The Dawn of Fury (50 page)

“You men in the arroyo,” Nathan shouted, “I'm friendly. Come on out.”

“Who are you?” came a shouted inquiry.

“Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied. “Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Lanford,” came the response. “I'm officer in charge of a patrol from Camp Supply, just north of here. I have one man dead and two wounded. Can you help us?”

There still was no activity on the far ridge, so Nathan trotted his horse down the slope. The lieutenant and six men were unhurt. One of the wounded men had been hit in the side, the other in the shoulder, high up.

“What happened to your horses?” Nathan asked.

“After they'd trapped us here,” said Lanford, “they threw enough lead to spook our mounts. Last we saw of them, they were galloping down this arroyo.”

“My horse won't be of much help to you,” said Nathan. “I'll ride down yonder a ways and see if I can catch your mounts.”

Fortunately, the outlaws hadn't known whether Nathan was one man or ten, so they had made no effort to gather or further stampede the soldiers' horses. Nathan caught them without difficulty and led them back to the grateful soldiers.

“I have a packhorse beyond that ridge,” Nathan said, “and there's medicine, if you want to see to your wounded men.”

“We're obliged,” said Lieutenant Lanford. “We'll need water, and there's a spring maybe two miles north of here. Get your pack horse; we'll wait.”

Nathan rode out as they were tying the dead soldier across his saddle. Lacy's relief was obvious when she saw that Nathan was unharmed, and as they rode to where the soldiers waited, he explained the situation to her. Even the lieutenant was speechless when Nathan introduced Lacy, but they all recovered quickly, removing their hats. As they rode on toward the spring, Lieutenant Lanford explained what had happened.

“There were twenty or more of them. We were outnumbered at least two to one, and they must have had an advance rider. They knew we were coming, and they had plenty of time to let us ride into a trap. I feel like a damn fool, begging your pardon, ma'am.”

“At least eight of them are dead,” said Nathan. “When you file your report, you don't have to say who shot them. That ought to help some.”

“Yes,” Lanford said, “it will help if we can report at least some of the thieves and killers have paid for their crimes. We received telegraphed word from Fort Worth that this bunch had been looting and killing in Texas. There seems to be some method to their madness, and that suggested to us that while the law's looking for them in Texas, they might strike somewhere in southern Kansas. Trouble is, nobody told us there was so many of them.”

“From what I've heard,” Nathan said, “they've added to their number, and they might have done that since they were in Texas.”

“I can believe that,” said the officer. “The last report we had, there was perhaps a dozen men.”

“Well,” Nathan said, “you can report that they're
back
to a dozen. In the information you've received, has there been any mention of names? I'm looking for four varmints, and this bunch you tangled with seems like just the kind of sidewinders they'd throw in with.”

“No names,” said Lieutenant Lanford. “It seems they're a mixture of deserters, thieves, and killers, with different men coming and going.”

“While you're caring for your wounded,” Nathan said, “I aim to ride back to that ridge and see if I can identify any of the dead. Besides, they likely had horses picketed that should be turned loose. Will you be spending the night here?”

“No,” said Lanford. “We're no more than thirty miles south of Camp Supply. Your medicine will help, and we're obliged, but there's a medic on post, and I want him to tend these wounded men. They'll be less able to ride tomorrow than they are today.”

“I respect your judgement, Lieutenant,” Nathan said. “We'll ride on with you and spend the night at your fort, if we may.”

“Do,” Lanford said, “and welcome.”

“Lacy,” said Nathan, when they reached the spring, “I'll be back as soon as I can.” He mounted and rode back the way they had come, meeting Cotton Blossom. Wary of the soldiers, he had been lagging behind.

Nathan found where the renegades had tied their horses. He found little of interest in their saddlebags except a change of clothes, hard biscuits, and jerked beef. He turned the horses loose, tying the reins around the saddle horns. He then began the most disagreeable part of his task—going through the pockets of the dead men. The results were disappointing, for he found no identification. Several of the men had more than a hundred dollars in double eagles, and that he took, for it would be of no use to them. He mounted and rode back to the spring, finding Lieutenant Lanford and his men had already built a fire and heated water.

“Nobody had any identification,” Nathan said, dismounting.

“That's not surprising,” said Lieutenant Lanford. “It's doubtful that any of them are using their real names. We'll be ready to move out in half an hour.”

Lieutenant Lanford called for frequent rests for the sake of the wounded soldiers, and it was early afternoon when they reached a wide, deep river.

“This is the North Canadian,” the officer said, for Nathan's benefit. “The fort's maybe ten miles from here, on the north bank.”

Lieutenant Lanford led the column to a shallow crossing, and they rode northwest along the north bank. In less than an hour they were able to see the log palisades of Camp Supply. Soldiers walked the parapets, but the log gates remained closed until Lieutenant Lanford hailed one of the sentries. The gates were then opened. The soldiers on duty eyed Lacy, then Nathan, and finally, the body of the soldier roped to his saddle.

“Nathan Stone wishes to speak to the post commander,” said Lieutenant Lanford.

“Sergeant of the guard,” one of the sentries shouted.

“The post commander is Captain Chanute,” Lieutenant Lanford told Nathan. “Protocol demands that you meet with him, stating your purpose for being in Indian Territory. What you choose to tell him regarding your ... ah ... encounter with the renegades is entirely up to you.”

“I never volunteer information,” said Nathan. “Prepare your report as you see fit.”

“You're a generous man, Stone. There may be some bounty on those dead men, and I can't claim it.”

“And I don't want it,” Nathan replied. “Leave me out of your report.”

The sergeant of the guard arrived and saluted.

