Autumn of the Gun (19 page)

“And how do you aim to prove that?” Nathan asked.

“I thought you and me might mosey up to Wyoming's Powder River Basin,” said Silver. “It shouldn't be too hard to hire on with one of these big guns and pick up some solid evidence.”

“Or a good dose of lead poisoning,” Nathan said.

“That may very well go with the territory,” said Silver. “If you go, it will be strictly as a volunteer. Washington hasn't authorized me any help.”

“I'll go with you,” Harley said.

“Barnabas needs you here,” said Nathan. “I'm forty pounds heavier than you and not able to ride those horses.”

“He's right,” Vivian said. “Besides, they've worked together before.”

“Indeed we have,” said Silver. “Nathan took over and finished an assignment for me when I was wounded. If it hadn't been for him, two years of important undercover work would have been wasted.”

Nathan laughed. “You see how he is. He builds me up until I can't refuse. That's why I'm always calling on him for help, because he owes me.”

“When are you planning to go?” Barnabas asked.

“I thought we'd wait until after Christmas,” said Silver. “I have enough pull to get us and our horses steamboat passage to St. Louis, and from there to Cheyenne on the Union Pacific. From Cheyenne, we'll be maybe two hundred miles from where the Powder forks to the south.”

“I reckon you know who these wealthy ranchers are,” Nathan said.

“Yes,” said Silver. “I only had to determine who within the territory had contributed the most money to help re-elect various senators and congressmen. A man with a ten-cow spread can't afford such generosity.”

“Once you've gathered evidence,” Vivian asked, “what can be done?”

“I've been told his land-grab can be reversed,” said Silver, “but we must prove to the federal government's satisfaction that wealthy ranchers are taking over these lands through fraud. Naturally, we can't get proof against them all, but once we can prove one's doing it, then I can demand an investigation of the others. I aim to force them to give up the land they've taken illegally.”

“I have to admire your dedication to truth and justice,” Barnabas said. “I must admit I haven't thought too highly of the Congress since that Yankee congressman swindled us out of twenty million dollars buildin' the Union Pacific.”
¹⁶

Silver laughed. “I'm sorry I can't counter all the sins of the United States Congress, but I'll do what I can.”

Two days after Christmas, Nathan and Silver rode to New Orleans, where they boarded a steamboat for St. Louis. Their horses were stalled on a lower deck, while Empty went with Nathan and Silver to their small cabin. The dog sat there between the bunks, looking uneasy.

“He's never cared much for steamboats,” said Nathan.

“Neither have I,” Silver said, “but they're handy, getting from one place to another. I reckon we'll get our fill of the saddle after we reach Cheyenne.”

“When we reach Wyoming Territory, are we going to use our own names?”

“I reckon we'll be safe enough,” said Silver. “Our comin' out of this alive depends on us looking and acting like a pair of not-too-well-off, drifting cowboys.”

“Which brings another question to mind,” Nathan said. “Cowboys looking for work don't often show up in the dead of winter. How do we account for that?”

“We don't go looking for work,” said Silver. “I've learned something about these high rollers, and they have their own waterhole in Cheyenne, the Cattleman's Club. With the wind whistlin' through the peaks and the mountain passes neck-deep in snow, I reckon this bunch will be settin' before the fire, passing the bottle and shufflin' the cards.”

“That's not the kind of diggings where a pair of out-of-work cowboys are likely to fit in,” Nathan said.

“I know that,” said Silver. “It's up to us to devise some way of meetin' one of these hombres, to interest him in hirin' us. Haynes McCutcheon and Chad Buckalew are two of the most likely.”

“Meaning they already own more than their share of range,” Nathan said.

“Ain't it always that way? Like we say in Texas, all I want is the land that adjoins mine.”

Reaching St. Louis, they found there wouldn't be a Union Pacific westbound until the next afternoon. After stabling the horses, they found a boardinghouse where Empty was welcome and took a room for the night.

