Autumn of the Gun (5 page)

With Harley following, Nathan crossed the street to the Long Branch. Wyatt Earp leaned against the bar. Involved in a poker game, Drew Collins sat at a table with three other men. Ignoring Earp, Nathan stalked to the table, where Collins sat facing the door. Collins rose to his feet, his hands shoulder high.

“You got nothin' against me, Stone, and I ain't armed.”

“You back-shootin' son,” said Nathan, through clenched teeth, “I'll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Back off, Stone,” Earp shouted, his hand on the butt of his Colt.

But Nathan might not have heard. He seized Drew Collins by his shirtfront, dragging him across the table. He drove his right fist into the gambler's face, and Collins went back across the table, slamming into the wall. He stood there, head sagging, but before Nathan could go after him, Earp had drawn and cocked his Colt.

“One more move out of you,” said Earp, “and I'll shoot you. Now you turn around and do it slow. Then you loosen your pistol belts and let 'em fall.”

Nathan turned around slowly, between Earp and Collins.

“Nathan!” Harley shouted.

Nathan dropped to the floor and rolled, coming up on one knee, his Colt spitting lead. Collins had drawn a gun from beneath his coat, and his slug ripped into the bar, inches to the left of the startled Earp. Both of Nathan's slugs had struck Collins in the chest, and he slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor.

“The back-shootin' little varmint got what he deserved,” said a railroad man.

Nathan got to his feet, holstered his Colt, and fixed his cold eyes on Earp. When he spoke, it was loud enough for every man to hear.

“Mr. Earp, that little sidewinder was about to finish what he started in Pueblo, when he ambushed me and gunned down Vivian Stafford. If it hadn't been for Harley, he'd have shot me in the back, with you allowin' it to happen. I'm claiming self-defense.”

Earp was in a bad position and knew it. Most of the saloon's patrons were railroad men who, along with the two bartenders, remembered Nathan Stone. Their faces reflected their disgust, and Earp yielded with poor grace.

“I'm callin' it self-defense,” said Earp. “This time. You're not welcome here, and I want you out of town.”

“I have friends here,” Nathan replied, “and I'll go when I'm ready. I'm not ready.”

Some of the men who knew Nathan laughed and others grinned, not so much at what Nathan had said as at the change it had wrought in Earp. His face had gone red; without a word he stalked out of the saloon.

“Everybody to the bar,” said Harley. “The drinks are on me.”

Nathan and Harley left the Long Branch, mounted their horses, and rode back toward the railroad depot.

“That was smooth,” Harley said. “You showed Collins up for the back-shootin' coyote he was. Even Earp could see that.”

“But he didn't like seein' it at his expense,” said Nathan, “and he'll be watching me. I could end up in his
juzgado
from spittin' on the boardwalk.”

“Vivian's goin' to be glad to see you,” Harley said. “She won't hardly leave the Dodge House unless I'm with her. She can't stand Earp, and he follows her like a shadow. Since I'm with the railroad, I can't antagonize Earp without Hagerman comin' down on me. I'd as well warn you—she's decided she'd rather risk bein' shot with you than have Earp follow her around when I ain't here. I've talked to Hagerman but he claims he's in no position to discipline Earp. Hagerman's just one of ten men on the town council, and the rest of them are sold on Earp. I'm thinking of quitting the railroad, taking Vivian, and moving on.”

“For the times,” said Nathan, “it's a good job. Nothing else pays as well. If you quit, where will you go and what will you do?”

“I have no idea,” Harley said. “I'll be doing it for Vivian. I ran out on her once, and I won't do it again.”

“I understand,” said Nathan, “and I agree with you. Something must be done. We're stuck with Earp until he moves on or the town council gets enough of him, and I don't see you quitting the railroad as a solution. If you're willing to risk it, and she wants to go, I'll take Vivian with me.”

“She wants to go and I'm willing for her to,” Harley said. “We just don't want you feelin' like you've been boxed in, that she's become a burden.”

“She's never been a burden,” said Nathan. “If I didn't care for her, I wouldn't be concerned about something happening to her.”

“Like what happened in Pueblo,” Harley said. “We understand and appreciate your concern, but she's willing to take the risk. I'm willing, because she needs a man like you. I know you would fight to the death for her, and no man who ever lived could do more than that. Take her, with my blessing. She's at the Dodge House. Why don't you ride over there and tell her what you've decided?”

“I will,” said Nathan. “Tomorrow I'll be riding back to Fort Elliott. I left my grulla there and I promised to return the horse Collins stole from the livery at Mobeetie.”

Nathan rode on to the Dodge House and wasn't surprised to find Earp slouched in a chair in the lobby. He glared at Nathan through slitted eyes, but Nathan ignored him.

“Oh, I'm so glad to see you!” Vivian cried when she opened her door. “Come in and tell me what's happened.”

She closed and locked the door, and Nathan told her everything, up to and including the showdown with Drew Collins.

“Wyatt Earp may be a wonderful town marshal,” she said, “but I can't stand him. Now he'll make it as hard on you as he can, because you've made him look small.”

Nathan laughed. “He doesn't cast as long a shadow as he thinks. Harley and me just had a talk, and we've decided you're better off with me, bein' shot at, than bein' stalked by
Señor
Earp while Harley's away.”

“Do you mean it?” she cried. “Do you
really
want me?”

“I mean it,” said Nathan, “and I do want you. I just don't want you shot, but neither do I want Earp hounding you. I'll buy you a horse, a saddle, and saddlebags. We'll leave for Fort Elliott and Mobeetie in the morning.”

“I'll be ready,” she said. “Will you be joining Harley and me for supper?”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “and for now, you'd best stay where you are. Earp's out there in the lobby.”

“Grandma, why can't you tell me somethin' about my pa? Who was he?”

