The Killing Season (57 page)

“He'll double back to Indian Territory or ride on to Wichita,” said Masterson. “One man leadin' six horses wouldn't dare show up in Dodge.”

“I'm going to stable my horse and take a room at the Dodge House,” Masterson said, “and then I'm going to Delmonico's for some town grub.”

“I'll join you there,” said Nathan, “after I rid myself of this wagon.”

Quickly he told Hagerman of the attempted ambush, suggesting the possibility that the stolen military payroll might be concealed beneath the wagon box.

“My God,” Hagerman said, “I can't afford that kind of responsibility. I'll have to send some telegrams, get some answers ...”

“The first thing you'd better do is get that wagon under lock and key or post some armed men,” said Nathan. “Of those seven varmints trailing me, intending to take the wagon, one escaped. And there may be others.”

“Would you ...”

“No,” Nathan said, “I wouldn't. I aim to have a good meal, a bath, and a good night's sleep. Tomorrow morning, I aim to ride north, to Dakota Territory.”

Leaving his horse at the livery, Nathan went on to Delmonico's. He was hungry, and the bath would have to wait. Empty loped on ahead, for the cooks knew him. Masterson was already there, and Nathan took a chair across the table from him.

“A mite early for supper,” Nathan said, “but come suppertime, we can eat again.”

“Not me,” said Masterson. “I'll be taking the train to Kansas City in the morning, and I'll be turning in early.”

Muted by distance came the moan of the westbound's whistle, and by the time the waiter brought the steaks, the train rolled in to the depot with a clanging of its bell and a hiss of steam.

“I reckon I'll go on back to the Dodge House with you,” said Nathan. “I don't dare go back to Hagerman's office. He'll be lookin' for somebody to take a scattergun and bed down beside that wagon until somebody relieves him of it.”

When they reached the front door of the Dodge House, Empty growled.

“There's somebody waiting inside the door,” Nathan said, drawing his Colt. “You, in there. Identify yourself.”

“I'm Vivian Stafford,” said a feminine voice, “and I want to speak to Nathan Stone.”

“I'm Nathan Stone. Step outside.”

She had red hair that curled to her shoulders, blue eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her paisley dress had faded with age and many washings, while her battered carpetbag was almost flat.

“This is Bat Masterson, a friend of mine,” said Nathan.

“Pleased, ma'am,” Masterson said, tipping his hat. “Now, if you'll excuse me ...”

He entered the Dodge House, closing the door behind him.

“Ma'am,” said Nathan, “if you haven't eaten, we can go to Delmonico's. I've already had supper, but I can stand some more coffee. Then we'll talk.”

“No,” she said, “I ...”

“I'm buying,” Nathan said. “Come on.”

Empty followed, uncertain as to why they were returning to the cafe so soon. He held back when they went inside. Suspecting the girl's reluctance might stem from a lack of money, Nathan ordered for her. The waiter brought their coffee, and she held the cup with both hands to still their trembling. Nathan didn't press her, and when food was brought, she seemed to forget all about him. Not until she had finished eating did she finally speak.

“Thank you. I suppose you think I've never had a decent meal in my life, and that's near the truth. I hadn't eaten in four days. I had just enough money for a ticket to Dodge City.”

“You came here looking for me?”

“No,” she said. “I'd never heard of you. I came west looking for my brother, and Mr. Hagerman at the depot said perhaps you could help me.”

“That's generous of him,” said Nathan, “but how can I help?”

“You're going to the new gold strike in Dakota Territory. I'm hoping my brother will be there.”

“Ma'am ...”

“Call me Vivian, please.”

“Vivian,” Nathan said, “none of this is making any sense. Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me everything? I don't mean to meddle in your business, but if you're going to involve me, then I want the straight of it.”

