The Dawn of Fury (42 page)

“With your thumb and finger, pull that pistol and drop it,” Nathan said.

That order was obeyed and Nathan advanced until he was behind the horse.

“Now,” said Nathan, “you walk back the way you just come, and you do it slow. I don't usually shoot a man in the back, but I make exceptions for bushwhacking varmints like you.”

Slowly they made their way back to camp. Lambert had his shirt off, but had been unable to deal with the wound. The lead had struck him in the arm, just below his left shoulder. He eyed Nathan's captive grimly before he spoke.

“You should have kept running, Jake. There's a rope waiting for you in Fort Smith.”

“Fer bank robbery?” Jake bawled. “Wasn't me shot that bank clerk.”

“You'll have to convince the judge of that,” said Lambert.

“He's got a horse over yonder beyond that thicket,” Nathan said. “I'll go after it when this skunk's been hogtied and I've seen to your wound.”

While Lambert kept his Colt handy, Nathan took strong rope and, standing Jake Yeager next to a pine, bound his wrists securely behind the tree.

“Ain't you gonna tie my feet too?” Yeager asked.

“One more word from you,” said Nathan, “and I'll do better than that. I'll stuff a horse apple in your mouth.”

Finished with the outlaw, Nathan used the coffeepot to heat water, and when it was ready, he cleansed Lambert's wound. Then, using part of an old shirt, he bound it as best he could.

“I don't have any whiskey,” Nathan said. “You'll need something to kill the infection, but we should reach Fort Smith before it becomes a problem.”

“I'm obliged,” said Lambert. “If you want to go ahead with that coffee, I can go fetch Jake's horse.”

Nathan had built up the fire and had the coffee boiling when the lawman returned with Jake Yeager's dun. Lambert had also recovered the outlaw's Colt and had slipped it under his belt. Nathan fried bacon, and that, with hard biscuits and hot coffee, was their breakfast. Nathan fed Cotton Blossom what was left of the bacon.

“You'd feed a damn dog,” Yeager said bitterly, “an' let me go without.”

“Jake,” said Lambert, “this dog—or any other—stands considerably taller than you.”

In deference to Lambert's wound, Nathan saddled the horses. When he had his packhorse loaded, he then loaded the dead Jabbo on his horse and bound him to his saddle. Calming the horse was difficult, for the animal had no liking for its burden. Nathan then untied Jake Yeager and forced him to mount the dun. He bound Yeager's hands behind him and tied a lead rope to the man's saddle horn. They then rode north, Nathan leading out, with Jake Yeager's mount following on a lead rope. Lambert came behind Jake, leading the horse bearing Jabbo Yeager's body. They stopped every hour or so to rest the horses, untying Jake long enough for the surly gunman to walk about and stretch his cramped arms. Big gray clouds swept in from the southwest, and shortly after midday a cold, drizzling rain began. The last time they stopped to rest the horses, Lambert took the opportunity to speak to Nathan.

“I'd appreciate you goin' with me when I take Jake in. He'll try and weasel his way out of killin' that bank teller, but I aim to see that he gets charged with tryin' to gun us down from ambush. I want the court to take your testimony. Besides, you won't be doin' it for nothin'. You got a five-hundred-dollar bounty comin' for capturing Jake.”

“I'll testify,” Nathan said, “but I don't want the bounty. Jake's your prisoner.”

They rode on, and when the wind rose, the rain seemed even colder. It was dark when they finally reached Fort Smith. The marshal's office and the jail were in the courthouse basement. Nathan helped Jake Yeager to dismount, and with Lambert guiding him inside, Nathan loosened the bonds that secured the dead Jabbo to his saddle. He then shouldered the sodden, stinking corpse and followed Russ Lambert into the marshal's office. An angry old man of maybe sixty leaned across a desk glaring at Deputy U.S. Marshal Lambert, and when Nathan appeared with the dead outlaw, the old-timer began shouting.

“Damn it, Lambert, you come sloppin' in here knowin' ever‘body's gone fer the day, bringing' two outlaws, one of 'em dead and a-stinking. Jist what in hell am I s‘posed to do with 'em till mornin'? S'pose they ... he escapes durin' the night?”

“Not my problem, Simpkins,” said Lambert. “You're in charge here for the night, and all I want from you is a receipt for this pair, showin' that I brought 'em in. I'm sopping wet, exhausted, cold, hungry, and I've been shot, so my patience is wearin' damn thin. You write me that receipt, and you do it now.”

Simpkins took a receipt book from a desk drawer and began to write. For lack of a better place, Nathan dropped the body of Jabbo Yeager on the floor directly before Simpkins' desk. Finished, he passed the receipt to Lambert and fixed his horrified eyes on the dead outlaw before him.

“You're not leaving him ... there?”

“Why not?” Nathan said. “I've been totin' the varmint around all day. It's your turn.”

Lambert laughed when he had closed the door behind them. “That grouchy old scutter gets twenty dollars a month for settin' in there where it's warm and dry. When he finally has to get off his hunkers and do something, he's bawlin' like a fresh-cut calf.”

“You'd best find a doc and have that wound tended to,” said Nathan. “Me, I want grub, plenty of hot coffee, and a warm bed. Where can I find a bunk and grub that Cotton Blossom's welcome?”

“Ma Dollar's boardin' house,” Lambert said, “and she owns the cafe next door too. There's a livery across the street. I always take a room at Ma's place when I'm in town. Doc Avery lives there too, and he'll patch me up. It's too early for him to be drunk. Let's take the horses to the livery, and then we'll go to Ma's.”

“You go on and let the doc look at that wound,” said Nathan. “Tell the lady of the house I'll want a room for me and my dog. I'll be there when I've seen to the horses. What about the horses the Yeagers were riding?”

