“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“My name is Stone,” Nathan shouted, “and I’m lookin’ for a quiet place where I ain’t likely to be bothered, if you know what I mean.”
“I reckon I know what you mean,” the voice said, and there was a some sly laughter. “Ride on the way you’re headed. Just don’t do anything funny with your hands.”
Nathan rode on. He came to a spring, and beyond it, through the pines, he could see the shake roof of a shack. As he neared the shack, he was aware that the rifleman who had challenged him was now behind him. The man spoke.
“That’s far enough.”
Nathan reined up, waiting. A man emerged from the shack, and he was armed as though he had just fought a war or was about to start one. There was a pistol in a tied-down holster on each hip, a third such weapon shoved under the waistband of his dark trousers, and a Winchester in the crook of his right arm. A bandolier of Winchester shells was slung over his left shoulder. His dress was that of a Mexican, including a high-crowned sombrero. A black vest embroidered in red partially hid a sweat-stained ruffled shirt that had once been white.
“I am El Gato, segundo of Cocodrilo Rancho,” he said.36
“I am Silver,” Nathan replied. “What do you expect of me?”
“I will ask the questions, señor, and you will answer them. How do you know of this place?”
“Your pet coon took a shot at me and brought me here with a Winchester at my back,” said Nathan grimly. “Now what do you expect of me?”
“One hundred American dollars for each month you remain here, in advance. For this you have a place to sleep and you are under my protection. You will supply your own food.”
“That’s almighty high for a place to sleep,” Nathan said, “and I don’t care a damn for your protection.”
“Oh, but you should, señor,” said El Gato, jacking a shell into the Winchester’s chamber. “Without it, you are dead.”
It was as slick a shakedown as Nathan had ever seen. He would be forced to remain until they picked him clean. Then he might or might not escape with his life, but he couldn’t count on that. For the time being, he must play along. He dug into his pocket, taking a handful of double eagles, counting out five. He took a step forward.
“Stay where you are,” El Gato commanded. “Breed?”
The unshaven man who had challenged Nathan stepped up from behind and took the gold. Only then did El Gato’s manner change slightly. From a vest pocket he took a thin cigar, stuck it between his teeth, and spoke around it.
“You are welcome here, Señor Silver, until you betray my trust. Then I kill you. Breed, you will guide him to the bunk house.”
Behind El Gato, the door of the cabin opened. A dark-haired girl stood there, barefooted and in rags. She was American, and didn’t look more than sixteen, if that. Breed’s greedy eyes were on her, and she hurriedly closed the door. Breed turned his attention back to Nathan, pointing northwest with the muzzle of the Winchester. Nathan set out in that direction, leading his horses. Cotton Blossom slunk out of the brush where he had taken refuge, for he had developed an immediate dislike for Breed and El Gato. The bunkhouse was almost half a mile beyond El Gato’s cabin. Long and low, it was built of logs, with a shake roof. At each end was a chimney and a heavy oak door. At intervals, below the eaves, were cutouts for rifle barrels, a last line of defense against Indian attacks. Smoke curled from one of the chimneys. To the left of the bunkhouse was a corral, and Nathan counted fifteen horses.
“Unsaddle your hoss an’ unload the pack hoss,” said Breed.
Nathan unsaddled the black and unloaded the packhorse. Breed led the animals to the corral and turned them loose with the rest of the stock. For the lack of anything better to do, Nathan shouldered his saddle and started toward the bunkhouse. He was puzzled. El Gato was treating him as though he were a prisoner, yet he had been allowed to keep his weapons. Nathan could only play along until he learned what they had in store for him.
He stepped into the bunkhouse unannounced, and within a split second every man had his hand on the butt of his Colt. There was no light except that from the open door and the fire that blazed in the fireplace. Nathan counted eleven men when he was finally able to see into the gloom. While there were many bunks, everybody had congregated in one end of the bunkhouse, probably so they only had to feed one fire. Most of the men simply reclined on their bunks, some of them smoking quirlys. One, however, sat on a three-legged stool running chords and fingering soft notes from a guitar. The bunks were two-tiered along both walls. Each consisted of a heavy cedar frame with latticed—crisscrossed—strips of cowhide as wide as a man’s hand. Nathan chose a lower bunk, leaving his saddle on it, while he went out for the packsaddle. He found Breed lifting the edge of the canvas that covered his pack. Nathan paused, saying nothing, his thumbs hooked in his pistol belt. Breed stood up, his eyes lighted with anticipation. But Nathan didn’t follow through, and Breed backed away. Near the corral, Nathan saw Cotton Blossom. As long as he remained at Cocodrilo Rancho, he would have to feed the dog outside. Cotton Blossom, Nathan thought wryly, used better judgement in choosing his companions than did Nathan himself. When Nathan entered the bunkhouse with the packsaddle, he found the bunk he had chosen had been claimed by another, and his saddle lay on the rough floor.
