The Dawn of Fury (55 page)

“Hell,” said one of the privates, “he looks dead.”

“That'll be for the doc to say,” Captain Derrick said. “Now, by God, take him inside.”

“Now,” said Derrick, turning back to Nathan, “who are you and where were you going?”

“I'm Nathan Stone and I'm bound for Austin. I'm going there to join the Rangers.”

“You're lying.”

“You asked,” Nathan said, “and I told you. Captain Jennings is expecting me.”

“I can telegraph Austin and find out.”

“Do that,” said Nathan. “Captain Jennings knows me well.”

Derrick looked undecided and Nathan pressed his advantage by not saying another word. Finally Derrick flung open the door to the dispensary.

“Get in there,” he said. “I'll deal with you later.” Nathan stepped into the room, Derrick behind him. Privates Emmons and Taylor leaned against the wall. The man accused of desertion lay face down on a bunk. The man working over him wore only an undershirt and Union blue trousers. He had the look of a soldier and the dexterity of a doctor.

“Here's another for you, sawbones,” Derrick said.

The doctor said nothing. Derrick stalked around to the other side of the bunk until he was facing the medic.

“I'm talking to you, by God,” Derrick shouted.

“Yes, sir. I heard you, sir,” said the doctor coldly. He saluted crudely with his bloody left hand.

Privates Emmons and Taylor were grinning widely until Derrick turned to them, changing their expressions entirely.

“Get the hell out of here,” Derrick said. “Unsaddle my horse and the mounts of the two prisoners.”

“You,” he said, pointing to Nathan, “will remain here until your wound has been treated. Then you will be taken to the guardhouse. There will be an armed guard outside the door and all sentries have been instructed to shoot to kill.” He left, closing the door behind him.

“I'll get to you as soon as I can,” said the medic, looking at Nathan for the first time. “This man is near death.”

“I know,” Nathan said. “They were beating him with a doubled lariat when I stopped them.”

“Your mistake,” said the doctor. “He's not going to make it, and you're trapped here with the rest of us.”

“I think I've earned the right to know what the hell's going on here,” Nathan said. “As much as you can tell me, anyhow. I'm Nathan Stone.”

“I'm Lieutenant Calloway,” said the doctor, “and this post has been overrun by outlaws. Renegades. The only reason I'm not in the guardhouse with the others is because I'm needed here in the dispensary. They captured the fort a week ago, and the man I'm working on now is the third they've shot. The other two—a corporal and a private—are dead.”

“God Almighty,” Nathan said, “every man on the post is locked up?”

“Eighteen soldiers,” said the doctor. “The civilians needed for various duties are free, but they're living in fear of their lives. Sutton, here, is the blacksmith. They have made an example of him.”

“I can't believe they were allowed to just ride in and take over.”

“If any of us live through this,” Lieutenant Calloway said, “I expect we will all be cashiered out of the service. That is, if we're not laughed out. Derrick and his bunch rode in a week ago yesterday. They all were in Union blue, and that got them through the gate. They moved quickly, taking our post commander, Colonel O'Neal, prisoner. They then threatened to kill him unless the rest of us surrendered our weapons.”

“What in tarnation do they have in mind?”

“None of them has talked,” said Lieutenant Calloway, “but I have my own ideas. The last week in June, some of the brass from Washington will come to Fort Worth. During July, they'll be conducting post inspections here, at San Antonio and at Houston. They'll be traveling with the same military escort that brings our payroll. The difference is, this will be the payroll for all three outposts. They'll be coming here first. That's why I believe they've taken over this post. The payroll for any one fort might not be worth the risk, but the payroll for three of them should be more than ten thousand.”

“By God,” Nathan said, “that has to be what they have in mind, but hell, there's time to turn this around.”

“When you figure it out,” said Lieutenant Calloway, “I'm sure every man on this post will be eternally grateful. Now take off your shirt and stretch out on the other bunk. Maybe I'll have better luck with you. Come sundown, Mr. Sutton will no longer be with us.”

