Free The Dawn of Fury by RALPH COMPTON Page B

proof this gent took a shot at you,” Chasteen said. “Just your suspicions. Kill a man without provable cause, and you’ll find yourself before a firing squad or on the way to the gallows.”
    They stood on the boardwalk outside the sheriffs office, and from an alley on the far side of the street, a rifle roared once, twice, three times.
    With the first shot, Nathan hit the boardwalk, drawing his Colt as he went down. The sheriff was flung back against the wall as a slug smashed into his shoulder. On his belly, Nathan fired three times into the mouth of the alley, but there was no return fire. Colt in his hand, Nathan scrambled to his feet and in a zigzag run, lit out toward the alley. There was no place for the gunman to hide between the store buildings. For the second time Driggers had attempted a cowardly ambush, and Nathan doubted he had the guts for a standup fight. His horse would be nearby and he would run. Nathan caught up to him in the alley, behind a saloon, already mounted. Driggers kicked the horse into a fast gallop just as Nathan fired. The slug missed Driggers but burned a gash along the horse’s flank. The animal screamed, began to pitch, and piled Driggers.
    â€œGet up,” said Nathan, holstering his Colt. “I’ll give you more of a chance than you deserve, you back-shootin’ skunk.”
    Nathan stood with his left thumb hooked in his pistol belt, for his left-hand Colt was fully loaded. Driggers got to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He knew what was coming, and sweat dripped off his chin.
    â€œWhen you’re ready,” Nathan said.
    Nathan waited, not making his move until Driggers slapped leather. Nathan drew left-handed, and two slugs tore into Driggers, while lead from his opponent’s Colt kicked up dust at his feet. Driggers stumbled backward, fell, and moved no more.
    The gunfire brought men on the run. One of them had heard of Driggers’s disgrace in Fort Worth the day before. He told the story and it was repeated. It would spread across the frontier, and Nathan Stone would become respected as a gambling man and chain-lightning with a pistol, able to draw and fire a deadly Colt with either hand.
    Ignoring the men who had gathered, Nathan reloaded both his Colts and took his time walking back to the sheriffs office. He found Chasteen stretched out on his desk, minus his shirt, a doctor dressing his wound.
    â€œDriggers is up yonder behind a saloon,” said Nathan. “Are you satisfied I had provable cause?”
    â€œYeah,” said Chasteen grudgingly. “Now ride on.”
    Nathan rode out the way he had come, ignoring the questions of men who had gathered outside the sheriff’s office. Let the sullen, appointed lawman do his own explaining. Nathan returned to the camp where he had left his packhorse. His head ached and he took the time to again cleanse and bind his wound. He then watered his horses and rode south, bound for Austin, wondering if his newly acquired reputation would be there waiting for him. There was no help for it. It was a thing with which he must live. Or die.

Waco, Texas. March 6, 1866.
    Nathan found the Federals had not yet taken over the town of Waco. The sheriff was an amiable old fellow named Sid Hanks.
    â€œI ain’t got no prejudices ag‘in gamblers,” said Hanks. “If you end up shootin’ somebody, or somebody blows out your light, then you’d best have the cash in your poke for a buryin’. We was broke ’fore the war, and we sure as hell ain’t got no money now.”
    Nathan liked the looks of Waco. He tied both his horses to the rail before a saloon called the Lily Belle. Obviously the place had been named for the lady herself, for a full length painting of her—wearing only a smile—graced most of one wall. The barkeep said, “B’longs to old Sam Prater. Sam’s grandpappy had money. Left Sam this place, along with a two-story house big