Autumn of the Gun (12 page)

His mind a mixture of dread and fury, Nathan was forced to approach the bench.

“Nathan Stone,” Judge McClendon said, “this court sentences you to five years in the state prison at Huntsville, Texas.”

 

Five days following his arrest, his wound still paining him, Nathan straddled a horse between two sheriffs deputies bound for Huntsville, sixty miles to the north. When the terrain grew rough and the thickets plentiful, Nathan occasionally caught sight of Empty. The dog was following him, but he couldn't follow beyond the formidable walls of Huntsville prison. All too soon they reached the prison and the gate was swung open. Nathan was then handed over to the prison guards, taken into the depths of the prison, and locked in a cell. There was a hard bunk with a straw tick, an earthen slop jar, and nothing else. On a wall outside the cell a bracket lamp burned. But for that, there was perpetual gloom, for there wasn't even a window. With a clang of finality, the iron-barred door was slammed shut and locked. Somewhere down the cell block, there was a cackle of insane laughter that faded to an anguished moan. Then there was only eerie silence.

 

For five days and nights, Empty never left the vicinity of the prison. Three times he tried to gain entry, only to be chased away by guards. During his third attempt, he narrowly missed being hit when the guards fired at him. At the start of the sixth day, half-starved, the hound walked slowly toward the rising sun. Uncertain, he paused, looking back at the distant prison. It was a cold, forbidding place, and with Nathan Stone lost to him, he longed for the only home he had ever known. He set out in a determined lope for New Orleans and the McQueen place, more than three hundred and fifty miles to the east.

 

The ride from Houston had aggravated Nathan's wound, and after the prison doctor had examined him, he was left alone for almost a week. At the start of the sixth day, after breakfast, one of the guards unlocked the heavy, iron-barred door.

“Stone, you've been assigned to the prison laundry. That is, if you got no objections.”

The guard laughed uproariously, and Nathan said nothing. It was boring, tedious work, and whatever the weather outside, inmates assigned to the laundry were perpetually drenched with sweat. Nathan had no doubt that when he had been missing for a sufficient length of time, Barnabas McQueen would begin searching for him. Until then, he could only wait.

“Nathan should have returned a week ago,” said Barnabas McQueen. “If he isn't here by tomorrow, and we have no word, I'll telegraph my friend in San Antonio.”

“After the experience we had,” Bess said, “I'm afraid someone may have stolen—or tried to steal—the horses from him. Perhaps he's hurt.”

“We ought to go looking for him,” said Vivian, “but we're only six days away from the race in Vicksburg.”

“Damn the race,” McQueen said. “I haven't paid the entry fee. Tomorrow I'll ride into town and telegraph San Antonio. At least we'll know whether he got there. If he was able pick up the horses, then there could have been foul play on the return trip.”

But the situation didn't wait until morning. During supper there was frantic barking at the back door. When Barnabas opened the door, Empty came bounding into the kitchen.

“Nathan must be coming,” said Vivian excitedly.

“No,” said Barnabas. “Empty looks near starved; he's had to have been without food for maybe two weeks. That's how long ago something happened to Nathan Stone.”

Hungry as he was, Empty turned back toward the door, bidding them follow.

“He wants us to follow him,” Vivian said.

“I wish it was that simple,” said Barnabas. “On good horses, we're a week away from San Antonio. If Nathan's in trouble or hurt, we may not have that much time.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Vivian cried.

“I'm riding to town today,” said Barnabas. “I'll wire Byron Silver in Washington. He has the necessary connections to contact the authorities in San Antonio, as well as the Texas Rangers in Austin.”

“It's late in the day,” Bess said. “Washington will likely be shut down until tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe,” said Barnabas, “but I know Silver. Where his friends are concerned, he'll be there, day or night.”

When Barnabas reached the telegraph office, it was past seven o'clock in the evening. Addressing the telegram to twenty-one, Office of the Attorney General, Washington, D.C., he quickly wrote a short message requesting Silver's personal attention before he supplied any details. His message read:

He signed his name, paid for the telegram, and settled down to wait.

“I ain't meanin' to be nosey,” said the telegrapher, “but I expect Washington's closed up for the day. You likely won't get an answer till sometime tomorrow.”

“You may be right,” Barnabas said, “but I'll wait awhile.” Forty-five minutes later the instrument began to chatter and the telegrapher took the brief message. It read:

Barnabas wrote rapidly, telling the little he knew and much he suspected, asking Silver to investigate the possibility of foul play by contacting Texas authorities. Silver responded in a matter of minutes. Brief and to the point, the telegram said:

The telegram was unsigned. Barnabas mounted and rode out, satisfied that he had done all he could do. If Silver could learn nothing through Texas authorities, Barnabas had but one other possibility. He would have to ride to Texas on his own, depending on Empty to lead him to Nathan. He found Bess and Vivian anxiously awaiting his return. Quickly he told them of Silver's response.

“I believe you did the right thing,” Vivian said. “Nathan's called on Silver before, and since he hasn't this time I fear that for some reason he's unable to.”

“That's what's bothering me,” said Barnabas. “It's a hell of a temptation not to saddle up and follow Empty back to wherever he left Nathan, but we don't know what's happened to him, or the circumstances. With the telegraph, Silver can accomplish more in a day than I could in a week. Chances are, he'll have some answers by tomorrow, and he may be in a position to get Nathan some immediate help.”