“At ease, Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Lanford. “This is Nathan Stone and the lady is Lacy Mayfield. Please escort them to Captain Chanute's office. This,” he said, speaking to Nathan, “is Sergeant Wilson. I'll talk to you again before you leave the post.” Sergeant Wilson saluted and had his salute returned; then he nodded to Nathan and Lacy. As he led them to meet the commanding officer, Nathan noticed the rundown, dilapidated state of Camp Supply. There was an overall appearance of seediness and decay. Entire log sections—especially those nearest the ground—were rotting away. Much of the mud chinking had fallen from the log walls, and if Camp Supply ever became a permanent military installation, the entire post would have to be torn down and rebuilt. The sergeant knocked on a door, opening it when a voice granted entry. Captain Chanute stood up behind a battered desk, returning the sergeant's salute. “At ease, Sergeant,” he said.

“Sir,” said Sergeant Wilson, “this is Nathan Stone and Lacy Mayfield. They rode in with Lieutenant Lanford and his patrol. They request a meeting with you.”

Nathan looked around. The captain's desk had seen a hard life, as had his swivel chair, but at least the office had a crude wooden floor.

“You are excused, Sergeant,” said Captain Chanute, and when the sergeant had departed, he spoke to Nathan and Lacy. “Welcome to Camp Supply. As you can see, we have little to offer in the way of convenience and comfort. What do you wish of me?”

“We're on our way to Colorado Territory,” Nathan said, “and we understand it's the proper thing to do, telling you our reason for being here.”

“It is,” said Chanute, “for your sake and ours. It seems we're being overrun by renegades and outlaws who have become unwelcome elsewhere.”

“We're somewhat familiar with them, Captain,” Nathan said. “We had the good fortune of joining Lieutenant Lanford's patrol, following a fight. We will be riding out in the morning. Exactly where are we?”

“By noon tomorrow,” said Chanute, “you'll be in Kansas. Just before you leave Indian Territory, you'll cross the Cimarron River. From there, you'll be maybe twenty-five miles from Fort Dodge.”
²³

“With your permission,” Nathan said, “we'd like to visit the sutler's store. We're shy a few things.”

“You have my permission,” said Chanute, “but don't get your hopes too high. This is not as well-provisioned a post as those nearer civilization. Everything must be freighted in, from Leavenworth or Santa Fe, and thieves are as numerous as buzzards. Quanah Parker and the Comanches are rampant in west Texas and eastern New Mexico, murdering teamsters and soldier escorts, and, in general, robbing us blind. Here in Indian Territory and southern Kansas, it's white renegades and bands of Kiowa.”

In the sutler's store, Nathan and Lacy found many things in short supply and others lacking entirely. There was no sugar, no coffee, no flour, no guns or ammunition. Nathan bought Lacy a new pair of boots, two shirts, and two pair of Levi's. While they were there, Lieutenant Lanford came in.

“You're welcome to take your meals with us,” the lieutenant said, “and there are cabins you can use for the night. But I must warn you, unless it's raining or snowing, I spread my blankets outside, because I don't much like spiders and other things dropping on me during the night.”

“I'll be sleeping outside,” Lacy said.

“I reckon I will be too,” said Nathan.

Nathan brought the horses inside the stockade, and since graze was out of the question, each of the animals was given a measure of grain. Watering troughs were plentiful. There being nothing else to do, Nathan and Lacy lay down next to the stockade wall, heads on their saddles.

“I reckon the worst of Indian Territory's behind us,” Nathan said. “When we reach Fort Dodge, we'll look for your Colt there.”

It was near suppertime, and when the bugler blew mess call, Nathan and Lacy waited until the soldiers had entered the mess shack. Surprisingly, the strength of the post numbered only thirty-one men, including Captain Chanute. Nathan and Lacy took tin plates, tin cups, and eating tools. There was hot coffee, beans, and fried steak. Almighty tough steak. They were about to take seats at one of the rough tables when Nathan remembered Cotton Blossom. The dog had followed him inside, but, unsure of his status, he waited beside the door. But the soldiers had seen Cotton Blossom, and before Nathan could make a move, a corporal shouted.

“Looky here, boys! I knowed if we waited long enough, somethin' would come along with teeth enough to eat cookie's steak.”

Everybody laughed except the disgruntled cook, and more than one soldier beckoned to Cotton Blossom. They offered him hunks of steak, and with his belly overriding his distrust, he wasted no time in accepting the food. The men whooped and hollered, for this was a rare diversion. When Cotton Blossom had accepted each offering, he trotted back to the door and sat down.

“I swear,” said the cook, “the dog's got better manners than the lot o' ye scutters.”

As Nathan and Lacy departed Camp Supply the following morning, a burial detail dug a grave for the soldier who had been killed the day before.

“I'm sorry about yesterday,” Lacy said. “You were right. There were so few soldiers, they wouldn't have had a chance without your rifle.”

“We owe them our lives,” said Nathan. “I made a difference because those renegades split their forces and because I had the element of surprise. When you have to fight, take the offensive and do it on your own terms.”

Nathan and Lacy reached the Cimarron, rode across and entered Kansas. The sun was barely noon-high. They rode on, and after resting the horses, allowed them to drink sparingly when water was available.

“We'll reach Fort Dodge before dark,” Nathan predicted.

Following Lieutenant Lanford's directions, they rode on across the muddy Arkansas, following it westward. The fort, when they first saw it, was all that Camp Supply hadn't been. The stockade had a look of permanence, and beside the river, Union soldiers marched in close-order drill. Sentries walked in parapets high above the walls, and Nathan heard one of them shout to someone below. Nathan and Lacy had been seen, and as they approached the huge gates, they were swung open. A sentry stood before him, his rifle at port arms.