Читать книгу Devil Rising: The Heart of a Gunman - R. B. Conroy - Страница 7

Chapter 1

The cool winter breeze sent a chill down Pecos Street. Local residents scurried to get inside on this unusually cold day in Logan’s Crossing. Quiet conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside the Barbee Saloon, a safe haven from the unexpectedly cool weather. Inside, Sheriff Jon Stoudenmire and a few of his closest friends enjoyed a game of five card stud.

“Are you going to make a play or just sit there and look at your cards all day?” big Jon needled his good friend, Ed Morgan. The aging gunman, now lawman, was on a roll and didn’t like being held up. His eyes squinted through the curling smoke from his Havana.

“Alright, alright, I call,” Ed replied. Three shiny silver dollars bounced on the table as the trusted deputy called the bet. “Just consider this another donation to our chief law enforcement officer here in Mesquite County,” he said sarcastically.

Jon gulped down a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. “I can’t think of a more worthy cause.” He tossed his hand on the table and pushed he cards apart.

“All black, queen high,” Jon announced as the spade flush became visible to the other players. They just shook their heads. It looked like another winner for big Jon.

“Well, you better get that fixed,” Ed said as he quickly laid down his hand. “Full up, Jacks and threes!” Ed snickered as he leaned forward to rake in the pot.

“There’s over two hundred dollars in that pot!” someone shouted.

“Yea, it’s a good one alright, but I still ain’t well by a long shot,” the smiling Ed replied.

“Quit complaining, you no account sidewinder!” Jon barked as he watched his friend drag in the biggest pot of the day. “You’re about the luckiest varmint I’ve ever seen!”

Ed just smiled as he carefully stacked the pot full of silver dollars.

“If I keep winning like this, I’ll be able to quit my deputy sheriff’s job and become a professional. Don’t you think so, Jon?”

“I wouldn’t make any rash decisions. I’ve seen people starving before and it ain’t a pretty sight.” Jon grinned as he carefully flicked his ashes in the small metal tray.

“Yea, yea, starving my foot,” the feisty Ed retorted not wanting Jon to get in the last word.

Just then a soft, gentle voice interrupted the two friendly combatants. Elizabeth Thompson, the beautiful owner of the Barbee, had just returned from a visit to the bank and was approaching the table. Once a renowned actress from New York City, for reasons unknown, she had moved west to open the Barbee a year earlier. When Jon arrived in town, the sparks flew almost immediately between the seductive actress, better known as Libby, and himself. They were soon a couple.

“My oh my, you boys are at it again. If I didn’t know better, I would actually think you didn’t like each other,” Libby said as she walked gracefully over and put her arm around Jon’s big muscular shoulders.

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Libby,” Jon said. Smoke curled up as he punched out his cigar and laid it in the ashtray. He slid his arm around her tiny waist and gently pulled her a little closer. “How’s my girl?” Jon checked his hole card with his free hand, still waiting for his up card.

“Just fine, thank you honey.”

Libby looked stunning in her full length dark blue gown and white neck scarf. A gold earring dangled from each ear and a delicate gold necklace seemed to draw attention to her bare, well proportioned shoulders. Her long auburn hair was combed upward into a bun, adorned by a blue onyx hair pin. The delicate features of her beautiful face were lit up with a never ending smile. To all these men way out in the Sonoran Desert, she was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“I’ll let you fellows finish your game, I’ve got plenty to do around here. And don’t forget Jon, you promised to take this girl to dinner tonight. So don’t lose it all,” Libby said flirtatiously.

Jon beamed at his lovely Elizabeth.

“Oh don’t worry Libby.” Camp Wilson, stable hand and part time deputy, jumped into the conversation. “If Jon goes bust, one of us would be happy to fill in. How about it, boys?” The other men smiled, there heads rapidly nodding in agreement.

“Now just hold on there,” Jon exclaimed loudly. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before this lovely lady goes to dinner with one of you claim jumpers.”

“Claim jumper, is it? That’s it, put ‘em up Sheriff.” Young Camp jumped up, his fists rotated in front of him, challenging Jon to a mock fight. Everybody at the table joined into a spontaneous round of laughter, as the lawman put his hands up, palms forward in defeat; all the while grinning from ear to ear at his young friend’s antics.

The fun didn’t last long. Suddenly two shots rang out and screams could be heard coming from the street in front of the Barbee. The shots seemed to be coming from the area around the general store, caddy cornered from the saloon.

Jon jumped up instinctively; gathered his coins, stuffed them in his jeans.

