“You’re right,” said Nathan. “If they’re trying to get away, taking the wagon with them, they won’t get far. It’ll be slow going because nitroglycerin is volatile stuff. Jolt that wagon too hard and there’ll be an explosion that’ll rattle the windows in California.”
“I’ll telegraph Washington and confirm what we’re going to do,” Blanchard said, “and make arrangements with the livery for mules and harness. Meet me here at the office in the morning at first light and I’ll have some men deputized to ride with us.”
El Paso, Texas October 2, 1881
The ride from San Antonio had been almost six hundred miles, and Wes had taken his time, sparing his horse. He arrived on Sunday afternoon, and following a bountiful meal at a cafe, went looking for Granny Boudleaux’s boarding house. Removing his hat, he stepped through the front door and encountered a very pretty girl.
“I reckon,” he said, eyeing her with appreciation, “you ain’t Granny.”
Her eyes twinkled and she laughed. “No, I ain’t. I’m Molly Horrell, Granny’s partner. Do you want her, or will I do?”
“Much as I want to meet Granny,” said Wes, “I can wait. I’m Wes Tremayne, and I want a room.”
“Day, week, or month?”
“A month,” Wes said. “I like the surroundings.”
“Meals—breakfast and supper—are fifty cents a day extra,” she said.
“I’ll take the meals too,” said Wes.
“Breakfast’s at seven and supper’s at five,” she said. “There’s fried chicken tonight.”
“I’ll be there at four-thirty,” said Wes.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Molly said, “unless you must tend your horse.”
“My horse is at the livery,” said Wes. “I always see to him first. Do I look that much like a shorthorn?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how that sounded. Come on and I’ll show you to your room.”
In the hall, they met Granny Boudleaux, and Molly performed the introductions. For a long moment, Granny looked critically at Wes.
“I see you somewhere before,” she said.
“I’ve never been in El Paso in my life, until now,” said Wes.
Molly led Wes to his room, unlocked the door, and presented him with his key. When he had closed the door, he sat down on the bed and kicked off his boots. Stretching out, he thought of what Granny Boudleaux had said about having seen him before. Strangely, it reminded him of a similar conversation with Ranger Bodie West. Who was this stranger who so strongly resembled Wes Tremayne?
Supper at Granny Boudleaux’s was an interesting affair. Including Wes, Granny had a total of fifteen boarders, all of them men. Several were drummers, but most of the others appeared to be clerks from the shops in town. Wes had wondered how he’d recognize Jim Gillett, but Molly Horrell took care of that. When everybody was seated at the long table, she introduced them to Wes, and Wes to them. Jim Gillett only nodded, and there wasn’t a thing to draw undue attention to him. He had a thonged-down Colt on his right hip, but for the time and place, that wasn’t unusual. Gillett seemed in no hurry, nor did Wes, but they finished within seconds of one another. When Gillett started down the hall, Wes followed. Concealed in his hand. Wes had the star-in-a-circle shield of the Texas Rangers, and when he caught up to Gillett he flashed the badge.
“I’m in room nine,” said Gillett. “Give me a few minutes. Knock twice, pause, and then knock again.”
Wes went on to his room, number 11, and waited for what he judged was a quarter of an hour. He then stepped out into the hall, and being sure he was unseen, knocked twice, paused, and then knocked again. Gillett opened the door, closing it quickly when Wes was inside. The two had already been introduced, but when Gillett offered his hand, Wes took it. Gillett stood an inch or two over six feet, with gray eyes and hair black as a crow’s wing. He looked to be maybe twenty-five. He sat down on the bed while Wes took the only chair.37
“I reckon you was told about the situation here, before you left San Antone,” Gillett said.
“Some,” said Wes. “Why don’t you tell me how you see it?”
“Was I you,” Gillett said, “I wouldn’t walk too close to Stoudenmire. The varmint just naturally attracts enemies like a tall oak draws lightnin’ bolts.”
“I was told there’s trouble between Anglos and Mexicans,” said Wes. “Does Stoudenmire figure into that?”
