The Killing Season by RALPH COMPTON Page B

the identities of the other men with whom Hankins had returned to Virginia. Six men who, along with Bart Hankins, had died by the gun of Nathan Stone. With Pinkerton persistence, there was more than enough evidence to establish a pattern. While all Hankins’s companions had been gunned down while trying to kill Nathan, there was nobody but Nathan Stone who could swear that Bart Hankins had drawn first. It was time for a decision. For the next two weeks, Nathan allowed his beard to grow, leaving his room only for meals and to see that the livery was properly caring for his horses. Finally, the mirror convincing him his appearance had been sufficiently altered, he made the rounds of various saloons, sitting in on poker games, but avoiding high stakes. Only once did he encounter a hint of recognition. During a game of five card stud at the Emerald Dragon, a thin man in town clothes put down his cards and stared across the table at Nathan. Finally he spoke.
    â€œAin’t I seen you somewhere before?”
    Nathan laughed. “I doubt it. I’d remember an ugly varmint like you.”
    His companions all howled with laughter, and the moment passed. Feeling a little more secure, having spent three weeks in St. Louis saloons, Nathan rode back to Kansas City. He had continued buying regular copies of the Kansas City Liberty-Tribune without again finding a reward notice with the etching of himself. Perhaps the attorney general’s order had served its purpose, or perhaps the Limbaughs had just given up from lack of success.

Kansas City, Missouri. May 26, 1873
    Reading the current Kansas City Liberty- Tribune, Nathan discovered something that intrigued him. Edward Beard, a saloon owner from California, had been attracted to Kansas by the cattle boom, and had established a saloon and dance hall in Delano, just outside Wichita. Beard advertised around-the-clock high stakes poker and was seeking house dealers. While with the Kansas-Pacific Railroad, Nathan had spent many months in various Kansas towns. Having allowed his beard to grow, it was time to learn whether or not his changed appearance had made any difference in towns where he was most likely to be recognized. He rode to Delano and offered his services as a house dealer, and his first impression of Edward Beard was unfavorable. He had a quick tongue, cold green eyes, flaming red hair and beard, and little patience.
    â€œTwenty percent of the take,” said Beard shortly. “It’s your game. I ain’t responsible for slick dealing, card shaving, knife or gun work.”
    Nathan laughed. “So that’s why you’re in Delano instead of Wichita. No law out here.”
    â€œIt’s no business of yours why I’m here,” Beard said. “If you can’t ride the bronc, then stay out of the saddle.”
    â€œI can ride your bronc,” said Nathan evenly. “Just don’t get in my way.”
    Beard had a whorehouse upstairs, and he was anything but gentle with the women. For some reason Nathan never understood, Beard’s place was enormously popular with the military, and soldiers were there from as far away as Fort Dodge, Fort Leavenworth, and Fort Hays. While riding the vengeance trail, Nathan had often visited the forts, and during his first week at the tables, he was greatly encouraged when none of the soldiers seemed to recognize him. Nathan and two other dealers—Benton and Kinzer—worked the tables from three in the afternoon until eleven at night, and Nathan got the impression they were more hired guns than house dealers. The night of June third, Nathan had his suspicions confirmed. Two soldiers got into a violent argument with Emma Stanley, one of Beard’s prostitutes.
    â€œDamn you,” one of the soldiers shouted, “you owe me change.”
    â€œI gave it to you,” Emma shouted back.
    One of the soldiers drew his pistol, probably as a threat, but Emma seized his arm and the weapon