The Killing Season (68 page)

Nathan was taken from his cell at dawn. The work crews were being marched from the mess hall, and for just a moment, Nathan's eyes met those of Strong and Rutledge, the men who had worked beside Nathan. In that brief look, Nathan tried to convey the fury that threatened to engulf him, to impart to them some spark of hope. Silently, he promised himself that the terrible gates of Yuma prison would never close behind him. He would go free or he would die. If he escaped—if God allowed him to live—he vowed he would return to and destroy this outlaw stronghold.

“Mr. Stone,” said Judge Ponder. “Hiram Doss and Rum Tasby will be your escorts to Yuma. I regret that I cannot say it's been a pleasure knowing you.”

Nathan Stone said nothing, for if he spoke, he feared he might betray his intentions. Instead, he allowed his eyes to meet those of the pseudo-judge, and Ponder involuntarily shuddered. Where he had expected hatred, there was only grim, fiery determination, and a promise of eye-for-an-eye retribution. Doss removed Nathan's leg irons and manacled his wrists.

“Mount up,” said Doss.

The horse, to Nathan's surprise, was the grulla on which he had ridden in to Ponder's town. Nathan mounted, paying attention to the weapons of his captors. Each had a tied-down Colt with a second under the waistband, and a Winchester in his saddle boot. The rawhide thongs about their necks suggested hidden Bowie knives. They rode out, the sun at their backs, and many residents of the outlaw town watched them go.

“Time to rest the horses,” said Tasby, when they had ridden a little more than an hour. “Git down and stretch your legs, and if you're needin' water, belly-down.”

Nathan dismounted, and stretching his manacled hands out awkwardly before him, he drank from the spring runoff. He struggled to his feet and turned toward some bushes.

“Hold it,” Doss snapped.

“I'm tired of holding it,” said Nathan. “This is private. Do you mind?”

“Yeah,” Tasby said. “We mind. Do whatever you got to do where you stand. Nothin' you got in mind is gonna shock us.”

The pair laughed at the crude humor. Nathan remained where he was. His need to go to the bushes wasn't as great as his need to know if Empty was following him. His heart leaped when he saw the faithful hound peering at him from the brush. He turned back to face his captors, lest they discover his ace in the hole. When they mounted up and rode on, Nathan's mind worked feverishly, seeking some means of escape. Common sense told him he must wait until they were far from Ponder's town. Otherwise, Doss and Tasby had only to alert Ponder, and a hundred men would take Nathan's trail. Each time they paused to rest the horses, Nathan's sharp eyes searched for Empty, and he was always there. The dog was careful not to be seen by Doss and Tasby, and that was essential to Nathan's plan of escape. When the time came, the surprise must be total.

“Just so's you don't git no ideas,” Doss said, when they had stopped for the night, “you'll be sleepin' in leg irons.”

It was no less than Nathan had expected. Obviously, they believed when he was riding ahead of them, he was less likely to make a run for it. That told him that the pair of them would be more than ready for just such an attempt, and he abandoned the idea. Instead, he determined to make his break after he had dismounted, but before the leg irons had been replaced. Before the end of the first day's ride, they reached a river, and began following it west.

“We're stoppin' here for the night,” Tasby finally said. “Step down.”

Nathan dismounted, and while Tasby stood out of Nathan's reach, Doss again locked the leg irons in place.

“Now don't try nothin' foolish,” Tasby said. “I'll be watchin' you while Doss rustles up some grub.”

Nathan eyed the swift-running river. He was still too near Ponder's town to make his break, and as they traveled westward, the river should deepen. The evening of the third day he would make his move.

“Time to secure you for the night,” said Doss, when supper was finished. He unlocked one side of Nathan's leg irons. “Set facin' that pine, with one leg on either side of it.”

Nathan did as he was ordered, and Doss secured the manacle he had removed. Nathan was then able to stand, sit, or lie down, but he could not escape. It suited him, because it wasn't necessary for Doss and Tasby to constantly watch him. Sometime during the night, he knew Empty would come to him, and Doss or Tasby might shoot the dog.

 

Far into the night, when Doss and Tasby were snoring, Nathan was awakened by a cold nose on his cheek. He sat up, ruffling the dog's ears, and Empty whined deep in his throat. While Nathan might hold his own against one of his guards, the other might shoot him, without some distraction. While Empty would readily attack a man about to shoot Nathan, there was no assurance that the dog would be near enough when Nathan made his desperate move. It was a chance he would have to take, and time was running out.

