The Killing Season (23 page)

Frustrated, Jubal Wells followed King Fisher and the wounded Nathan Stone until he reached the crossroads and the sign designating “King Fisher's road.” There, he reined up, because he had heard of the notorious King Fisher.

“Damn you, Stone,” he said aloud, “you can't stay there forever.” Wheeling his horse, he rode north, toward San Antonio.

 

“Shaniqua has adopted your dog,” Fisher said. “While your were sleeping off the laudanum and the whiskey, he showed up at the back door looking like he hadn't had grub since the fall of the Alamo.”

“He's a hound,” said Nathan, “and they always look gaunt, but they're smart. Cotton Blossom has a way of making friends with the cook.”

It was the second day following Nathan's arrival at Pendencia ranch. Thanks to plenty of rest, good food, and excellent care, Nathan was able to join King Fisher at the supper table.

“I was pretty used up when we rode in,” said Nathan, “but I don't recall seeing any cattle. If it's any of my business, how do you survive?”

Fisher laughed. “It's none of your business, but it's no secret, either. I reckon it's hard to believe but everybody in Texas don't raise cattle. Me, I like fine horses, and they don't cause you half the grief of a bunch of cows. Three or four times a year I'll hire riders, but for only two or three weeks at a time. Then we ride across the river into old Mexico and return with a herd of broomtails. They make damn fine cow horses, and since the army has finally decided Texans don't aim to rebuild the Confederacy, the forts right here in Texas will buy all I can deliver. I sell some to the rangers, too.”

“I'm partial to horses, myself,” Nathan said, “but wasn't there some kind of deal made between the United States and Mexico, after the war, about respecting one another's borders?”

“I seem to recall something along those lines,” said Fisher, “but that deal was struck between Yankee politicians in Washington and
Mejicano
brass in Mexico City. The average peon don't care a damn what goes on in Mexico City, just like it don't bother me what the politicians are doin' in Washington. Across the river, I can hire Mex
vaqueros
for a dollar a day, and they know where the horse herds are. Of course, we have to dodge the Mex border patrol, but they're spread almighty thin. Mexico's got one hell of a border.”

“I've always wanted to be part of a wild horse hunt,” said Nathan. “I don't know how much help I'd be, but I don't expect to be paid.”

“Just before or during the foaling season is the worst possible time,” Fisher said, “and that kills February, March, and April. I'm planning another hunt during the first two or three weeks in May. You're welcome to ride along.”

“I'd like that,” said Nathan, “but that's three and a half months away. How do I earn my keep here until then?”

“You're not expected to,” Fisher replied. “That's one of the benefits of selling horses instead of cows. You work maybe three months out of the year, and the rest of the time, you're free to ride into town, playing cards, and raising hell. On Friday, I generally ride into Uvalde or San Antonio and buy into an all-night poker game. You play poker?”

Nathan laughed. “Among other things, I've been a house dealer off and on, for maybe seven years. I can make a living dealing an honest game.”

“Well, by God,” King Fisher roared, “an hombre after my own heart. If you're up to it, we'll ride next Friday and have us a couple days of town living.”

“I'll be ready well before then,” said Nathan.

“I'll breathe a mite easier, havin' somebody to watch my back,” Fisher replied. “There are folks in these parts that'd gun me down, just because they consider me a friend to Ben Thompson, and they hate his guts. Then there's some who hate
my
guts.”

“I can't say I blame you for ridin' in,” said Nathan. “It'd be a shame to disappoint all those people.”

King Fisher laughed. “Stone, if I'm any judge, I'm plumb goin' to enjoy your stay at Pendencia ranch. You don't have a troublesome, snot-nosed little brother that can't hold his whiskey, driftin' around, do you?”

“No, thank God,” Nathan said, knowing who he was referring to.

“Next Friday, then,” said Fisher. “We'll hit San Antone like twin bolts of lightning.”

Nathan wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, although he did like King Fisher and his wild horse hunts. While King Fisher would never replace Ranger Captain Sage Jennings, he would still be a friend, and Nathan had no other in south Texas.

