Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “Lift them irons slow an’ easy, usin’ your thumb an’ finger, and them let ’em drop.”

  “Sheriff,” said Nathan, “don’t I get a chance to tell you who I am and to explain why I’m not who you think I am?”

  “That bay hoss pretty well explains who you are,” the sheriff replied. “Now where’s the woman and the money?”

  “I don’t have the answers you’re lookin’ for,” Nathan said, “because I’m not the man you’re lookin’ for. Now, damn it, you’re going to listen to me.”

  “Then you keep your hands shoulder high,” said the sheriff, “and do some talking.”

  “For starters,” Nathan said, “this is not my horse. You’ll find my grulla grazing down the river a ways. My name is Nathan Stone.”

  Quickly he explained what had happened and what the girl had told him, and of her eventual escape.

  “I’ve heard that name somewhere,” said one of the men in the posse.

  “So have I,” the sheriff said. “Mister, do you have any proof you’re who you claim to be?”

  “Yes,” Nathan said. From the pocket of his shirt, he removed the pocket watch given him almost ten years before by Byron Silver. He snapped open the case before passing it to the sheriff, revealing the great seal of the United States and the address of the attorney general in Washington.25

  “Why, hell, I know you,” the sheriff exclaimed. “You was one of the hombres that busted up that land grab in Wyoming Territory. It was in the Denver papers. I’m Sheriff Handy Green from Denver.”

  He offered his hand and Nathan took it.

  “Sheriff,” one of his riders said, “if Blackburn went into the river, maybe we can fish him out downstream.”

  “Good thinking,” said the sheriff. “Wash, you and Tull see if you can find him.”

  The two men rode away, and Nathan again turned to the sheriff.

  “Sheriff, all I know about this is what the girl told me, so I don’t know if it’s true or not. She told me her name was Kate McDowell, and that she had been taken captive by the man I shot. She said his name was Will Blackburn and that he had robbed a Denver bank.”

  “He robbed a bank, all right,” said Sheriff Green, “but he wasn’t alone. How was this woman dressed?”

  “Like a man,” Nathan said. “Her hair was short, and her hat was down over her ears, like it was a mite big for her.”

  “The second man might have been a woman,” the sheriff said. “Which way did she ride out?”

  “Upstream,” Nathan said.

  “Pegram,” said the sheriff, “that trail oughta be plenty fresh. Have a look.”

  They waited. Wash and Tull returned after a few minutes, and it was Tull who spoke.

  “He told it straight, Sheriff. He was downstream, maybe half a mile, caught up in a drift. We hauled him out on the bank, if you want him.”

  “We’ll have to tote him back to town for positive identification,” the sheriff said, “but if Pegram finds a trail, we’re goin’ after that woman first.”

  Pegram returned at a fast gallop. “Hoss headed upstream,” he said, “pickin’ ‘em up an’ a-layin’ ’em down.”

  “Stone,” the sheriff asked, “was the woman’s horse carryin’ saddlebags?”

  “No,” said Nathan.

  “I was afraid of that,” said the sheriff. “Damn it, Blackburn likely hid the loot when his hoss went lame. We’ll never recover the money unless we catch her. Let’s ride.”

  They rode out at a fast gallop, upriver.

  “Empty,” Nathan said, “we’re in no hurry to get to Denver. I reckon we’ll find us a place to hole up and wait a spell. I got a gut feeling me and that slippery little filly will meet again.”

  Nathan led the grulla across the river, picketing the animal where it couldn’t be seen from the farthest bank. He then found a thicket that would conceal both himself and Empty and allow him to see for half a mile beyond the paint where he had shot Blackburn. The sun was warm and Nathan dozed, unaware of the passing of time. But when Empty growled, Nathan was instantly awake. Just beyond the clearing on the farthest bank there was some movement in the brush. Kate McDowell stepped out, looked carefully all around, and then hurried downstream. On the opposite bank, keeping out of sight, Nathan followed. Reaching the dead body of Will Blackburn, she ignored it and went on. Eventually she paused, looked around, and then dropped to her knees. Brushing away dead leaves, she began scooping handfuls of dirt from what had been a stump hole. Nathan crossed the river where there were sand bars and the water was shallow, and saw the girl triumphantly lift a canvas bag from the hole. Only then did she notice Nathan standing a few yards away. She fought the fury and hate that threatened to engulf her and forced a weak smile. Finally she spoke.