“Gents,” he said mildly, lowering the packsaddle to the floor, “I aim to have one of these bunks. If any man of you wants a different one, he’d best claim it now. The next one I choose, I aim to keep.”
Nobody said anything, and he chose yet another lower bunk. A big man got up off the lower bunk whose head was near the foot of the one Nathan had taken. He was two or three inches taller than Nathan, outweighed him by thirty pounds, and his doubled fists looked as big as hams. If a bullfrog could have spoken, its voice would have matched his.
“My name’s Yokum,” he said, “an’ when I turn in, I pile my boots an’ hat on that bunk. I reckon you’ll find it a mite crowded.”
“I don’t think so,” Nathan replied. “Your hat and boots won’t be there.”
Nathan backed away from Yokum’s first punch and threw one of his own. His right connected with Yokum’s chin, and it was like slugging an oak. The big man staggered but didn’t go down. He tried to trap Nathan in a bear hug and Nathan backed away. The man with the guitar retreated to the far end of the bunkhouse, while others sought the security of upper bunks. Nathan was more agile than his opponent, but when Nathan stumbled over his saddle, he fell back against the frame of an upper bunk and Yokum took advantage. He wrapped his big arms around Nathan and began to squeeze. While it was dirty fighting and left him wide open for retaliation, Nathan drove his right knee into Yokum’s groin. Yokum groaned, involuntarily loosing his grip, and Nathan was free. He needed to catch his breath, but there wasn’t time. Again he threw a right, connecting with Yokum’s chin, and had the satisfaction of seeing Yokum stagger, but the big man didn’t go down.
Yokum’s next move took Nathan completely by surprise. The big man just threw himself at Nathan like a pouncing cougar, and they went down. Nathan’s head struck the heavy cedar frame of a lower bunk, and it was a struggle to remain conscious. He tried to kick free, but Yokum had caught his legs and was working his way up Nathan’s struggling body. Nathan swung blindly, and more by luck than anything else, smashed Yokum’s nose. The pain was such that he loosed his grip on Nathan, and using his elbows on the floor, Nathan was able to grasshopper himself backward. He then drove his right foot as hard as he could, and the boot heel slammed into Yokum’s chin. Yokum lay there belly down, breathing hard. Nathan got to his feet, sucking air into his starved lungs. Finally he sat down on the lower bunk he had chosen. Yokum sat up, wiping his still-bleeding nose on his shirtsleeve. He spoke in his bullfrog voice.
“I reckon I’ll just leave my boots an’ hat on the floor, under my bunk.”
While Nathan didn’t have to prove himself again, he still was an outsider. After the fight, Yo
kum spoke pleasantly to him, as did Kalpana, the Spaniard who played the guitar. The others—Breed, Kirkham, Vanado, Tarno, Wolf, York, Peyton, Fortner, and Hickman—remained distant. When Nathan had been there two weeks, he began to understand his position. El Gato rode out early one morning, taking all the men with him except Nathan, Breed, and Kirkham. Neither of the pair remaining with Nathan talked to him, and he began to have a better understanding of his status. El Gato and these other men were actually one of the renegade bands holed up in Indian Territory. Nathan had been allowed to keep his weapons because he was suspected of being an outlaw. In time, he would be expected to prove himself worthy of becoming a member of the renegade bunch. If he failed to measure up, then his death would be swift and sure.
The second day El Gato and the bunch were absent, Nathan managed to get away from the bunkhouse and the watchful eyes of Breed and Kirkham. As long as he didn’t go near the corral, where the horses were, his watchful companions seemed unconcerned with him. The first time he and Cotton Blossom walked to the spring, Breed followed, seeming satisfied when they drank from the runoff. In the afternoon, Nathan and Cotton Blossom again went to the spring, and this time, they weren’t followed. El Gato’s cabin stood between the bunkhouse and the spring, and it was Nathan’s hope that he might again see the young girl he had seen briefly his first day there. But not until the third day of El Gato’s absence did he see her again. She stood in the door looking at him, but when he lifted his hand in greeting, she quickly closed the door. Before he saw her again, before he could talk to her, El Gato and his men returned. They had been gone six days, and, at least by their standards, the raid had been successful. They drove before them nine horses, three of them with heavy packs. Some of the men had burlap sacks behind their saddles.