Byron Silver was in his office two hours early. Quickly he composed telegrams to the Texas Ranger outposts at Austin, San Antonio, and Houston. There wasn't a Ranger in south Texas who didn't know of Nathan Stone. When Ranger Captain Sage Jennings was gunned down from ambush, it was Nathan Stone who tracked the killer all the way to New Mexico, taking revenge for the fallen Ranger. The Rangers had never forgotten, and never would.
¹²

Silver remained in his office, watching the clock. The Ranger outposts in Austin and San Antonio responded first. They had no word, but offered help should there be a need for it. Silver cursed under his breath as he read the response from the Ranger outpost in Houston:

Silver wrote an immediate response:

Silver then prepared a telegram to be sent to Barnabas McQueen. It said:

After the telegrams had been sent to the Rangers at Houston and to McQueen in New Orleans, Byron Silver requested and received permission to absent himself from his office for a month. He then booked passage on a sailing ship that would depart for Corpus Christi, Texas the following morning.

“It's two o'clock,” said Barnabas. “I'm riding to town. If there's no answer, I'll wait at the telegraph office.”

“He's not a patient man,” Bess said when Barnabas had gone.

“I know exactly how he feels,” said Vivian. “I'm afraid of what that telegram will say, afraid something's happened to Nathan.”

The telegram from Silver was there when Barnabas arrived. He read it twice, not believing what it said. He mounted and rode out at a fast gallop. When he reached the house, Bess and Vivian met him before he could dismount. Without a word he passed them the flimsy yellow paper with its shocking message.

“My God,” said Bess when she had read the message, “how could anything so terrible happen so quickly? It must have happened within a week of the time he left here, before he ever reached San Antonio.”

“Silver calls the circumstances mysterious,” Barnabas said, “and I can believe they are, with him coming all the way from Washington.”

“Nathan's been a friend to the Rangers for years,” said Vivian. “There's bound to be a Ranger outpost in Houston. How could Nathan have been tried and convicted without them knowing?”

“If there's a county sheriff or city marshal,” Barnabas said, “he would be more likely to take the trail of bank robbers. Texas Rangers would have bent over backward to avoid sending Nathan Stone to prison. That's reason enough for calling the circumstances suspicious.”

“I'm riding with you to Houston,” said Vivian.

“So am I,” Bess said. “I'm not staying here, biting my nails and worrying.”

“We'll close up the house, then,” said Barnabas, “and leave the four horses at old man Guthrie's livery. He'll charge us twice what it's worth, but the horses will be safe there. We can leave in the morning and still reach Houston ahead of Silver.”

With one weary day stretching into another, Nathan couldn't believe
somebody
hadn't learned of his predicament. His dreary job in the prison laundry was a six-day-a-week affair. It was late Saturday afternoon, and he had paused to wipe the sweat from his face when a guard approached.

“You have a visitor, Stone. This is not visiting hours, but we're making an exception this once. You have ten minutes.”

Nathan was taken to a small room where there was a barred window and one chair. A visitor could speak through the barred window, and Nathan quickly learned why the prison had allowed him to see this particular visitor. While he didn't know the man, he was very familiar with the famous star-in-a-circle of the Texas Rangers.

“Stone,” said the Ranger, “you don't know me, but I know of you. I'm Captain Dillard from the Ranger outpost in Houston. Yesterday, we received a telegram from a friend of yours in Washington, wanting a report on your whereabouts and circumstances.”

“That would be Byron Silver,” Nathan said.

“Yes,” said Captain Dillard. “We were shocked to learn you had been sent here and I wired Silver that the circumstances were suspicious. I informed him that if he did not conduct an investigation, we would. Here's his response.”

His heart pounding, Nathan read the short message.

“Now,” Captain Dillard said, “I want you to tell me as quickly as you can how all this came about.”

Nathan did so.

“I'm inclined to believe you,” said the Ranger. “Sheriff Littlefield doesn't want to talk about you. He's been commended for delivering a pair of bank robbers, and he wants to leave it that way. We're going to appeal your conviction, and if that's denied, we'll ask for a new trial. I'm sure Silver will want to talk to you.”

After leaving the extra horses with the livery in town, Barnabas, Bess, and Vivian rode out, bound for Houston. Empty trotted ahead, pausing occasionally to be sure they still followed.

“I hope Silver got word to Nathan that we're coming,” Vivian said.

“We don't know that he didn't,” said Barnabas. “The situation must be serious for Silver to be coming from Washington.”

“I'm just glad he's going to be there,” Bess said. “We're going into a town where nobody will know us. The authorities will listen to Silver, where they might ignore us.”

“Come in,” said Captain Dillard, responding to a knock on his door.

Sheriff Oscar Littlefield entered, closed the door, and stood there looking at Dillard. When he finally spoke, there was an edge to his voice.

“Captain,” said Littlefield, “I understand that you and other parties intend to appeal the conviction of Nathan Stone, who is doing time at Huntsville for bank robbery. May I ask why?”

“We don't believe justice has been done,” Captain Dillard replied. “We believe you and the State of Texas have sent an innocent man to prison. We intend to appeal his conviction.”

“I don't happen to agree with you, Captain,” said Littlefield, “and I intend to see that your appeal is denied.”

Captain Dillard stood up, placed the palms of his hands on his desk, and leaned across it. His eyes were cold, his voice colder.

“Sheriff, I'm going to give you some advice. Do not interfere with Stone's appeal. I am asking you to back off.”

“And I'm refusing,” said Littlefield.

“Have it your way,” Captain Dillard said. “We can't make you, but by the Eternal, we can make you wish you had.”

Littlefield said no more. He left the office, closing the door behind him.