The Killing Season (56 page)

Masterson got to his feet. His Colt still in his hand, he stood over the dead Sergeant King as though considering shooting the man a second time. Nathan and the barkeep were moving Molly to a couch, when one of the other girls arrived with a blanket. She spread it over the dead girl. Masterson returned his Colt to its holster, and only then did he speak.

“I'll ride to the fort and turn myself in, barkeep. I suppose there'll be an investigation and I'll be obliged if those of you who witnessed what happened will speak on my behalf.”

“I saw it, Mr. Masterson,” the barkeep said. “He shot you before you made a move.”

“I saw it the same way,” Nathan said, “and I'll go with you to the fort. I consider the commanding officer, Captain Selman, a friend of mine. My name is Nathan Stone.”

“I've heard of you,” said Masterson, “and I'll be obliged if you'll speak to the captain. I expect we'd better go before he gets word of this through someone else.”

It was sound thinking. The echo of the gunfire had barely faded when most of the other soldiers were out the door. In conflicts involving soldiers and civilians, soldiers had been known to protect their own, at the expense of the civilians. Reaching the fort, Nathan had no trouble getting himself and Masterson in to see Captain Selman. Masterson removed his coat, revealing the bloody left sleeve of his shirt, while Nathan explained to the captain what Sergeant King had done. Captain Selman sighed, and it was a moment before he spoke.

“I've seen this coming, but there was nothing I could do. Naturally I'll have to file a report, but with the bartender and Stone as witnesses, it will be routine. Mr. Masterson, if you'll go to the dispensary, your wound will be attended to. You are welcome to stay the night and take breakfast with the enlisted men.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Masterson said.

“You're welcome to share my camp by the creek,” Nathan said, when they had left Selman's office.

“I'm obliged,” said Masterson. “I'll be riding on to Dodge in the morning, after Molly has been laid to rest.”

“You're welcome to ride with me,” Nathan said, “because that's where I'm going.”

Nathan built a fire and made coffee, and during the course of the evening, found himself liking Bat Masterson. He was a good listener, and seemed to enjoy Nathan's account of his experiences with the nefarious Dismukes.

“Now,” Nathan concluded, “I'm here to return the Dismukes's wagon and teams to Dodge, for reasons only the government knows.”

At dawn, the chaplain from Fort Elliott conducting the ceremony, Molly Brennan was laid to rest. Nothing was said about the burial of Sergeant King, nor did Captain Selman have anything further to say to Bat Masterson. Before departing, Nathan took the time to speak to Captain Selman. He tied his grulla behind the wagon, mounted the box, and led out to the north. Masterson rode alongside, while Empty loped ahead. After they had crossed the North Canadian, Masterson galloped ahead. He then rode slowly back, and when he was again riding alongside the wagon, he had a question.

“Is this the way you rode in from Dodge?”

“It is,” said Nathan. “Why?”

“You had seven riders trailing you.”

“How do you know they were trailing me?”

“Because I didn't see their tracks until we crossed the North Canadian,” said Masterson. “That's where they veered off. If they weren't trailing you, why didn't they continue south, the way they were headed?”

“I have no idea,” Nathan said, “any more than I know why they'd be trailing me.”

“Maybe they know something you don't,” said Masterson. “Something about this Dismukes's wagon that makes it so valuable to the government.”

“I've been thinking about that,” Nathan said. “I learned the Dismukes were wanted by the law in Missouri, but I wasn't told why. There's a case of dynamite, capped and fused, here in the wagon.”

“Maybe we can add that to something I learned at Fort Griffin and come up with an answer,” said Masterson. “Last August, somewhere north of Sedalia, Missouri, a train was robbed. A military payroll, and a substantial one. While several of the thieves were killed, the payroll—in gold—was never recovered.”

“I know what you're leadin' up to,” Nathan said, “but I can't picture the Dismukes as bein' smart enough to pull that off.”

“I can,” said Masterson, “from what you told me about them going after Fort Elliott with dynamite. Outlaws like the James and Younger gangs usually fell a tree across a railroad track or rip out a rail, but how do you reckon this bunch stopped the train and took that payroll near Sedalia?”

“Dynamite?

“Dynamite,” said Masterson, “but it went beyond anything sensible men would even consider. They dynamited the track, and without warning, literally blew up the express car. A railroad man died in the express car and two more were gunned down by the outlaws. It appears to have been the most brutal robbery of all time.”

“While the Dismukes didn't have the brains to set it up, I'd have to admit the brutal nature of it might have appealed to them. What I find hard to believe is that they managed to get their hands on the gold and get out of Missouri.”

“My friend,” said Masterson, “I'd bet everything I own—which isn't much—that this wagon has a fortune beneath the wagon box. I'd say the government only suspects it, but the seven hombres that trailed you to the North Canadian are dead sure of it.”

“Your idea fits the little we know of the facts,” Nathan said, “and you've come about as far with me as you can afford to. The sensible thing for you to do is to ride on. This bunch—if they're still trailing me—won't bother you.”

“Given a choice, a man seldom does the sensible thing,” said Masterson. “If you were alone, they'd ride you down, flank you, and shoot you off the box. I have a .50-caliber Sharps buffalo gun in the boot, and I promise you, I can hit a moving target from as far away as I can see it. So I'll just ride along with you, unless you object.”

“I'm pleased and honored to have you,” Nathan said. “Your being here will buy us some time. They'll wait until we stop for the night, and come after us in the dark, but we have an edge.”

“The dynamite?”

