The Dawn of Fury (52 page)

“We have plenty of time,” she said. “Why don't you join me?”

“With or without your long handles?”

“Without,” she said.

Supper proved to be an interesting affair, for most of the “boarders” who gathered at the table were professional people. Ames Tilden interested Nathan, for he was president of Denver Bank and Trust, one of the first banks in the Territory. He and Eva Barton took control of the conversation, and everybody else listened. Eva, as Nathan and Lacy learned, was an actress, performing nightly at Denver's Palace Theatre.

“There's a new melodrama coming to the Palace,” said Eva excitedly. “It's
Under the Gaslight,
and was first presented to New York audiences this past August. Our opening night is December sixth. All of you simply must attend.”
²⁵

It was an interesting interlude. Nathan and Lacy remained after the meal, joining some of the other residents in the parlor. Lacy quickly gained the friendship of the actress by asking numerous questions, and when Nathan and Lacy returned to their quarters, Lacy had the promise of passes to the opening performance of the new melodrama.

“I didn't know you were interested in the theatre,” Nathan said.

“I didn't know it myself, until tonight,” said Lacy. “Listening to Eva, talking to her, it all came back to me. When Pa died and Ma remarried—when I was so unhappy—I pretended that I lived in St. Louis, that I rode in fancy carriages, that I was somebody. It became real to me, and I ... I believed it.”

“Maybe you should talk to Eva about getting into the theatre,” Nathan said. “I've never been to the theatre, but I've heard you can learn the trade by becoming an understudy. I reckon you have to work for nothing until you learn what to do and when to do it.”

“God,” said Lacy, “I could never do anything as glamorous as that. I'm just a coward. I escaped into my dreams because I hated my life like it was.”

But the more Lacy saw of Eva Barton, the more she changed. At first, she and Nathan attended the theatre, but Nathan grew tired of the repetition. So there were nights when Lacy went with Eva, remaining backstage.

Nathan spent his days learning the town and visiting various saloons. There were many, such as the Albany, the Windsor, the Silver Dollar, the Brown Palace, and the Denver Bagnio, owned by Laura Evans. Competition was fierce, and some saloons employed barbers. It was a convenient means for more timid patrons to sneak a few drinks before or after a haircut or shave.

But all Nathan's time wasn't spent in saloons. He developed a friendship with the banker, Ames Tilden, and taking Tilden's advice, deposited most of his money in the bank. He had gained the banker's confidence by expressing an interest in mining. By doing so, it entitled him to ask questions about mines in Colorado Territory. He pursued the lead he had gotten from Lacy regarding the possibility that Clint Foster and Milo Jenks were in Colorado because of a silver mine. But Ames Tilden quickly dashed all his hopes.

“There have been traces of silver to the south of here,” said Tilden, “but it's all been low grade ore. Nobody's going to kill himself digging for a pittance in silver, when there's gold to be had.”

“I reckon not,” Nathan said. “How far south is gold being mined?”

“The most prominent mines,” said Tilden,” are Gregory Diggings, Idaho Springs, California Gulch, and Fairplay. They're all within a day's ride, and along the plains, before you get into the foothills approaching the divide. There are some lesser diggings farther south, but most have played out. One such place that's still being worked—on the Rio Grande, not more than a dozen miles this side of New Mexico Territory—has a town built around the diggings. It's called Ciudad de Oro.”
²⁶

“But you don't think it's worth considering.”

“Probably not. There are far more promising mines—gold and silver—in Nevada and southern Arizona. In Nevada, there's Virginia City, Gold Hill, Wellington, Aurora, Rawhide, Tonopah, Goldfield, Pioche, and Callville. In south central Arizona, there's the Tip Top and the Vulture. Southwest from there is the Texas Hill, the Ajo, the Cooper, and the Tubec. There are others, I'm sure. There are government maps available, if you're interested.”

“Get me those maps,” Nathan said, “and I'll pay for them. What I'm looking for may not be in Colorado.”

Nathan rode to several of the mines nearest Denver, but found not a trace of either of the men he sought. He wasn't surprised, as he could not imagine killers involving themselves in anything even close to honest labor. Nathan returned in the early afternoon to Cherry Creek Manor to find Ezra, Josephine, Lacy, Eva Barton, and a local doctor gathered around a sheet-covered utility table in the Grimes's kitchen. Cotton Blossom lay on his left side. His right hind leg and most of his hindquarters oozed blood.

“Nathan,” Lacy cried, tears streaking her cheeks, “he's been shot.”

“Who did it?”

“We have no idea,” Ezra said. “He'd dragged himself as far as the road, and I found him as I was returning from town. This is Doc Embry. I rode back to town for him, and he's promised to do what he can.”

“This is completely beyond any training I've had,” said the doctor. “He's been hit with buckshot. I've managed to stop the bleeding. Now it'll all depend on how deep the lead is, and whether or not it's damaged any vital organs. For a certainty the lead will have to be removed.”

“Do what you can, doc,” Nathan said. “If there's anything you need, any medicine ...”

“What I have with me will be sufficient,” said Embrv. “All I can do is remove the lead and disinfect the wound. After that, he'll be up against the same danger as a man with a gunshot wound. The infection could kill him.”

“God,” Nathan groaned, “how do you get whiskey down a dog?”

