The Dawn of Fury (76 page)

“The idea of the posse was mine,” Netherton, “and I favor rewards, but I had nothing to do with the execution warrants. Confidentially, some of the Kansas-Pacific stockholders became panicky and through the state legislature, put pressure on the governor.”

“Hell,” Nathan argued, “you'll have badge-totin' bounty hunters shootin' anybody, just to claim the reward. Can't you see that?”

“Yes,” said Netherton, “and that's why I'm seeking to have you appointed U. S. Marshal in charge. All these men will answer to you.”

“Don't bother,” Nathan said, “because I won't accept the appointment. I'd still have to obey those damn John Doe execution warrants.”

“I've been counting on you,” said Netherton, disappointed.

“Don't,” Nathan said. “I promised Mary to stay here with her through Christmas. I'm sure you'll make your move before then.”

“Yes,” said Netherton. “Like I told you, the stockholders are having conniption fits. They're demanding the heads of every one of those outlaws on a plate before the end of the year.”

“I'm going to make you an offer,” Nathan said. “Send your men after these outlaws. If they haven't finished the job by the first of the year, then I'll go after them. But with men of my choosing, and on my terms.”

Netherton laughed. “If that bunch is still free after the first of the year, you can probably name your own terms, up to and including a piece of the Kansas—Pacific.”

“Wonderful,” said Mary, when Nathan told her the news, “but will you be satisfied if Withers is captured or killed by the railroad posse?”

“Yes,” Nathan replied. “The only satisfaction I'd have in tracking him down is having him know why I'm about to kill him. If he's part of a gang, it won't be just between him and me. I'll have to take the varmint any way I can get him.”

Now that Nathan knew where Dade Withers was, he hadn't kept track of the newspapers as before, nor had he been concerned with what came over the telegraph lines. Therefore it came as a surprise when he learned Wild Bill Hickok was marshal of Abilene. He surprised Mary with a suggestion.

“Let's take the train to Abilene. I want you to meet Wild Bill Hickok.”

She laughed. “Cotton Blossom doesn't like the train. You should have seen him sliding around in that boxcar while we were taking you to the doctor.”

“We'll leave him with Eppie,” said Nathan. “If she puts enough food in front of him, he won't realize we're gone.”

So in mid-September, Nathan and Mary boarded the only passenger coach on the Kansas-Pacific westbound and rode to Abilene. It wasn't difficult to find Wild Bill, for he was at the depot when the train stopped.

“I'm pleased to see you again,” Hickok said, wringing Nathan's hand, “and especially so to see the beautiful young lady. Bill Hickok at your service, ma'am. I never realized old catawampus, here, had such excellent taste.”

“Bill,” said Nathan, “this is Mary. If you say anything about me, then I want your promise you'll stay as close to the truth as you can.”

“Keeno,” Bill replied. “I won't say nothin' about all the other women.”

“I'm obliged,” said Nathan, “and don't mention the red-eye and the cards, either.”

Mary laughed at their banter, while Nathan marveled at Hickok's ability to be the perfect gentleman when custom demanded. They took a room at the hotel and had supper with a cold-sober Hickok. The evening was a memorable one, and when the train returned from Hays the following day, Nathan and Mary boarded it for the trip back to Kansas City.

The final event in Hickok's career as a lawman took place in Abilene on October 5, 1871. Phil Coe, with whom Hickok had already had trouble, had led a mob of Texans on a drunken spree through Abilene. Hickok had sent word to his deputy, Mike Williams, alerting him. At nine o'clock that night there had been a shot, and Hickok had gone to investigate. He had found Coe and several other Texans with guns in their hands. Coe had claimed he had fired at a dog, but Hickok had gone for his guns. Coe had fired at Hickok, hitting his coattails, but Hickok had done much better. His slug had ripped through Coe's belly and out his back. As Coe had collapsed, another slug from his gun had whipped between Hickok's legs. At that point, Mike Williams had pushed through the crowd, in hopes of helping Wild Bill. But Wild Bill had seen only the movement, and being surrounded by drunken cowboys, he had turned and fired twice. Both slugs had struck Williams in the head and he had died instantly. Coe, mortally wounded, had died three days later. Hickok had paid the funeral expenses of Mike Williams. Hickok was to be officially discharged as marshal of Abilene on December 13, 1871.
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“How sad,” said Mary. “They should have known it was an accident.”

“It was the deputy's fault,” Nathan said. “When a lawmen's surrounded by men with guns, he must be prepared to shoot at any movement. He has no time to distinguish friend from foe. To hesitate is to die.”

By mid-November it had become apparent that the Kansas—Pacific's scheme for apprehending the train robbers was a colossal failure. Not only had the expensive posse not caught any of the gang, another westbound train had been robbed. Another railroad guard had died, four others had been seriously wounded, twelve thousand dollars had been taken, and the Kansas-Pacific stockholders were fit to be tied.