“To some extent,” Gillett said. “He sure don’t like ’em, and right after he became city marshal he shot one in the back.”
“Accidentally, I heard,” said Wes.
“I don’t doubt that,” Gillett said. “He carries three guns, includin’ a hideout, and he ain’t the world’s best shot, even when he’s sober. He’s got a running feud going with the Manning brothers and he’s always where anybody can get at him. He operates the Globe Restaurant, a place his brother-in-law willed him. It’d be damned easy to bushwhack him, just any day or night you could choose.”
“We’re not here to save Stoudenmire from being dry-gulched, and there’s nothing we can do to keep Anglos and Mexicans from hating one another,” said Wes. “Exactly why are we here?”
“We’re here to prevent a total breakdown of law and order,” Gillett said. “Rangers in town have a calming effect, but we don’t make our presence known until the need arises. During the next few days, spend some time in the Globe Restaurant and get acquainted with Dallas Stoudenmire. Then you’ll have some better idea as to why people in this town are gettin’ spooked.”
Santa Fe, New Mexico November 5, 1881
With Empty trotting beside him, Nathan reached the U.S. marshal’s office just as Blanchard and four deputies arrived.
“Stone,” said the lawmen, “these are deputies Pryor, Sowell, Wells, and Lytle. We’ll ride by the livery for the mules and harness. How are you fixed for grub?”
“Enough in my saddlebag for three days,” Nathan said. “When we’ve recovered the wagon, I’ll have to ride back to Santa Fe ahead of you. I must ride to Pueblo and take the train to Dodge City for a meeting there.”
“Let’s ride, then,” said Blanchard. “How far to the wagon?”
“Unless they’ve moved it,” Nathan said, “maybe a hundred and fifty miles. We won’t reach it until sometime tomorrow.”
Just before noon of their second day on the trail, with Nathan in the lead, the posse reined up.
“We’re not more than an hour away from where I left the wagon,” Nathan said. “Let’s rest the horses here and let my dog range on ahead. He’ll warn us if there’s an ambush.”
“From what you’ve told me,” said Blanchard, “that’s what I expect. If this bunch went to the trouble of killing a military escort in south Texas, they’re not likely to back off at this point. Their only way out is to kill all of us.”
“They’re not going to do that,” Nathan said. “An ambush is effective only when it’s a total surprise.”
“You got an almighty lot of confidence in that dog of yours,” said Pryor.
“I should,” Nathan replied. “He’s saved my life often enough.”
When Empty returned, Nathan rode to meet him, and the dog growled. Nathan rode back to meet the posse.
“Well?” Blanchard asked.
“They’re waiting for us,” said Nathan. “All of you wait here. I’ll follow Empty and see where they’re holed up. Then we’ll go after them.”
They didn’t question him, and Nathan rode away, following Empty.
“This is the strangest damn situation I ever seen,” Wells said. “Who is this hombre that just shows up out of nowhere, with us follerin’ him, and him follerin’ his old hound?”
“Strange as it all seems,” said Deputy U.S. Marshal Jim Blanchard, “it’s real enough to have the attorney general’s office in Washington on top of it. This Nathan Stone makes some big tracks. I wired the office in Washington, and the government’s sidin’ him all the way. That’s good enough for me.”
Nathan rode on, reining up when Empty came back to meet him. He dismounted and, following the dog, continued on foot. When he eventually saw the wagon, it had definitely been moved, for it sat in a clearing. There was no sign of the mules. Beyond the clearing, to the south, was a rise. At various points along the slope and near the foot of it were upthrusts of stone, every one large enough to conceal a man with a gun. Nathan watched from the brush, not having revealed himself. It would be simple enough to send three men to the east and three to the west, bringing them in behind those who lay in wait, setting up a murderous cross fire. Nathan made his way back to his horse, mounted, and then rode back to meet the posse.