“I'm almost afraid to suggest we go out on the town,” said Nathan. “I still remember that night we stopped in that riverfront saloon for a few hands of poker. We were damn lucky to get out of there alive.”

“If it's all the same to you,” Silver replied, “I'd as soon have a steak and then bed down for the night. I never sleep much on a steamboat.”

 

Nathan and Silver took their time at breakfast, since the Union Pacific's westbound did not depart until two o'clock.

“Don't look now,” said Silver, “but that hombre with the tied-down Colt has taken a damn strong interest in one of us. He's been watching us ever since we sat down.”

“If he's still here, and still watching us when we're ready to leave,” Nathan said, “I'll make it my business to introduce myself. When some ranny gets that interested in me, I become almighty curious. I don't have that many friends.”

“Neither do I,” said Silver. “Friends come and go, but enemies and back-shooters stack up like cord wood.”

Finally, when Nathan had a chance to observe the stranger, he didn't like the looks of the man. He was young, not more than twenty-one or -two. There was a half smirk on his face—the mark of many who considered themselves badmen—and he was dressed all in black, including his flat-crowned hat.

“I'll pay for breakfast,” Silver said when they were ready to leave, “and I'll back your play if there's trouble.”

Approaching the table, Nathan spoke.

“You've been taking my measure ever since I sat down. Do I know you?”

The stranger laughed. “I doubt it, but I know you. You're Nathan Stone, the killer.”

“I'm Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied coldly. “What do you want of me?”

“I'm Mitch Sowell, and I'm callin' you out. I'll meet you in the street.”

“I have no fight with you,” said Nathan.

“Oh, but you do,” Sowell replied. “You have a reputation, and I aim to fight you for it.”

“Please,” said the nervous cook, sensing trouble, “no fighting in here.”

“Nathan,” Silver said, “go ahead. I'll follow him out and watch your back.”

It was a deliberate insult, an implication that, given the chance, the cocky young gunman might shoot Nathan in the back. Nathan nodded, heading for the door. Empty had already been fed and was waiting outside. Once Nathan was through the door, Sowell got to his feet.

“Hold it,” Silver said. “You'll go out when he's facing you.”

Nathan halted a dozen yards down the boardwalk, facing the cafe, his back toward the morning sun. As he awaited the inevitable, his shoulders seemed to sag with weariness. As Sowell left the cafe, men paused, while others quickly removed themselves from the line of fire. Nathan tried one more time.

“Sowell, I have no fight with you. Back off while you still can.”

Sowell laughed. “You got to fight. There ain't no way out.”

“When you're ready, then,” Nathan said.

Nathan wanted nobody contesting his claim of self-defense. He waited until Sowell had his Colt free of the holster, before making his move. He then drew and fired once. Sowell stumbled back against a hitch rail, dropping his weapon without firing a shot. Finally his knees buckled, and he fell face down. There was only the whisper of the wind, as the echo of the single shot died away. Other men came on the run, and there was talk, as those who had seen the event related it to those who had not.

“... chain lightning. I never seen his hand move ...”

“He's a natural-born killer, if I ever saw one ...”

“One of you fetch the sheriff,” Silver ordered.

The sheriff's office was in the next block, and the lawman arrived quickly. Nathan had holstered his Colt, saying nothing until the sheriff asked the inevitable question.

“Who shot this man, and why?”

“I shot him,” said Nathan, “and I'm claiming self-defense.”

The sheriff turned to the onlookers. “Did any of you see it?”

Half a dozen men responded, Silver among them. After an unpleasant hour, the killing was declared self-defense, and Nathan was allowed to go.

“Damn it,” Nathan said, “I'm going to hide out somewhere until train time.”

“No point in that,” said Silver. “You were justified.”

“I'm always justified,” Nathan replied, “but that doesn't make it any easier.”

