The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  She lost him then, as a faraway look came into his eyes and in his mind he drifted beyond her reach, where she could not follow. Again he was seeing those lonely new-made graves in faraway Virginia, and finally the grave of old Malachi. From somewhere, sounding more distant and more lonely than ever, came the mournful howl of a dog. Suddenly he was jolted back to the present by the rumble of a wagon and the clatter of hooves.

  “Somebody’s coming,” Eulie said. “We’d better get up in the hayloft.”

  They scrambled up the makeshift ladder, which consisted of slats nailed to the wall of a tack room. Through a wide crack they could see the front of the house, where two men had stepped down from a buckboard. They both were well dressed, and the older of the two stepped up on the porch and pounded on the door. There was an early-morning breeze, and being downwind from the strangers, Nathan and Eulie could hear their conversation.

  “He’s not here,” the younger man said.

  “I didn’t expect him to be,” said the portly one who had knocked, “but I wanted to be sure.”

  “Leighton,” said his companion, “he hasn’t paid his rent in nine months. Why don’t you just get the sheriff and have him thrown out?”

  “Because he owes me two hundred and twenty-five dollars, Barnfield, and I don’t intend for him to weasel his way out of paying it. If I kick the old fool out, I’ll never see a dime. Let’s have a look in the barn and see if he has any livestock worth the taking.”

  “Hell,” Barnfield said, “you can’t just take a man’s property because he owes you money. You’ll have to go to court and get a judgement against him.”

  “I know that,” said Leighton, “but I don’t know that he has anything more than his teams and wagons. Let’s go look in the barn.”

  “Damn,” Nathan growled under his breath, “they’ll find our horses.”

  But the strangers never reached the barn. Cotton Blossom met them, his hackles up, growling ominously.

  “Go back to the buckboard,” Leighton said, “and get the whip.”

  “I’m goin’ back to the buckboard,” Barnfield replied, “but not for the whip. I’ll wait for you there.”

  He retreated, but Cotton Blossom did not. The hound advanced, making it obvious he had no intention of backing off. The portly Leighton then made a big mistake. He turned for the buckboard. He almost made it. He was about to hoist himself to the buckboard’s seat when Cotton Blossom sank his teeth into the seat of his pin-striped trousers and tore fabric.

  “By the Eternal,” Leighton bawled, as Barnfield drove away, “I’ll sue!”

  “I’d think about that,” Barnfield replied. “We were trespassing.”

  In the barn loft, Nathan laughed until he cried, but Eulie wasn’t so jubilant.

  “I’d have paid good money to see that,” said Nathan, wiping his eyes.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Eulie said, “because it could cost us more than money. If that pair does any talking, somebody could connect the dog to us. You heard what he said about Bean being nine months behind with his rent. They were trespassing, so that one Cotton Blossom went after can’t complain about that. But he can go to court, get a judgement against Bean, and come back with the sheriff. They could take our horses and saddles, damn it, as part of Bean’s property, to satisfy his debt.”

  “Like, hell they can,” Nathan said. “I never heard of such, taking a man’s property for back rent.”

  “That doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Eulie replied. “Let’s hope it can’t be done quickly.”

  But as the day dragged on, they saw nobody, and eventually they joined Cotton Blossom in an empty stall near their horses. They drank water from their canteens and chewed on jerked beef from their provisions. Nathan fed Cotton Blossom hunks of jerky, and finally the three of them dozed in the heat of the afternoon. It was near sundown when they finally heard the rattle of wagons, announcing the arrival of Roy Bean and his Mexican teamsters. The wagons were drawn up near the barn. The oxen were unharnessed and turned into an adjoining corral, where Delmano and Renato forked hay down to them. Bean entered the barn, looking for Nathan and Eulie.

  “Well,” he said, finding them, “I reckon nobody come huntin’ you.”

  “No,” said Nathan, “but a pair of hombres was looking for you.”

  “Not really,” Eulie corrected. “We heard them talking, and they had the notion to look around for something of yours they could take for back rent. Their names were Leighton and Barnfield, and it seemed like Leighton’s idea. Cotton Blossom bit him on the behind and they left, with talk of a suit.”

  Bean laughed. “Lord A’mighty, Stone, I got to have me that dog. I’ll give you fifty dollars fer him.”

