The Dawn of Fury (6 page)

Nathan ordered roast beef, fried potatoes, onions, apple pie, and coffee. Cotton Blossom got the trimmings from the beef haunch, and there was plenty.

“No charge for him,” said the cook, as Cotton Blossom wolfed down the food. “He's got the trimmings from that beef haunch, and I'd just throw them out, anyhow. Never seen a hound in my life that didn't eat like he was two hours away from death by starvation.”

Being only three or four blocks from his boarding house, Nathan was afoot, and after he and Cotton Blossom left the cafe, Nathan decided to walk another block or two along the street. A buckboard clattered past, going his way, and a young girl was driving. Half a block ahead, as the buckboard neared an alley, a man stepped out and seized the bridle of the horse. He ripped the reins from the girl's hands and led the horse into the shadows. The girl screamed, and Nathan was off and running. By the time Nathan reached the alley, the girl's antagonist had dragged her from the buckboard and had his hand over her mouth so she couldn't cry out again. Nathan drew and cocked his Colt.

“Let her go,” said Nathan.

“I reckon not,” the stranger said. “You drill me, and it'll be through her.”

But the girl was resourceful and the odds changed in a heartbeat. She went limp and slipped out of the man's grasp. His hand flew to the butt of his Colt, but before he cleared leather, Nathan shot him just below the Durham tag that trailed from the left pocket of his shirt. Nathan seized the girl from the ground and hoisted her onto the buckboard's seat. He vaulted to the seat in the driver's position, took the reins and backed the buckboard out into the rutted street. He trotted the horse as fast as he dared, lest they draw unwanted attention, taking the first side street. Only then did he speak to the girl.

“They'll be looking for us,” he said. “Where can we hide ourselves, the horse and the buckboard?”

“Drive to my house,” she said. “There's a barn.”

He followed her directions and they were soon out of town. Although the house and barn seemed secluded, the trip took only minutes, and Nathan judged they were no more than two or three miles from town. The girl got down, opened the gate, and closed it behind them. She again got down when they reached the barn and opened the doors for Nathan to drive in. When she had closed the big doors, Nathan spoke.

“We left a dead man back there, ma'am. While I unhitch the horse and rub him down, maybe you'd better tell me what this is all about. You can start with your name. I'm Nathan Stone.”

“I'm Molly Tremayne, and that was Frank Larkin. He's a brute, and he's been after me for months. Mama and Daddy took a boat to Memphis, and I drove them into town.”

“They'd go to Memphis and leave you here alone?”

“Why not? I'm twenty-one years old, and I've lived here all my life.”

“Well, you were screeching pretty fierce when the brute—old Frank—drug you out of the wagon. Should I have minded my own business and let him have his way with you?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “It's time he was taught a lesson. Daddy always liked Frank, and he'd just laugh when I'd tell him ...”

“So old Frank felt like he had a claim on you,” Nathan said.

“Yes, damn him. He'd waylay me every chance he got, and ...”

“So I shot and killed a man who was about to violate you with your daddy's blessing,” said Nathan.

“He was going to kill you,” she shouted.

“Not until I interrupted his fun,” Nathan said. “How do I know he hasn't had you before, and was just comin' back for seconds?”

Nathan caught the foot she drove at his crotch and threw her flat on her back, her long skirt swirling over her head. She directed some very unladylike language at him so hard his ears rang. Nathan caught her in a bear hug, pinning her arms, kissing her hard on the mouth. She fought furiously, but he didn't let up, and she began to respond. His arms went around her waist and hers around his neck. When they finally came up for air it was Molly who spoke.

“No man's ever had me,” she said softly, “and none ever will. Not until I'm ready. Come on to the house.”

Molly Tremayne was a beautiful woman, with dark shoulder-length hair and deep brown eyes that were almost black. Snow had begun falling, and as the night wore on, Nathan knew he would be there at the dawn. He forgot the dead man in the alley, the vengeance trail that he rode—everything—except that moment. In the lonely years to come, as he rode the long trails, he would not forget young Molly Tremayne, for she was about to leave him a legacy that would haunt him until the day he died.

Cotton Blossom had slept on the hearth, and Molly fed him his breakfast behind the kitchen stove. She then prepared breakfast for Nathan and herself. Little was said until they were finishing their coffee, and it was Molly who finally broke the silence.

“I'll drive you into town for your horse and saddle,” she said.

