The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  “We don’t need two horses,” Nathan said. “Which do you want?”

  “The bay. He’s mine.”

  Nathan unsaddled the roan, and the animal looked questioningly at him. After helping the girl mount the bay, he led the horse toward the place he had left his black. There was a nicker, and when he looked back, the roan was following.

  “Loose my hands,” the girl begged.

  “I would,” Nathan replied, “but for some reason, I don’t trust you. When we reach water and I’ve seen to your wounds, then I’ll turn you loose.”

  Nathan mounted his black, and leading the bay, rode back and reclaimed his packhorse. With Cotton Blossom ranging ahead, and Nathan with two horses on lead ropes, they rounded the hill and headed north. The water, when they reached it, was a spring concealed by willows. It was better than Nathan had expected, for the dense foliage would dissipate smoke, lessening the danger of a fire. After helping the girl to dismount, Nathan unsaddled all three horses, allowing them to roll.

  “Now,” said Nathan to the still-bound girl, “if I turn you loose, can you resist clawing out my eyes while I see to your wounds?”

  “I won’t fight you,” she said. “My leg hurts like hell.”

  “You could lose it,” said Nathan, “if it gets infected.” Nathan untied her hands and she meekly did as he told her, stretching out on her back, her head on her saddle. Nathan started a small fire and put some water on to boil. From his pack he took yard-long lengths of white muslin for bandages, a quart of whiskey, and bottles of laudanum and disinfectant. These he spread on a folded blanket, and when the water began to boil, he brought the pot.

  “I’ll have to cut away the leg of your Levi’s,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “These are all I have. I’ll take them down.”

  “If that’s what you want, go ahead.”

  Raising herself on her elbows, she unbuttoned the Levi’s and slid them down well below the wound. Nathan devoted his attention to her wound. While it wasn’t deep, the skin had been torn. It should have been tended hours ago. Nathan doused it with disinfectant and was about to bind it with muslin when he recalled something his father had once told him. Puncture wounds—animal bites—must drain, and should not be bound, for the healing must begin inside.

  “This wound should be left uncovered until it starts to heal,” Nathan said. “It’ll have to drain some.”

  “Meanin’ I have to lay here until then, with my britches down?”

  “No,” Nathan said. “The bite wasn’t that deep. After a day or two of keeping it clean and applying this disinfectant, it’ll start to heal. If you have fever, that’s a warning sign of infection, and you have to sweat it out before you begin to heal. That’s what the whiskey’s for. This is a good camp, and since there’s a fire going, we might as well eat. Are you hungry?”

  “Near starved. It’s been three ... four days ...”

  Having a closer look at her, he realized how thin she was. Her eyes were blue and her hair was red, and when she smiled—if she ever did—she would have dimples. He made coffee first, and when it was ready, he brought her a steaming cup. Recalling something he had overlooked, he took two extra blankets from his pack.

  “Move over some,” he told the girl. “I forgot your bare backside was on the ground.”

  She moved to one side and he doubled the blanket. When she was again in place, her head on her saddle, there was a heavy wool blanket beneath her. Nathan then removed the damaged Levi’s, covering her with the second blanket.

  “You may sweat some,” he said, “but that’s a good sign. Now I’ll start us some grub.”

  Cotton Blossom had remained in camp, studying this person who had only hours ago been the enemy. Finally he trotted away into the surrounding brush, where he would remain until the food was ready. The girl’s eyes followed Nathan as he prepared the meal. When Nathan took her a tin plate of beans, bacon, and hard biscuits, she had emptied her tin cup, and Nathan refilled it. He watched her eat, and when the tin plate was empty, he replenished it. She finished the second helping and drank the rest of her coffee. Then she sighed and studied Nathan for a moment before she spoke.

  “Why are you doing this? If it hadn’t been for your dog, I’d have done my best to kill you.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Nathan, “unless you’re more than you seemed at first. When we got past all the cussing, clawing, and kicking, I wondered if maybe you would respond to some kindness. I’ve heard talk about man-hating, outlaw horses, but I don’t believe a horse can hate unless he’s given a reason. I wonder if people, like horses, don’t learn to hate because they’ve never known anything else?”

