Autumn of the Gun (17 page)

“And this is what Harley aims to tell Vivian?”

“Yes,” said Barnabas, “among other things. By the time you're ready to ride out, I'll have convinced Vivian that my invitation to Harley is honest, and I expect she will have learned something about him that she didn't know.”

“And something I didn't know,” Nathan said. “Vivian showed up in Dodge, broke and half starved, and I promised to help her find Harley. When we finally did—in Deadwood—Harley was on the bottle, bitter, and hating everybody. Not until he was shot up in a stage robbery did he begin to change.”
¹⁵

“I don't care what he was,” said Barnabas. “He has a feel for horses, and if I'm any judge, he's going to make a name for himself as a rider.”

“I appreciate you telling me this,” Nathan said. “I won't repeat any of it to Vivian, unless Harley has trouble convincing her.”

Nathan found Vivian sitting on the bed, where he had left her.

“Barnabas has convinced me,” Nathan said, “and Harley's going to talk to you in the morning. I think you're in for a pleasant surprise. Now will you go to bed or do you aim to set there and sulk?”

“Maybe I'll just set here and sulk,” said Vivian. “If you ride out without me, you'll be sleeping by yourself, so you might as well get used to it.”

Nathan laughed and blew out the lamp.

 

The next morning after breakfast, Nathan and the McQueens left Harley and Vivian at the table.

“I hope they can reach some agreement,” said Bess. “I hate seeing them on the outs with one another, us being the cause of it.”

“You're not the cause of it,” Nathan said. “Harley's doing what he wants to do, and from what Barnabas told me, he's fully justified. But I'm not sure Vivian will believe him.”

“She'll believe her own eyes,” said Barnabas. “After dinner, Harley's going to prove to her he can ride.”

“He's going to ride Petalo, then,” Nathan said.

“Petalo and Modelo,” said Barnabas. “But first, he's going to ride Diablo.”

Nathan laughed in anticipation, but Harley didn't look all that confident when he came into the parlor.

“Well?” Barnabas said.

“She still has her doubts,” said Harley. “I'm going to have to prove myself.”

After dinner, they went to the horse barn for the horses. Vivian led Diablo, Barnabas led Petalo, and Harley led Modelo. Nathan and Bess followed. The horses were led to an open field, to a cleared stretch where Vivian often rode Diablo. Without a word, Harley passed Modelo's reins to Barnabas and turned to Vivian.

“I told you what I aim to do,” said Harley. “You still haven't told me what you think.”

“I think you're going to break your neck,” Vivian said.

Harley took Diablo's reins from Vivian, and the horse looked at him, laying back his ears. Harley whistled a strange little tune, barely audible, and Diablo's ears came up. Very slowly Harley approached the horse, and Diablo didn't move, even when Harley placed his hand on the horse's lean neck. Suddenly, Harley vaulted onto Diablo's back, and before the horse could react, Harley leaned forward and spoke to Diablo. The horse broke into a fast gallop as Harley leaned forward, his lanky legs keeping him upright and steady. Just before reaching the woods, Harley wheeled the horse and Diablo came galloping back. Harley slid off, his arm around Diablo's neck, grinning at Vivian.

“Riding him across a field is one thing,” said Vivian. “Winning a race with him might not be so easy.”

“Oh, I don't intend to ride Diablo as long as you're here,” Harley said. “I just want you to know that I can, and that I'm not here to help Barnabas hold on to you. October fifth, at Beaumont, I'll be riding Petalo, and we're going to win. Do you want to see me ride him now?”

“No,” said Vivian. “I've had enough of your showing off for one day.”

She took Diablo's reins and went stomping back toward the horse barn. Barnabas winked at Harley, and Harley laughed.

“Shame on the two of you,” Bess said, “baiting her like that.”

“When it comes to women,” said Nathan, “there's just a thin line between heaven and hell, and from one day to the next a man never knows which side of the line he's likely to be on.”

Barnabas and Harley laughed uproariously, while Bess tried mightily not to.