  “Sorry,” Nathan said, “I can’t part with him. He’s all the family I have left.”

  “Now as I look at ’im a mite closer,” Bean said, “I reckon he does have yer eyes.”

  It was Eulie’s turn to laugh, and Nathan joined in. Bean finally turned serious.

  “I fin’lly collected some freightin’ money that’s been owin’ me since spring. I went by an’ give some to Leighton, to git the greedy varmint off’n my back.”

  “You caught your rent up, then,” Eulie said.

  “Some of it,” said Bean. “Don’t owe fer but five months now.”6

  “Since we can’t go into town,” Nathan said, “how are chances of us going to the house long enough for a decent meal? We’ll bring our own grub.”

  “No need fer that,” Bean said, “an’ I’ll feed the dog too. Come on. Delmano and Renato can eat after they bring them other teams an’ wagons from town.”

  “Speaking of town,” Eulie said, “have the McClendon riders been searching for us?”

  “No,” Bean replied, “an’ you ain’t got to worry about that. McClendon jist slapped a thousand-dollar bounty on each of yer heads, an’ telegraphed the sheriffs in different towns, sendin’ yer names an’ descriptions.”

  “How in hell can he do that?” Nathan exploded. “He’s not the law, and besides, we fired in self-defense.”

  “That’s how powerful he is,” said Bean. “He sent men all over town, an’ they hunted till they found that boardin’ house where you took a room. They got yer names from the register.”

  “Then we won’t be safe wherever we go,” Eulie said.

  “That’s spilt milk,” said Bean.

  They entered the house, and it was just as cluttered as the yard. The living room had no furniture. Instead, there was a pile of wagon canvas, old harness, a saddle, bridles, and four enormous wooden kegs that might have once—and perhaps still—contained whiskey. From there they went directly into the dining room. There was a heavy, handmade X-frame oak table that could easily seat twenty. There was a backless oak bench on each side, each one stretching the length of the table.

  “Set,” Bean commanded. “I know where ever’thing is.”

  Nathan and Eulie took their seats on one side of the table, watching Bean as he fired up an enormous wood stove that squatted in the adjoining kitchen. He made the coffee first, and when it was ready, cheerfully poured it into unmatched cups. He then set about preparing the meal. He brought knives and forks to the table, and then plates, none of which were alike. Finally he brought platters of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes. He refilled the coffee cups, returned the pot to the stove, and took his seat on the other side of the table. There was no talk until the meal was finished. It was Nathan who finally spoke.

  “You sure you want a pair of teamsters that’s dodging the law?”

  “I ain’t sure that’ll be a problem,” said Bean. “You know Texas is under military law, an’ that means most towns has got a guv’ment-appointed sheriff. From what I seen in Austin an’ Houston, lawmen that’s been appointed by the Federals don’t get excited long as it’s Rebs agin Rebs. You gun down a blue coat an’ they’ll set the whole damn army after yer hide. I reckon when old McClendon hollers froggy, San Antonio jumps, but that don’t include the Fe
derals. They’re spread too thin, an’ they’re scared to death of the Comanches.”

  “The soldiers control the telegraph, then,” Nathan said.

  “Damn right they do,” said Bean. “McClendon raised enough hell, I’d say, till they let him send his telegrams, but they won’t mean doodly, comin’ from him. There’s talk the officer in charge in San Antone might get raked over fer allowin’ McClendon to use the telegraph. Jist be ready to move out at first light.”

  August 27, 1866. Bound for Corpus Christi.

  Bean’s wagon led out at dawn. Delmano and Renato followed, while Eulie and Nathan brought up the rear with the fourth and fifth wagons. Both their horses and the packhorse trailed Nathan’s wagon on lead ropes. Nathan had made it his business to be last in line, knowing that Cotton Blossom would follow the wagon. It would lessen the chances of their being surprised from the rear, by Comanches or anyone else. The empty wagons made good time. By Bean’s estimate, fifteen miles.

  “You’d do a hell of a lot better,” Nathan observed, around the supper fire, “if you took a load south from San Antonio. Don’t you ever haul anything to Corpus Christi?”