“Excuse me Darlin’.” Jon tipped his hat to Miss Libby as he made a hasty exit out the door.

“Please be careful Jon,” Libby pleaded, as Jon rushed toward yet another possible shootout. Libby and the others were close behind.

This town sure is changing, Jon thought. The wooden step creaked as he stepped down off the boardwalk. Since the nearby Brockston silver mine busted open, it seemed like every conman, card shark, rustler, rounder, and gunslinger had decided to call Logan’s Crossing home. The now famous town had become a magnet for all sorts of bad actors. A new raucous saloon had recently opened down the street.

Jon’s heart raced as he charged across the dusty street toward the hardware store. As he got closer, he could see chubby storeowner Bill Webster looking down at the ground. A crowd quickly gathered; their faces told Jon that someone was badly hurt.

Jon’s eyes went to the ground; he saw the long slim body of his deputy, Jack Malone, lying on the street. Jon felt like he’d been punched hard in the gut. Jack’s white cotton shirt was stained red with blood.

Doc Fletcher arrived and dropped down on both knees next to the wounded deputy. He snapped open his black leather bag and yanked out his stethoscope. He ripped Jack’s shirt open and placed the end of the scope on Jack’s chest. His fingers pressed around on his ribs and stomach, checking for internal injuries.

“How’s he doing Doc?” Big Jon knelt down next to his deputy.

“He’s lost a little blood Jon, but I don’t think they hit any vital organs. The bullet passed clear through his side; he should be okay.” The doc took the stethoscope from around his neck and stuffed it back in the bag.

Jon leaned down and laid his big hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. “Doc says you’re going to be okay, so hang tough, Partner. I’m going after the sidewinder that shot you directly, so do what the doc tells you, okay?”

Jack nodded, too weak to talk.

Jon stood up and spoke to the store owner, “What happened here Bill?’

“A couple of… a…a bad apples tried to rob the store and then they shot Jack here when he…a... came to help!” The store owner was very upset, still very much shaken by the sight of Deputy Malone taking a bullet to the chest.

“Just calm down a little Bill and give me as many details as you can,” Jon said calmly.

“Sorry Jon.” Bill took a deep breath went on. “These two culprits have been working a claim on the edge of the canyon for the past several months. Poor old Will Harmon’s claim, the one he was working when he was murdered. Everybody told them that the claim was burnt out, but they wouldn’t listen. They bought them an outfit and went to work. The vein went bust after awhile. They owed money to a lot of people here in town, including me. I told them they could pay me so much a week, but that didn’t work out. So I cut them off the other day and told them not to come back until they paid their bill. When they came in the store today, I refused to sell them anything and they got real mean. One of ‘em pulled a Derringer out of his inside vest pocket and put it to my head, while the other one went around the store throwing stuff in a canvas bag.” Bill stopped for a minute to collect his thoughts.

“What happened next?” Jon pulled out his Army Colts and spun the cylinders to be sure they were fully loaded.

“I started yelling at the varmint who was stealing all of my stuff. Someone heard the commotion and went and got Deputy Malone. When Jack ran over to see what was going on, the lowlife who was holding the gun to my head let Jack have it point blank. I yelled and he hit me over the head with the butt of his gun. I fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I been seeing stars ever since. One of my customers told me they threw all the stuff they took on a pack horse and high tailed it out of town.”

“They won’t get far,” Jon promised.

“I don’t know, Jon; the customer told me they took a whole lot of bacon, flour and jerky. I think they’re planning on doing some serious travelin’.”

“Thanks for the info Bill, are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m going to be fine, got a sore head, that’s all,” Bill said as he rubbed the back of his bald head.

Jon turned his attention to the crowd of onlookers. “Let’s all go home now, folks, Jack’s going to be okay. No use hanging around here.” People grumbled as the crowd began to slowly break up. Libby came close to Jon and laid her hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her as his eyes squinted into the sun.

“Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances out there Jon, promise me,” Libby exhorted her lover. “You’ve got more than just yourself to worry about now!”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little face Libby, I’m going to be fine,” Jon said confidently as he yanked the billet straps tight and loosened the bridle a might on his faithful companion, Babe. “I hate to rush off Darlin’, but I’ve got to catch a couple of varmints who have a pretty good head start on me. I’m going to grab some supplies and go after them right away. I’d like to catch them before dark if I can.”

“Godspeed,” Libby said quietly, trying to control her emotions. She knew that when the lead started flying, someone could get maimed or killed - even a man like Jon. That’s what tormented her.