Young John Wesley Tremayne would soon be eleven years old. John Tremayne—his grandfather—had been dead a year, leaving Anna to raise the boy as best she could. Now it was up to her to lie to the boy, and she sighed.

“John, I can't tell you what I don't know.”

“Don't call me John,” he begged. “Call me Wes, like Wes Hardin, the outlaw.”

“I will not,” said Anna. “You were named after your grandfather, John, and my own father, Wesley.”

The boy stomped out in disgust. Anna Tremayne removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. Now that John was gone and her own health was failing, what was going to become of the boy? He had been given his grandfather's watch; inside the cover was the only photograph they had of Molly Tremayne, John Wesley's mother. She had died at the boy's birth, and all they knew of the affair that had led to the child's arrival was the little she had written in her diary. There were the dates—the days Anna and her husband had been away, leaving Molly alone at home—and a man's name. Nathan.
²
They hadn't known the diary existed until Molly was dead. She had told them nothing. The final entry, written the day before Molly had died, had been a message to John and Anna Tremayne:

Approaching her time, Molly Tremayne had been deathly ill, screaming as she awakened from her sleep, and troubled with premonitions of her own death. John and Anna had fulfilled her wishes, telling the boy not even the little they knew or suspected. Now, more than ever, Anna Tremayne regretted having lived a lie, for she feared the bitterness she could see in the cold blue eyes of young John Wesley Tremayne.

“While we're here at Fort Elliott,” said Vivian, “I want you to buy me a pistol and a supply of shells. If I'm going to be shot at, I intend to shoot back.”

“You should have told me before we left Dodge,” Nathan said. “The .31-caliber Colt pocket pistol is a mite easier to handle, but the sutler's store may not have them.”

Nathan had returned the stolen horse to the livery in Mobeetie, and the horse that Lieutenant Bruxton had loaned him to the quartermaster's corral. Vivian led her horse as they walked back to the orderly room and the post commander's office. Sergeant Willard grinned at them as they entered the orderly room.

“Captain Selman's expecting you,” said the sergeant.

Nathan opened the door to Selman's office, and he and Vivian stepped inside. Except for more gray in his hair, Selman had changed little. He stood up to greet them.

“Lieutenant Bruxton told me you had stopped long enough to borrow a fresh horse and had gone on your way,” Selman said. “I trust your mission was successful.”

“It was,” said Nathan. “I've returned your horse, along with the one stolen from the livery in Mobeetie. Do I owe anything for the loan of the horse?”

“We'll call it even,” Selman replied, “since you recovered the horse taken from Ike's livery. With the army bein' the only law in these parts, he'd have never let us forget we had fallen down on the job. Will you folks be staying the night?”

“If you can put us up,” said Nathan. “My dog didn't make it any farther than the mess hall.”

Captain Selman laughed. “The cooks haven't forgotten him. They never have anything to throw out while he's here.”

“I've been away from the newspapers and the telegraph for a while,” Nathan said. “Is there anything of importance happening?”

“Congress finally got together long enough to agree on one sensible bill,” said Selman. “Reconstruction is over, and the people are again in control of their local governments.”

“Thank God,” said Nathan. “It's been hard times.”

“It's been hard on the military, too,” Selman said. “We've had to enforce an unpopular law that most of us thought harsh and vindictive. I doubt we'll ever live it down.”

“I think you will, Captain,” said Nathan. “Most folks are coming to realize that many of their problems originate in Congress. I came west right after the war and I've always been treated fairly by the military.”

“It's kind of you to adopt that attitude,” Selman replied, “but it seems we no sooner put out one fire than Congress starts another. According to the telegraph, there are small ranchers in Wyoming calling for soldiers to prevent a range war.”

“Why, hell,” said Nathan. “Wyoming's still a territory.”

“Of course it is,” Selman said, “but there are petitions for statehood cropping up all over the frontier, and it's only a matter of time until those territories become part of the Union. Supposedly, that's why the Congress passed the Desert Land Act back in March.”

“And it's already causing trouble?”

“In spades,” said Captain Selman. “The act provides for the sale of a hundred and sixty acres of land at twenty-five cents an acre to anyone willing to irrigate a portion of the land within three years, and at the end of that time, to pay an additional dollar an acre to secure ownership.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Nathan said, “but I reckon it ain't workin' out that way.”

“No,” said Selman. “While the bill was passed supposedly to help pioneers, it is doing exactly the opposite. Apparently, it was lobbied through Congress by a few wealthy cattlemen as a means of acquiring enormous tracts of land for next to nothing. As the small ranchers have pointed out, a man with money can gobble up thousands of acres. He needs hire just four men and get their signatures on the proper papers, and he has control of a full section. Six hundred and forty acres.”

“And that's what's happening in Wyoming,” said Nathan.

“In the Powder River Basin,” Selman replied. “Some of them have picked up blanket Indians, had them sign the necessary papers, and claimed land in their names. Have you ever known an Indian to even get close to anything resembling work?”

Nathan laughed. “Such as irrigation?”

“You get the idea, then,” said Selman. “With Congress on the outs with President Hayes, there'll be no soldiers deployed, but there'll be trouble in Wyoming for somebody. The Powder River
may run
red.”

On that somber note, Nathan and Vivian left Selman's office. Sergeant Willard then led them to a cabin that had been assigned to them for the night.

“Supper's at five,” Sergeant Willard said. “I'll see you then.”

“You get along well with the military,” said Vivian when Willard had gone.

“They've been more than decent to me,” Nathan said, “and on the frontier a man needs all the friends he can get. Besides, they've had the telegraph and I've often needed it. I never know when I'll have need of it again. Remember how it got word to us when Harley had been shot?”

“I'll never forget that,” said Vivian. “Where are we going when we leave here?”