Lieutenant Calloway didn't have to probe for the lead, for it had gone on through. He applied disinfectant and bound Nathan's wound.

“No bones broken,” Calloway said. “I'm going to ask Derrick to allow you to remain here until tomorrow. There'll likely be some fever and you'll need to sweat out the infection. I have most of a quart of whiskey.”

“Captain Derrick didn't strike me as a man known for his compassion,” said Nathan.

“Compassion-wise,” Lieutenant Calloway said, “he's just a few notches below a rattlesnake. That is, of course, unless he has some reason for wanting you kept alive.”

“He just might have such a reason,” said Nathan. “Do you have the telegraph here, and a man who can operate it?”

“We have it,” Lieutenant Calloway replied, “and Corporal Drago knows the code. They brought him out of the guardhouse once to answer a telegram sent to Colonel O'Neal.”

“Wound or not,” said Nathan, “I need to get into that guardhouse just as soon as I can. I can get us out of this, but I must talk to Corporal Drago and figure some way for us to use that telegraph.”

Lieutenant Calloway almost smiled, but something in Nathan's Stone's ice-blue eyes changed his mind. He spoke.

“I don't really know you. I don't know what influence you have, but I believe you're serious. God knows, we need a miracle, and maybe you're it. If there's anything I can do, I'll side you till hell freezes.”

Nathan was lying on the bunk when Captain Derrick returned. He ignored Nathan, turning his attention to Lieutenant Calloway.

“Sutton won't last out the day,” Calloway said. “The other man should remain here at least until in the morning. There may be infection that could kill him.”

“Keep him here, then,” said Derrick, and he left.

“You do have something going for you,” Lieutenant Calloway said.

Nathan said nothing. Calloway had given him some laudanum and he slept.

Lieutenant Calloway looked in on Nathan between midnight and dawn. The fever was there, but slight, and Nathan forced down a third of the whiskey Calloway had saved for just such a purpose. Nathan arose at dawn, so stiff and sore he could hardly move. He went with Lieutenant Calloway to the mess hall, where he had breakfast. The renegade, Captain Derrick was there and he wasted no time approaching Nathan. With him was one of his men, dressed as a private and armed with a Winchester. They took Nathan at riflepoint to the guardhouse. It was a sturdy structure, built of logs, with a wooden outer door and an inside door of steel bars. Behind Nathan they locked the doors.

Some of the captive soldiers sat on hard wooden bunks, while the others sat on the floor, their backs to the wall. The only light came in through a trio of small windows, and they too were barred. The men said nothing, but their anxious eyes were on Nathan. He spoke.

“I'm Nathan Stone,” he said. “Yesterday, I stopped some varmints wearin' soldier blue from beating a man they'd shot. One of them shot me, and I spent last night in your dispensary. Lieutenant Calloway told me how these outlaws captured your post. Do you have any plans for busting out of here?”

“I am Colonel O'Neal,” said a graying man with a scabbed wound over his eye. “It's a disgrace the way they rode in here and took us without firing a shot, and I'm sorry to say that we've been in here for a week without devising any sensible plan of escape. Sutton tried to escape, to bring help.”

“Sutton died yesterday, in the dispensary,” Nathan said.

“I was afraid of that,” said O'Neal.

“Calloway believes these men have taken over the post with the intention of stealing a military payroll due here sometime next month,” Nathan said. “Do you agree with his thinking?”

“Yes,” said O'Neal. “I haven't spoken to him since the takeover, but we have had plenty of time to consider their motivation. How the hell did they
know
of this payroll, of this post inspection? Damn it, they rode in here less than a week after I had received word of it myself. There will be officials from Washington, so the escort will number perhaps a dozen soldiers, but that won't be nearly enough. There are twenty-two of these renegades, and their uniforms will give them all the edge they'll need.”

“If we can't break out of here,” Nathan said, “then we'll have to send for help. We'll use the telegraph.”

“I'd like to know how you aim to do that,” said a corporal.

