The Dawn of Fury (13 page)

As though seeing her for the first time, Thompson turned his eyes on Eulie, and cold chills crept up her spine. She felt as though he were stripping her, looking beyond what she appeared to be, seeing her for what she was. Beneath her male clothing, she felt all the more like a woman, and for one of the few times in her hard life, she was afraid ...

Despite all the gunfire, Ben Thompson had suffered only a flesh wound to his left arm, above the elbow. The doctor who tended the wound said nothing. Brownsville was aware there had been shooting in the cantinas across the river, and normally nobody cared. It mattered not if the Mexes got drunk, if they fought, or if they eventually shot one another. But today was different. Two Americans had escaped in a hail of Mexican lead, one of them having ridden into the very teeth of the fight to rescue the other. When Thompson, Nathan, and Eulie left the doctor's office, men had gathered outside a saloon across the street.

“Friends of yours?” Nathan asked with a grin.

“I doubt it,” said Thompson, without changing expression. “None of them offered any help when I had a pack of Mexes doing their damndest to ventilate me. I aim to find a livery, buy a horse, and be as far from this town as I can get before dark.”

Thompson bought a bay gelding and the trio rode north, within sight of the Gulf of Mexico. Eulie neither trusted nor liked Ben Thompson, And there was little said until they made camp for the night. It wasn't the Western way to ask a man his intentions, so Nathan and Eulie had no notion as to Thompson's until the little man finally volunteered the information.

“I aim to ride north,” said Thompson after supper. “Long as you folks are headed my direction, I'll ride with you. That is, if you don't mind.”

“Come along,” Nathan said, “and welcome. I've never seen the ocean. I aim to follow the coast to Corpus Christi, Galveston, and maybe Houston.”

For two days, Ben Thompson spoke only when spoken to, and for the most part, kept his silence. When they rode three abreast, Eulie kept Nathan between herself and Thompson. Cotton Blossom remained well behind, for he had no liking for the silent Thompson. It was late in the afternoon of the third day, when they were approaching Corpus Christi, that finally Thompson spoke again.

“When I leave here, I'll be riding north. Until then, I want some town-cooked grub and a hotel bed.”

“We have our packhorse and all the comforts of home,” said Nathan, “so I reckon we'll find us a fresh-water spring or creek and pitch camp.”

“After supper,” Thompson said, “I'll be checking out the saloons along the waterfront. Ride in and join me for some poker, if you like.”

“Thanks,” said Nathan. “I'll keep that in mind. Good luck.”

Thompson rode on ahead without looking back. When he was well beyond hearing, Eulie spoke.

“I know you're a gambler,” she said, “but I hope you don't go looking for him. Death rides with him.”

“He's a strange one,” Nathan said. “I don't believe I'd like to face him across a poker table.”

“My God,” said Eulie, “he scares me to death. If it hadn't been for you, he'd be lying dead in the street of the dirty little Mexican town. As he stood there bleeding from a gunshot, I couldn' believe what I saw in his eyes. It was pure madness. There was the joy and excitement of a child who has just taken part in a game. Thank God he's riding north.”

“Well, it seems I'm a friend of his, whether I like it or not,” Nathan said. “Anyway, our trails may never cross again.”

But Nathan Stone had never been more wrong in his life.

Corpus Christi was but a village, located on the left bank of the lower Nueces River. There seemed to be no official buildings, and many of the habitations were tents. As was the case in most frontier towns, settlers had congregated along the river, while a few had settled on the shores of the bay that entended inland to the northeast. Fledgling village though it was, two sailing ships were anchored offshore. Goods must be loaded or unloaded well beyond the breakwater after having been rowed to or from the ship by lighter.
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Such a vessel, constructed of logs and heavy planks, lay alongside a dock on which freight from one of the anchored vessels were being unloaded. A dozen men wrasseled the barrels and crates to the lock. Finished, they released the lighter and took up oars, preparing to fight their way through the breakwater for another load. Nathan and Eulie had reined up on a bluff that was a good forty feet above sea level and the existing town. There was a cooling breeze from the Gulf, and the blue expanse of water seemed to stretch to infinity.

“I've never seen anything so magnificent,” Eulie said. “Let's make our camp right here.”

“It's a temptation,” said Nathan, “but we'll need water, and I'd as soon the whole town not be able to keep an eye on us. I expect we'd better ride down and find us a place alongside the river or up yonder at the far end of the bay.”

When they had descended the bluff, Corpus Christi seemed a little more impressive. There was a two-story hotel and a general store that had been built of lumber. Other buildings were of logs. There were four saloons. All of them were housed in tents, thanks to the mild climate. The dock had been built far enough from the village to allow for expansion, and what appeared to be a warehouse was under construction. Pilings that would become the four corners had been driven deep into the ground. Nathan and Eulie avoided the main street, riding along the upper bank of the Nueces until they found a fresh-water spring that was surrounded with sufficient graze for the horses.

“If there's no livery,” Nathan said, “I hope the mercantile has grain. A horse can't live forever on grass.”

