The Dawn of Fury (35 page)

In his upstairs office at Old Canal House, French Stumberg chewed on an unlit cigar and studied the quartet of men before him. He knew them well, knew their capabilities, for they were killers Stumberg had successfully dealt with on more than one occasion. The four—Ringo, Jarvis, Sloan, and Brodie—killed without remorse, shooting from ambush. As usual, Stumberg had been careful to have them arrive after dark. Should their mission fail in any way, he dared not risk their implicating him. Finally he spoke.

“December twenty-ninth, I want the four of you near the track at Gretna. Ringo, I want you on one side of the track and Jarvis on the other, within rifle range. Your targets will be the horse handlers you've been harassing at McDonoughville. They will be mounted, and I want you to hold your fire until the race is well under way. Then I want them cut down.”

“You got it,” Ringo said. “Five hundred each.”

“Sloan,” said Stumberg, “I want you and Brodie to ride to McDonoughville. I want you to slip in behind Mayfair House and observe my two horses as they are being exercised. It's damned important that you know them, because you are going to give them an edge in that race. You are to shoot the riders of any two or three horses that are threatening mine. But above everything else, keep this in mind: You are not to fire at any riders until Ringo and Jarvis have dropped their men.”

“So
that's
why you've had Ringo an' me throwin' lead at them hombres that's workin' with your hosses,” Jarvis said. “We're supposed to be gunnin' for them, and a stray slug or two just happens to blow some riders out of the race. Them that's threatin' yours. That'll look fishy as hell, I think.”

“By God,” Stumberg shouted, “I'm not paying you to think, and I'll not have you questioning or second-guessing my motives. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” Jarvis growled, his hard eyes meeting those of Stumberg's. “It's your funeral. We won't be stickin' around to defend your good name.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Sloan bawled. “There's one thing that ain't clear. Me an' Brodie gits five hunnert a man, just like Ringo an' Jarvis. Now you're wantin' us to shoot maybe three riders if they're threatenin' to cost your hosses the race. We plug an extry rider, that's an extry five hunnert. Is that clear?”

“I don't know that a third rider will figure into it,” said Stumberg. “I'm only saying that it's possible, that if the situation arises, you are to act in my best interests. If you and Brodie account for more than two riders, you will be paid accordingly. I am as good as my word.”

Sloan's laugh was nasty, without humor. “In our line of work, mister, we don't take nobody's word. Not even yours. We always done whatever you paid us to do, an' you paid in advance. It ain't gonna be no different this time.”

“Very well,” Stumberg said, striving to control his temper. “Ringo will take an extra five hundred. If there is a third rider, Ringo will see that the man who earns the extra money receives it. Ringo, there is twenty-five hundred dollars in this envelope. Take it, count it, and then get the hell out of here.”

Ringo took the envelope from the desk. Counting it, he found there were twenty-five one-hundred-dollar green-backs. He nodded to Stumberg, opened the door, and stepped into the hall. Without a word, Jarvis, Sloan, and Brodie followed.

French Stumberg sighed. They were scum. It rankled him, having to come to terms with the likes of them. But this would be the last time, he promised himself. If everything went as planned, he would take his millions and retire to a life of ease in Mexico or South America.

After leaving Nathan Stone, McQueen and Eulie rode in silence. When McQueen eventually spoke, it was about what Eulie had expected.

“You don't have to ride Diablo in the race,” McQueen said. “I believe you will be in some danger, and in good conscience, I can't hold you to such a promise.”

“You're not holding me to it,” said Eulie. “I'm holding myself to it. It's something I want to do. Do you realize how little would ever be done if we all just set on our hunkers and shied away from everything that was just the least bit dangerous?”

McQueen laughed. “You have a point, and I'd have to agree. But despite what Nathan said, there's a precaution I intend to take. I aim to have some other horse owners on hand with Winchesters. If Stumberg's people start anything, maybe we can finish it.”

“Tomorrow,” Byron Silver said, “I have business in New Orleans. Before first light, I'll lead my horse into those woods where you met with your friends. After breakfast, I'll ride out.”

“I reckon you wouldn't be going without a good reason,” said Nathan. “I can stay out of sight, and unless Shanklin actually comes down here, you'll have a chance to go and return without him knowing.”