  “Nothin’ to haul,” Bean replied. “Hell, after four years of war, Texas ain’t got nothin’ to ship out. Ever’thing’s got to be brung in.”

  As Bean had predicted, the Comanches didn’t molest the empty wagons. Sixty miles north of Corpus Christi, they had built their supper fire on the east bank of the Nueces, where the river began its southward journey toward the gulf. Suddenly, Cotton Blossom trotted a few yards downriver, his hackles rising.

  “Somebody’s coming,” said Nathan.

  “Indians, maybe,” Eulie said.

  “No,” Nathan replied. “It’s just one horse.”

  “Keep yer guns handy,” said Bean. “In these times, you don’t give no man the benefit of the doubt.”

  The stranger evidently shared Bean’s skepticism, for he reined up well out of rifle range.

  “Hello the camp,” the rider shouted. “I’m friendly. Got three men down the river a ways, an’ we’ve had Injun trouble.”

  “Ride on in,” Bean responded, “but keep yer hands where we kin see ’em.”

  The stranger rode in, reins looped about the saddle horn, his hands shoulder high. His horse was a bay, and nothing seemed unusual about the man. His black Stetson had seen a lot of dust, wind, and rain, and his flannel shirt and Levi’s pants were far from new. His Colt was tied down on his left hip, butt forward for a crosshand draw. He might have been a drifter or even a cowboy although Nathan noted that he sat a single-rigged saddle.

  “Git down,” Bean invited.

  Warily the stranger dismounted, and Bean said nothing more. While the rider had already told them the nature of his trouble, it was still up to him to state what help he expected of Bean and his companions. He spoke, directing his appeal to Bean.

  “There’s four of us,” he began, “two of ’em bad hurt. I’m Blevins. Me an’ Springer wasn’t hurt. Springer stayed with Coe an’ Walker, while I come lookin’ for help.”

  “Nearest town’s sixty mile away,” said Bean. “How’d you know we was here?”

  “We’re downwind from you,” Blevins said. “I smelt smoke from your fire.”

  Bean nodded, for it was possible.

  “Damn Comanches kilt three of our horses an’ both pack mules,” Blevins continued. “We got no way to get Coe an’ Walker to a doc, an’ no way to move our goods the mules was carryin’. If your wagons ain’t too loaded to make room for us, we’d pay.”

  “Depends,” said Bean, “on where yer headed. We got freight waitin’ fer us in Corpus Christi. I reckon we could take you an’ yer supplies there.”

  “We’d expect nothing more,” Blevins replied. “Must be a doc there, an’ we could buy horses an’ pack mules.”

  “We’ll take two wagons,” said Bean. “One fer the wounded men an’ one fer saddles, packsaddles, an’ the load the mules was carryin’. I’ll take my wagon, an’ Eli, you drive yours. Stone, saddle your horse an’ ride on ahead with Blevins. Delmano, you an’ Renato stay here in camp.”

  It was a strange request, and for a fleeting moment, Nathan thought he caught some alarm in Blevins’s eyes. Nathan saddled his horse, mounted, and followed Blevins downriver, and he believed his own thoughts were in line with Bean’s. In leaving Nathan’s wagon behind, they also were leaving two of the horses. Bean clearly wasn’t sure of this situation, and wanted Nathan mounted and unencumbered by the heavy freight wagon. Nathan caught up to the other rider, for he had a question.

  “Lucky for you, makin’ it to the river,” Nathan said. “Where did the Comanches attack?”

  “Maybe two miles east of where we stood an’ fought,” said Blevins. “We knowed there was water ahead, for we could see some greenery.”

  “After woundin’ two men and leavin’ you afoot,” Nathan said, “it’s some mystery why they didn’t take your scalps and your goods. You must have laid some of them low.”

  “Yeah,” said Blevins. “There was eight of ’em, an’ we gunned down four.”

  Nathan said nothing, but his sharp eyes noted the absence of a rifle on Blevins’s saddle, nor was there a boot for one. While it was possible the four had fought off Comanches with revolvers, it didn’t seem likely. Nathan wanted a look at the saddles belonging to the other riders. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement to his left—unbidden, Cotton Blossom followed.

