“House man, I’m callin’ fer a new deck. This damn deck you’re dealin’ from has got some cards missin’. I can’t git nothin’ but three of a kind. Where’s them fourth draws?”
The house dealer placed the remainder of the deck face down on the table, and when he spoke his voice was dangerously low.
“Pilgrim, are you accusing me of cheating?”
“If he’s not,” Nathan said, “I am.”
The house dealer was quick, but not quick enough. He froze, for Nathan Stone had him covered with a cocked Colt.
“Whatever’s in your hand,” said Nathan, “place it on the table.”
Slowly the house dealer unclenched his right hand, revealing a deadly derringer.
“I think you owe us all some money.” Nathan said. “Then, if you value your health, I reckon you’d better get out of here.”
But the scene hadn’t gone unnoticed. One of the three bartenders had a sawed-off shotgun, and a man wearing a frock coat and derby hat was rapidly approaching the table.
“I am Jess Delaney, one of the owners,” he said. “What’s the problem here?”
“Your house man,” said Nathan. “Ever since I sat in, he’s been slick dealing.”
“Hell, he’s been doin’ it long ’fore that,” said the old-timer who had first complained. “I dropped a bundle in here last night.”
“Prove it,” Delaney said, his eyes on Nathan.
“All of you show your hands,” said Nathan.
The four men dropped their cards on the table, face up, and each man held three of a kind. With the rest of the deck face down on the table, Nathan dealt every man, including himself, the needed fourth card.
“Quay,” Delaney said, his hard eyes on the house dealer, “you will return the money you have taken from these men, and then you’ll get the hell out of here.”
Sullenly, Quay did as ordered, and when he had gone, Delaney spoke.
“The rest of you belly up to the bar. Drinks are on the house.”
When all the men had been served their drinks, Delaney spoke to Nathan.
“You know your cards, my friend. May I ask your name?”
“Nathan Stone.”
“You used to house deal for old Judge Prater in Waco, didn’t you?”
“For a short time,” said Nathan, “but that’s been more than ten years. I don’t seem to remember you.”
“I recall you being an honest dealer,” Delaney said, “and I could use one. Would you be interested? I pay twenty percent.”
“Maybe,” said Nathan, “but no Sundays. What are the hours?”
“Six until closing,” Delaney said. “We close at two in the morning.”
“It’s nowhere near six,” said Nathan. “Why was Quay here so early?”
“His idea,” Delaney said. “Normally, none of the owners are here before six. The four of us take turns staying until closing.”
“Who are the other owners?”
“Hiram Kilgore, Ward Guthrie, and Cash Seaborn. This is my night, and I just came in early. Tomorrow it’ll be Kilgore, then Guthrie, followed by Seaborn.”
“Will I be the only house dealer?” Nathan asked.
“No,” said Delaney, “there’s a young lady, Katrina McGuire. She’ll take off Mondays and work Sundays, when you’re off. I’ll need you both on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“It’s been a long time,” Nathan said, “and I may be rusty, but I’ll try it for a while.”
“Good,” said Delaney. “Since today is Saturday, I’ll need you tonight.”
“I’ll be here,” Nathan said, “and I’ll have my guns. Any objection to that?”
“None,” said Delaney, “as long as you don’t use them without cause.”
Fort Worth, Texas August 3, 1880
“Where are we going from here?” Rebecca asked as she and Wes rode away from Fort Worth. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try and find those three outlaws.”
“Oh, all right,” he said. “The trail’s cold. They could be in Mexico by now.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re not going after them.”
She looked at him, concern in her gray eyes, and he laughed.
“You think I’m always lookin’ for a fight?” he asked.
“I’m never sure. Just when I think you have a grip on that pride of yours—”
“I’m of a mind to ride all the way to the ocean,” he said. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“I believe it’s called the Gulf of Mexico,” she said with a smile.
“Damn it, whatever.”
They reined up at a spring an hour before sundown, allowing the horses to rest prior to watering them.
“This is nice,” said Rebecca. “We can’t go much farther before dark. Why don’t we just make camp here?”