  He had no idea how she might respond, and was amazed when a single tear rolled down her dirty cheek. Then there was a flood of them, as her slender shoulders shook with heart-wrenching sobs. Nathan made no move, for it was something of which she must purge herself. Finally, when she looked at him, he felt like he was seeing a rainbow after the storm.

  “I’m eighteen years old,” she said, “and I’ve never done ... that ... since I was very young.”

  “I reckon it’s time for introductions,’ said Nathan. ”I’m Nathan Stone.”

  “I’m Lacy Mayfield,” said the girl. “I’m from Springfield, Missouri.”

  “I’m from Virginia,” Nathan said. “I was with the Confederacy, and when the war was over, I had nothing left. So I rode West.”

  “I’m ashamed to tell you why I’m here,” she said.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” said Nathan. “I don’t want to know more than you’re comfortable telling me.”

  “But I need to talk,” Lacy said. “I didn’t understand that about myself until ... until you started talking to me ... about hate. The man I was with last night, I ... I didn’t even like, but I ... I ran away with him.”

  “Trouble at home, I reckon,” said Nathan.

  “Oh, God, yes. Pa died when I was young, and Ma married a preacher. He was evil, and I was afraid of him. He wanted me ... took me ... in ways that I knew were wrong. When I went to Ma, she didn’t believe me. The day after I became eighteen, I ... I left with him. Virg Dillard.”

  “Virg Dillard?”

  The third of seven men whose acts had determined the course of Nathan’s life. Dead, Dillard could not be used to obtain information as to the whereabouts of the others. Nathan felt cheated.

  “Did you know Virg Dillard?” Lacy asked.

  “No,” said Nathan, offering the truth and no more. “I heard about him while I was in south Texas. The Rangers believed he was part of a band of renegades holed up here in Indian Territory.”

  “He was,” said Lacy, “but he was on the outs with them. He said they owed him money. He came back to Springfield, and that’s when I ... I met him. He seemed to ... care about me, and he talked of going to Colorado.”

  “But he brought you to Indian Territory,” Nathan said.

  “Yes. He hated the bunch he’d been riding with. He was gonna get even with ’em. But when we caught up to them, some of Quantrill’s bunch had joined the band, and there was twenty or more men.”

  “So old Virg didn’t have that much sand,” said Nathan.

  “No, and then we ran out of food. He said before we rode to Colorado, we must have food.”

  “So he aimed to ambush me and take mine,” Nathan said.

  “Yes. He said you were just one man, and this being Indian Territory, nobody would ever know.”

  “I’d have shared my grub with the both of you,” said Nathan.

  “I know,” she said, swallowing hard. “I listened to him because I ... I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew I ... I couldn’t ever ... go back.”

  For a while, Nathan said nothing, digesting what she had told him. It had a ring of truth, and when her arrogance and hostility had been stripped away, there remained only a frightened, homeless girl. She was his only link to Virg Dillard and Dillard was dead.

  “Did Dillard
tell you why y’all were going to Colorado?”

  “Friends of his were there,” she said. “They were in the army together. There was talk of a silver mine. We were going to Denver.”

  While it wasn’t much of a lead, it was all Nathan had. Those “friends” might well be the very renegades he was looking for.

  “I’ve never been to Colorado,” Nathan said. “It might be a good place to spend some time until the hard times that followed the war have eased up.”

  “I have no right to ask this,” she said, “but will you take me with you? I have only the clothes I am ... was ... wearing, and my horse and saddle. Since I have no money, there’s just one thing I can offer, and it ... that’s been used.”

  “Your disposition has improved considerable,” said Nathan. “All I’d want from you is the promise you won’t gun me down some dark night.”

  “Please don’t remind me of last night,” she pleaded. “If it’s any help, I’ve never fired a gun in my life. Virg told me to ... to get your attention, to just fire in the air.”

  “Count your blessings,” Nathan said. “If you’d fired first, I’d have shot you, which would have given him time to shoot me. He was counting on that. Let’s put that behind us. If we’re riding to Colorado, let’s talk about something more pleasant. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, and she almost smiled.

  “We’ll stay here the rest of the day and tonight,” said Nathan. “If you don’t have fever by tonight, you should be able to ride by tomorrow.”