 

When Nathan awoke near first light, Empty was gone. Instinctively he knew Doss and Tasby were hostile to him, as they were to Nathan. While he didn't know the reason for them, he understood the chains that imprisoned Nathan, and the two had been through enough together that the dog would be expecting a break for freedom. After a second day on the trail, Nathan felt Empty's presence, and during the night, the dog again visited him. With or without Empty's help, Nathan vowed to make his escape the next evening just before dark, before he was locked in the leg irons....

 

The third day passed as uneventfully as had the first two. Nathan kept an eye on the river, aware that it flowed wider and deeper. When they reined up near the end of the day, there was what appeared to be a natural campsite near the river. A heavy stand of pines dissipated the heat of the evening sun, while there was plenty of graze for the three horses. Nathan rode the grulla as near the river as he dared, before he was given the order to dismount.
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“Git down,” said Tasby, taking the leg irons that hung from his saddle horn.

Nathan dismounted, and for just a moment, Tasby's horse was in Doss's line of fire. Nathan seized the startled Tasby and the two of them went over the bank and into the river. Nathan's hands were manacled, but his legs were free. He brought up both hands, slamming the manacles on his wrists against the underside of Tasby's chin.

Doss had his Colt out, awaiting a chance to shoot, when Empty came after him. The dog didn't growl or bark, and when Doss became aware of him, it was too late. Seizing the gunman's arm in his powerful jaws, Empty hung on, forcing Doss to drop the Colt. Doss went after the gun with his left hand, only to have Empty loose his grip and seize the left hand. The dog bit down hard, and Doss screamed.

Nathan did his best to hold Tasby's head under the water, but the man was heavier than Nathan. He broke Nathan's grip, coming up with his Colt, and Nathan seized his arm in both his hands. But Tasby had a free hand, and was driving his fist into Nathan's neck. Only when Nathan drove a knee into Tasby's groin did he drop the Colt. Nathan took full advantage of the brief respite, kicking free and allowing the swift current to take him away. Looking back, he could see Tasby struggling to free himself from the river. While he had lost his Colt, he still had a Winchester in his saddle boot. Aware that the second antagonist was returning, Empty retreated into the brush and trotted along the river: Doss grabbed his Colt and ran along the riverbank, firing at Nathan. But the bank was grown up in briars and thorns, and Doss soon gave up the chase.

“Mount up, damn it,” Tasby shouted. “We'll ride him down.”

Drawing their Winchesters from saddle boots, they rode out, but found the riverbank a mass of underbrush. The water had cut a deeper path and the banks were higher, denying them a clear look at the water. They rode on, and by the time they were able to reach the bank for an unobstructed view, there was no sign of Nathan. They looked at each other in frustration.

“By God,” said Tasby, “if we don't find him, our hides won't hold shucks. What'n hell was you doin' while I was wrasslin' him in the water?”

“A wolf lept out of the brush an' damn near tore my arm off,” Doss said. “I dropped my Colt, and when I went after it with my other hand, the bastard chomped down on it. It feels like some bones is broke.”

“It'll be dark in a few more minutes,” said Tasby. “We ain't got a chance of findin' him today. He's got to come out of that river sometime. We'll search both banks, and when we find his trail, we'll ride him down.”

But all Nathan's luck hadn't been good. One of Doss's shots had struck him in the upper arm, above his left elbow. While the slug had gone on through, he was bleeding to the extent that he must somehow plug the wound. Aware that Tasby and Doss would take their horses and come after him, he dared not leave the river until darkness concealed him. Reaching a bend in the river, he fought his way close enough to the bank that he was caught behind a huge stone upthrust that extended into the water. There it was shallow, and he was able to stand. He could use mud to ease the bleeding, but with manacles on his wrists, he was unable to reach the wound with his hands. Cupping his hands, he sloshed water against the riverbank, creating mud. He then leaned his wounded arm against the muddy surface, seeking to slick over the wound. While the pressure hurt, he kept adding new coats of mud until the bleeding stopped. Finally, when he judged it was dark enough, he climbed out on to the riverbank. Almost immediately Empty was there, and when Nathan leaned over to ruffle the dog's ears, he almost fell on his face. He straightened up, his head spinning. He was weak. Was it from loss of blood, or from having had nothing to eat since the skimpy breakfast many long hours ago?