“We can,” he replied. “Are you tired?”
“Some. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m sore as hell where I was shot. We’ll have the time to cook some grub and douse the fire before dark.”
The night passed uneventfully, and Wes was saddling the horses the next morning when they heard the gunfire somewhere to the south.
“That’s the way we’re going,” Wes said. “Sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”
“Must we become involved?”
“We don’t have to,” said Wes, “but where would I be if Sergeant Mullinax and his patrol had felt that way? The shooting will be over before we get there. Come on.”
Topping a rise, Wes reined up. Ahead of them, two horses grazed along the rim of an arroyo.
“Stay here,” Wes said, dismounting.
“No,” she said, “I’m going with you. The owners of those horses are hurt or dead.”
One of the men lay on his back; he was very, very dead. He had been hit three times in the chest. Pinned to his vest was a lawman’s star.
The second man lay face down. When Wes turned him over, he saw that he also wore a star. He had been shot once and his breathing was ragged. His eyelids fluttered as Wes felt for a pulse. He tried to speak.
“Who ... are ... ?”
“I’m not the hombre that shot you,” said Wes. “Your partner’s dead. Where can we take you? Where’s the nearest town with a doc?”
“Lampasas,” he muttered. “South ...”
Quickly, Wes tied the dead man across his saddle, and then hoisted the wounded man over his saddle in a similar position.
“Can you lead the horse with the dead man?” Wes asked.
“Yes,” said Rebecca.
Wes took the reins of the wounded man’s horse and, riding as fast as they dared, they rode south. They had gone only a short distance when they reached a river.
“According to Captain Ferguson’s map,” Wes said, “this has to be the Colorado. The town must be downstream from here.”
The little town of Lampasas had but a single street, and it was perched on the bank of the Colorado River. Somebody sounded the alarm, and by the time Wes and Rebecca had reined up before the sheriff’s office, a small crowd had gathered. Several men had their hands on the butts of their Colts.
“One of these men is still alive,” said Wes, “and he needs a doctor.”
“Doc Coggin’s place is down the street,” a bystander said. “Come on.”
Someone had taken the reins of the dead man’s horse, and others were lifting him from the saddle. Rebecca rode on after Wes. Reaching the doctor’s office, two men eased the wounded lawman from the saddle and carried him into the doctor’s office. A balding man in a town suit approached Wes.
“I’m Mayor Patten. Where did you find them?”
“A few miles north of here,” said Wes. “We heard shooting, but by the time we got there the fight was over. One man was already dead. We brought the other here as quick as we could.”
“He’s Sheriff Lyle Tidwell,” Patten said. “He caught up to those damn rustlers. We’re obliged to you for bringing them in. Will you and your missus sta
y until the sheriff’s able to talk? The town will put you up at the hotel.”
“I reckon we can stay,” said Wes, “but I can’t tell you any more than I already have.”
“Please stay, then,” Patten said. “There’ll be an inquest for the dead man, and for the record we’ll need a signed statement from you.”
Wes and Rebecca were assigned a room at the local hotel. With little to do in the small town, in the late afternoon they returned to the doctor’s office.
“We were wondering about Sheriff Tidwell,” Wes told the doctor.
“He’ll live,” said Doctor Coggin, “but he’ll be laid up for a while.”
While they were there, Mayor Patten came in. He nodded to Wes and Rebecca and spoke to Dr. Coggin.
“How is he, Doc?”
“About as good as can be expected, under the circumstances,” Coggin said.
“How long you figure he’ll be laid up?” Patten inquired.
“At least two weeks,” said the doctor.
“My God,” Patten said, “we can’t go that long without a sheriff. Ike Blocker and his gang will have this town for breakfast.”
“Hire another deputy,” said Dr. Coggin.
“Find me one,” Patten said, “and I’ll hire him. Deputy Hinkel was an ex-Ranger, and there’s not another man in this town the equal of him. Ike Blocker’s deadly with a gun, and there’s not a man around here that can stand up to him.”
