Autumn of the Gun by RALPH COMPTON Read Free Book Online Page A

you’re going to practice drawing and cocking that pistol. It won’t be worth a damn to you until you can draw and fire without shooting yourself in the leg or foot.”

Fort Worth, Texas June 1, 1877
    â€œI reckon we’ll stay the night,” said Nathan, “and give you a chance to meet the post commander, Captain Ferguson.”
    Ferguson welcomed them, and after visiting with the captain in his office, Nathan and Vivian were assigned quarters for the night.
    â€œYou have impressive friends, Nathan,” Vivian said.
    â€œCaptain Ferguson was lacking a post telegrapher once,” said Nathan, “and I filled in until he could get a man assigned. The captain hasn’t forgotten.” 3
    â€œHow far are we from New Orleans?”
    â€œAbout five hundred miles,” said Nathan. “Taking our time, we’re a week away.”
    Leaving Fort Worth, they rode eastward, bearing a little to the south. There were no large towns, and many of the villages through which they passed had no hotel or boardinghouse. Often they cooked over an open fire and slept near a spring or a creek. Empty ran on ahead, and their journey was without incident. They crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, and spent the night there before riding on to New Orleans. As they followed the river south, one of the big boats passed, its paddle wheel churning as it headed north.
    â€œThey’re so grand looking,” said Vivian. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to one.”
    â€œWhen we’re ready to leave New Orleans,” Nathan said, “maybe we’ll take one to St. Louis.”
    â€œI’d like that,” said Vivian. “There’s so much I’ve never seen or done.”

New Orleans June 9, 1877
    â€œWe won’t spend any time in town,” Nathan said. “I’m fair-to-middlin’ sure there’s at least a few hombres here that would like to see me dead.”
    They rode on until they could see the roof of McQueen’s horse barn. Empty ran on ahead, and without hesitation took the tree-lined road toward the distant McQueen house. A breeze whispered through the leaves of the majestic oaks, and their shade offered pleasant respite from the sun.
    â€œIt all looks so peaceful,” said Vivian.
    But looks were deceiving. Empty began barking, and a buzzard flapped sluggishly into the sky, coming to rest atop the horse barn.
    â€œSomething’s wrong,” Nathan said, kicking the grulla into a gallop.
    Vivian followed, reining up behind Nathan as they neared the house. It had a vacant look, and the front door stood open. Empty awaited their arrival, growling deep in his throat. Nathan’s heart sank when he discovered what had attracted the buzzards. Near the house lay the mutilated remains of Barnabas McQueen’s four hounds. As unnerving as the sight was, the odor was worse. Nathan’s horse shied at the smell of death and, reining up, he dismounted. Vivian reined up, waiting, as Nathan went closer. Quickly he turned away and returned to the grulla.
    â€œWhat killed them?” Vivian asked.
    â€œThey were shot,” said Nathan. “We’ll leave the horses next to the barn and go on to the house on foot. Keep your pistol handy; I don’t know what’s waiting for us.”
    Remembering the McQueens had always entered the house through the kitchen, Nathan ignored the open front door. Vivian followed him around the house, waiting as he tried the back door. It opened readily, and she followed him into the kitchen. A chair lay on its side and fragments of a broken dish were scattered on the floor. A length of stove wood lay under the table, while on the otherwise clean white tablecloth there were flecks of dried blood.
    â€œThey put up a fight,” said Nathan, “but they were taken away. The dogs have been dead maybe two days.”
    â€œWhat could have happened to them, and why?” Vivian asked.
    â€œI don’t