“I feel a little guilty,” Harley said. “She's found something she enjoys, something she can do well, and now I'm horning in. She resents that. I won't be surprised if she leaves with Nathan, just to spite me.”

“If she does, so be it,” said Barnabas. “There's room for both of you. Horse racing is becoming so popular, there's going to be more and more two-day events. Perhaps Vivian will better understand that after the races at Beaumont.”

Vivian said very little in the days that followed. Barnabas insisted on arriving early on Thursday, although the first race wasn't scheduled until two o'clock Saturday afternoon. To escape the silent Vivian for a while, Nathan and Harley visited some of the town's saloons. They were about to enter a place called The Blue Moon when Nathan turned away.

“What is it?” Harley asked.

“The grulla there at the hitch rail,” said Nathan. “That's the horse I was riding when I stumbled on to those bank robbers.”

“How can you be sure? There's plenty of grullas around. You're riding one.”

“Those saddlebags,” Nathan said. “They have silver buckles, and they came from old Mexico. King Fisher gave them to me. King's brand—a K inside a crown—is burned into the leather beneath one of the flaps. Let's have a look.”

Nathan unbuckled one of the flaps, revealing King Fisher's brand.

“Well, by God,” said Harley, “all we got to do is wait until that coyote heads for the horse, and you've got one of them.”

“They could still be together,” Nathan said. “I'd like to take them alive, wire Captain Dillard, and have the bastards sent to Huntsville.”

“Given a choice, they ain't likely to give up without a fight,” said Harley. “Maybe if we both throw down on them, it won't end up in a shoot-out.”

“This is not your fight, Harley,” Nathan said.

“Maybe not,” said Harley, “but if there's two of them, I'm buying in.”

They waited three-quarters of an hour, and Nathan grew impatient.

“I'm going inside and challenge the varmint ridin' that grulla,” Nathan said. “He could have left the horse here and gone somewhere else.”

“Then I'm goin' with you,” said Harley.

“If you're going,” Nathan said, “go in first. Go to the bar and order a beer. I'll call out the man ridin' the grulla. If there's two of them, and they both decide to fight, then one of them is yours. If there's just the one man, stay out of it.”

“You're callin' the shots,” said Harley, heading for the swinging doors.

Nathan waited, counting slowly to a hundred. He then entered the saloon, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lamplit interior before making his move. He counted nine men. Four of them sat at a table playing poker, two were at a table in the comer, and three—one of them Harley—stood at the bar facing the door.

“I want some talk with the gent ridin' the grulla,” said Nathan. “The one totin' fancy saddlebags with silver buckles.”

One of the two men at the corner table stood up. “What might you be wantin' with him?”

“I'd be wantin' him to show me a bill of sale,” Nathan said. “That's my horse.”

“I'll meet you outside, then,” said the stranger, kicking back his chair.

“Go ahead,” said Nathan. “I'll be right behind you.”

He headed for the door—a little too readily, Nathan thought, as he stepped in behind him. Suddenly a Colt roared behind them, and the man ahead of Nathan turned on him, his hand streaking for his Colt. Nathan seized the wrist with his left hand and slammed his right fist into his antagonist's jaw. Only then did he turn to see what had happened behind him. The second man at the table stood beside it, blood soaking the right shoulder of his shirt.

“He was about to shoot you in the back,” said Harley, his Colt still cocked and ready.

“I'd appreciate you gents takin' your trouble somewheres else,” the barkeep said.

“We aim to,” said Nathan. “Where can we find the sheriff?”

“Him or his deputies will find you,” the barkeep said. “He's hired extra men because of the races Saturday an' Sunday.”

Within minutes, a man with a star on his shirt and a shotgun in the crook of his arm entered the saloon. Nathan didn't wait for him to speak.

“These hombres—the one on the floor and the one drip-pin' blood—are wanted for bank robbery in Houston. I want them locked up and a telegram sent to Captain Dillard at the Ranger outpost.”

“I'm Lytle Hays,” said the lawman. “I'm just a deputy. You'll have to talk to Waddy McLean, the sheriff.”

