midnight an' dawn. You an' Eli git some shuteye. Me an' these ugly varmints will keep our eyes an' ears open.”

Nathan and Eulie spread their bedrolls near where the horses grazed, for the animals would be quick to sense the approach of man or beast. Without a command, Cotton Blossom lay down at Nathan's feet.

“I'm glad he's there,” Eulie said softly.

“So am I,” said Nathan. “I'd miss him if he weren't.”

“More than me?”

Nathan said nothing.

“Well?” she inquired.

“Don't rush me,” Nathan said. “I'm thinking.”

She laughed. “Damn you, Nathan Stone.”

Five days north of Corpus Christi, the Comanches struck. Ten of them swept in from the east, offering no targets. Each clung to the offside of his pony, a leg hooked over its back, loosing arrows beneath the animal's neck. But their adversaries had an edge the Comanches hadn't counted on.

Snarling and yipping, Cotton Blossom pursued the attacking Indians. When he nipped at the hind legs of an Indian pony, the spooked animal broke stride and reared, dropping it rider to the dusty ground. The fallen warrior rose to meet a Winchester slug and sank down to move no more. Cotton Blossom went after a second pony and then a third, watching the horses pile their riders. Lethal Winchester fire cut down the two unhorsed Comanches and the others fled, vanishing as suddenly as they had appeared. Cotton Blossom trotted back to the wagons.

“By God,” Bean shouted, piling off the wagon box, “I ain't never seen nothin' like it. That hound's worth his weight in gold coin.”

Nathan and Eulie had dropped back behind the third wagon, using it for cover. They rode forward.

“Anybody hit?” Nathan asked.

“Couple oxen got nicked,” said Bean. “Some sulfur salve to keep the blow flies away, an' they'll heal good as new.”

Roy Bean had no freight office, but operated out of a rundown house to the south of town. There was an enormous barn whose roof had begun to sag, and beyond that, a corral with a three-rail-high fence. The rest of the town seemed to have shied away from Bean's place, and he had used all the property to the fullest. There was a wagon box without wheels, extra bows leaning drunkenly against the barn, and a conglomeration of old wagon wheels with missing spokes or tires. Bean reined up his teams before the barn and stepped down.

“We'll unload this freight in the mornin',” said Bean. “We'll be layin' over here for a couple of days, givin' me time to round up some wagons an' ox teams. Stone, you an' yer pard are welcome to stall yer hosses in the barn an' there's room in the house fer yer saddles an' bedrolls. I'm a mite short of bunks, but there's plenty of floor.”

“We're obliged,” Nathan said. “We'll leave our saddles and rolls in the house and our horses in the barn, but I reckon we'll have us a couple of nights in a hotel bed and some town grub. This is Thursday. When are you aimin' to start for Corpus Christi?”

“Sunday at first light,” said Bean. “Tomorrow to unload the wagons, an' Saturday fer me to dicker fer more wagons an' teams.”

The business district was within easy walking distance of Bean's “office.” Nathan and Eulie set out afoot with Cotton Blossom.

“I don't feel right about leaving everything we own back there,” said Eulie.

“Not everything,” said Nathan. “The horses are in the barn.”

“Same difference,” Eulie said. “We should have brought them with us and found a livery for them.”

“You don't trust anybody, do you?”

“Why should I?” she replied. “I'm always disappointed.”

“Have I disappointed you?”

“Not yet,” she said.

“You expect me to, then.”

“I don't know. I've only my father to compare you to. I'd take a crib in a whorehouse before I'd go back to Waco.”

Nathan offered no response.

“Were you serious about taking a hotel room in town?” Eulie asked.

“Why not?” Nathan said. “We'll spend enough nights on the ground.”

Cotton Blossom proved unwelcome at the fancier hotels, and they ended up with a room in a boardinghouse.

“Now,” said Nathan, “we'll have to find an eatin' place where we can all get fed.”

They found a dingy little cafe next to the Bull's Horn Saloon. There was a poorly lettered sign above the eatery that simply said “Grub.” It was still early, not quite suppertime. The cook, wearing a dirty white apron, leaned across the counter and eyed Cotton Blossom with disapproval.

“There's nobody in here but us,” Nathan said, “and he's a paying customer.”

“Take that table in the back,” the cook said, “and I'll set him a plate back there.”

There would have been no trouble had not some of the patrons of the Bull's Horn Saloon decided it was time to eat. There were eight men, all in various stages of drunkenness, and with all the empty tables, they chose the one against the wall, behind that occupied by Nathan and Eulie. One of the drunkest of the party managed to tromp on Cotton Blossom's tail. The hound took his vengeance by sinking his teeth in the man's leg, just above the top of his boot. There was a curse, a cry of pain, and all hell broke loose. The table was upended, throwing Nathan and Eulie to the floor. There was a howl of pain and more cursing, as Cotton Blossom sank his teeth into yet another victim. Nathan struggled to his feet, only to be struck down with the muzzle of a Colt. Eulie lay face down, unmoving. Nathan blacked out when somebody kicked him in the head. Dimly he could hear shouting.