“I'm from the Virginia side of Bristol,” she said. “I was sixteen when Harley, my only brother, joined the confederacy. We had given him up for dead, when he finally returned in the summer of 1866. But he was changed, bitter, uncaring. He had been wounded, left for dead, and had been confined to a Yankee prison for months. He came home to find our father in poor health, Mother losing her sight, and us living off the little we were able to grow in the garden. He went west, seeking his fortune in the gold and silver mines, but we never saw him again. Father died in seventy-three and mother a year later.”

“So you stayed with them until their deaths.”

“Yes,” she said. “There was nobody else. I have no one else except Harley.”

“My God,” said Nathan, “he's been gone ten years. He could be ...”

“Dead,” she finished. “But I must know.”

“Vivian, there are mines all over the frontier, from the silver mines of southern New Mexico Territory to the gold fields of Montana. You haven't been to any of them, so why the rush to get to the new diggings in Dakota Territory?”

“I must start somewhere,” she said, “and you're going there.”

“You left home after your mother died,” said Nathan, “so it's taken you two years to work your way this far west.”

“Yes,” she said, “and I know what you're getting at, so I might as well tell you. The day I left Virginia, I had only the clothes on my back. I begged food when I could, went hungry when I had to, and I learned a hard lesson. A woman alone becomes a drudge or a whore, and you don't earn traveling money scrubbing floors.”

She looked at Nathan as though she expected him to be shocked or outraged, but he said nothing. She continued.

“I know it's asking a lot, and I have no money, but I'm willing to pay in the only way that I ... I can, Mr. Stone.”

“Call me Nathan,” he said, “and I won't accept the kind of payment you're offering. I understand what you've had to do, and your reasons for it, and I don't condemn you. But when it comes to a woman, she has to want me and I have to want her. It's the kind of thing that can't be bought or sold.”

For a long moment, unbelieving, she just looked at him. Then she buried her face in her hands. It was Nathan who finally broke the silence.

“Vivian, I didn't say I wouldn't help you.”

“But I have no money,” she said, as the tears began.

“I'm asking for none,” said Nathan. “Suppose I take you to Dakota Territory, to the gold diggings, and you're unable to find your brother? You'll still be alone in likely one of the rawest towns on the frontier.”

“Beyond that, I won't ask anything of you,” she said.

“Tomorrow,” said Nathan, “I'll have Hagerman send a few telegrams. The AT and SF is the carrier for most of the mines in Colorado, and it may be possible to reach some of the superintendents of various mines. If your brother came west with an eye toward the mines, the nearest ones would be in Colorado, and we might find some word of him there.”

“I don't understand you, Nathan Stone. You're spending your time and your money to help me, and when I try to pay in the only way I can, you don't want me. It makes me feel old, ugly, and used.”

“I'm not saying I don't want you,” said Nathan. “I'm saying I don't want you as payment for helping you find your brother. If what you're offering me is only a means of paying your debts, then I don't want it. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Not when you put it that way. The war started when I was barely sixteen, and I ... I had no experience with men, until I left Virginia. I don't know how to be a woman, to ... have a man want me for anything besides ... that.”

“I'll get you a room at the Dodge House,” said Nathan. “We may be here several days waiting for replies to those telegrams.”

“I appreciate your kindness, but I don't like being a burden. I could sleep on the floor of your room. I've slept on the ground.”

“So have I,” Nathan said, “and it helps me appreciate a bed when I can get one. I'll rent you a room, with your own bed.”

 

Nathan was awake well before first light, and shaved by a coal oil lamp. He knocked on Vivian's door and received a sleepy response. Waiting awhile, he knocked again, and when she didn't answer, he tried the knob. The door opened, and he found her sitting on the bed, stark naked, her head in her hands. Thinking something was the matter with her, he stepped inside, closing the door.

“Vivian, is anything wrong?”

“Oh, God, I was just so tired. I didn't realize it until I lay down. I don't want to get up, but I know I must.”

“Yes,” Nathan said, “unless you don't want breakfast.”