Jon smiled and winked at her as he hurried up the rickety stairs to the general store. He grabbed several strips of jerky, a few cans of beans, a bag of flour and a few canteens of water off the shelves and arms full, he quickly left the store. Ed had rushed down to the livery stable and was waiting out front with Babe. Jon quickly stuffed the goods in his leather saddle bags and mounted his anxious steed; he stopped for a moment and spoke to Ed.

“Malone’s down. Ed, you need to stay here and mind the store. I can take care of these two lowlifes myself.”

“If you say so, Boss,” Ed said disappointedly. “But be careful. Someone said the older one is Zing Fuller, a gunman from down Pecos way.

“Thanks Ed; I’ve heard of him,” Jon replied as Babe leaped forward to begin his pursuit of the shooters. He glanced down at the fresh tracks heading south from town toward the Gila River. “Let’s go girl!” He spurred Babe on, anxious to make up for lost time. He hoped to catch the culprits before dawn, but the winter sun was setting fast in the reddish-gray sky. He had to hurry.

As he rode along, the trail suddenly curved and dropped down a steep bank toward Black Rock Creek, a small tributary that had splintered off of the Gila. Jon moved quickly, but carefully, down the sharp incline. At level ground, Jon spurred the big mare forward toward the creek which was slightly swollen by recent rains. He pulled up suddenly.

“Whoa girl, whoa!” Jon shouted. Babe reared up and pushed backward with her hind legs, her front hoofs knifed into the muddy bank. Hoofs slipping, she climbed up the bank to level ground.

“Okay girl, it’s okay,” Jon said softly, as Babe pranced nervously. Jon quickly examined the tracks leading to the stream.

“Looks like an old Indian trick to me, girl.”

The tracks had taken a sharp turn to the east just before entering the stream. This should indicate that the savvy varmints had gone into the creek and then traveled east, but upon closer examination, Jon eyed a deep hoof print just above the water line on the opposite side of the creek. “That print’s pushing west; they turned on us and went west. Let’s get after ‘em!”

Jon rode rapidly alongside the creek looking desperately for any evidence of the lowlifes that shot his friend, Jack Malone. After a while, the desert ironwoods, creosote bushes, and cat claws were growing thick along the bank of the creek.

“The brush is getting too thick, we’re going to have to go in,” Jon whispered. Babe whinnied as he prodded her into the stream.

Neigh! Neigh! Babe suddenly reared up, almost throwing Jon off; a spotted Gila monster slithered up the muddy bank. Jon patted Babe’s neck and continued on. The creek began to narrow and the bushes got thicker as Jon struggled forward in the icy creek. Soon he was in a darkened, eerie, tunnel-like space. He was surrounded by thick brush on one side and a steep incline of slippery boulders on the other. It seemed like forever until a sliver of light appeared up ahead signaling the end of the shadowy channel. Jon picked the twigs and stickers off his brown felt hat and denim shirt, tossed them aside and continued on.

“Let’s find that sunshine,” Jon whispered. He rode toward the light and then pulled up. Babe’s ears pricked as she pranced in the gurgling stream. She was warning her master. Jon listened closely; he could hear men’s voices off in the distance.

“It has to be them girl,” Jon muttered. “We haven’t passed any abandoned campsites or seen any other hoof prints along the way. Let’s go girl.”

Jon felt crowded and trapped as he inched forward through the creek. Thick brush and slippery boulders bordered the dark passageway. He looked around for a way out but couldn’t find an opening. One thing for sure, there could be no turning back for big Jon. Trapped or not, he was moving on. Those men had to pay for shooting Jack; he would see to that. There would be no quarter asked, no quarter given.

Jon struggled along the stream toward the voices. As he got closer he decided to look for a way out of the creek. He jumped into the rushing water and waved his hand in front of Babe’s eyes, signaling her to stand still until she heard his whistle. Jon felt the cool water on his legs as he sloshed through the gently flowing stream. He heard the voices again; they were on both sides of the bank. An ambush! he thought. Jon stepped over and moved quietly along the north side of the stream next to the thick brush; he was soon just fifty yards from the culprits. He ducked down in the shadows of the brush and leaned forward. He could see the two men standing on opposite sides of the creek talking to each other. The well dressed older man had to be Zing Fuller, the other man was too young.

“Wonder if that deputy’s dead?” the younger man shouted.

“Don’t know,” came the reply from the other side. Jon watched as the nattily dressed Fuller popped a couple of bullets from his gun belt and slid them carefully into the cylinders of his six gun. Jon knew that Fuller was a dangerous man.