“We can divide our forces, swing wide to east and west, and flank them,” Nathan told them. “They’re bellied down behind some rocks beyond the wagon. You’re representing the law, Marshal. When we have them covered, call on them to surrender.”
“They ain’t likely to,” said Blanchard. “What then?”
“We shoot,” Nathan said. “These are thieves and killers, and you have federal John Doe warrants for their arrest. I can get them changed to execution warrants if need be. I don’t like John Doe execution warrants, if there’s any doubts, but I have none.”
“Those people told you their names,” said Pryor. “Why the John Doe warrants?”
“The names they gave me may or may not be their names,” Nathan said, “but they’re guilty of a crime, and it’s real enough. Marshal, you take two men and ride to the east. I’ll take two, and ride to the west. Give us half an hour to get into position, and then call out your challenge. Just be sure you’re in range, and if they don’t surrender, shoot.”
“Pryor, you and Sowell come with me,” said Blanchard.
They rode out, and Nathan nodded to Wells and Lytle. They followed him as he rode to the west, swinging wide to avoid the ambush ahead. Nathan thought the lot of them were a little squeamish, a little uncertain, as they neared a showdown. This had been Byron Silver’s idea, bringing in the law, and Nathan only hoped the posse held up under fire. He seriously doubted there would be any surrender when one of the charges against them would be murder. They came out on the southern slope of the ridge, and there they left their horses. There was plenty of cover, and Nathan led them far enough that they could see several of the men who lay in wait. Nathan couldn’t see Blanchard and his men, but it stood to reason they should be in position. Just when it seemed Blanchard would never shout a challenge, the marshal did.
“This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Jim Blanchard. You people are under arrest. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up.”
The response was immediate, as rifles roared and slugs sang above their heads like angry bees. Nathan was the first to return fire, and someone cried out in pain. There was a crash of gunfire from Blanchard’s position as he and his men bought it. There were more cries of pain and gradually the firing from below ceased.
“This is André La Mie,” a voice shouted. “My wife and I are unarmed. We’re done.”
“Come on,” Blanchard said, “but keep your hands up.”
Slowly they came up the slope, their hands shoulder high.
“We’re glad to see you, Marshal,” said Kit La Mie. “Those men have been holding us against our will.”
“Tell it to the judge,” Blanchard replied. “I know what’s in that wagon over yonder. It was taken from an army escort and six solders were killed. The army’s wiring me more information, and I reckon they’ll be wanting to question you folks. Pryor, you and Sowell find the horses that belonged to this bunch. We’ll need two of them.”
“We’d better see if any of those other four varmints are still alive,” said Nathan. “If it’s all the same to the rest of you, Empty and me will take a look.”
“By all means,” Blanchard said.
If some of the outlaws were playing possum, it could prove a deadly task, and Nathan thought they all looked relieved. It would be safe enough, with Empty going ahead of him, and he went on down the slope. Three of the men were dead and the fourth had been gut-shot. Nathan went on to the wagon, opened the canvas pucker, and looked inside. Nothing had been bothered, as best he could tell. He walked back up the slope. Pryor and Sowell had found the horses belonging to the outlaws, and had brought two of them for André and Kit La Mie.
“Three of the men are dead,” said Nathan, “and the fourth won’t be around for long.”
“Wells, you and Lytle get those mules harnessed to that wagon,” Blanchard ordered.
“You don’t have anything on us,” André La Mie said. “We were traveling with those men against our will.”
“That’s not what you told me,” said Nathan. “You and the wampus kitty were bossing those fake soldiers around like you owned them, and I had to kill two of them just to get away from you. I reckon you don’t know anything about that wagonload of explosives, either.”
“We’ve never seen you before in our lives,” Kit La Mie said haughtily, “and we have absolutely no idea what’s in that wagon. It’ll be your word against ours.”
“We’ll be getting a telegraphed report and descriptions from federal authorities,” said Nathan. “Maybe we can refresh your memory.”
“Pryor,” Blanchard said, “you’ll take first turn with the wagon. One of the others will spell you after a couple of hours. You got to take it slow, avoiding rocks and drop offs.”
