Autumn of the Gun (50 page)

Nathan telegraphed his acceptance and the instrument became silent. He then wrote out Silver's message to the U.S. marshal in a more legible manner and turned to the curious telegrapher.

“I'm obliged for the use of your key, pardner. Sorry I can't tell you what this is all about, but I reckon you'll be hearing after it's over.”

When Nathan reached the U.S. Marshal's office, he introduced himself and passed the telegraphed message to Jim Blanchard.

“I've never encountered anything like this,” said the lawman after reading the strange telegram.

“Let me tell you the story as I told it to Silver,” Nathan said. “Then you're welcome to telegraph Washington to confirm it all. Silver and I have been friends for a long time.”

“You talk,” said Blanchard, “and I'll listen.”

Nathan told the story from start to finish, including the killing of two of the men who had pursued him.

“So there's still six of them,” Blanchard said.

“Yes,” said Nathan, “but they know I've reached Santa Fe and I expect them to run for it, abandoning the wagon.”

“But we can't count on that,” Blanchard said. “If they murdered the military escort—six men—they have a big stake in this wagonload of explosive. While they can't outrun us with the wagon, they can always hole up and ambush us. That would buy them some time to try and get the wagon out of the territory.”

“If they've abandoned the wagon,” said Nathan, “we'll need mules.”

“I'll get a couple of teams and the necessary harness at the livery,” Blanchard said. “I see no point in riding after them today. It'll be dark in another hour, and if they're waiting to bushwhack us, we'd be asking for it.”

“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.”

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.”

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.”