“You don't,” said the doctor, “and it wouldn't matter if you could. A dog doesn't sweat. Right now, he's more dead than alive, and all I can tell you to do is wrap him in blankets, get him before a roaring fire, and try to raise his body temperature. He can't sweat, but he can pant. See that he at least does that. In the morning, if he's still alive, remove the bandage and douse the wound with more disinfectant. Keep him warm until he dies or shows some signs of healing.”

With that, Doc Embry began the tedious job of probing for the buckshot, and not even Nathan could stomach that. He turned away, recalling the miles he and Cotton Blossom had traveled together, wondering if this trail would be the last one. Josephine left the room for a few minutes and returned with an armload of blankets.

“These have been retired until there was a need for them,” she said.

Doctor Embry worked for almost an hour removing all the lead pellets. He doused the wound with disinfectant and bandaged it as best he could. He cleaned his instruments, returned them to his satchel, and then he spoke.

“He's more fortunate than I at first thought. He didn't take a full load, but enough to cost him a lot of blood. Keep him warm, or better yet, hot. If he makes it through tomorrow, he'll be all right.”

“I'm obliged, Doc,” said Nathan, insisting that the doctor accept a double eagle.

When Doctor Embry had gone, Nathan and Ezra carefully wrapped Cotton Blossom in all the blankets, until only his nose was visible.

“I'll build a fire at our place,” Nathan said. “You folks have done more than enough, and I'll stay up with him tonight.”

“You'll need hot coffee,” said Josephine. “Build up the fire here in the parlor, and lay him before it. We'll stay up and keep you company.”

And that's the way it was. Nathan kept adding wood to the fire, and he sweated far into the night. Each time he touched Cotton Blossom's nose, it felt warm. Before dawn he was exhausted, and Ezra took over adding wood to the fire. Nathan slept an hour, and when he awoke, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, for the bundle of blankets was moving! Dropping to his knees, he drew the blankets away from Cotton Blossom's head, to find the dog looking at him.

“By God,” Nathan shouted, “he's gonna make it!”

Ezra Grimes knelt beside him, feeling Cotton Blossom's nose.

“He's better,” said Ezra, “but he ain't gonna be lopin' around for quite a spell.”

“I expect he thinks we're trying to roast him alive,” Josephine said. “Ezra, fix up a wide wooden box for him. With that mess of blankets, he ought to be plenty warm in the kitchen, next to the stove. He's welcome to sleep there until he heals.”

Cotton Blossom improved and began to eat. Often. It would be a while before he could walk, however. Josephine seemed to enjoy his company.

“She should have had a houseful of young'uns,” Ezra confided. “We had a son, and he died young.”

It was still early, hours before Nathan would escort Lacy to the Palace Theatre for the first performance of Under the Gaslight. With Cotton Blossom on the mend and time on his hands, Nathan's mind turned again to the elusive Clinton Foster and Milo Jenks. Damn it, if he failed to find them in Colorado, where would he go from here? Frustrated, he rode into town, determined to visit every saloon there at least one more time. Some of them wouldn't open until noon. In the first two, he encountered bleary-eyed barkeeps who told him nothing. The third saloon—the Denver Bagnio—had a whorehouse upstairs and a single patron in the saloon. Nathan ordered a beer, and when the barkeep brought it, he posed the same question that had gone unanswered many, many times.

“I'm looking for a pair of hombres name of Clinton Foster and Milo Jenks. Ever hear of them?”

“Friend,” said the barkeep, “I don't remember names worth a damn. Keeps me out of trouble.”

Nathan finished his beer and was about to go, when the Bagnio's lone patron caught his eye. Dressed in miner's garb, he hoisted the bottle, and Nathan thought he was being offered a drink. Out of courtesy, he spoke.

“Thanks, pardner, but it's too early for that.”

“Hell, that wasn't what I was meanin'. Bring me a bottle, and I'll tell you about them varmints you was askin' about. They friends of yours?”

“No,” Nathan said. “Barkeep, bring this gent another bottle of whatever he's drinking. I'm buying.”

“Now,” said Nathan, taking a chair, “what do you have to say that's worth a bottle of whiskey?”

“Depends,” he said, “on how much you want to know about Foster an' Jenks. I can tell you where they was two weeks ago, an' what they was doin'.”

“Then tell me.”

The stranger said nothing, waiting until the barkeep brought the bottle. He pulled the cork with his teeth, filled his glass and emptied it. Only then did he speak.

“Virginia City, Nevada. Foster an' Jenks is part of a bunch of thieves that's robbin' miners of their gold. Kind of like the Plummer gang, back in Virginia City, Montana Territory, in sixty-three an' -four. These two-legged varmints wait till you got enough gold in your poke to make it worth their while, an' then they bushwhack you. Me an' two other hombres snuck out in the middle of the night an' escaped ‘em. They purely ain't no law, an' these sidewinders hang around the saloons an' play cards, waitin' for some fool to wind up his diggings an' try to leave with his gold. This Foster an' Jenks, besides bein' thieves an' killers, is just poison mean. I seen 'em provoke a man into a fight an' then beat him to death.”

“You're sure about the names, then,” Nathan said.

“Hell, yes, I'm sure. They claim to be from Missouri, an' they talk like it. They look like some of the trash that might of deserted durin' the war. Are you the law?”