“That,” said Nathan, “and Empty, my dog. He'll warn us when they're coming. We're outnumbered now, but you'd be surprised how a couple sticks of dynamite with short fuses can even the odds.”

“How well I know,” Masterson said. “I learned to use the stuff when my brother and me was clearing right-of-way for the AT and SF. Later, when we took to huntin' buffalo in west Texas, the dynamite we had left we took with us. One day the Comanches jumped us, and there must have been fifty to the four of us, and not a shred of cover. We all had our Sharps, but after the first volley, they'd have ridden us down before we could have loaded. They knew it and we knew it, but they didn't know about the dynamite. There was still a few coals from our breakfast fire, and we all grabbed us a stick of dynamite, waitin' for 'em to attack. When they did, they split up and come at us from two directions, so we split up, two of us facing each group of attackers. Just as they were about to cut down on us, we touched our fuses to coals of fire and flung our dynamite.”

“Bad medicine,” Nathan said.

“Lord Almighty,” said Masterson, “you wouldn't believe our luck. We unhorsed about half of them, including their medicine man, and all the horses ran like hell wouldn't have it. First time I ever seen Comanches afoot, running for their lives. My God, we guarded the rest of that dynamite like it was gold, and the Comanches never bothered us again.”

Nathan laughed, appreciating the scenario, and feeling better about their precarious situation. Without bragging, Bat Masterson had made it clear he could take care of himself. The day wore on, and they saw nobody, but that meant little. Their pursuers—if they were being pursued—wouldn't risk being seen on the flat Kansas plain. They would know the limitations of a wagon, and could easily catch up under the cover of darkness.

“With a wagon, we're making good time,” Nathan said. “We're nearing a spring that's a good stopping place. I reckon we'll cook us some grub, boil us some coffee, and get the fire out before dark.”

“But saving a coal or two for the dynamite,” said Masterson.

They finished supper well before dark, and leaving the spring, Nathan climbed to the rim of the arroyo, where he searched the plains to the south. He saw nothing, forcing him to consider the possibility that his and Masterson's suspicions were groundless. But Nathan didn't believe that. The stolen payroll hadn't been recovered, and what more likely a hiding place than beneath the bed of the Dismukes's wagon?

“They won't show until it's good and dark,” Masterson said. “Do you aim to challenge them, or wait until they cut loose with their guns?”

“In situations like this,” said Nathan, “I generally let them open the ball, and then fire at their muzzle flashes. But there's only two of us, seven of them, and a chance they won't all cut loose with their guns. For that reason, we're fortunate to have the dynamite. It's the only way we can be sure that none of them escape. I reckon we'd better move our bedrolls well away from the wagon, and in case they wait for moonrise, give them something to shoot at.”

Their bedrolls were positioned beneath the arroyo's overhang, where they would be in shadow even after moonrise. Blankets were arranged so that they appeared to conceal sleeping men, and with the arroyo's rim directly above, the attackers would be forced to fire from the opposite rim.

“Now,” said Nathan, scooping up some coals with a piece of bark, “we'll settle down on that opposite bank and wait for them to come looking for us. Bring four sticks of the dynamite from the wagon.”

Empty followed them to their position, remaining only long enough to be sure that was where they intended to remain. He then quickly disappeared.

“He knows we're waiting for somebody,” said Masterson.

“He does,” Nathan said, “and he'll let us know they're coming long before they're even close.”

Nathan broke up bits of bark, keeping their coals live. Not only might a sulfur match fail them at a critical moment, its flame could draw fire before they had a chance to light and throw the dynamite. The moon rose, and still there was no sign of the attackers or of Empty. There was no talk, for in the silence of the night, the slightest sound might carry for a great distance. When Empty returned, he growled once, deep in his throat. Nathan kept his eyes on the farthest rim of the arroyo. The men would have to be afoot, lest their horses betray their presence. When they came, they were belly-down, their movement almost imperceptible. Nathan shielded the glowing coals with his hat, lest the sparking of the lighted dynamite fuses draw attention. He and Masterson lighted their fuses at the same time, just as guns roared on the farthest rim. When the dynamite exploded, it seemed like an echo of the blazing guns. There was no more gunfire. Empty was gone, and Nathan did not make a move until the dog returned. Empty barked once.

“We can go over there now,” Nathan said.

Nathan and Masterson rounded the upper end of the arroyo, above the spring, and when they reached the opposite bank, found six dead men. Their features were clear enough in the moonlight.

“We lost one of them,” Masterson said. “He might have stayed with the horses.”

“Maybe,” said Nathan. “I'll back-trail them in the morning. When it comes to this, I don't like leaving loose ends. I reckon I'll have to search this bunch. There might be some evidence that will tie them in with the robbery. I don't recognize any of them. Do you?”

“No,” Masterson said.

Nathan's search produced nothing except a few gold eagles and double eagles, along with pocket knives, plug tobacco, and several bags of Durham. Every man was armed, and all had died with their Colts in their hands.

“I'm tempted to pile them all in the wagon and deliver them to Dodge,” said Nathan, “but we're still three days out. Even if we could stand the smell, half the buzzards in Kansas would be trailing us.”

 

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and after breakfast, Nathan back-trailed the six men involved in the ill-fated ambush. There had been seven riders, and the seventh man had remained with the horses. When it had become obvious the bushwhacking had gone sour, he had ridden away, taking the extra horses with him. Nathan rode back to the wagon where Masterson waited.

“They left one man with the horses,” Nathan said, “and when he lit out, he took the extra horses with him,. He's ridin' east.”