  “There’s enough for us both. Come with me.”

  “Thanks,” said Nathan, “but I reckon not. The sheriff and his posse will be returning directly, and I’ll be turning you and the money over to them. I owe you that for trying to kill me.”

  She ran back the way she had come, but Nathan was prepared for that. He had built a loop in his lariat, and he dropped it over her shoulders, pinning her arms. Hauling her up short, he slammed her to the ground on her backside. She then employed a weapon women have relied on since time began. She wept.

  “Save it,” Nathan said. “You can get up if you want, but the rope stays where it is.”

  By the time she got to her feet, the tears had vanished and she began cursing Nathan in as vile a manner as the lowest bullwhacker.

  “I’m within a gnat’s eyelash of takin’ the other end of this rope and horse whipping you,” said Nathan. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll forget you’re a female.”

  Something in Nathan Stone’s eyes got to her, and she became silent. The sheriff and the posse returned an hour later.

  “She’s all yours, Sheriff,” said Nathan. “I watched her dig up that canvas sack, and I reckon it’s the missing bank money.”

  “It’s the money, all right,” Sheriff Green said, after opening the sack.

  “I never saw that sack in my life,” the girl shouted. “It’s his word against mine.”

  “Maybe not,” Sheriff Green said. “There were witnesses who saw you in the bank. Do you know where her horse is, Stone?”

  “I think so,” said Nathan. “I’ll get it.”

  The horse had been tethered beyond the thicket from which the girl had emerged, and Nathan led the animal back to where Sheriff Green and the posse waited.

  “Wash, you and Tull double up on the ride back to town. We’ll need an extra horse to carry Blackburn’s remains.”

  The ride to Denver was uneventful, and when they reached the outskirts of town, the sheriff spoke to Nathan.

  “We’re obliged for your help, Stone. It ain’t often, when they get away with a head start, that we bring back the robbers and the money. Will you be around for a day or so in case we need your testimony.”

  “Yes,” Nathan said. “I’ll see you again before I leave town.”

  Denver, Colorado July 3, 1880

  Nathan’s recollections of Denver were bittersweet. It was here that he had met and become friends with Wild Bill Hickok. Had it been almost four years since Bill had been murdered in Deadwood?26

  “Empty,” said Nathan, “if we’re to spend a couple of days here, we got to find us a way of spendin’ the time.”

  There was snow on the distant peaks of the Rockies, and the westering sun appeared to be resting there before continuing its journey to the farthest side of the earth. There was a distant crackle that Nathan recognized as fireworks, and Empty became skittish, seeking the safety of some trees. Reaching a hotel where he and Empty had stayed before, Nathan took a room for the night.

  “Why the fireworks?” Nathan asked.

  “Tomorrow’s July fourth,” said the desk clerk. “I reckon somebody’s started the celebration early.”

  Leaving his horse at a nearby livery, Nathan and Empty had supper.
Darkness was near when they returned to the hotel, and the popping of fireworks had become almost continuous.

  “Empty,” Nathan said, “you’re so jumpy, I reckon you’d better stay right here at the hotel. I may visit a saloon or two.”

  Nathan left the hotel, bound for a saloon called the Casa Verde. It was a secluded, two-story affair, with gambling twenty-four hours a day. But the gambling didn’t interest Nathan. His interest was on the second floor, where “pretty girls” who wore little or nothing catered to high rollers. It was a blatant attempt to take a man’s mind off how much and how often he had lost. It had been here, in September 1876, that Nathan had rediscovered Melanie Gavin. Nathan had been so infatuated with Melanie that he would have married her, but the girl had run away from Dodge while Nathan had been chasing train robbers in New Mexico. Would she still be at Casa Verde after four years? Nathan entered the building, finding it hadn’t changed. The downstairs had a bar, a kitchen, tables for dining, some poker tables, and a roulette wheel. As before, one of the waiters met him in the foyer.