Nathan was expecting some ultimatum from El Gato and he wondered how long he must wait for a confrontation. He got his answer to that the second day following the return of the renegades, when the outlaw leader sent Breed to fetch him. This time, Nathan was ushered into the small cabin. El Gato sat in a big rocking chair, with his boots off and without the bandolier of shells draped over his shoulder. He nodded to a straight-backed chair, and Nathan sat down. He allowed his eyes to roam around the room. There was very little furniture. Instead, there were two saddles, most of a hundred-pound sack of grain, bridles, and various other horse gear. Other items seemed so out of place, Nathan felt certain they had been stolen. The door to the next room wasn’t a door at all, but a blanket hung over the opening.
“Señor Silver, for the next week, during daylight hours, you will take your turn at sentry duty. Three weeks from today, we have some ... ah ... business to attend to. You shall ride with the others, and we shall see whether you are worthy of becoming one of us.”
Nathan said nothing. While he had no intention of becoming a member of El Gato’s band of thieves and killers, any objection at this time would only assure him of a fatal dose of lead poisoning. He must devise some means of escape, and it wasn’t going to be easy. He began his sentry duty, stationing himself behind an upthrust of stone, half a mile beyond the spring. When he became drowsy and boredom overtook him, he walked back to the spring for a drink. The weather was unseasonably warm for December. Cotton Blossom spent most of the first day with him on sentry duty and then took to roaming the woods. None of the outlaws bothered Nathan, for his saddle was in the bunkhouse and both his horses in the corral. One afternoon, after he had become particularly weary of sentry duty, he started back to the spring for water. While Cotton Blossom had begun the day with him, the dog had quickly satisfied his own boredom by wandering away. As Nathan neared the spring, he heard a voice. A soft female voice. He crept closer and found the girl from El Gato’s cabin carrying on a one-sided conversation with Cotton Blossom. While Nathan was unable to understand the words, he could hear the sorrow and misery in her voice. Her arms were around Cotton Blossom and he sat there patiently, as though aware of her distress. At Nathan’s approach, Cotton Blossom barked once. The girl sprang to her feet, but before she could run, Nathan spoke.
“That’s my dog, ma’am, and I won’t hurt you. Please stay and talk.”
“If I’m caught, he’ll beat me,” she said, “and he’ll kill you.”
“Then we’ll both have to take some risk,” Nathan replied. “Who are you, and why are you here in Indian Territory with outlaws?”
“I’m Mary Holden,” she said timidly, “and I’m here because they brought me here. They burned our place in Kansas and shot my ma and pa.” Her face paled but she didn’t cry, and that said a lot for her.
“How old are you, Mary, and how long have you been here?”
“I just turned seventeen,” she said, “and I’ve been here almost a year. Are you ... one of them?”
“No,” said Nathan, “and I’m counting on you to keep my secret. Somehow I aim to escape, and I’ll take you with me. Will you trust me?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she cried, hope brimming in her eyes. “When?”
“I don’t know,” said Nathan. “They’re riding out again in a few days, and I must ride with them. I may have to wait until we’re far from here, free myself of them, and ride back for you. Have you been harmed ... in any way?”
“No,” she said, “but he ... the pig . . . makes me take off my clothes and ... he ... just looks at me. He tells the others he will take me to Mexico and . . . sell me.”
“Put that out of your mind,” said Nathan, “because it’s not going to be that way. I can’t come looking for you, so you’ll have to find me. I can get to the spring without being followed. Watch for me. I’ll be here at least two or three days before I ride out with them. Does he always leave men here when they ride out?”
“Yes,” she said. “At least two. He wouldn’t dare leave me alone.”
“I can handle two of them,” said Nathan, “but not the whole pack. Just remember, next time they ride out, I’ll be going with them. But I’ll be back for you. I don’t know just when, because it’ll depend on how soon I’m able to break away. Just don’t say or do anything to arouse suspicion.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I don’t talk to him, and he won’t let the others come near me. I’d best be going back.”
With a final tug on Cotton Blossom’s ears, she started back. Nathan felt his temper rising. While he might rescue Mary Holden, how long would it take El Gato to replace her with another unfortunate girl? He drank from the cool water of the spring and started back to his post, Cotton Blossom following.