  Chapter 9

  It took only a few minutes for Nathan and Blevins to reach the place near the river where the four men had stood off the Comanches, and it took just a moment for Nathan to discover that all had not been as Blevins had claimed. The three horses had obviously died as the result of Comanche arrows, but the pack mules had been shot through the head.

  “All this wasn’t Comanche work,” Nathan said. “When they attacked us, they had only bows and arrows. Those mules were shot at close range. Hell, I can see the powder burns from here.”

  “And just what would you of done?” Blevins demanded. “They come down on us out of nowhere, an’ there wasn’t no cover. Not even a mesquite bush. We needed a barricade an’ we needed it quick. Better the mules than us.”

  “Where are the packsaddles and their loads?” Nathan asked.

  “Me an’ Springer managed to tote ever‘thing on to the river,” Blevins replied. “We knowed the Comanches would come back for their dead, even if they done it after dark, an’ we didn’t want ’em takin’ all we had. Hell, we lost enough.”

  When he and Blevins reached the camp near the river, Nathan wasn’t all that surprised to find that, while Coe and Walker had been wounded, the wounds weren’t nearly as serious as Blevins had implied. He introduced his three companions, and Nathan didn’t like the looks of them. Coe was minus his shirt and a dirty bandage covered most of his left shoulder, while Walker’s Levi’s had been slit and his right leg had been swathed in bandages above the knee. Springer, Coe, and Walker—like Blevins—wore range clothes, and each of them was armed with Colts. The butts of the weapons were slick, Nathan noticed, from frequent use. It was immediately apparent that the wounded men, if they had been wounded at all, were in no danger. Nathan saw it as a ploy Blevins had used to influence Roy Bean’s judgment. The four men, gunwise and otherwise, were a salty bunch. Obviously all they needed were horses to replace the mounts they’d lost and a means of transporting the heavy packsaddles. A quick look at the three men’s saddles revealed that only two of them carried rifles. Nathan looked long and hard at the packsaddles, while the four men eyed him. Among them, the four could have carried necessary provisions in their saddlebags and bed rolls. Certainly the enormous canvas-wrapped loads the mules had borne were more than grub and personal belongings.

  Nathan stood beside his horse, waiting for Bean and Eulie to arrive with the wagons. There was something wrong here, and since Bean had made a commitment to these men, it would be up to him to reach some decision. Bean reined up his teams an
d stepped down from the wagon box. Eulie remained where she was while Blevins again introduced his companions.

  Roy Bean wasted no time in saying exactly what Nathan Stone had thought. “By God, Blevins,” he said, “them mules was shot at close range, and yer pards ain’t been more’n nicked, if that. I don’t take kindly to havin’ a man lie to me. You ain’t got enough money to hire my wagons, an’ I won’t take you nowhere without some damn convincin’ talk. Now talk.”

  Bean had his Winchester in the crook of his right arm, but the four men had their eyes on Nathan Stone. He stood with his thumbs hooked in his pistol belt near the butts of his Colts. Eulie had drawn her wagon up beside Bean’s, and now leaned back against the seat, right hand resting near her Colt.

  Blevins bowed to Bean’s ultimatum. “All right, damn it,” he said, “I wasn’t levelin’ with you. I only said what I had to. Like I told Stone, when the Comanches come down on us, we had no cover. We had to fort up quick, an’ it was the mules or us. Now we’re needin’ a wagon—maybe two—so’s we can get to the nearest town. We’re on gover’ment business, an’ you’ll be paid.”

  “I got all the gover‘ment business I can afford,” Bean replied. “You lied to me once, Blevins, an’ if you can’t show some proof you’re with the gover’ment, then the bunch of you can set here till you rot.”

  “I got proof,” Blevins said. “In my shirt pocket.”

  “Use yer left hand,” said Bean, “an’ do it slow.”

  Slowly Blevins complied. He then tossed the object to Bean, who caught it in his left hand. It proved to be a silver star in a circle. The badge of a Texas Ranger.

  “I reckon that covers you,” Bean said, “but it ain’t big enough to cover the rest of these hombres. They got somethin’ like this, it’s time to show it. You first, an’ do it slow.” He pointed the Winchester at Springer.

  Slowly Springer removed another of the silver emblems from a pocket and Bean shifted the muzzle of the Winchester toward Coe, only to be shown a third Ranger symbol.