“I can,” said Wes.
“You?” Patten said, raising his eyebrows. “Why, you’re—”
He never finished the sentence. Wes Tremayne had drawn his Colt with blinding speed, and Patten found himself staring into its deadly muzzle. Rebecca was more startled than the mayor. She had believed Wes had overcome the need to prove himself—and now this. Before she could respond, Mayor Patten spoke up.
“I’m prepared to pay you fifty dollars and put you up at the hotel if you’ll take the deputy’s badge until Sheriff Tidwell’s back on his feet.”
“I reckon I can handle that,” said Wes.
“Come with me to the sheriff’s office, then,” Patten said, “and I’ll swear you in.”
Before they even reached the sheriff’s office, Wes was having serious doubts about his hasty decision. He cut his eyes toward Rebecca, who refused to look at him. Her face was deathly white and she was biting her lower lip. The swearing-in took only a few seconds. Patten handed Wes his badge and the keys to the cell block.
“You needn’t stay here at night,” Patten said, “unless there are prisoners.”
“One thing,” said Wes. “How many men are in this Blocker gang?”
“Not more than five or six,” Patten replied, “and from what I’ve heard, the others are not the equal of Blocker with a gun.”
“Five or six against one,” said Rebecca, “they don’t have to be fast with a gun.”
Patten appeared not to hear. He went out, leaving Wes to face Rebecca’s fury. She wasted no time unleashing it.
“My God,” she wailed, “have you lost your mind? You don’t owe this town anything.”
“I’m not doing it for the town. I just want to see if I have what it takes to become a lawman on the frontier. Besides, I might run into those three varmints that dry-gulched me. Sergeant Mullinax said they rode south.”
“Oh, I can understand the need for that,” she said sarcastically. “Six potential killers aren’t enough. Just when I think you have some sense, some feeling—”
“You find out I ain’t halter-broke,” he said. “You want to lead me around on a rope, shoving me into a hole, protecting me. I can protect myself, damn it. There won’t be any risk for you. Just hide out here in the hotel and I’ll do what I have to.”
“I will not hide out in the hotel,” she said defiantly. “Just because I hate what you’re doing doesn’t mean I don’t respect your right to do it. I still have the money from the sale of the mules. I’ll buy myself a gun and ride with you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groaned, “that’s the quickest way to get me shot dead. How can I defend myself if I’m concerned about you?”
“If you are concerned about me,” said Rebecca, “what I want would mean something to you. I’ve seen you shot down before my eyes once, and it’s not the sort of thing I can get used to. Is that so hard to understand?”
“No,” he admitted, “but why do I have to do all the changing? Part of being a man is giving as good as you get, and standin’ your ground against other men. I don’t aim to tuck my tail and run like a scared dog to avoid a fight. Not for you, not for anybody. If you can’t take me like I am, I’d just as soon we split the blanket.”
“I don’t want that,” she said. “I want you, but I want you alive. How far must you go to satisfy yourself that you’re a man? How many more times must you be shot?”
“I don’t know,” said Wes. “I just know that when I’ve done what I believe I should have done, I don’t want you jumpin’ on me, talkin’ down to me like I’m five years old.”
“Then I won’t say anything more,” she said, “but I am going to buy myself a gun. If I’m with you and we’re being shot at, then I’ll shoot back.”
He caught her up in a bear hug, and for the moment, everything was right between them.
Lincoln, New Mexico January 8, 1881
Nathan returned to his hotel room and changed clothes. Since he was no longer one of Lincoln County’s deputies, he and Empty had taken to eating at the cafe across the street from the hotel. Returning to the hotel, Nathan shucked his hat, his gunbelt, and his boots. He then stretched out on the bed until time for his first night at the Silver Dollar. When he got up to go, Empty waited at the door.
“Not this time, old son. You don’t like saloons. I’ll let you out for a run in the snow when I get back.”
When Nathan reached the Silver Dollar, he got his first look at the female house dealer. She wore a green floor-length gown cut low and what might have been a diamond necklace, and her auburn hair down to her shoulders. If she was surprised to see Nathan, she concealed it well. He spoke.
