Autumn of the Gun Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  Appendix

  A GUNFIGHTER GROWS OLDER

  It had happened before—so many times before. Now Nathan decided to speed up what was going to happen anyway. He walked to the man’s table and said, “You’ve been taking my measure ever since I came in. Do I know you?”

  The stranger laughed. “I doubt it. But I know you. You’re Nathan Stone, the killer.”

  “I’m Nathan Stone,” Nathan replied coldly.

  “What do you want of me?”

  “I’m Mitch Sowell, and I’m callin’ you out. I’ll meet you on the street.”

  “I have no fight with you,” Nathan said.

  “Oh, but you do,” Sowell said. “You have a reputation, and I aim to fight you for it.”

  How many more times would he have to do this? Nathan wondered as he followed Sowell out of the saloon. How many more times would he have to kill before he died ... ?

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, December

  Copyright © Ralph Compton, 1996

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  eISBN : 978-1-101-12727-8

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  “Nathan Stone, someday, in some town on the frontier, you’ll die with your boots on, going against impossible odds, for what you believe is right.”

  —from The Killing Season

  PROLOGUE

  Southern Arizona Territory April 18, 1877

  “Yonder he is,” Tasby shouted. “Git him!”

  Nathan Stone plunged headlong back into the thicket from which he had just emerged, the shackles on his wrists impeding his progress. Lead whipped through the foliage above his head. Nathan wondered where his dog, Empty, was. While the hound had aided in his escape from Tasby and Doss—the men delivering Nathan to Yuma territorial prison—Nathan was now on his own. He was afoot, wounded, his wrists manacled, half starved, and without a weapon. When the firing ceased, he crept deeper into the thicket. Nearing the end of his second day as a fugitive, having had no food since the morning of his escape, there was weakness in his body and dizziness in his head. He could hear the voices of his pursuers, and they sounded far away.

  “He’s in there, by God, an’ he ain’t armed. We got him now.”

  Nathan Stone lay still, overcome by weakness. Sundown was two hours away, but if he evaded them until then, what would it avail him? By morning, weak from hunger and loss of blood, he would be at their mercy. As he lay there, his mind drifted back over the years. Again it was 1866, and following his release from a Yankee prison, Nathan Stone had returned to find his father, mother, and sister dead, murdered by renegades. On their graves, Nathan had taken a blood oath, vowing to track down and kill the seven renegades to the last man. The killers had fled west, and for seven long years, Nathan had ridden a vengeance trail. When the last of the seven were dead, Nathan Stone had the reputation of a fast gun, the name of a killer. He had tried to settle down, distinguishing himself as a telegrapher and troubleshooter for the railroads. He took for his wife a young woman he had rescued from a band of renegades in Indian Territory, only to have the outlaws abduct the girl and brutally murder her. After taking his vengeance—gunning down the outlaws—Nathan had given up his position with the railroad and become a drifter.

  But Nathan Stone had been unable to escape his reputation as a fast draw. Wherever he went, he had been forced to live by the gun. When Texas Ranger Captain Sage Jennings had been shot in the back from ambush, Nathan had again ridden the vengeance trail, killing the outlaw who had murdered his friend. He had been stalked and ambushed by a bloodthirsty female whose gun-slinging brother he had been forced to shoot, while a price had been put on his head by the wealthy family of a renegade he had killed in Missouri.

  Finally, Nathan’s mind drifted back to that dark day in Pueblo, Colorado, where his friend, Harley Stafford, lay near death. Nathan had become involved with Vivian, Harley’s sister, and his ensuing friendship with Harley had gotten him a position with the railroad. But Harley had been gunned down by outlaws during a train robbery, and again Nathan Stone had taken to the vengeance trail. Leaving Vivian with the critically wounded Harley, Nathan had taken the trail of the outlaws, tracking them to southern Arizona Territory.

  Reaching a town, Nathan had discovered too late that it was inhabited entirely by outlaws, including the judge and sheriff. This time even Nathan’s fast draw couldn’t save him. He had been forced into a gunfight, charged with murder, and sentenced to hard labor. In chains, he had fought with and killed a brutal guard, and his punishment was more terrible than anything he could have imagined. To his horror, he was being sent to the territorial prison at Yuma as part of a profitable scheme devised by crooked officials at the prison and the outlaw Judge Ponder. For ten thousand dollars, an inmate at Yuma would be allowed to “escape.” The prison would report the escapee had been captured, but the man actually being returned to Yuma would be Nathan Stone.