“I'll talk to him,” Nathan said, “but I'm takin' this pair of coyotes with me.”

Hays led the way to the sheriff's office as Nathan and Harley, their Colts drawn, marched the two captured men ahead of them. The sheriff saw them coming and swung the door back for them to enter.

“Waddy,” said the deputy, “these hombres with Colts drawn have a story for you. The jaspers they're coverin' started some gunplay in the Blue Moon. Somethin' having to do with a bank robbery in Houston.”

“For the time being,” the sheriff said, “until I get some facts, lock those two in a cell and fetch a doc for the one that's bleeding.”

When the two men had been locked in a cell and Hays had gone for a doctor, Nathan told his story, leaving out nothing.

“I don't remember the robbery or the original trial,” said Sheriff McLean, “but I do recall the new trial in Austin. So you're the gent that was railroaded into Huntsville.”

“Yes,” Nathan said, “and that's why I didn't just shoot those two varmints we just marched in here. I want them to take their turn in Huntsville.”

McLean laughed. “I can't say I blame you, but there's a matter of proof.”

“That's why I want you to telegraph Captain Dillard at the Ranger outpost,” Nathan said. “I want this pair taken back to Houston so those bank tellers can have a look at them.”

“I can't hold them, even overnight,” said McLean, “without some charges. Suspicion of a two-year-old bank robbery won't be enough.”

“Well, hell,” Harley said, “hold them for attempted murder. If I hadn't plugged the one that's bleedin', he'd have shot Nathan in the back.”

“I can do that,” said McLean. “I won't bother questioning them. If they're guilty, as you say, the crime is out of my jurisdiction. It's a job for the Rangers. I'll send that telegram to Houston.”

Nathan and Harley waited, and while McLean was gone, Deputy Hays returned with a doctor to attend the wounded man. The sheriff was gone for an hour, but when he returned, he had a reply from Captain Dillard.

“There's a something in here for you,” McLean said, passing the message to Nathan.

Quickly Nathan read the few words, and then read them again.

“Are you answering this telegram, sheriff?” Nathan asked.

“Already did,” said McLean. “Told him I'll hold these gents for the Rangers.”

“Then I'll telegraph him,” Nathan said. “Come on, Harley.”

Nathan and Harley found the telegraph office and sent the telegram.

“I reckon we'd better find Barnabas and tell him we'll be riding on to Houston,” said Harley.

“You don't have to go,” Nathan said.

“I reckon I do,” said Harley. “I can testify that both them varmints was ready to fill you full of lead. Why would they have tried that if they wasn't guilty as hell?”

“You have a point,” Nathan said. “Reason enough for you to ride along.”

Harley laughed. “I got a better reason than that. Me and old Petalo's goin' to win that race on Sunday, and Vivian will likely sulk all the way back to New Orleans.”

 

There were only nine entries in Saturday's race, and the favored horse was a dun whose name was Jack Rabbit. Vivian seemed preoccupied and had little to say.

“Vivian, are you all right?” Barnabas asked.

“Of course I'm all right,” said Vivian shortly. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“She ain't all right,” Harley said, under his breath. “She's still on the prod, and if I'm any judge, Diablo's goin' to pick up on her mood. Don't bet your money on this one.”

Diablo came in a poor third. Vivian sat there white-faced, as though in shock, and as Nathan tried to help her dismount, she fought free of him. Harley led Diablo away to be rubbed down. Nathan glared at Vivian in disgust.

“So I lost,” she shouted. “Why don't you shoot me?”

“That would be too easy on you,” said Nathan mildly. “You've had a burr under your tail entirely too long. You might as well get used to losing until you improve your rotten disposition. The horse senses your mood, and as long as you don't give a damn, neither will he.”

Vivian refused supper and went to bed. The McQueens were in a somber mood, and to escape them, Nathan and Harley made the rounds of the saloons in Beaumont. They sat in on a poker game and came out winners, Nathan with two hundred and Harley with a hundred and twenty-five.