Read Online The Dawn of Fury by RALPH COMPTON - Free Book Online

association with the James and Younger gangs. The killers he sought wouldn’t know they were being pursued, so there was little chance he’d find them hiding in Indian Territory.
    â€œThose killers rode west,” Nathan said, “and I’d bet a horse and saddle one or two of them are from Texas. Since we don’t know for sure where this trail’s taking us, Texas is a good place to start. Let’s ride south, Cotton Blossom.”
    Nathan and Cotton Blossom passed the villages of Parsons and Coffeyville, Kansas without stopping, keeping out of sight. The little towns were not too far from the Missouri village where the killing had taken place. Nathan rode until he was sure he was well into Indian Territory before stopping. There was a poorly painted sign nailed to the trunk of a tree that told him he was approaching Muscogee. While he doubted he would find the killers he sought in Indian Territory, it would cost him nothing but a little time and the price of a beer or two to visit some of the saloons. He reined up before the Cherokee Saloon, half-hitching his mount and the packhorse to the rail.
    â€œStay, Cotton Blossom,” he said.
    Four men sat at a back table, a bottle, glasses, and a deck of cards before them. They eyed Nathan as he walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He paid, took the brew, and leaning his back against the bar, returned the stare of the men at the table. They suddenly lost interest in him, and one of them began shuffling the cards. Nathan finished his beer, set the glass on the bar, and headed for the door. He could sense the eyes of the barkeep and the four men at the table on his back, wondering who he was. That he might be on the dodge didn’t concern them, but the possibility that he might be a lawman—perhaps from Fort Smith—did. He visited the other two saloons where the few patrons viewed him with the same suspicion. Before he rode out of town, Nathan stopped at the general store and bought a second holster for his extra Colt. He now wore a tied-down Colt on each hip, and after endless hours of practice, could draw and fire with either hand. He rode on, pausing on a ridge to be sure he wasn’t followed.
    Finding a spring, Nathan stopped and cooked his supper well before dark. After watering his horses, he rode a mile or more until he found a draw with ample graze. There he picketed his horses and spread his blankets, secure from the chill night wind. Cotton Blossom would warn him of any intruders. But the night was peaceful enough, and he returned to the spring for breakfast. The real danger in Indian Territory, as he was well aware, was the possibility of being murdered or robbed by renegades. But a change had taken place that eased his mind considerably. No longer content to just trot along behind the packhorse, Cotton Blossom had taken to ranging ahead and occasionally falling behind. The hound seemed to sense Nathan’s caution, and in the late afternoon, Cotton Blossom caught up, after scouting the back trail. He whined and trotted back a few yards the way he had come. Nathan reined up.
    â€œSomebody on our back trail, Cotton Blossom?”
    Cotton Blossom growled low in his throat. A few yards ahead was a mass of head-high boulders, and on a ridge almost a mile distant, a dense thicket. Nathan kicked his horse into a slow gallop. The animals must be picketed far enough ahead that they wouldn’t nicker when the pursuers drew near. Quickly Nathan half-hitched the reins of his mount and those of the packhorse to a scrub oak, well within the thicket. Taking his Henry from the boot, he ran back down the slope to the distant pile of boulders, Cotton Blossom at his heels. They didn’t have long to wait. There were three riders, and the first man Nathan thought he recognized from the poker table at the Cherokee Saloon. Nathan waited until the trio had ridden past and then stepped out behind them.
    â€œThat’s far enough,”