  Eventually she slept, awaking as Nathan was starting supper. Feeling her eyes on him, he turned.

  “The coffee woke me,” she said.

  “It’s ready,” Nathan replied. “I’ll get you some.” Filling a tin cup, he took it to her. He placed the flat of his hand on her forehead. It was slightly moist.

  “I feel all right,” she said. “The food and coffee was what I needed.”

  “Maybe so,” said Nathan. “You don’t have any fever. After supper, I’ll see to that gash on your head and pour some more disinfectant into the wound on your leg.”

  Nathan had a breakfast fire going when Lacy awoke. When the coffee was ready, he filled a tin cup and took it to her. Feeling her forehead, there still was no sign of fever.

  “I’m all right,” she said, “but I need to wash. I’ve been sweating under this blanket.”

  “After breakfast,” Nathan said, “I’ll boil some water. I have soap, too.”

  While the water was boiling, Nathan took from his pack some soap, a pair of his Levi’s, and a shirt.

  “The shirt and Levi’s are too big for you,” he said, “but you need something to wear until we reach a town. Then we’ll buy some that fit.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll leave you alone for a while,” said Nathan. “I’ll load the packhorse and saddle our horses.”

  Nathan led out, and with Lacy following, they rode northwest. Cotton Blossom ran on ahead. Nathan, mindful of that large band of outlaws with whom Virg Dillard had ridden, was thankful for the dog’s vigilance. An hour or more before sundown, they came upon a swift-flowing creek. Following it a ways, they reached a secluded hollow.

  “We’ll camp here,” Nathan said. “There’s about enough time to cook some grub and put out the fire before dark.”

  The night passed without incident. Come first light, Nathan was about to saddle the horses when Cotton Blossom growled a warning. The packhorse nickered and there came a distant answer.

  “Trouble,” said Nathan. “Stand fast and try not to look scared.”

  Three Indians rode in from the northeast. They were gaunt and their mounts even more so. They reined up a few yards away, their eyes on Nathan’s packsaddle. The spokesman for the trio grunted and then spoke.

  “Much hungry. Want eat.”

  Nathan nodded, pointing to the still-smouldering fire. They soon had the fire going. Nathan filled the coffee pot, suspending it over the fire from an iron spider. From the pack he removed a pot with what remained of yesterday’s beans, along with most of a side of bacon. He pointed to the food, telling them in sign language they were to do their own cooking. They looked at the cold beans and laughed uproariously. With their knives they hacked off rashers of bacon and wolfed it down raw. Finished, they wiped greasy hands on buckskin leggings and went after the coffee. One of them removed the lid and they took turns drinking from the pot. Cotton Blossom regarded the trio with hostility, growling when one of the Indians took a step toward him.

  “Much grub,” the Indian shouted, pointing at Cotton Blossom. His hand was on the haft of the Bowie knife that rode under the waistband of his buckskins.

  “No,” Nathan said, his hands near the butts of his Colts. Nathan hoped that would be the end of it, that the three would mount and ride away, but they didn’t. The one who had been first to speak spoke again.

  “Tabac,” he said. “Want tabac.”

  “No tabac,” said Nathan. He pointed to himself, shaking his head. They may or may not have understood that he had no tobacco because he didn’t use it. They mounted their horses and rode south.

  “My God,” said Lacy, “would they eat a dog?”

  “They would,” Nathan said. “From what I’ve heard, some tribes fatten them for that purpose. Let’s saddle up and ride.”

  Each time they stopped to rest the horses, Nathan studied the back trail. While there was no sign of the three, Nathan was uneasy. They had shown too much interest in Nathan’s pack. While they had been armed with only bows, arrows, and knives, they were in their element, and that was a definite edge. But nothing disturbed the quiet. They were passing through a stand of large oaks and suddenly an arrow tore through Nathan’s arm, above his left elbow. With perfect timing, an Indian dropped from a branch overhead. He came down behind Nathan, driving a Bowie toward his throat, but instead it plunged in deep, just below Nathan’s left collar bone.

