Free The Dawn of Fury by RALPH COMPTON Page A

the ultimate insult. The men who had witnessed Driggers’s disgrace laughed. Driggers ran from the saloon.
    â€œBelly up to the bar,” Nathan said. “The drinks are on me.”
    Nathan endured the back-slapping and congratulations of the patrons in the saloon. He had established himself as a gambling man. It had been a slick piece of work, something men could appreciate, and the story would follow him. But the bartender had a word of caution.
    â€œDriggers has had that comin’ for a long time. He’s killed men before, but he’s a low-down, back-shootin’ varmint, and there ain’t been no evidence. He’s got kin at Weather-ford and Lexington, down in Lee County. Some of ’em are damn near as sorry as he is. You ride careful.”
    â€œThanks,” Nathan said. “I aim to do that.”
    After one night at Fort Worth, Nathan rode south, bound for Austin. He saw nobody, and after he had watered his horses at a spring, sought a coulee where he might safely spend the night. Cotton Blossom would awaken him if danger came close. But darkness was an hour away and the danger didn’t wait. A distant rifle roared twice, and Nathan Stone slumped to the ground, blood welling from a head wound. Cotton Blossom whined, licking Nathan’s face, but he lay unmoving ...

Chapter 4

    It was well past dark when Nathan finally stirred. His head hurt like seven kinds of hell. His left eye was swollen shut and the left side of his face was crusted with dried blood. Cotton Blossom trotted anxiously around him. Nathan was but a few feet from the creek and he crawled there on hands and knees. He slacked his burning thirst and then buried his aching head in the cooling water. The shock of it cleared his head and he was able to cleanse his wound. The slug had struck him just above the left eye, ripping a furrow along the left side of his head, just above his ear. When he had washed away the dried blood, the wound began bleeding again. Gripping a stirrup, he staggered to his feet. He leaned against the horse, clinging to the saddle horn while he gained strength in his legs. He had already unpacked the packhorse before he’d been shot. Finally he gained enough strength to remove the saddle from his horse. He took an undershirt from his saddlebag, and returning to the creek, cleaned and bandaged his wound. Then, without even removing his boots, he lay down, his head on his saddle.
    â€œKeep your eyes and ears open, Cotton Blossom. Tonight I have to rest, but come the morning, I have a debt to pay.”

    Nathan awoke with an aching head and feet unsteady. He got a small fire going, put the coffeepot on to boil, and began broiling hunks of bacon for himself and Cotton Blossom. He drank the strong coffee directly from the pot, and again resting his head on his saddle, waited for the hurt to subside. When he felt strong enough, he saddled the black, and leaving the packhorse picketed, rode east. It was from there the shots had come, and unless the bushwhacker had ridden all night, it was unlikely that he had reached Fort Worth. Wherever he had ridden, he had left a trail, and Nathan soon found it. It led northeast, and Nathan suspected his man wasn’t riding back to Fort Worth, but to Dallas or some point beyond. Nathan rode at slow trot. Cotton Blossom, sensing they were on a trail, loped far ahead.
    Dallas sheriff Eb Chasteen listened to Nathan’s story with little enthusiasm. “So you got yer skull creased,” he said. “You seen the hombre that done it?”
    â€œNo,” said Nathan irritably, “but yesterday I exposed a card cheat name of Jason Driggers in Fort Worth. He promised to kill me, and he’s the only bastard in Texas with any reason to. I trailed him here, and when I find him, there’s goin’ to be a reckoning. I just wanted to be sure there’ll be no misunderstanding between you and me after I find Driggers.”
    â€œYou got no