“His eyes were as big as saucers when I let him have it,” the young man boasted.

“I reckon so. He thought he was playin’ with amateurs,” Fuller replied.

This conversation infuriated Jon. He knew what kind of man Jack Malone was and he knew that he wouldn’t have shown any fear to these lowlifes. The “eyes as big as saucers” comment was the wrong thing for big Jon to hear. These cowards had shot Jack without warning and they were about to face a deadly shootout with an angry Jon Stoudenmire.

“Better quiet down now,” the older man remanded his younger counterpart. “Won’t be too long before that sheriff’s gunna be here. Somethin’ must have spooked his horse a little while ago, I heard a whinny. He should be here anytime.”

“Yea, I guess he’s a pretty bad hombre.” The young man seemed jumpy as he hocked a big one on the ground.

“That’s what I hear,” Fuller replied. “Now let’s both just shut up and hide in these rocks before he gets here.”

An angry Jon wanted revenge, but he knew he had to be careful with these two. Fuller sounded like a pretty hard case and was reportedly good with a gun. The younger man sounded nervous and kind of jumpy. He was the one who shot Jack. In a tight spot he would more than likely shoot first and ask questions later. His kind was predictable - trigger happy and very dangerous, but predictable. The older man would be less nervous and more calculating.

The two men had settled in and been quiet for some time when Jon decided to move out from behind the bushes and cross the creek to the other side. Jon had to be careful, both were packing rifles as well as six guns. Jon moved over and looked up at an opening in the brush at the top of the steep incline. He dug around in the bank for a foothold, and found some fairly good size rocks pushing out from the bank about half way up. He placed his boot firmly against the first rock, reached up and grabbed hold of a protruding root. He leaned back and pulled to see if the root would hold his weight. Nothing broke loose so he decided to go for it. He fell back again and pulled hard on the root. With a mighty effort, he yanked himself up to the next rock. Another root became visible on a higher rock. Jon grabbed hold of it and pulled as hard as he could again. His body flew up and out of the dark creek bed. He rolled to a stop on the ground above the creek. He quickly scanned the area to get his bearings. Jon spotted some large rocks approximately forty yards away near the water, close to the area where he had heard the young man’s voice. He moved toward them, careful not to alarm the trigger happy youngster. Jon stopped and listened for any sounds. Not hearing any, he moved quickly and quietly over to the base of the rocks. Jon dropped down on one knee and leaned against the large rock. His head jerked back as something flew by his face.

“Phftt.” A small cloud of dust plumed up as a brownish fluid hit the ground next to him. The nasty varmint had hocked one over the rock near Jon, exposing his location.

Jon leaned against the stony surface and slid quietly around to the back of the rock. The kid was busy watching the creek, his back to Jon. Jon continued to inch his way around the large rock to a crevice leading up to the top. He pushed his back against one side of the crevice and his feet against the other, and then slowly scooted up the hard surface. When he finally reached the top, he quietly rolled over to a kneeling position and leaned forward far enough to see the young scallywag staring at the stream below, clueless that he was being watched. He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out the chaw and ripped off a big chunk.

Jon looked down at the varmint for a second and then broke the silence. He spoke very calmly and very quietly, not wanting to alarm him.

“I got a dead bead on you partner, just stay real calm and listen carefully.” The young fellow froze. Jon continued, “Pick up that rifle lying in front of you and throw it over that rock on your left side.” The nervous youngster did as Jon asked. Jon went on. “Now carefully slide that six gun out of your holster with two fingers and throw it over the same rock.” The jittery shootist reached down with two fingers to lift his gun and then it happened. At the last minute, he opened his hand, grabbed the gun and yanked it from the holster. He quickly rolled to the right and moved up to his feet; wide eyed, he lifted his gun for a shot. Before he could right himself, Jon squeezed off two shots. The bullets blasted into the frightened youngster’s gut; he reeled backward.

“I’m hit, damn it, I’m hit good!” he screamed. His body fell with a thud to the ground, jerked a couple of times and fell still.

“That’s for shooting Malone,” Jon said quietly, his six guns smoking. He jumped down from the large rock and kicked the boy over on his back. The young man’s arms flopped to the side, his head fell sideways; blood trickled from his mouth. Jon grimaced; he looked so young up close.

Jon was angry and conflicted as he quickly climbed down from the rock and moved around the formations toward the creek. Always hard on the outside, he bemoaned the killing of the young man. He was just a youngster, I could have winged him! a voice screamed inside Jon’s head as he hurried down to the creek toward the older man. There were two chest high rocks near the creek; Jon quickly ran and ducked down behind them. His gun was still warm as he popped two fresh bullets into the empty chambers.