The wind had risen, and while Arizona days were hot, the nights were cold. Nathan's teeth were chattering, and his only thought was to escape the wind, allowing his sodden body to dry. The best he was able to find was a cluster of rock, and he settled down on the lee side, thankful to be out of the wind. Empty lay down beside him, knowing all was not well, but excited that they were together again.

Nathan slept, only to be awakened by the pain in his arm and shoulder. Empty was there, having nothing to offer but his presence. Nathan knew that with the dawn, Doss and Tasby would come looking for him. If he was weak and light-headed now, his condition would only worsen during the night. He thought of the trails he had ridden, of those whose lives had touched his, who were now gone. The more he thought, the more it all seemed to fall into place. It seemed he had lived his life by the seasons. The hell of the war and his capture by the Yankees had been winter. Reaching Virginia and finding all his family had been murdered, he had ridden west. Thus the spring of his youth had begun with the dawn of fury, from which he had never escaped. He had found no lasting joy in the summertime of his life, for it had become a killing season, a time to kill or be killed. Now it seemed that autumn was fast approaching, that this might be his last trail. Come the morning, he would struggle on, enough of a gambler to know that someday he must draw the black ace. The past rustled across his mind like dead autumn leaves, and he had the feeling—much as had Wild Bill Hickok—that it might be a premonition of his own death. Far above, in the purple heavens, twinkled a star, and Nathan fixed his eyes upon it. Despite his precarious position, he felt a kind of peace, a hope, and he spoke as much to the star as to the dog.

“Tomorrow, Empty, I'll face up to whatever comes, if it's the autumn of the gun....”

March 19, 1873, Lampasas, Texas. Tom, Mart, and Sam Horrell, accompanied by Clint Barktey—a a brother-in-law—shot and killed three of four Texas lawmen seeking to arrest Barkley.

June 3, 1873, Wichita, Kansas. Edward T. Beard, owner of a dance hall, shot two soldiers. Two days later, a group of solders burned Beard's dance hall to the ground.

August 15, 1873, Ellsworth, Kansas. Ben Thompson was running a game of monte in Joe Brennan's saloon. Involving himself in Ben's argument over a gambling debt, Ben's brother Billy killed Sheriff C.B. Whitney with a shotgun.

December 1, 1873, Lincoln, New Mexico. Benjamin Horrell was killed, and his three brothers—Martin, Samuel, and Thomas—returned to Texas. Clint Barkley, outlaw and brother-in-law to Merritt Horrell, disappeared.

January 7, 1874, Colfax County, New Mexico. After an argument over a horse race, Clay Allison and Chunk Colbert had dinner together. During the course of the meal, Colbert drew his pistol, and Allison shot him dead.

May 26, 1874, Comanche County, Texas. In a saloon, Hardin had words with Deputy Sheriff Charles Webb. Both men went for their guns. Hardin was wounded in the side, while Webb was shot in the head. Hardin's two companions also shot the lawman.

January 1, 1875, Dallas, Texas. Doc Holliday lost his temper and shot up a saloon. He departed in anger, but nobody was hurt.

April 1, 1875, Bastrop County, Texas. Wild Bill Longley shotgunned Wilson Anderson, who had killed Longley's cousin. It was this murder that resulted in Bill Longley being hanged three years later.

May, 1875, St. Louis, Chicago, and Milwaukee. The whiskey ring was a conspiracy devised to defraud the Federal government of whiskey taxes. Large distillers bribed government officials high and low, retaining the tax proceeds. U.S. Secretary of the Treasury B.H. Bristow assigned special investigators outside the treasury department to secure evidence. Bristow struck suddenly, seizing the distilleries involved and arresting the persons involved. Three million dollars in taxes were recovered, and of the 176 persons indicted, 110 were convicted.

November, 1875, Bell County, Texas. Wild Bill Longley engaged in a running gun battle with a man called Lew Sawyer. After Sawyer had killed Longley's horse, Sawyer fell from his saddle, and the two continued the gunfight on foot. Sawyer, when he finally died, had been shot thirteen times.