  “The first floor is reserved for dining or gambling for table stakes, sir. All the high-stakes tables and the pretty girls are on the second floor.”

  “The second floor, then,” said Nathan.

  The upstairs seemed as plush as ever, and the “pretty girls” moved from table to table, deftly avoiding groping hands. They still wore pink slippers, pink bows in their hair, and short pink jackets that covered only their shoulders and their arms to the elbow. Four of the near-naked pretty girls worked the floor, but Melanie wasn’t among them, so Nathan went directly to the bar. He got the attention of one of the three bartenders, and the man raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  “I’m looking for Melanie Gavin,” Nathan said. “She’s a longtime friend. I last saw her four years ago when she was working here.”

  “She no longer works here,” said the bartender with some disapproval. “She is part owner. I will ask if she wishes to see you. Your name?”

  “Nathan Stone.”

  He stalked to the far end of the gambling hall and knocked on a door that had a glass pane in the upper half. The door opened just a little, allowing him to speak, and it was then closed.

  “She’ll see you,” the bartender said, when he returned. “Knock on the door.”

  Nathan knocked, and when Melanie opened it, he had the surprise of his life. Her dark hair still cascaded to her shoulders, reminding him all the more of Molly Tremayne and that brief but stormy affair of fourteen years ago. She wore a low-cut green gown that all but swept the floor. But she didn’t seem all that excited at seeing him again.

  “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth hung open,” she said. “Come on in.”

  “Sorry,” said Nathan, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t sure it was you, decked out in all that finery.”

  “Make up your mind,” she said curtly. “Last time, you jumped all over me because I was naked in a saloon.”

  “I’m not sure I didn’t like you better that way,” said Nathan. “Something’s missing.”

  “It was all there, the last time I looked,” she said sarcastically. “Do you expect me to stand naked in the same place for four years until you show up for another roll in the hay?”

  “I don’t know what I expected,” said Nathan, “but not this. When I was here before, you said I was welcome anytime, and I sure as hell don’t see any welcome. As for the roll in the hay, I don’t have to come to Denver for that. There are other women equipped just as well as you, but without your high-toned, prissy attitude.”

  He had his hand on the knob of the door when she took hold of his cartridge belt. He turned around, prepared for he knew not what, and she threw her arms around him. Before he could utter a word, she kissed him on the lips, long and hard.

  “Melanie Gavin,” he said, when she finally let him go, “I purely don’t understand you.”

  “I meant what I said about you being welcome,” she said. “I just had the foolish idea I’d see you a little more often than once every four years.”

  “I’ve been to hell and back since I was here,” said Nathan, “and it was a long, hard ride. I see you put the time to better use than I did.”

  “You said you’d prefer that I didn’t prance around naked in a saloon,” Melanie said, “and I got to thinking about that. I saved every dollar I could, and six months ago I was able to buy a half interest in this place.”

  “Who owns the other half?”

  “Bella DeCarlo,” said Melanie. “She inherited it from her husband, Anton. He was shot last year, after he was caught slickdealing.”

  “He deserved it,” Nathan said. “Hell, the odds always favor the house. You don’t have to cheat.”

  “That’s what Bella believes,” said Melanie. “We have a standing offer of fifty dollars to anyone who can prove our house dealers are cheating.”

  “That being the case,” Nathan said, “I reckon I’ll set in on one of your high-stakes games. That’ll give me plenty of time for a look at those naked women.”

  “Look but don’t touch,” said Melanie. “Bella takes over at nine o’clock. If you’re still around, you can escort me to my boardinghouse and we’ll talk about old times.”