 

During the next few days, Cotton Blossom became friendly enough with Shaniqua that Nathan believed the dog would remain with her while he and King Fisher rode to town. He spoke to Fisher about it.

“I reckon if you don't drink or play poker, a saloon ain't much of a place to spend the night,” Fisher said. “Leave him here, if he'll stay.”

Nathan and Fisher rode out just before noon, bound for town. Riding in, hurt and sick from his wounds, Nathan hadn't fully appreciated King Fisher's spread. Now he did. It was near enough to the Rio Grande to see the fringe of greenery that marked the course of the river, and as far as the eye could see, there was no other sign of human presence.

“I like your ranch,” Nathan said, “but how do you protect it when you're away?”

“I have friends across the river,” Fisher replied, “and for several reasons, they don't want anything to happen to me or my ranch. There's Shaniqua, and they respect her. Then there's the cold, hard cash two or three times a year, when I hire Mexican riders. Besides that, I buy fruits and vegetables from poor farmers. When I need beef, I buy from some of the vaqueros who ride with me hunting wild horses.”

“With free range and mavericks, you could rope your own beef,” said Nathan.

“I could,” Fisher said, “but then, who would protect the Pendencia when I'm away?”

San Antonio had changed little since Nathan had last seen it. He and Fisher rode past the old house that had once been the headquarters for Roy Bean's freight line.

“Last time I was here,” said Nathan, “Roy Bean was living there, hauling freight from Corpus Christi.”

Fisher laughed. “They finally evicted him for not paying his rent, but the old buzzard beat them. He was there near two years, most of it rent-free.”
¹⁰

“I haven't been here in a while,” Nathan said, “so I'll follow your lead.”

“I generally hang out at the Alamo Saloon,” said Fisher. “They're open all night on Friday and Saturday, and the Cattleman's Hotel is just across the street. I keep a running tab at both places. Sometimes when I'm between horse hunts, I'm financially embarrassed.”

“I have money,” Nathan said, “if you're up against it. I got lucky on a horse race at twenty-to-one odds.”

“God Almighty,” said Fisher, “with luck like that, maybe I'll just follow you around and place my bets behind you. Do you follow the races?”

“I don't go out of my way,” Nathan replied, “but if there's one close by, I won't pass it up.”

“There's one in Uvalde every July fourth,” said Fisher. “Why don't you stick around for that? We had some Mex riders last year, and one of them took home some money.”

“That was some hell of a war,” Nathan said. “I reckoned you south Texans and the Mexicans would still be shootin' at one another across the river.”

King Fisher laughed. “Can't. We're too busy. They got varmints in their own country that needs a dose of lead, just like we got some here in south Texas that's needful of the same treatment. Some Sunday we'll ride across the border for a
Mejicano
rooster pull.”

“What in thunder is that?”

“They bury a bunch of roosters in the sand up to their necks,” said Fisher. “A rider kicks his horse into a fast gallop, and leaning from the saddle, tries to snatch a rooster's head off.”

“I've heard of games like that among the Indians,” Nathan said, “but they generally try to pick up an arrow from the ground. Why do Mexicans use roosters?”

“Hell, I dunno,” said Fisher. “Why do they hot up their grub with enough pepper to melt an iron skillet?”

“Thompson told me he once had a mess of tamales in Reynosa, and had to spend the next three days settin' in the creek.”

“Get Ben drunk and he'll eat armadillo,” Fisher said. “A man that ain't satisfied with steak oughta be run out of Texas and made to live in Cajun country, where they eat crab, alligator tail, and the like.”

Nathan laughed. “Gettin' back to the horse races, have you ever considered keeping a few of the captured horses and racing them?”

“Yes,” said Fisher, “but I usually have buyers for all I can catch. But there is one I'd keep for breeding and racing, if I could catch him. He's a black that we've named Son of Satan, because he'll stomp the life out of you, if he can. For any man who brings him to me, I have a standing offer of a thousand dollars.”

