Читать книгу Return of the Gun - R. B. Conroy - Страница 8

Chapter 3

The cool wind felt good against Jon’s dry, parched skin. The exhausting ride over the mountains and up the California coast was nearing its end as he pushed several miles inland on the final leg of the trip. Evening was falling as he wove his way along a low mountain pass. He would soon be arriving at El Cabrera, a mining town just a short distance from his vineyard. All he needed was a little grub and a good night’s sleep; he would ride on to his winery in the morning.

“Whoa, girl, whoa!” Jon pulled gently on the reins. The mare’s ears pricked up as the sounds of music and loud voices blared out to the countryside from the bawdy town. An occasional gunshot echoed up the ridge. Marshal Brown had warned Jon that El Cabrera had become a wild and lawless town since the discovery of gold some years ago.

“Let’s go, girl.” Jon prodded his weary steed down the trail toward the bustling mining town. As he reached the final incline toward the rowdy outpost, more gunshots rang out, giving Jon pause. Alarmed, he pulled up and reflected on his recent brushes with death—the bloody fight with the robbers near the stream, the incident at the saloon in Skeleton’s Pass. He could almost feel the cool barrel of Will Sledge’s six gun pressing against his skull. If not for the bartender’s quick action, Sledge would have shot him close up. Then there was the ominous warning from Marshal Brown that there would be more Will Sledges out there. Also, his growing reputation made him a special target for every young gunslinger trying to make a name for himself. But it wasn’t the danger that troubled him the most; it was the vow he had made to Elizabeth. It was a vow he took seriously, but recent events were causing him to revisit that pledge. What good was such a vow if he ended up dead? He knew it would be terribly dangerous for a man of his reputation in El Cabrera. The thought of some coward putting a bullet in his belly while he stood unarmed and helpless was more than he could bear.

Tormented, the famed gunman grimaced as he dismounted, unstrapped his saddlebag and dug inside for the leather pouch. Heart pounding, he reached inside and took out a heavily worn gun belt holding two ivory handled Colts. He quickly stuffed the leather pouch back in the saddlebag. He was stoic as he pulled back his black duster and slid the gun belt around his waist. He pushed the nose of the belt through the buckle and yanked it tight. “Forgive me, Libby,” he whispered as he mounted up and spurred Babe forward to El Cabrera, his trusty Colts once again bouncing at his side.

Piano music poured from the window of the local saloon as Jon rode into town. Loud voices blurted out from inside the bawdy bar. “Sounds like the boys are havin’ a good time,” Jon whispered.

Suddenly the doors of the saloon flung open, and a young man flew out of the door and tumbled onto the dusty street near Jon. Babe reared; the cowboy rolled just out of range of her giant hooves as they crashed to the ground. Wide-eyed, the youngster hopped to his feet.

“You go to hell—I’m not selling out!” His face flushed red as he shouted toward the saloon. The rocking saloon doors banged open again; three men came charging out toward their victim. The terrified youngster was soon surrounded; the men were shouting insults and shoving him.

“You got a big mouth, Sonny. Now let’s see what else you got!” A skinny cowboy with a thick scar above his right eye grabbed the youngster by the collar.

Jon could feel himself becoming more and more upset as he watched the ugly scene unfold in front of him. The veteran gun hand was tired from a long day’s ride, he was in no mood for bullies. He felt he could stay silent no longer.

“Let ’im go!” Jon barked.

Startled by the sound of the stranger’s voice, the scarred man spun around in the street. His black, beady eyes glared at Jon. “This ain’t none of your affair, partner. Just butt out!”

“Three on one is always my affair, partner.”

“I guess you didn’t hear me! I said shut your trap and get on down the road!” The surly man spit on the ground near Jon.

Jon winced; the disagreeable poke had gone too far. He pulled back the sides of his long duster, displaying his six guns. “I’m tellin’ you for the last time, mister. Let the boy be!” The sight of Jon’s guns appeared to alarm the cocky scallywag—suddenly he went for his gun.

Like a flash, Jon drew and blasted a shot toward the bully. Sparks flew as the gun tumbled out of the attacker’s hand and bounced to the ground. Jon quickly fired two more shots; the bullets ricocheted off of the gun’s metal cylinder, knocking it out of reach of the nasty man. The gathering crowd screamed as Jon wheeled around, six gun smoking, to confront the other culprits.

“You son-of-a-bitches stay away from that boy! One false move out of either one of ya, and I’ll blow ya away.” The men quickly backed off.

Jon wheeled toward the skinny man. “You’re lucky I went for your shootin’ hand, partner. Most days I woulda let you have it. I guess I’m in a good mood.”

Visibly shaken by the speed and fury of Jon’s attack, the frightened man cowered in the street.

“Go pick up your gun, and get the hell out of here. If I see ya within fifty feet of this young fella again, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later!”

The man gathered up his gun as he and the others scrambled to get out of the way. They’d seen enough of the big stranger and his smoking six gun.

The shocked youngster watched as the nasty cowpokes hustled on down the road, tails between their legs.

“Ya all right?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” the youngster replied shyly. Dust flew as he smacked his hat against his dirty leather chaps.

“I’m gonna be stayin’ in town for the night young fella. You let me know if those boys bother ya again.” Jon smiled at the grateful boy.

“Thank ya, mister. I sure will.” The shy youngster’s mouth curled up in a smile.