  The two tumbled to the ground, the Indian on top. He raised his arm for another thrust with the Bowie, only to have Cotton Blossom leap on him like an avenging terror. Nathan was free, but only for a moment. The other two Indians had taken advantage of their comrade’s diversion, and now they rushed Nathan, their Bowies drawn. Nathan drew his right-hand Colt and shot one of them, but the other slammed into him and they went down. Nathan tried to hump the Indian off, and the blade thrust at his belly was driven deep into his right thigh. Suddenly there was a shot, and Nathan’s assailant was flung flat on his back. Lacy hadn’t been armed, but she had taken the Winchester from Nathan’s saddle. The remaining Indian had lost his Bowie and was fighting for his life, as Cotton Blossom went for his throat. But the dog was bleeding from many cuts, and when Nathan had a clear shot, he killed the Indian. Cotton Blossom sank down, panting. Lacy dropped the Winchester and ran to Nathan.

  “I got your rifle as quick as I could,” she said. “You’re bad hurt.”

  “Yeah,” said Nathan. “I’m losing blood. Take my bandanna and knot it tight, just above the thigh wound. The others will have to wait. Bring me my horse. We must find water, make camp.”

  Somehow Nathan mounted his horse, and with Lacy leading the packhorse, they rode on. Cotton Blossom followed, leaving a trail of blood. The water, when they reached it, was a spring. Nathan was dizzy and all but fell out of the saddle. Lacy unsaddled the horses and managed to remove the packsaddle from the packhorse. She spread Nathan’s blankets, brought his saddle for a pillow, and helped him to lie down.

  “I’ll get a fire going,” Lacy said, “and boil some water. I’ve never done anything like this before. You’ll have to help me.”

  Nathan said nothing. Unlike gunshot wounds, which for a while were numb, knife and arrow wounds wasted no time. They hurt like hell immediately. Lacy learned quickly, and despite her inexperience, she kept her nerve at the sight of blood. With steady hands, she cleansed the wounds with the hot water. The arrow had cut through the flesh of the upper arm, and when the shaft had been broken, the de
adly missive was easily removed. The knife wounds were far more serious. The blade had gone deep, and cleansing them did little to stop the bleeding.

  “Bring some mud from the spring,” Nathan said. “Lay it on thick over the knife wounds. If we can’t stop the bleeding, I’m done.”

  Lacy brought the mud and halted the bleeding. She applied disinfectant—fiery alcohol—to the less serious arrow wound and bound it with muslin. She then covered Nathan with one of the blankets. Little more could be done until they were sure the bleeding had stopped.

  “Cotton Blossom’s cut near as bad as you,” said Lacy. “While we wait for your bleeding to stop, I’ll see to him, if he’ll let me.”

  “If he’s hurtin’ half as bad as me, he’ll let you,” Nathan said.

  Timid at first, Lacy approached Cotton Blossom with the pot of hot water and some of the clean muslin.

  “I won’t hurt you any worse than you’re hurtin’ already, Cotton Blossom,” said the girl. “Just rest easy and let me work on you.”

  Cotton Blossom didn’t flinch as she washed the blood from his many cuts. Some of them needed an application of mud to stop the bleeding, while others could be cleansed with hot water and disinfectant.

  “You can’t bandage him,” Nathan said. “When you’ve cleaned the wounds and applied disinfectant, use a coat of sulfur salve. There’s a tin of it in my saddlebag.”22

  By the time Lacy went to the saddlebag for the sulfur salve, Nathan was snoring. She found the tin of salve, but in so doing, discovered the canvas bag that contained ten thousand dollars in double eagles. It all but took her breath away, for she had never seen more than a handful of the coins in her life. How could one man honestly accumulate such riches? Had she rid herself of one outlaw only to tie in with another? The more she considered the possibility, the less likely it seemed. She had conspired with Virg Dillard to murder Nathan Stone while he slept. Nathan had, on the other hand, treated her only with kindness, never once even suggesting that she sleep with him. Now he was hurt and needed her, but she had a horse and a sackful of gold for the taking. She fought down the temptation, ashamed of having considered it. She carefully replaced the canvas sack in the saddlebag, fastening the buckle afterward. She smeared Cotton Blossom’s wounds with the salve and he watched her every move.