  Judge Ponder had selected Doss and Tasby to deliver Nath
an to Yuma territorial prison, and on April 15, 1877, the trio had ridden west. One morning beside the Gila River, when they had been about to resume their journey, Nathan had made his move. Empty, the hound, had attacked one of his captors, while Nathan had gone after the other. His hands still manacled, Nathan had escaped by leaping into the river. Fearing the wrath of Judge Ponder, Tasby and Doss had not given up the chase, and now they were closing in.

  Hearing a rustling of leaves, Nathan was about to struggle to his feet, but to his relief, he saw only his faithful hound. Tasby and Doss had taken to shooting at the dog, and since they were mounted, there was little Empty could do except avoid them. But the hated duo had dismounted. Counting on Nathan being wounded, weak, and manacled, they were pursuing him into the thicket. Empty stood beside Nathan, his teeth bared, and the instant one of the searchers appeared, the hound was on him in a fury. When Doss dropped the Colt, Nathan seized it. Weak as he was, he needed both hands, but he shot Doss through the head. Nathan went belly down, and when Tasby fired, his first shot missed. He had no chance for another, for Nathan shot him dead.

  “Old son,” said Nathan, struggling to his knees, “if it wasn’t for you ...”

  Empty sat there watching him as Nathan searched both the dead men. With a sigh of relief, he found the key to the cruel manacles and freed his hands.

  “Come on,” Nathan said. “First thing we do is find the horses the varmints was ridin’ and fix us some grub.”

  Nathan took the Colts and gun rigs from both the dead men, and when he found their saddled horses, there was a Winchester in each saddle boot. He went through the saddlebags, finding bacon, coffee beans, hard tack, and most of a bottle of whiskey. With trembling hands, he started a fire, filled the blackened coffeepot at the river, and hacked off chunks of bacon. Sharing the bacon with Empty, he ate it half raw, drinking the coffee right from the pot. His hunger satisfied, he removed his muddy shirt and examined his wound. It was clean; the lead had missed the bone, and there appeared to be no infection. He heated some water in the coffeepot, cleansed the wound, and, after dousing it with some of the whiskey, bound it with a piece of a shirt from one of the dead men’s saddlebags. Nathan then mounted one of the horses and, leading the other, rode upriver until he found his own horse where his pursuers had picketed it. The grulla nickered as Nathan picketed the other two horses alongside it.

  “We’ll rest a day or two. Empty,” said Nathan, “and allow this wound some time to heal. Then we have some unfinished business with Judge Ponder, Sheriff Hondo, and the rest of those coyotes in that outlaw town.”

  A day after regaining his freedom, Nathan released the horses belonging to Tasby and Doss, their cartridge belts with empty holsters thonged to the saddle horns. The horses would find their way back to Ponder’s town, and Nathan expected their return to trigger a massive manhunt, for Nathan Stone knew too much. When every available man had been mounted and sent in search of him, Nathan would ride in and settle accounts with Judge Ponder. Nathan had kept the Colts and Winchesters taken from the dead men, along with all their ammunition, and had transferred their food and supplies from their saddlebags to his own. Two days after releasing the horses, Nathan crossed the Gila and rode east. The searchers would be forced to ride west until they discovered what had become of Tasby and Doss. That would allow Nathan to settle with Judge Ponder and prepare a reception for the searchers when they returned. Concealing his trail, Nathan kept well to the south of the Gila River. Once he had ridden far enough eastward, he headed north. Empty was somewhere ahead of him, and when Nathan was within a mile or two of Ponder’s town, he circled it. To the south, he found what he was seeking. There were the fresh tracks of many horses, and the trail led west. Nathan reined up, and Empty came trotting out of the brush.

  “Looks like the judge mounted everybody that could ride,” said Nathan. “Empty, it’s time we called on Judge Ponder and showed that old coyote the error of his ways.”

  Somewhere a mule brayed, and Nathan could hear the distant thunk of an axe. Ponder evidently had kept his chain gangs at work, and that meant guards were on duty. Nathan picketed his horse in a thicket and made his way on foot toward Ponder’s quarters, which also served as a jail. Coming in behind the building, he paused. He saw no horses at the hitch rails in front of any of the buildings. He pointed toward the dirt street, and Empty bounded ahead. If there was unseen danger, the dog would warn him. Empty trotted the length of the street, then returned, and Nathan stepped around the corner of the jail. Two horses were tied at the hitch rail before the building and, ignoring the entrance, Nathan stepped up on the porch from one end. He eased up beside the door, listening, and from within he heard voices. The loudest belonged to Judge Ponder.

  “Damn it, Roscoe, if they don’t ride him down, we’re finished.”