“The hell with the money,” Nathan said. “How can a man put a price on an experience like that, of capturing such a horse?”

“I couldn't,” said King Fisher. “If it became a matter of money, I'd sell the ranch to own him.”

Leaving the horses at the livery, Nathan and King Fisher entered the Cattleman's Hotel, where Fisher took a room for them through Saturday night.

“That increases your balance to two hundred and twenty dollars,” the desk clerk said.

“This reduces it to zero,” said Nathan, placing eleven double eagles on the counter.

King Fisher said nothing until they reached their second-floor room, and when he turned on Nathan, his eyes were cold, his voice dangerously calm.

“Stone, I'm forgivin' it this time, because your intentions are good and you ain't a born and bred Texan, but by God, don't you ever do that again. If I'm needin' money, I'll ask for it.”

Gritting his teeth, Nathan withheld an explosive reply. Fisher hung his hat on a bedpost, shucked his guns, and tugged off his boots. He then stretched out on one of the two beds. Nathan followed his example, and they dozed until suppertime.

 

The Alamo was the most imposing saloon in San Antonio, with two full-length bars and four to six barkeeps. Nathan and Fisher bought into a game of five-card stud. Bets were five dollars. Nathan and Fisher each lost sixty dollars before their luck changed, and when it did, they began getting angry looks from the other four men. With each pot worth a hundred and twenty dollars, King Fisher won three in a row, while Nathan took the next two. The diamonds kept coming, and Nathan couldn't believe his eyes. All he needed was a queen, and it came on the last draw. He showed his hand and turned his hole card, the jack of diamonds. There was a shocked silence, for he had drawn a queen-high, straight flush.

“I'm out,” said one of the gamblers. “I ain't never seen luck such as that.”

“Me neither,” said a second man. “I ain't playin' agin him.”

“I'm wonderin' if it's all luck,” a third man said darkly.

“It wasn't my deal,” Nathan said. “You're welcome to look at the cards.”

“Hell, no, they ain't,” King Fisher snarled, “I've played with this bunch before. They'll take your money all night, but win some of theirs, and they're ready to holler cheat.”

Fisher had kicked his chair back just enough, and his eyes dared any man to so much as move. Nobody did. Nathan broke the uneasy silence.

“Take a hand, gents. I'm not goin' anywhere. You have a chance to win your money back.”

There were murmurs of approval, and the two disgruntled men who had withdrawn again took their seats. It was King Fisher's turn to deal, and he and Nathan quickly lost twenty dollars of their winnings. When it came Nathan's turn to deal, he and Fisher each lost another pot. They withdrew from the game and went to the bar for a beer.

“Time to fold 'em,” said Nathan. “I won't have another decent hand all night.”

“I've never seen a man draw a queen-high straight in five-card stud,” Fisher said.

“The odds were with me,” Nathan replied, “and that's what I like about five-card stud. In a six-man game, by the time you come to the last draw, you have more than half the deck in play, all but six cards faceup. The other three queens were on the table, and my chance of drawing the diamond lady was one in twenty. It's a game of numbers, my friend.”

“I believe you,” said Fisher. “You've had experience, and it shows. That was slick, the way you put down them poor losers. I thought we was goin' to have to shoot our way out of there.”

“Again, you're playing the odds,” Nathan said. “I've shot my way out of a few games, and that's doing it the hard way. The more often you rely on your guns, the greater the odds that you'll take a bad one, right between the eyes.”

“By God, you're a good influence,” said Fisher. “I reckon I've played too much poker with Ben Thompson. The little varmint's got a hair-trigger temper. Say the wrong thing to him, and he's got just one answer, and that's with a gun.”

“He's bucking the odds,” Nathan said. “He'll likely cash in with his brains leaking out on a poker table.”

Nathan and Fisher visited other saloons, buying into other poker games, then moving on. At midnight—having had an early supper—they found a cafe and ate again. Fisher emptied his pockets on the table.