  “I’ll be here,” Nathan said, “but if we get too deep in those old times, there’ll be a lot more than just talk.”

  “There’d better be,” said Melanie, “after a four-year wait.”

  Nathan sat in on several games of five-card stud and saw no evidence of cheating. He consistently won more than he lost, and by the time Melanie was ready to leave, he was ahead more than three hundred dollars.

  “I’ve improved my living conditions,” Melanie said as they walked to the nearby boardinghouse. “I now have a kitchen and I can make breakfast in the morning.”

  “It’s tempting,” said Nathan, “but I’ve already rented a room, and Empty’s there. He’s skittish with all the fireworks going. They remind him of gunshots, and he’s learned that generally means somebody gets hurt.”

  “After midnight, it’ll be July fourth,” Melanie said, “and there’ll really be some noise, so why don’t we get the poor dog and bring him to my place? Then you can stay the night, and I promise I can feed both of you better than any cafe.”

  “You’ve convinced me,” said Nathan. “With that kind of offer, we’ll stay tomorrow night as well. I want some more of that high-stakes poker. I came out three hundred ahead tonight.”

  “Damn it, I share my bed with you, feed you, and then you take my money. All men are selfish brutes, taking advantage of women.”

  “Usually with an almighty lot of cooperation from the women,” Nathan said.

  She laughed as he took her hand, and they headed for Nathan’s hotel room, where Empty waited.

  Indian Territory July 5, 1880

  Leaving Mobeetie, Wes Tremayne watched his backtrail. Soon there would be a stage from Dodge bound for Fort Griffin, and Wes didn’t wish to be recognized by the driver or the man riding shotgun. Having seen a map of the Southwest in Foster Hagerman’s office, he rode eastward, knowing he would eventually reach Dallas or Fort Worth. He soon became aware of wagon tracks leading in the same general direction as he was riding. There were other tracks as well, for six horsemen—three on each side—accompanied the wagon. The terrain became more rugged and Wes wasn’t surprised when he came upon the abandoned wagon. There were no teams, and apparently the occupants of the hapless wagon had mounted the mules or horses and had ridden away. But beyond the wagon, a man lay face down, the back of his homespun shirt a mass of blood. Wes dismounted, and seeking a pulse, found none. The man was dead, and from his brogan shoes, Wes believed he had been at the reins of the animals drawing the wagon. That explained why the wagon had left the level plain and entered the dense woods. The mounted riders had taken it, probably at gunpoint. Had the dead man been alone, or had others—perhaps a woman with children—been taken captive by the killers? Wes Tremayne was fac
ed with a dilemma. While this was none of his business, could he in good conscience ride away? Despite his hating to attend church, much of its teaching had remained with him, and he recalled the parable of the Good Samaritan. If innocent people were being held captive by thieves and killers, he could not in good conscience leave them to their fate. He checked his Winchester and then his Colt, thumbing a sixth shell into the empty chamber. He then rode cautiously on, unable to see more than an occasional track to assure him he hadn’t lost the trail. Suddenly a horse nickered, and Wes leaned forward, seizing the muzzle of his own mount before it could respond. He dismounted, leading his horse back the way he had come. There he tied it, hoping it wasn’t close enough to betray him. He carried the Winchester in his left hand, and kept his right near his thonged-down Colt. The camp, when he found it, was next to a spring, and as he had feared, there were two women captives. Wes decided they were probably mother and daughter, and they apparently hadn’t been harmed. Yet. He moved closer but couldn’t see all the men. He counted five. Where was the sixth?

  “Drop the rifle,” said a cold, deadly voice from behind him, “and then, with finger and thumb, ease that Colt out and let it fall.”

  Denver, Colorado July 5, 1880

  Nathan remained with Melanie Gavin two nights, and then, difficult as it was, managed to say goodbye. He rode on to the sheriffs office, where he found Sheriff Green about to ride away.

  “I’m ready to ride out,” Nathan said, “and I promised I’d talk to you first.”