The Dawn of Fury (56 page)

“Damn,” said O'Neal, “that's a two-word response.”

“Yes, sir,” Drago said with a grin, “but these owlhoots don't know that. I took a chance and sent our message first, and there was no question, no request for a repeat. The line kind of went dead for a minute, and I told them their message didn't go through, that I'd have to repeat it. That's when I sent the verification in your name.”

“Well done, corporal,” said O'Neal, “but are you sure the code message went through to Washington?”

“I can't swear to it, sir,” Drago said, “but the key was live and I was given permission to send.”

“Colonel,” said Nathan, “the nature of the message should have alerted those receiving it of trouble here at the fort. We can only trust that somebody is sharp enough to understand we don't have free access to the telegraph.”

In Washington, the strange telegram had stirred an immediate interest. An aide to Ira McCormick, assistant to the attorney general, had just delivered the message to his superior.

“This just came in, sir,” said the aide.

McCormick studied the few words. Three of them hit him hard. One was Concho, the other two, Byron Silver's code. Clearly this was a plea for help, but perhaps it was more than that. In just a matter of days, military personnel from Washington would be visiting outposts in Texas, and Fort Concho would be one of them. An inspection team of high-ranking officers would be traveling with a military escort bearing a substantial payroll. McCormick was well aware of the coming inspection, for hadn't he prepared Byron Silver's orders, sending him as an advance guard to Fort Worth? He knew Silver was there, yet his code—intended as an alert—had been used in this telegram from Fort Concho. Something was definitely wrong at Fort Concho. McCormick composed a message, addressing it to Byron Silver at Fort Worth.

“Here,” said McCormick to an aide, “have the telegrapher send this at once.”

McCormick waited, and in less than an hour, he had his reply from Fort Worth. The message was brief:
Riding to Concho.
It was signed simply Silver.

Of necessity, Byron Silver had requested a meeting with Captain Ferguson, the post commander at Fort Worth.

“Captain,” Silver said, “I was sent here to spearhead this planned inspection tour, but I may not be able to. My orders have been changed, and I'm to ride to Fort Concho. How do I find it?”

“The fort's on the Concho River, maybe a hundred and seventy miles northwest of Austin. Or from here, southwest, it's something over two hundred miles. Is something wrong at Concho?”

“Nothing to concern you,” Silver said. “Washington wants me to check out the post, since it's first in line for inspection.”

While saddling his horse, Silver allowed his mind to review what he had learned from McCormick's telegram. The use of his code told him two important facts. First, the call for help must have come from Nathan Stone, and two, the situation must be truly desperate. The brevity of the message told Silver that it had been sent under circumstances that would have made further details impossible. Fort Concho had been taken, and that meant its defenders were dead or had been taken captive. Silver rode south, to Austin. It would be out of his way and would virtually double the miles to Fort Concho, but he was needful of much that Captain Ferguson and the military might be unable to supply. While he was employed by the Federals, he was forever a Texan. He had aided the Texas Rangers when he could, and stood by them even when the Reconstructionist governor of Texas didn't officially recognize them. Now he had to call on them for service that might go unrecognized, and if it failed, might meet the reprimand of the president himself. While this was a military matter, he thought grimly, there was not a soul within military ranks equal to what lay ahead. This called for a man with unquestionable courage and dedication, a man with the stealth and resourcefulness of a Comanche.

While Byron Silver was known among the Rangers, Captain Sage Jennings had been his lifelong friend, and it was to Jennings that he turned now.

“Yes,” said Jennings, “I know Colonel O'Neal, and Nathan Stone as well. I once tried to recruit him for the Rangers.”

“Then I'd like you to ride with me to Fort Concho,” Silver said. “I don't know why Stone's there, but he is, and somehow he got word to Washington. We must get inside that stockade, and it wouldn't be unusual, would it, for a Ranger to visit the fort?”

“I reckon not,” said Jennings. “I can get us in, and I can request a meeting with the post commander, who, if I'm following you, won't be Colonel O'Neal.”