“Do any of these renegades know how to operate the telegraph?” Nathan asked.

“We don't think so,” said Colonel O'Neal. “Corporal Drago is our post telegrapher, and he's had to answer several telegrams directed to me. If they had a man who knows the code, they wouldn't need Drago.”

“That makes sense,” Nathan said. “Which of you is Drago?”

“I am,” said the corporal who had questioned Nathan's intention to use the telegraph to send for help.

“Drago,” Nathan said, “if none of them understands the code, why couldn't you add a second message immediately after the reply they forced you to send?”

“I ... didn't think of that,” said Drago sheepishly.

“Even if they don't read the code,” Colonel O'Neal said, “they ought to have some concept as to how long it would take to send their message.”

“Not if the second message is short,” said Nathan. “Drago, the next time you're forced to respond to a message in Colonel O'Neal's name, can you bury a short second message immediately after the first?”

“I can try,” Drago said. “How short?”

“Seven words,” said Nathan.

“I can do it if I memorize the message,” Drago said. “If I break rhythm, they're likely to catch me.”

“He won't get the chance,” said O'Neal, “unless we receive another telegram that requires an answer. That may not happen again for weeks.”

“You'd better hope it happens sooner than that,” Nathan said, “because it'll take time for help to reach us after word goes out. Do any of you have paper and pencil?”

“I do,” said Drago. “Write out the message and I'll memorize it.”

Nathan took the stub of pencil and a page torn from Drago's notebook and started to write. The soldiers crowded close and read:

“Who are you?” Colonel O'Neal demanded.

“I told you my name. I'm Nathan Stone.”

“Hell,” said one of the privates, “that's just a jumble of words, and it don't make sense.”

“It makes good sense to me,” Corporal Drago said. “All but the last two words. But that's some kind of code.”

“Unless,” said O'Neal, “they question the message and wire back to have it confirmed.”

“It won't be questioned,” Nathan said. “Just pray that somebody sends you a telegram requiring an answer.”

To Nathan's surprise, he was taken from the guardhouse right after the evening meal. Two privates with Winchesters marched him back to the dispensary. One of them opened the door, and when Nathan entered, the door was closed. Nathan had no doubt that when he was ready to leave, the armed men would be waiting for him.

“I reminded Captain Derrick you needed your wound disinfected and the bandage changed,” said Lieutenant Calloway. “I'm surprised he agreed.”

“So am I,” Nathan said. “Thanks. Colonel O'Neal has reached the same conclusion as you. He believes the outlaws are after that military payroll.”

“That has to be what they have in mind,” said Calloway. “Does the colonel have any plans for escape?”

“None that I know of,” Nathan said. While he didn't question Calloway's loyalty, the less the doctor knew, the better. Despite Galloway‘s—or any man's—loyalty, he could be tortured and made to tell anything he knew.

After his wound had been tended to, Nathan stepped out the door, found his guards waiting for him, and was marched back to the guardhouse.

“That was unusual,” said Colonel O'Neal, “these hellions being concerned about your wound. Did you have a chance to speak to Lieutenant Calloway?”

“Yes,” Nathan replied, “but I told him nothing of our plans. Like you said, there's something strange about me being sent back to the dispensary. Now let's just hope the good doc has a high tolerance for pain.”

“By God,” said O'Neal, “they
would
torture a man, wouldn't they?”

Nathan was not taken to the dispensary again. After two weeks, there seemed to have been no call for Corporal Drago's services as a telegrapher. The call finally came on June tenth, and according to Colonel O'Neal, less than two weeks before the delegation from Washington and the payroll was scheduled to arrive. Corporal Drago was gone only a few minutes, but to Nathan and the desperate soldiers, it seemed much longer. After Drago was returned to captivity, he waited a few moments before he spoke.

“Telegram for you, sir,” he told Colonel O'Neal. “The team of inspectors will depart Fort Worth on June twenty-first, arriving here on June twenty-fifth. You were asked to verify accommodations.”