  “They won’t ride him down,” said Roscoe, “because he won’t be there. Them bosses comin’ in with empty saddles is proof enough he’s cashed in Tasby and Doss. Now he’s got a hoss and a gun, and he’s on his way here.”

  “I fear you may be right,” Ponder said. “I want you to remain here in this office until Sheriff Hondo and the posse returns.”

  Roscoe laughed. “Keeno. I can take him. That’s why I didn’t ride with the posse. I’ll gamble they ain’t a man in the territory faster with a Colt than me.”

  “You lose,” said Nathan, kicking the door open.

  Nathan stood in the doorway, a Colt belted to each hip. Roscoe managed to recover from the shock, but Nathan fired twice, and the man died with his pistol barely clear of the holster. Judge Ponder dropped to the floor, seized a shotgun, and fired over the desk, but Nathan was belly down on the floor, and the deadly load went over his head. He fired once, and the slug struck Ponder between the eyes. Outside, Empty was barking furiously; without a backward look Nathan was out the door. Across the street, a man stepped out of the saloon. He fired twice and, the slugs slammed into the wall to Nathan’s right. He returned the fire, and his second shot drove his attacker against the saloon wall. The man slid to the ground and didn’t move. Nathan could hear distant shouts, a fair indication that some of the guards were coming to investigate. Nathan circled around and headed for the site where the dam was being built. Normally there were two guards, and if one of them had gone to investigate the shooting at the jail, Nathan would be facing only one of them at a time. When Nathan neared the dam, he could see the men had ceased work, and Sanchez, the remaining guard, was awaiting word as to what the shooting had been about. Within pistol range, Nathan stepped out of the brush and shouted a challenge.

  “Sanchez!”

  Sanchez had a Winchester in the crook of his left arm, but went for his Colt. Nathan allowed him more of an opportunity than he deserved, and then gunned him down.

  “Stone,” one of the prisoners shouted, “God bless you. Get us out of these chains so we can help you.”

  “Some of you search Sanchez; see if he has the key to your irons and free yourselves,” said Nathan. “That other guard will be comin’ back on the run. I aim to welcome him.”

  “Damn it,” said one of the prisoners, “he ain’t got the key to these irons. Gustavez must have it.”

  “He’ll be comin’ back,” Nathan said, “and I’m sure he won’t object to us havin’ it.”

  “He sure as hell won’t,” said one of the men who had taken the Winchester from the fallen Sanchez.

  “Where’s the other work gang?” Nathan asked.

  “Workin’ the fields,” said one of the men. “What’s happened in town?”

  “I talked some sense to Judge Ponder and one of his gun-throwers in a language they could understand,” Nathan replied. “Once we’ve rid ourselves of these guards, we’re going to prepare a reception for Sheriff Hondo and his posse that’s out lookin’ for me.”

  Suddenly a slug zipped past Nathan’s head. Two men, their horses at a gallop, had drawn their guns and were firing at Nathan. He returned the fire, but the prisoner who had the Winchest
er shot one of the men out of the saddle. The second man wheeled his horse and tried to run, but was gunned down by one of the captives who had taken the Colt from the fallen Sanchez. Quickly the men searched Gustavez and came up with keys to their leg irons.

  “While you’re freeing yourselves,” said Nathan, “I’m going after that other guard. If there are more of these coyotes around, you now have weapons. Use them. I’ll be back.”

  Nathan took a horse belonging to one of the dead guards and rode toward the distant fields. He must get within gun range before the remaining guard recognized him. But his luck didn’t hold, and lead ripped the air over his head as soon as he was within range. It became a dangerous situation, for the other man was kneeling, firing a Winchester. But some of the prisoners came to Nathan’s aid. They piled on the guard from behind and seized his Colt, and he was dead before Nathan reached him. Quickly the men went through the dead guard’s pockets, found the key to their leg irons, and freed themselves. Most of the men remembered Nathan, and they shouted a joyous welcome.

  “Come on,” Nathan said. “Sheriff Hondo’s out with a posse, and we have to be ready when they return.”

  “What happened to Judge Ponder?” somebody wanted to know.

  “He came after me with a shotgun,” said Nathan, “but he missed. I didn’t.”

  When the groups came together, there were almost a hundred men, and they looked at Nathan expectantly.

  “Somewhere in this town there’ll be guns and ammunition,” Nathan said. “It’s up to us to arm all of you. We’ll start with Ponder’s quarters and the jail.”

  Ponder and Roscoe lay where they had fallen. One of the freed prisoners took the shotgun from Ponder’s dead hands, while another seized Roscoe’s Colt and pistol belt. They found two more Colts, two Winchesters, and a supply of ammunition, but it was far short of what they needed.