“No,” Silver said. “I look to find Colonel O'Neal, his entire command, and probably Nathan Stone in the guardhouse.”

“Good God,” said Jennings. “How much time do we have before this spit-and-polish bunch shows up from Washington?”

“They're arriving in Fort Worth on June twenty-first,” Silver said. “I must report the status of Fort Concho before the brass will be cleared to leave Fort Worth. We have, at most, four days.”

“We'd better saddle up and ride,” said Jennings. “We're two days from Fort Concho.”

Time dragged for the men locked in the guardhouse at Fort Concho. Most of them had stripped down to their trousers, for it was stifling hot. Nathan had removed the sweaty bandage, for his wound was well on its way to healing.

“Drago,” somebody asked, “what day is it?”

“June seventeen, by my reckonin',” said Drago.

“Damn,” Sergeant Watts growled, “time's runnin' out. After that bunch grabs the payroll, they'll likely shoot all of us.”

“There won't be any payroll for them to grab,” said Nathan, “Until Washington investigates that telegram we sent. It'll take some time to get help to us from anywhere, and some smart heads to learn what's happened to us.”

“God,” Drago groaned, “if a company of soldiers rides in here, we're goners.”

“If our message got to the right man,” said Nathan, “there'll be no soldiers.”

“We're maybe ten miles from the fort,” said Captain Jennings, when he and Silver had stopped to rest their horses. “It'll be dark when we get there.”

“So you're just going to ride up and demand a meeting with the post commander, then,” Silver said. “You're a Ranger, but how do you aim to account for me?”

“You'll be a Ranger too,” Jennings replied, handing Silver a silver star-in-a-circle. “There's no guarantee we won't be shot dead before we leave, but we'll get in. To refuse us would arouse suspicion, and if the situation is what we suspect, they won't dare run that risk.”

Reaching the fort, they rode boldly up to the gate.

“Halt!” a sentry commanded. “Identify yourselves.”

“Texas Rangers,” Jennings replied. “Request permission to meet with the post commander.”

When the gate finally opened, Silver and Jennings found themselves facing three men. Two of them held Winchesters at port arms, while the third carried a lantern. He wore the stripes of a sergeant, and it was he who spoke.

“How do we know you're Rangers?”

“We're wearing the shields,” said Jennings. “Rangers are commissioned by the State of Texas, and we cooperate fully with all military outposts. Take us to your post commander.”

“Privates,” the sergeant growled, “take their hosses and picket them outside the gate.”

Unwilling the soldiers stepped aside, allowing Jennings and Silver to pass through the gate. They followed the sergeant toward a log building where light glowed dimly through the single window. The sergeant pounded on the door.

“Who's there?” growled a voice from inside.

“Sergeant Webber. There's some Rangers here, wantin' to see you.”

“Let 'em in,” said the voice.

Jennings went in first, followed by Silver. Webber came in behind them, closing the door. Lightning quick, Jennings drew, and Captain Derrick found himself looking into the deadly muzzle of Captain Jennings' Colt. The move drew Sergeant Webber's attention, allowing Silver to club him unconscious with the muzzle of his Colt.

“The key to the guardhouse, Captain,” said Jennings coldly.

“I ... don't have it,” Derrick muttered.

“The key, damn it,” Jennings gritted, shoving the cold muzzle of the Colt under Derrick's nose.

“Webber has it,” said Derrick sullenly.

Silver knelt beside the unconscious man, turning his pockets inside out. He found a ring with two keys. Taking Webber's Colt, he shoved it under his waistband. Jennings passed to Silver the Colt he had taken from Derrick, and Silver quickly searched the room, taking every available weapon, including a pair of Winchesters. Besides his own, he had six Colts, and he looped his bandanna through the trigger guards, knotting it. He then began looking for a way out of the room besides the door, for the sentries would be watching that. But there was no other door, and the two windows were too small.