Lytle waved his hat, indicating the mules were hitched and the wagon was ready to go. Blanchard nodded to Pryor and Sowell and they rode out, André and Kit La Mie ahead of them. Blanchard had held back to speak to Nathan.
“Stone, I don’t doubt that pair’s everything you say they are, but you heard what they said. They’re slick as calf slobber, and if it’s goin’ to be your word against theirs, I want you around until I got this nailed down. There’s slick-tongued lawyers that could get them off scot-free and leave me lookin’ like a prime fool.”
“I understand your position,” Nathan said, “and I won’t leave Santa Fe until you have the evidence you need. Since I telegraphed Washington and got all this started, I’ll have to see it through. I’m sure the government wants that nitroglycerin, but if a soldier escort was murdered, somebody will have to account for that.”
“I’ll feel a lot better when we get some official word as to what happened,” Blanchard said. “Have you considered how all of this is goin’ to look if that wagon is loaded with nothing but French wine?”
“I’ve thought of the possibility,” said Nathan, “but nothing that’s happened makes any sense if there’s anything less than nitroglycerin in that wagon. I can’t imagine them trying to kill me over a wagonload of wine, and you were right in the midst of a fight to the death today. I think we’re going to find some dead men on their backtrail.”
“Well,” Blanchard said, “let’s get on back to Santa Fe and see if anything’s come in on the telegraph.”
Santa Fe, New Mexico November 20, 1881
The return to Santa Fe was slow and laborious because of the heavily loaded wagon and the need to avoid rough terrain. Nathan and Blanchard went immediately to the telegraph office.
“I never seen so much telegraph business,” the telegrapher said.
He brought out a sheaf of yellow paper on which he had scribbled messages. Every one had been dated, and he handed them to Blanchard.
“You have them dated and in order,” said Blanchard. “Good.”
“Spread ‘em out on that table over yonder,” the telegrapher said. “If you got trouble readin’ my writin’, maybe I can figger it out.”
“This is what I’m wantin’ to see,” said Blanchard. “It covers the killin’ of the soldier escort near Galveston Bay, and backs up what you said about this bunch stealin’ a load of nitroglycerin.”
“What about descriptions?” Nathan asked.
“We’re comin’ to that, I think,” said Blanchard. “Here, read some of this.”
“Tarnation,” Nathan said, after readi
ng some of the material, “this bunch has been in trouble with the law before. André and Kit La Mie have used a whole passel of names. All the hombres they had posin’ as soldiers were killers. They’re all wanted in Texas.”
“This is lookin’ more solid all the time,” said Blanchard. “We got to supply our sworn testimony that these six men actually died. You got to account for the two you shot, and we can all testify to the killin’ of the other four that tried to ambush us. The military will be sendin’ for any that was took alive.”
“I think we ought to telegraph Washington that six of the bunch are dead, and that the La Mies—or whoever they are—have been locked up. I expect there’ll be soldiers from Fort Elliott, Texas, or from Fort Dodge, Kansas, comin’ to take this La Mie pair off your hands. I reckon you’ll get some recognition from this.”
“I don’t figure I’m due any,” said Blanchard. “It was you that started all this.”
“I don’t want any credit,” Nathan replied. “I was able to get Washington involved only because these people had committed crimes against the United States, and because I have a friend in the attorney general’s office. It’s no more than he would expect of me, and when you get the final word as to how this will be resolved, I’ll be riding on.”
When Blanchard telegraphed Washington that the nitroglycerin had been recovered and that André and Kit La Mie were in custody, the response was rapid and brief:Suspects in custody being extradited to Texas stop. Military escort coming from Fort Elliott to claim recovered federal property and suspects.
The telegram was signed with Byron Silver’s name.
“Well,” said Nathan, “it’s time I was riding on. You have my sworn testimony.”
“Go ahead,” Blanchard said. “I’m satisfied we’ve handled this properly.”
Autumn of the Gun Page 38