Nathan had told her nothing about himself except that he had returned following four years with the Confederate army. He eyed the girl uneasily, aware that she was living in a dream that soon must become a nightmare. How was he going to leave her? Did he even want to? He had shared her bed last night, and in all probability, he would do so again tonight. She had given him all a woman had to give. Neither spoke as she drove him into town, allowing him time to think. He had gone to war before he'd been old enough to shave, and this was his first experience with a woman. Now he was beset with conflicting emotions, not knowing how he could ride away and leave her, yet knowing that he must. The hold she had on him was strong, but the oath he had taken on his father's grave was stronger. He directed her to the boardinghouse, and when she reined up before it, he stepped down from the buckboard. When she had driven away, he went to his room, retrieving his saddle and bedroll. Taking a loss on most of a week's rent, he crossed the alley and saddled the black horse. Before leaving town, he stopped and bought a copy of the
St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

There was a piece on the front page of the paper about Frank Larkin's death. Before the police had discovered the body, it had been robbed. Even the dead man's boots had been taken, and robbery was the suspected motive. Nathan sighed. He had killed a man to save a woman's virtue, and had then taken her for himself. And now this woman believed-as she had every right to, after last night—that she had a commitment from Nathan Stone. But she did not know it was a commitment he could not honor without being haunted by the last words of his dying father. Nathan returned to the Tremayne house, rode to the barn, and unsaddled the black horse. Without a word, Molly let him into the house. He sat down at the kitchen table and proceeded to read the rest of the newspaper. When he had finished, he looked up and found her eyes on him. She spoke with some sarcasm.

“Are we just going to sit here and look at one another until it's time to go to bed?”

Nathan felt his face turning nine shades of red and his tongue seemed to have grown to the roof of his mouth. When he finally spoke, it was only to humiliate himself further.

“I .. uh ... was thinkin' of sleepin' in the barn tonight.”

To his total surprise, she laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. She then got up, sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. Embarrassed, unsure of himself, Nathan said nothing. Molly spoke softly.

“I was the ... first?”

“You were,” he admitted. “Was it ... I ... that obvious?”

“No,” she replied. “It's just that I've never seen a man blush before.”

They laughed and Cotton Blossom trotted in from the kitchen to see what was going on. The rest of the day was pleasant, and their second night was spectacular. Lightning struck the next morning during breakfast.

“Now that the war's behind you, what sort of trade do you have in mind, Nathan?” Molly asked.

There it was. She had caught him with a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. Carefully he set the cup down on the table.

“Daddy has influence in town,” she continued. “He could secure you a position ...”

Her voice trailed off as she read the terrible truth in his eyes. Before he spoke, she knew.

“Molly,” he said, the words choking him, “I can't stay here. Please, let me tell you what I must do.”

She sat there in the stoney silence, and with every word he spoke, he could see her slipping farther and farther away from him. When he had finished, the very life seemed to go out of her, and when she finally spoke, her words were bitter.

“Killing these men will accomplish nothing, Nathan, except that in time you'll sink down to their level.”

“Maybe,” said Nathan. “but it was my father's dying request. That means something to me.”

“And I don't? You can just ride away and forget what we have ... ?”

“Damn it,” he shouted desperately, “I didn't say I'm never comin' back. I will. I just don't ... know when.”

“Then I'll make it easy for you,” she shouted. “If you can just ride away, after ... after ... this, then don't bother coming back at all. Now, damn you, get out of here, and if you're determined to go straight to hell, then be on your way.”

Nathan heard her bolt the door behind him, and with heavy heart he walked to the barn, Cotton Blossom following. Returning to town, he left his horse at the livery. He still had his room at the boardinghouse, so he toted his saddle and bedroll up the stairs, dropped them on the floor, and lay down on the bed. Cotton Blossom lay down next to the saddle, watching him.

“Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said, “leave the women alone. They'll keep you walkin' a thin line between heaven and hell, and come the morning, you never know which side of the line you'll be on.”

Having nothing better to do, Nathan went out, bought the latest edition of the
Globe-Democrat
and returned to his room. He stretched out across the bed and on the front page read an account of a bank robbery in Clay County, Missouri. On February 13 the James and Younger gangs had taken sixty thousand dollars from the bank at Liberty, killing one man. The outlaws had made their escape, a posse in pursuit. On page two there was a photograph—an engraving—of a man that brought Nathan to his feet. The accompanying story said the man's name was Bart Hankins, and that he had just returned home to Nevada, Missouri after serving with the Confederacy, and would become the vice president of his father's bank.

“By God,” said Nathan aloud, “that's one of them. The damned albino.”

There was a map on the wall at the railroad depot, and Nathan hunted for Nevada, finally finding it in western Missouri, almost on the Kansas line.

Four days after arriving in St. Louis, Nathan Stone rode out, again heading west. Having added to his supplies before leaving St. Louis, Nathan avoided towns, keeping to open country. He kept his cook fires small, dousing them before dark. Despite Nathan's precautions, the second day after leaving St. Louis, he discovered two riders on his back trail. Each time he topped a rise he watched for them, and they never gained. He was being followed and when the duo made no attempt to get ahead of him, he could draw but one conclusion. They intended to approach his camp after dark and murder him while he slept. Nathan considered an ambush of his own, but he had no long gun, and this was open country. He could get them within range of his Colt only by allowing them to approach his camp after dark, believing that he slept. With that in mind, he made camp before dark, in a cluster of rocks near a creek. He ate broiled ham, drank hot coffee, and fed Cotton Blossom. He then spread his bedroll, placing some stones under the blankets to give them body. The black horse he picketed near the creek. It was already dark, and he settled down a few yards away from his empty bedroll. He drew and cocked his Colt, his left hand restraining Cotton Blossom. While he appreciated the dog's vigilance, this was no time for a warning growl. Fearing the black horse would nicker a warning, his pursuers would have to approach on foot.