Nathan unsaddled the two animals while Eulie began unloading the packhorse. Freed from their burdens, the three animals headed for the water. Their thirst quenched, they rolled, shook themselves, and began to graze.

“Nathan,” said Eulie, “if I'm going to travel as a man, I'll need some things to complete my outfit. First thing, before we go anywhere else, I'll want to go to the store.”

“We'll go to the mercantile first, then,” Nathan said, “but you're a pretty believable gent, just like you are.”

“Nathan,” she sighed, “I have just three shirts, none larger than this one I'm wearing. See how tight it is across the front? How many men have you known who filled out their shirts like this?”

“Now that you mention it,” he grinned, “you're the first.”

“I'll want some shirts a size or two larger, and I have a few yards of muslin in my saddlebag. I'll use some of it to make myself a binder before we go to the mercantile.”

“A binder?”

“A tight band of cloth that will flatten my chest and prevent movement that might cast some doubt on me being a man.”

“Smart,” said Nathan. “Without it, there's movement aplenty.”

“I aim to buy a holster and belt for my Colt, too,” she said. “I'd not be much of a man, riding unarmed.”

“Pack an iron,” Nathan said, “and you'll eventually have to use it.”

“I can use it, and I'm damn sudden with it. I'm faster on the draw than most of the men who grew up around Waco. I owe that to my father. He wanted a son, and drove my mother to an early grave because all she could produce was daughters. He was hell-bent on me becoming the son he never had and would never have. He refused me a woman's underclothes, forced me to ride astraddle like a man, and saw to it that I spent two hours every day drawing and dry-firing a Colt. By the hour, he forced me to draw against him, both of us using empty Colts. God forgive me, how often I wished my pistol had been loaded.”

This time it was Nathan who turned away, not allowing his eyes to meet hers. They were a mix of remembering, of bitterness, of hate, painting for him a picture more graphic than he wished to see. He now understood a disturbing fact that had escaped him when she had stripped, revealing the scars on her body. They hadn't been the result of a single beating, but were an accumulation of many years. Eulie started the supper fire and went about preparing the meal. Cotton Blossom had drifted off somewhere, exploring this new and unfamiliar territory. They were down to final cups of coffee when Nathan spoke.

“We'll ride into town in the morning. Go ahead and get a belt and holster for the Colt, along with whatever clothes you may need.”

“I asked you earlier if you intended to gamble in the saloons. I had no right to ask that, and I'm sorry. Do as you wish, and don't mind me.”

Nathan put down his tin cup and moved next to her. She knew virtually nothing about him, and Nathan had been intending that it remain so. But there was something about her—a kind of wistfulness and a totally lost look in her gray eyes—that changed his mind.

“I'm not needing money, Eulie,” he said, “and while I can make a living at it, I'm not a gambler by trade or choice. That's not my reason for the nightly haunting of saloons. I think it's time you knew a little more about Nathan Stone.”

“You don't owe me anything,” she said. “My telling you a bit of my past in no way obligates you to speak of yours.”

“What you've told me has nothing to do with what I am about to tell you. Just being near me, you could be shot dead through no fault of your own, and I won't have you riding with me, unaware of that danger.”

She said nothing and he began talking. He began with his discovery of his family having been murdered and his vow of vengeance on his father's grave. He told her of killing Hankins in Missouri, and of his belief that some of the remaining renegades might have fled to Texas.

“So you're accounting for your always riding a different trail by seeming to be a gambler. With men like Ben Thompson at the tables, that's enough to get you killed.”

“I know that,” Nathan said, “but with Texas under Federal control, how many reasons can you come up with for an hombre like me to be prowling from one town to another?”

“I don't gamble. If the Federals get suspicious, how are you going to explain me riding with you? Or haven't you thought of that?”

“I have,” he said gravely. “I can always deck you out in petticoats, bloomers, and a bonnet, and pass you off as my wife or sister.”

“Like hell you can,” she said. “I have all the parts in the right places, but I've never been allowed to be a female, so I don't know how. It's easier for me to pretend to be a man than to try and become the woman I've never been allowed to be. Besides, how far would we get, me pretending to be a fancy woman, with a loaded Colt belted around my middle?”

“You couldn't wear the Colt.”

“The Colt stays,” she said. “Along with the man's hat, boots, shirts, and britches. If a man ever needed somebody to watch his back, you do, and I can't do that without a gun.”

“Hell's bells,” he howled, “How would that look? A hardcase gambler with somebody to watch his back? And suppose somebody discovered you're a ... a ...”

“Female,” she finished. “You'd be disgraced.”

“You're damned right I would be,” he said, “and so would you.”

“Nobody but you and me has to know what's under these clothes,” she said. “You aim to travel the frontier, killing men as it suits your fancy, and if you can't see how your story's going to end, then I'll tell you. Every snot-nosed, shirt-tail kid with the price of a Colt and a pocketful of shells will be gunning for you, just to prove he's faster than Nathan Stone.”

“That being the case,” Nathan said, “they can't prove anything by shooting me in the back.”