An hour before train time, Nathan and Silver saw their horses and saddles loaded into a boxcar. Empty disliked locomotives as intensely as he did steamboats, and Nathan had to force him aboard a passenger coach. A well-dressed woman whose hat was festooned with an ostrich feather glared at Empty with obvious distaste, and Empty growled at her.

Before leaving the train, Nathan and Silver donned their sheepskin-lined coats. There was snow on the ground and even more falling, and the west wind chilled them to the marrow of their bones.

“I don't like to question the government's judgement,” said Nathan, “but why in hell couldn't this investigation have been done in warm weather?”

“My boy,” Silver said, “the wheels of government turn slowly. The powers that be have known about this problem for two years. I have long since ceased to question orders handed down by my superiors. Let's get the horses to a livery and ourselves to a hotel.”

“I reckon we'd better,” said Nathan. “It'll be dark in an hour and then, by God, it'll
really
get cold.”

“I've never been here before,” Silver said. “Do you know the town?”

“I know you can see the lights of the Plains Hotel from here,” said Nathan, “and as I recall there's a livery across the street from the hotel.”

“Then let's head for that hotel and the livery,” Silver said. “If I'm any judge, there's a blue norther on the way.”

Quickly they saddled their horses and, with Nathan leading, they following the railroad track eastward for a ways, before cutting back to the south. Through blowing snow, they could see the bulk of the Plains Hotel ahead of them. The horses picked their way through deep snow that blanketed the street, veering away from the hotel and toward the welcome warmth of the livery. Inside, Empty shook himself, creating a snow shower. In the office was a glowing red stove, which the liveryman seemed reluctant to leave.

“Grain our horses,” Silver said, “and store our saddles.”

“Saddles in the tackroom,” the liveryman said.

“Thanks,” Silver said. “We'll see you when the storm blows itself out.”

The storm seemed to have grown in intensity as they fought their way back to the hotel. Stomping the snow off their boots, they entered the lobby. Hanging lamps cast their cheerful glow, while a fire roared in an enormous fireplace. A bar stretched along one wall, and there were a few tables and chairs for those who wished to sit and drink or engage in various games of chance. In the very back of the room were two billiard tables, the balls racked and ready.

“Tarnation,” said Silver, “I've never seen a better equipped hotel. Is there a good place to eat close by?”

“Across the street, behind the hotel,” Nathan said.

When they reached the registration desk, Empty remained well behind Nathan.

“Pardner,” said Nathan, “I reckon we'll be here as long as this storm lasts. This is my dog, and he's never bit anybody that wasn't needful of it. Is he allowed to go with us?”

“As long as you're responsible for him,” the clerk replied. “Better make it pronto, if you aim to eat. The cafe sent word they'll be closin' early because of the storm.”

“It does appear to be gettin' worse,” said Silver.

“We have only two kinds of winters,” the clerk replied. “Worse and worser.”

“What about summer?” Nathan asked.

“Usually the first two weeks in August,” said the clerk, with a straight face. “There's a monthly rate, if you want to wait for warm weather.”

Nathan and Silver left the lobby, stepping into a corridor that, minus the wind, was almost as cold as outside. They ignored the stairs, for their room was on the first floor. Silver unlocked the door, and by the light of a bracket lamp in the corridor, Nathan found and lighted a lamp on the dresser. There was a whiff of wood smoke as the fierce wind whipped the smoke back down the flue, stirring to life coals within the stove that sat next to the room's only window.

“Thank God there's still some fire in the stove,” said Nathan, “but where's the stove wood?”

“No stove wood,” Silver replied. “Coal is replacing wood back east, and I reckon the coming of the railroad has brought it west. I'd say that's the purpose of those big wooden kegs in the corridor. Take that coal bucket and fetch some in.”

Nathan brought in a bucket of coal and they coaxed the fire into life.

“Now,” said Silver, “we'd better fight our way over yonder for some grub, before the cafe closes for the day. By the time we return, it should be warm in here.”