“Damn,” said Nathan, “that bunch couldn't find a buffalo in a snowbank.”

Mary said nothing, for she feared Nathan would be called upon to do what the Kansas-Pacific posse had failed to do. On December fifteenth her fears were all justified when a courier arrived with a message for Nathan. It contained just three words:
Name your terms.
It had been signed by Joel Netherton, Kansas-Pacific.

“Don't worry,” Nathan said, seeing the concern in Mary's eyes. “Before I go into Indian Territory after them, I'm going to organize a welcoming committee and see if they won't come to us.”

“We'll try anything within reason,” said Joel Netherton.

“No more deputized bounty hunters,” Nathan said, “and no more execution warrants. All I want is eleven men, armed with Colts and Winchesters. Pay them what you were paying the others. Starting with your next run, couple a boxcar directly behind the tender. From floor to roof, line the walls of the boxcar with sheet iron thick enough to withstand a rifle slug. Along both walls of the car—twelve to a side—I want three-inch cutouts, enough for rifle barrels. Riding with me I want Gustavo Beard, Kurt Cannon, Nate Sanderson, Logan Beckwith, Fin Warren, Dil Odom, Nick Klady, Chad Blake, Fletch Tobin, Cal Dooling, and Mac Weaver.”

“I like the sound of it,” said Netherton, “but it's our intention to do more than just defend each individual payroll by driving these outlaws away. We want them brought in, dead or alive, finished for all time.”

“You haven't heard the rest of it,” Nathan said. “Every man in that boxcar will have his horse, saddled and ready to ride. Once these varmints are convinced they can't get their hands on the payroll, all they can do is back off and try again. If we can't gun them down from the train, we'll trail them when they ride out.”

“And if this fails?”

“Then we do it the hard way,” Nathan said. “We ride into Indian Territory and flush them out. There's just one flaw in defending the payroll and trailing this bunch after we've driven them away. They always tear up the rails at some point the train won't reach until late in the day. From maps, I figure from places they're most likely to stop the train, it's at least a hundred and twenty-five miles to Indian Territory. They can't ride straight through without killing their horses, and neither can we. All they have to do is ride until it's too dark for us to follow. Then they're free to rest their mounts and escape into Indian Territory before daylight.”

“Damn it,” said Netherton, “we've paid men for three months to ride from one end of Indian Territory to the other, without results. Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm, but how do we know these outlaws are from what we know as Indian Territory? Is it a place where men can disappear at will, where those who ride after them are never seen again?”

“You're close,” Nathan said. “Any time you go after a man on his ground, he has an edge. There are three rivers across the heart of the territory, with overhangs, caves, and brush so thick a coyote would have to belly-down to get through it. You can't ride into Indian Territory after just a particular band of outlaws without becoming fair game for them all. Then there's the Indian problem. It's not known as Indian Territory for nothing. There are Kiowa and even Comanches. The one Indian after your scalp may have five hundred friends who are hell-bent on seeing that he gets it.”

“But if all else fails, you intend to ride in there after these outlaws.”

“I do,” said Nathan.

“Then your interest in this goes deeper than your concern for the Kansas-Pacific and the ruffled feathers of its stockholders,” said Netherton.

“It does,” Nathan replied. “Six years ago, seven men murdered my family. Only one of those men is still alive, and he's riding with this band of renegades. You can tie the rest of the bastards to the track and run a train over them, for all I care, but I want that seventh man.”

Netherton had involuntarily backed away, for Nathan Stone's eyes were as blue as ice. A chill crept up the spine of the railroad man and he felt he was looking into the very face of death. He swallowed hard before he spoke. “I believe you can resolve this to our satisfaction and yours. You have my full support.”

“I'm obliged,” said Nathan. “There's one more thing. We'll be aboard every train from here to Hays, not just those carrying payrolls.”

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there was a train to end-of-track, with the train returning to Kansas City the following day. There was no train on Sunday.

“You and Cotton Blossom will stay here in Kansas City,” Nathan told Mary. “I'll be in Hays Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights.”

“That's better than riding into Indian Territory. How long will you do this, if it fails?”

“If they've gotten wise, or if they're driven away empty handed,” Nathan said, “I expect to cure them of robbing trains within a month. If they're smart, they'll back away from the Kansas—Pacific.”

“But that won't change anything, where you're concerned,” said Mary. “If I'm wrong, forgive me, but as I see it, you're only using the Kansas-Pacific manhunt to go after Dade Withers.”

“Well, hell,” Nathan said, irritated, “it's a little one sided, just me against a pack of renegades. Would I be more honest if I went after them by myself?”