Indian Territory. January 24, 1871.
Three more times Nathan was able to speak to Mary Holden, the third time the day before El Gato’s band was to ride out. That same afternoon, El Gato sent for Nathan, and this time he came immediately to the point.
“We are withdrawing some money from the bank at Wichita,” he said. “I will take three men into the bank with me. You will be one of the three. We ride in the morning at dawn.”
When they rode out, only Breed and Kirkham were left behind. Every man carried enough rations in his saddlebags for four days. Nathan had brought enough jerked beef to share with Cotton Blossom. While the dog disliked all the outlaws, he would follow Nathan, probably at some distance. The weather had turned bitter cold right after the first of the year, and there had been a continual threat of snow. Nathan wanted it, needed it, if he were to escape from the outlaws. He must break away and return to Cocodrilo Rancho before El Gato discovered what he had in mind. His packsaddle and packhorse were still there, of course, but so were Breed and Kirkham. The big unanswerable question was whether or not El Gato would delay his raid in Wichita to pursue Nathan Stone. The nearer they were to Wichita when Nathan broke loose, the greater a possibility the renegades would let Nathan go and continue without him. Or so Nathan hoped.
Come dawn of their second day on the trail, the snow started. At first it was fine, mixed with sleet that rattled off their hat brims and stung their faces as it was whipped on a rising wind. Finally
the snow took on all the porportions of a blizzard, making it difficult for a rider to see the man and horse ahead of him. Eventually El Gato led them to the lee side of a ridge, clothed with a thick stand of pines. It was all the shelter they were likely to find. Already the snow was deep enough to supply them with water. There was no sun, but a quick look at his watch told Nathan they were less than two hours away from nightfall. There were many fallen pines, some resinous, so the outlaws built a roaring fire. El Gato seemed especially pleased. They weren’t far south of Wichita, and it might well snow all night. What better time to rob the bank than during a blinding snowstorm? There was hot coffee, and the ridge offered some protection from the howling wind. Nathan found Cotton Blossom near the picketed horses, and fed the dog some jerked beef.
“Yokum, Vanado, and Hickman, you will stay awake and feed the fire until midnight. Fortner, Peyton, and York, you will take over at midnight and feed the fire until dawn.”
It was the sensible thing to do, for when the wind howled across the plains and the snow lay deep, even marauding Indians sought shelter. Most of the renegades spread their blankets as near the roaring fire as possible, and Nathan allowed them to take all the available space. It suited his purpose to remain on the outer fringes, for he intended to ride away at the first opportunity. There was a possibility, with Yokum, Vanado, and Hickman well away from the fire gathering more wood, that Nathan might reach his horse unseen. Once in the saddle, he could give the black its head, for the horse had been at Cocodrilo Rancho long enough to consider the corral home. There was even a chance, Nathan thought, that he might escape and not be missed until the next morning.
The snow continued, and there being nothing else to do, the outlaws had rolled in their blankets. Nathan followed their example, waiting for the trio of fire tenders to drag in more dead pines. As soon as they were so engaged, he quickly rolled his blankets and made his way to where the horses were tied. His hands were numb with cold before he managed to get the black saddled. He led the animal for half a mile before climbing into the saddle. Cotton Blossom was a dark shadow against the white of the snow, loping along beside him. He gave the black its head, bowing his own, for the wind still whipped the snow in from the west. That and the intuition of the faithful black horse was all that told him he was riding south. At times he reined up to listen, but heard only the lonely shriek of the wind. He rode on, not knowing where he was or how far he had ridden, for time stood still. Somewhere a pine limb snapped under its burden of snow. The forest through which he rode assured him he was back in Indian Territory and offered some welcome protection from wind and snow. Despite the bone-chilling cold and the deepening snow, he was compelled to stop at intervals and rest the black. He walked about, stomping his feet in a vain attempt to restore circulation. He removed his gloves, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He was tempted to find a place to hole up for the night, but without a fire he could freeze to death in his sleep. Besides, El Gato and the renegades might be pursuing him. The old varmint just might be vindictive enough to mount a search for him, snowstorm or not. So he rode on. When the dawn came, it was almost unnoticable, for the sky lightened only a little. Reaching a stream, Nathan reined up and dismounted. After the black had rested, Nathan took a sack of rye from behind his saddle and poured his hat a third full. He held the hat while the black horse hungrily devoured the contents. He then watered the animal, shared what was left of the jerked beef with Cotton Blossom, and rode on.
The Dawn of Fury Page 45