“You don't know just how much I want it. Yesterday you bought me the first decent meal I'd had in months.”

“Knock on my door when you're ready,” said Nathan.

“Sit down,” she said. “If you leave me alone, I might go back to sleep.”

Foster Hagerman sent telegrams to the mine superintendents with whom the AT and SF had dealings, and only one response proved helpful. Nathan and Vivian were in the Dodge House drinking coffee when Hagerman brought the reply from the Silver Slipper, south of Denver. It read:

“Now we know he's probably not in Colorado,” said Nathan.

“Where are the next nearest mines?”

“From Denver,” Nathan said, “one direction's about equal to another. There are mines in Nevada, a few in southern Arizona and New Mexico territories, and a large number to the north, in Montana Territory.”

“Then there's no way of knowing where he might have gone, where he is.”

“No,” said Nathan. “Probably the only reason there was a record of him in Colorado was because of the killing and a prison sentence. If I'd been in his boots, I'd have lit out for Montana.”

“So that's probably where he is now.”

“I doubt it,” Nathan said. “While the diggings there were prime in sixty-four and sixty-five, that's been ten years. I reckon it'd be slim pickings, for a hombre new to the territory, with hopes of staking a claim. We've eliminated Colorado, and if he's interested in mining, what would be more promising than a new strike?”

“Which would take him to the Dakotas,” she said excitedly.

“It looks more promising,” said Nathan, “assuming that he's left Colorado. Tomorrow we'll ride out. That is, if you can ride. Can you?”

“Yes, but I ...”

“Need a horse, a saddle, boots, and riding clothes,” he finished.

“Yes,” she said. “All I have to my name is that long dress, and I'd as soon straddle a horse naked as to ride in that.”

“We'll get you some Levi's and flannel shirts,” said Nathan, “and you'll need a heavy coat. When we reach the diggings, we'll be five hundred miles farther north.”

They went to Rufus Langley's mercantile and bought everything Vivian needed except a horse and saddle. There were two pairs of Levi's, two flannel shirts, wool socks, boots with pointed toes and undershot heels, a hat, and a sheepskin-lined coat. Nathan bought copies of the Kansas City and St. Louis newspapers, suspecting there would be none in the Dakotas, far from the railroads. At the livery, Nathan bought a secondhand saddle and a bay horse.

“My God,” Vivian said, “you've spent almost two hundred dollars on me.”

“Only for things you need,” said Nathan.

They left Vivian's purchases at the Dodge House and went to Delmonico's for supper. Empty had begun to accept Vivian, and trotted alongside them. While they waited for their meal, they read the newspapers Nathan had bought.

“Well, I never would have believed it,” Nathan said, as he read a story in the St. Louis paper. “Wild Bill Hickok's married.”

“There are worse things that can happen to a man,” said Vivian. “Do you know him?”

“Yes,” said Nathan. “I know him well. According to this paper, he's in Saint Louis, and plans to take an expedition to Dakota Territory, to the gold fields.”

“Perhaps you'll see him there,” Vivian said. “It sounds like an exciting place.”

“I've never been to a gold-crazy boomtown,” said Nathan. “God knows who we'll find there. Tell me something about Harley, your brother.”

“He was seventeen when he went to war, and when he came back, he didn't talk about it. He was moody, and he walked with a limp. He was wounded during one of the last big battles, before Lee's surrender. When he got home, for the little time he stayed, he almost never slept. He'd sit on the porch way into the night, playing the French harp. His favorite song was ‘Barbara Allen,' and he played it over and over.”

“ ‘Barbara Allen!' ” Nathan cried. “Redheaded as a woodpecker and always blowin' on his harp. By God, Vivian, I knew him, but not by his name. He was in my company, but not in my platoon. Because of that old song, everybody called him ‘Barb.' The Yanks purely gave us hell, and his platoon got it the day ahead of mine. We were told his platoon had been wiped out to the last man.”