“Damn it, this is the law. Break it up!”

Finally the sheriff—whose name was Eb Dinkins—got them separated. Cotton Blossom crouched under a table, hackles up, daring anybody to come after him.

“Now,” said the sheriff, when all the participants were on their feet, “what's this all about, and who started it?”

“That damn dog,” one of the drunks scowled. “The varmint bit me.”

“He bit me, too,” another shouted.

“He's my dog,” Nathan said coldly, “and I'm responsible for him. He bit nobody until one of these heavy-hoofed varmints stepped on him.”

“That dog ain't got no business in here,” snarled one of the men who had been bitten. “Let's drag the no-account skunk outside an' shoot him.”

“You'll have to shoot me first,” Nathan said.

“There'll be no shooting,” said Sheriff Dinkins. “Any man touchin' his gun gets thirty days in the
juzgado.
Now get the hell out of here, all of you.”

“Sheriff,” Nathan said, “we came here to eat, and we'll leave when we've done so.”

“He paid in advance, sheriff,” said the cook, “and I don't refund nothin'.”

“The hombres that have paid can stay,” the sheriff said, “but I want the rest of you out of here. And that goes for the dog, too.”

Seeing the humor in the situation, the cook laughed. “The dog's a payin' customer too,” he said.

“Then, damn it,” the sheriff sighed, “the dog can stay. But the rest of you get the hell out of here and sober up.”

His face flushed from whiskey and anger, one of the men Cotton Blossom had bitten turned on Nathan. “You an' me will meet again. This ain't over.”

“It is in this town,” Sheriff Dinkins replied. “Now get out of here.”

The eight of them departed, bestowing angry looks on the sheriff, Eulie, Nathan, and the cook.

“Hell,” said the cook, when the drunken men were out the door, “the dog's got better manners than that bunch.”

“Damn shame he ain't more careful who he bites,” Sheriff Dinkins said. “That whole ugly bunch rides for old Kirk McClendon's brand, and them two who was bit is Morgan and Jethro, McClendon's sons. I hope you gents and the dog ain't plannin' to hang around these parts. Next time, I may not be around, and they'll ventilate you.”

“They're welcome to try,” said Nathan. “We won't start trouble, but we won't run from it, either.”

Nathan, Eulie, and Cotton Blossom finished their meal undisturbed. When they were ready to leave, Nathan spoke to the genial cook. “We'll see you at breakfast. All of us.”

“Perhaps we should return to our room and stay there,” Eulie said, when they were again on the street.

“You can,” said Nathan, “but I can't. The surest way for a man to run headlong into trouble is to try and hide from it. There's nothin' wrong with not wantin' to be gunned down in somebody else's fight, but as long as you're ridin' with me, you'll be takin' that risk.”

“If I wasn't willing to take that risk,” Eulie said, “I wouldn't be with you. I'll string along. There's eight of them, and I doubt you're quick enough with a gun to get them all.”

“All the more reason not to try and avoid them,” said Nathan. “Chances are, in an open fight, they won't gang up on me. If that pair of McClendon varmints have enough of a mad-on to come looking for us, then let there be witnesses. It would be a cowardly thing, all eight of them coming after us, and with old man McClendon being a power in this town, I doubt they'll do that.”

“That makes sense in an odd sort of way,” Eulie said. “So what do we do to avoid having them think we're dodging them?”

“I reckon we'll visit a few saloons,” said Nathan, “and maybe I'll sit in on a poker game or two. I'll want you to take a table, order a beer, and keep a tight rein on Cotton Blossom.”

“I will, but I'll also be watching your back.”

Nathan and Eulie visited three saloons, Cotton Blossom accompanying them, without finding a poker game in progress. All the patrons were bellied up to the bar, except for one of the saloons that boasted a roulette wheel. Three men were gathered there placing halfhearted bets. The fourth saloon, the Tumbleweed, was larger and more pretentious than the rest, and it was there that a poker game was in progress. Nathan and Eulie took a table nearby, nursing their beers. Cotton Blossom sprawled unobtrusively at Nathan's feet. Two of the five men at the poker table were attired in town clothes and instead of boots, wore gaiters. Their fancy ties made them look like drummers. After losing three pots in a row they folded and withdrew from the game. Nathan dropped five double eagles on the table, took a chair, and sat in. He studied his companions. One looked to be a banker or lawyer, while the other two could have been cowboys. Nathan took a small pot, the affluent gambler took two, and the disenchanted cowboys kicked back their chairs and folded.