Jon tipped his hat, reined Babe around and rode toward the center of town. A man’s voice barked out from the porch at the Dead End Saloon. “That’s one tough hombre! I hope I never run into him!” the man exclaimed as the crowd hurried back inside to reclaim their spots at the faro and blackjack tables.

Tired and hungry, Jon pulled a strip of jerky from his shirt pocket, bit it off and chewed it hard.

His body aching, he saw the Callahan Boardinghouse sign on down the road a piece. He gently spurred Babe toward the two-story building. The small boarding-house was right in the middle of town, just two doors down from the Dead End Saloon. Perfect, he thought as he pulled up and jumped down. As he tied up to the hitching post, a familiar voice shouted out from the darkening street.

“My oh my, sure surprised to see you in these parts! Last time I heard, you were hiding out in the Kansas Territory after shootin’ that deputy sheriff in Hays City.”

“Well, I know I’m tired, and my mind could be playin’ tricks on me, but that sounds like that nasty ole cousin a mine, Cliff Stone.” Beaming, Jon turned to face his greeter. “Well I’ll be damned, it is you! How the heck are ya, Cliff?” Jon extended his hand toward his smiling kin.

The two shook and shared a hard hug. “I can’t believe it’s you, Jon. It’s so good to see you! We had a lot of good times back in Indiana.”

“Sure did, Cliff. I’ll never forget ‘em.”

“We were just kids then—it’s been a while.”

Jon nodded. “Ya look good, cus. You’ve put on a few, but you were always a little too skinny.”

Cliff grinned. “That was quite a show you just put on over at the Dead End. I was watching from the porch of the general store. Kinda reminded me of that time back in Indiana when you took care of that bully at the county fair. I could’ve handled it, but you jumped on ’im before I had a chance!”

“Maybe so, but you were just a little shaver. I had to do somethin’, or ya probably woulda got your butt kicked.”

“That’s for sure,” Cliff laughed. “It’s quite a surprise seeing you way out here in California, Jon. What brought you out this way?”

Jon leaned back against the hitching post. “Since those Indiana days, Cliff, I’ve pretty much been all over the place. Travelin’ from town to town just doin’ odd jobs and a little gambling here and there. And I’ve been in my fair share of scrapes along the way. Never one to back down, I’m sorry to say I’ve been in a number of gunfights. Unfortunately, a few men have died.” Jon glanced at Cliff for his reaction. Cliff was calm, showing little emotion at Jon’s revelations.

Jon went on.”I only killed in self defense or to protect a friend. A good man need not fear me. But my fightin’ has bought me a reputation. That reputation wears you down after a while. You’re never sure when some coward is gonna try and put a bullet in your back.”

Jon paused, grinding his boot into the dusty road. “Years ago, I bought a vineyard near here with the money I saved in my early days at the buffalo camps,” he continued. “A while back, I decided to give up my fightin’ days and head out to that little slice of heaven. I’m almost there now,” Jon smiled.

“How about you, Cliff? I thought you’d have about three hundred head and a nice wife by now!” As Jon looked over at the sturdy man Cliff had become, he remembered the good kid back in Indiana, the one who read the Bible in Sunday School and never sassed his parents. The one the other parents wanted their ornery little cusses to be like. The kid everyone wanted to play with at recess. Jon had to admit there were times back then when he was getting a whuppin’ from his mean father that he was a bit jealous of his popular cousin.

A nervous smile broke out on Cliff’s friendly face as he replied. “Well, that was my plan all right, but it hasn’t worked out that way. Ma died of consumption about three years after you left. Pa was so lonely that he went to drinkin’ and eventually lost the farm. He died of a broken heart a short time later, so I took off. I headed for Abilene. After a short time there, I moved on to Hayes City and found a job working on the railroad. I tried ranchin’ a couple of times, but the drought got me both times. Then it happened.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose.

“I had some trouble.”

“Trouble? Why, you were the one who always avoided trouble, Cliff. What happened?”

“I went over to the Oriental there in Hays one evening to do a little gambling. Short time later, I was invited to join a game of blackjack. After several hands, I was sure one of the boys was cheating. When I called him on it, he got real mad and went for his gun. Problem was, I saw it coming. Quick as a flash, I grabbed the six gun out of the guy’s holster next to me.”

“Guy next to ya, huh? That’s impressive!”

“I blasted away at the cheatin’ dog. He fell hard to the floor. With the help of one of the whores in the bar, I vamoosed out the back door. I don’t know if I’m a wanted man or not. I just needed to get as far away from that town as I could. I rode and rode, never looking back, just keepin’ on. After a few stops in between, I ended up here in El Cabrera, and I’ve been mining ever since. Not what I planned on, but I guess that’s the way life is.”

“Well I’ll be, cousin Cliff is runnin’ from the law!” Jon chuckled as he poked him playfully in the shoulder.

“Just trying to keep up with you, Big Jon. You were always my hero, you know.”

Both men joined in a raucous belly laugh. Jon could have talked all evening, but Cliff had some things to get done.

“It’s great seeing you, Jon, but I better run. I got some errands to run before everything closes. Why don’t we get together later?” Cliff looked at Jon with great anticipation.

“Sounds good to me, Cliff—maybe we can get a bite at the Dead End later on.”

“It would take a herd of wild horses to keep me away!” Cliff said eagerly. His black mare whinnied as he reined her backward toward the center of town.

Alone and tired from his long journey, Jon couldn’t wait to meet Cliff. But first he needed to grab a room and a quick bath.