“Thanks,” Silver said. “All I can tell you is that I'm about to play my hole card. If anything happens to me, it could involve you. If it does, you won't be alone. When the time comes, you'll know all I can tell you.”

Nathan and Silver went to breakfast as usual and saw nobody except Antoine. When they returned to the barn, Silver waited awhile. Finally he got up, stomped into his boots, and tipped his hat over his eyes. Nathan said nothing. The burden was all on Silver, and he spoke.

“I should be back by noon. If I don't make it, you'd do well to ride out and keep going. Adios.”

Silver rode far enough west that he would not be observed as he passed Gretna. He reached the south bank of the Mississippi a mile west of the ferry landing and rode along the river until he reached the crossing. He shouted and waved his hat until he got the attention of the ferrymen on the New Orleans side of the river. If anybody cared enough to ask, the ferrymen would have no trouble remembering him. He paid his dollar, and, reaching the farthest bank, rode north. His first stop in New Orleans was at a mercantile that carried a wide variety of tools. It was still early and a bored clerk stood behind the counter.

“I need a key made,” Silver said. “Can you do it?”

“Yeah,” said the clerk, “but I'll need another key or a pattern.”

“I have a wax impression,” Silver said. From his pocket he took a red bandanna, and from its folds a small beeswax cube.

“That should be satisfactory,” the clerk said, examining the impression in wax. “It'll take me a little while.”

“I have other business,” Silver said. “Where is the telegraph office?”

“On St. Charles, two blocks west of the hotel.”

Silver rode west along a less-traveled side street until he was sure he was past the hotel. He had lived there almost three months, and he couldn't risk being recognized. He found the telegraph office, and using the desk provided, wrote a brief message. There was nobody in the office except the operator, and he studied Silver's message.

“This don't make no sense to me,” he said, looking over his glasses.

“No matter,” said Silver. “It's not addressed to you.”

“Eighty-five cents. You expectin' it to be answered?”

“No,” said Silver. He pocketed his change and left the office. Returning to the mercantile, he found his key was ready.

“Fifty cents,” the clerk said. “If it don't work, or if it's just hard to turn, bring it back and I'll hone'er some more. No charge.”

“Thanks,” Silver said, with a grim chuckle. If he ever had need of the key, it had to work on the first try. There would be no time or need for another ...

Dismounting, Silver led his horse into the corridor of the barn. He had been gone a little more than three hours.

“I'll take care of him for you,” Nathan said.

“Thanks,” Silver replied. He sat down on his bunk, tugged off his boots and dropped his hat over them.

“I've seen nobody since you rode out,” said Nathan from the corridor, while he unsaddled the sweating horse.

Silver said nothing. On the inside of his right boot, just below the mule-eared top, there was an all but invisible slit in the leather. Into this concealed place Silver slipped the newly made key. Now he could only wait for the fateful race, barely two weeks away. During this time he needed to talk to Nathan Stone. Doing so would greatly endanger Stone's life, but Silver could not trust anyone else. For that matter, how far could he trust Nathan Stone? It was a crucial, perhaps fatal, decision. He would delay it as long as he could ...

Chapter
18

It was exactly one week before the race when Stumberg returned to Mayfair House. At breakfast, Antoine had whispered a warning to Silver, so that he and Nathan were not caught off guard when the boss arrived. Contrary to his usual nature, Stumberg seemed jovial.

“Bring out the horses,” he said, “and let me have a look at them.”

Nathan led the bay and Silver the chestnut. They walked the animals to and fro while Stumberg nodded approvingly. Finally he beckoned them to him and then he spoke.

“Red and Jake Prinz will be riding for me. The race will begin at two o'clock next Saturday afternoon. Drew Shanklin will be representing me, and I want you to take the horses to him at the track no later than half-past twelve. Silver, when the race begins, I want you mounted and two thirds of the way toward the finish line. You will be on the west side of the track. Stone, I want you mounted and in a similar position on the opposite side of the track. Have your rifles ready, for Hargis Gavin may be seeking vengeance. I expect him to attempt it in a manner that will endanger you, embarrass me, and cost me the race. Mind you, I can't be sure, but be prepared. This information has been sent to me anonymously.”