“Kate, you’ve changed some.”
“Oh, I wear clothes when the occasion calls for it,” she said, “and the name is Katrina McGuire.”
“I liked you better when you were Kate McDowell,” said Nathan. “You seemed a little more honest.”
“I’m more honest now than I’ve ever been,” she replied. “At least I’m trying to earn an honest living. But I suppose you’re going to ruin that.”
“Not necessarily,” said Nathan, “but let’s be honest with one another. I’m Nathan Stone. Now who are you? Kate McDowell or Katrina McGuire?”
“Kate McDowell,” she said with a sigh, “but please don’t call me that. I’m Katrina.”
“All right, Katrina,” said Nathan, “but I don’t aim to forget you throwing my clothes and boots in the river.”
She laughed. “You were a sight. Mad as hell and jaybird naked. We’ll get along, Nathan Stone. Play your cards right and you could see a lot of me.”
It was Nathan’s turn to laugh. “You mean there’s more?”
“Maybe a little,” she said with a sly smile. “It’ll be up to you to seek it out.”
CHAPTER 19
Lampasas, Texas August 11, 1880
A week after Sheriff Lyle Tidwell had been shot, Wes and Rebecca were able to talk to the lawman. He was still pale, weak, almost apologetic.
“I’m obliged,” Tidwell said, “but a mite surprised to find Patten hired you on as a deputy. Son, he ain’t done you no favor. Soon as I’m on my feet, you’d be smart to just saddle up and ride on. Ike Blocker fancies himself the fastest gun around, and he’ll be sure to test you.”
“Leaving you to face him alone?” Wes asked.
“I was elected to wear the badge,” said Tidwell. “I got no choice.”
“In a way, neither do I,” Wes said. “I’ve always had to fight just to stay alive, and I don’t like men who bully others
around. Maybe I just want to see if I have what it takes to be a lawman.”
“Well, I reckon you’ve come to the right place,” said Tidwell. “I’d give a year’s wages to see Ike Blocker get a dose of his own medicine.”
“How do I go about finding him?” Wes asked.
“He’ll find you,” said Tidwell, “once he knows you’re here. He’s insulted me just by ignorin’ me, stealin’ cattle and horses as it suited him. Then when I ride after him, there’s a fight, with me on the losin’ end. I’ve lost two deputies in six months. I believe he’s left me alive just so he can taunt and humiliate me.”
“Suppose I take Blocker out of the running,” Wes said. “Will that bust up the gang?”
“It’d go a long way,” said Tidwell.
Rebecca had kept her silence, but when they were alone her reaction was about what Wes had expected.
“I suppose you’re going to nail printed dodgers on every tree in the county, informing Ike Blocker you’re waiting for him,” Rebecca said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Wes. “Do you think it’d be better if I just wait for them to rustle somebody’s cattle, ride after them, and take on the whole gang at one time?”
“It makes no difference what I think,” Rebecca said. “Do it your way.”
“I aim to,” said Wes. “I’ll ride down every pig trail in this county. I want Ike Blocker to know I’ll face up to him, that I think he’s afraid to face me man to man.”
“I understand what you’re trying to do,” Rebecca said, “but suppose Ike Blocker has no pride? Suppose he refuses to accept your challenge, and comes after you with his whole gang of outlaws?”
“According to you,” said Wes, “I wrote the book on pride. I reckon I’m in a position to see that pride in other men, and I’m seein’ it in Ike Blocker.”
“You’ve never even met the man,” Rebecca said.
“I don’t have to,” said Wes. “I’m judging from what I’ve heard.”
Wes Tremayne rode from one village to another, letting it be known he represented the law. Though Rebecca said nothing, she followed through on her threat to buy a gun. Wes had agreed, knowing how determined she was, and she bought a Colt double-action .38. A little more than two weeks after he had been shot, Sheriff Lyle Tidwell was back on his feet.
Autumn of the Gun Page 27