Jon, certain that the other man had heard the shots, had to be careful. He figured the cagey gun hand would lay low and wait in ambush. This one’s going to be tougher, he thought. He felt agitated and at a disadvantage. More than likely, the other varmint had taken a position back in the rocks. If he rushed him, Jon would be an easy mark. He thought about waiting him out. At most he figured the wily poke had a couple of strips of jerky, possibly a small canteen of water. That stuff wouldn’t last long. Eventually the nasty bugger would have to try and get to his pack horse. Jon had plenty of supplies and water and could hold out much longer. When the cagey gun came out for food or water, he could let him have it. A good plan, but there was one problem - Jon was very anxious to get back to town and see Miss Libby. The thought of hanging around these rocks for a few days was unacceptable. He had to figure something out.

* * *

Beads of sweat formed on Fuller’s forehead as he lay still contemplating his next move. He had heard all about Sheriff Stoudenmire and his legendary anger. He was more than a little concerned about facing big Jon. An experienced gunman, he wasn’t as fast as Jon and he knew it. He was startled as a deep voice bellowed into the rocks. “Can you hear me up there, Mister?” Jon hollered.

“Yea, yea, I can hear ya.” Fuller tried to sound tough.

“Your partner’s not around any more. He’s lying up there in the rocks with two bullet holes in his belly,” Jon said forcefully. “I’m the law around here. My name’s Jon Stoudenmire and you’re under arrest. I want you to throw your guns out by the creek and come out with your hands up. One false move and I’ll use you for target practice. Do you understand?” Jon said menacingly.

“I hear you Sheriff, but how do I know you won’t kill me anyway?” he replied. Fuller felt very isolated in this desolate spot so far from town. Jon could kill him and then tell everyone that it was self defense. He also knew that Malone was a friend of Jon’s and that Jon could get furious when you messed with his friends. Fuller was still undecided when Jon shouted back at him.

“You’re right Mister; you don’t know what I’ll do for sure. Make your call!”

Fuller was starting to worry; he was damned if did and damned if he didn’t. He yanked his red plaid handkerchief from around his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow. He tapped the barrel of his Uberti on the palm of his hand. After a few agonizing minutes, he spoke up.

“Okay Sheriff, okay. I’m coming out with my hands up. Don’t shoot!” the nervous man pleaded. His rifle and six gun flew out of the rocks and landed on the creek bank where Jon could see them. Fuller stood up and walked slowly out from between the huge rocks, hands in the air. His brow was sweaty; his heart was pounding hard as he came into full view of the big lawman.

“Don’t worry; I never kill an unarmed man. Not even a snake like you,” Jon said. Both of his pearl handled Colts were drawn and pointed straight ahead as he stepped out and moved up to the edge of the creek.

“Move on down here where I can get a good look at you,” Jon ordered.

Fuller walked toward the creek; he stopped at the edge of the water near his discarded six gun.

“Kick that gun in the creek and then come over here.”

The water rippled as the shiny six gun slid into the creek. Fuller grimaced as his leg went into the icy water. His red leather boots sank into the mud under the water as he struggled to the other side. He was shivering as he continued to slosh across the narrow brook. Cold and scared, he reached the other side and looked up at the big lawman. Jon’s muscular two hundred pounds and six foot plus frame looked huge; his blue eyes looked dark and menacing as he squinted into the slices of sun that filtered through the trees.

“Now you listen to me you ugly snake,” Jon said angrily. “You’re alive for one reason and one reason only. I heard you and your friend talking and I know you didn’t shoot Malone. If I thought you did, you’d be dead already. You understand?” Jon said threateningly as he yanked Zing’s hands behind him and cuffed him.

“Yea, I understand,” Fuller grumped.

“Now we’re going to ride back to town and find you a nice warm cell. And I’m hoping and praying that between here and town, you try something, so I can let you have it,” Jon snorted; he seemed disappointed that he hadn’t been able to kill the Fuller sooner.

“Don’t worry Sheriff, I ain’t stupid,” Fuller said as his lips turned into a nasty grin.

Jon whistled for Babe. She came lickety-split down the center of the creek. He collected the other horses and helped Fuller mount his steed. He carried the youngster’s body over and dropped it on the pack horse, it fell limp, arms dangling to the side. Jon mounted up, looped the pack’s leather rein around his saddle horn and headed back to town. There was just enough daylight left to make it back to town before dark.