“Take them too,” Lambert said. “I reckon the court will confiscate them.”

Nathan led his two horses, Lambert's, and the two that had belonged to the Yeagers into the welcome shelter of the livery. A boy of maybe fifteen sat on a stool beneath a lighted lantern that hung on the livery's log wall.

“It's worth fifty cents apiece to me to have these horses all rubbed down, watered, and grained,” Nathan said. “Would you be willing to do it?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied eagerly.

“Bueno,” said Nathan. “I'll pay you now, because I'm pretty well give out. When you're done, stall them for the night and we'll settle up tomorrow. Do you have a safe place for the saddles and my packsaddle?”

“Tack room,” the boy said. “I'll see to them.”

Nathan took his saddlebags, and with Cotton Blossom following, made his way to the boardinghouse across the street. Cotton Blossom didn't much like boardinghouses, but trusting Nathan, he went in. Ma Dollar proved to be in her sixties, probably. She greeted Nathan warmly and spoke to Cotton Blossom.

“We'll likely be here a few days, ma'am,” Nathan said.

“It's a dollar a night,” said Ma, “or five dollars for seven days.”

“I'll pay for a week, then,” Nathan said. “This is my dog, Cotton Blossom. It's all right if he stays with me?”

“Long as he don't bark or make a mess, he's welcome. You're right next to Deputy Lambert. Room three, down the hall.”

The door to Lambert's room was open and the lawman was struggling into a clean shirt. The doctor was preparing to leave.

“Soon as I change into dry clothes, I'll be ready to try that cafe grub,” said Nathan. When he had changed, he took his saddlebags with him, for they contained the leather sack with the gold Eulie had left him.

“Tomorrow morning,” Lambert said, as they walked next door to the cafe, “we'll talk to the judge and he can hear your testimony. He may want it in writing, unless you plan to be around for a while.”

“I haven't made up my mind as to how long I'll be here,” said Nathan.

“If you've got nothin' better to do and you'll work cheap, I can get you a deputy marshal's badge,” Lambert said. “Couple of weeks back, Cullen Baker and his bunch had to skeedaddle out of Texas, and they rode into our tern-tory. Would you believe we was so damn short-handed the court didn't have nobody to send? Time we had a man that could ride south, the varmints was gone again.”

“I've heard of them,” Nathan said, careful not to betray his excitement. “Do they bother you often?”

“Often enough,” said Lambert. “Two or three times a year, anyhow. All depends on what Baker's done in Texas. If he's killed somebody, then he'll ride across the line and hole up somewhere to the south of here. It takes a while before he can ride back to Texas.”

“I've never been a peace officer before,” Nathan said. “Maybe I'll try it, if the court will have me.”

“Long as you didn't desert the Union army and you ain't wanted by the law,” said Lambert, “you got yourself a job.”

The rain had become more intense and the cafe had few customers. Nathan and Lambert entered, and before they took a table, Nathan spoke to the cook about Cotton Blossom.

“Just keep him near you,” the genial cook said. “With both of you as payin' customers, the dog eats for free, if he don't mind beef scraps.”

Nathan laughed. “He never complains. Muchas gracias.”

After a meal of roast beef, potatoes, onions, biscuits, apple pie, and hot coffee, Nathan and Lambert returned to Ma Dollar's boardinghouse. The rain hadn't let up, and Nathan was thankful for a roof over his head. He blew out the lamp, and with Cotton Blossom on the rug beside the bed, the two of them were soon asleep.

Nathan was pulling on his boots when Russ Lambert knocked on the door.

“I'm goin' to breakfast,” Lambert said. “I thought you might be up and about. The courthouse opens at nine.”

“After a bit of grub and some hot coffee, there's a small chance I'd feel human,” said Nathan. “Let's go eat.”

Nathan waited until they were down to final cups of coffee before speaking what was on his mind.

“When there are outlaws or killers on the run, who decides which lawman goes after them? Why did the court choose you to go after the Yeagers?”

“The court had no choice,” Lambert said, “and neither did I. Like I told you, we're shorthanded, and I was the only deputy in town. If the need arose for a lawman and there was two of us here, one of us would have the chance to volunteer. If neither of us did, the court would send the man who had been inactive the longest.”

“I reckon it ain't often you have help on a chase, then,” said Nathan.

“Often, hell,” Lambert scoffed. “I been behind this badge three years come April, and I never had any help. Anyway, not till you come along,” he added hastily.

By the time they reached the courthouse, the clouds had broken up and a mild sun peeked through.

“By now,” said Lambert, “Judge Corbin will have read Simpkins's report. The judge will want to talk to you, but let me talk to him first.”

Nathan waited, thinking of the decision he had made. From what Lambert had told him, it seemed just a matter of time until Cullen Baker's nefarious activities in Texas would force him and his gang back into Arkansas. On his own, Nathan had no idea
where
he might find Baker and the scar-faced man, Tobe Snider, but as a lawman, Nathan would have an edge. With the law having free access to the telegraph, Baker's activities and whereabouts could be reported within minutes. At that moment, Lambert left Judge Corbin's office and beckoned to Nathan.

“Go on in,” said Lambert. “Room 112. I'll wait in the lobby.”

Judge Corbin proved to be a tall, graying man, probably in his fifties. He arose behind his desk and extended his hand.

“I'm Elliott Corbin.”

“My pleasure,” Nathan said. “I'm Nathan Stone.”

“Take a chair, Nathan,” said Corbin. “First, I want to thank you for coming to the aid of Deputy U.S. Marshal Lambert. It's a rare act of courage, taking a man alive when he's doing his best to kill you.”

“I take no pleasure in killing a man,” Nathan said, “unless he won't have it any other way.” Nathan felt a twinge of guilt, for that was no longer true. He had begun to change with the death of French Stumberg.