Vigilante Dawn

by Ralph Compton

  COLD VENGEANCE

  Comforted by the weight of the guns in his hands, Jarrett brought both pistols up and thumbed back the hammers. The man on horseback was about twenty yards in front of him. He most likely would have gotten a clear shot at him by now if his horse hadn’t been getting more and more spooked by the flames that were spreading to consume the bunkhouse.

  Walking forward, Jarrett pulled his triggers again and again. The stolen pistols bucked against his palms, spitting death into the killer in front of him. Even as the man fell from his horse, Jarrett continued to fire. He circled around the horse, pointing the guns down at its owner as the hammers slapped against one spent round after another.

  “He’s done,” Edgar said.

  When he felt a hand on his shoulder, Jarrett spun around so quickly that he knocked one pistol against the older man’s shoulder. Edgar hopped back and raised his hands. He still held the rifle but pointed it at the light purple sky as he said, “Easy, boss. It’s just me.”

  Jarrett nodded.

  “Looks like there was just the two of them left behind,” Edgar said. “We’d best get out of here, though.”

  Jack was nearby as well, bearing the weight of his friend without the slightest bit of exertion. Stan’s eyes were open and he walked like a drunk while taking in the sight of the body lying on the ground. “What the hell is this?” he asked in a stupor.

  Tucking the guns under his belt, Jarrett replied, “It’s a good start.”

  SIGNET

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

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  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Copyright © The Estate of Ralph Compton, 2014

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  ISBN 978-0-698-16450-5

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Excerpt from SHOWDOWN AT TWO-BIT CREEK

  THE IMMORTAL COWBOY

  This is respectfully dedicated to the “American Cowboy.” His was the saga sparked by the turmoil that followed the Civil War, and the passing of more than a century has by no means diminished the flame.

  True, the old days and the old ways are but treasured memories, and the old trails have grown dim with the ravages of time, but the spirit of the cowboy lives on.

  In my travels—to Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, and Arizona—I always find something that reminds me of the Old West. While I am walking these plains and mountains for the first time, there is this feeling that a part of me is eternal, that I have known these old trails before. I believe it is the undying spirit of the frontier calling me, through the mind’s eye, to step back into time. What is the appeal of the Old West of the American frontier?

  It has been epitomized by some as the dark and bloody period in American history. Its heroes—Crockett, Bowie, Hickok, Earp—have been reviled and criticized. Yet the Old West lives on, larger than life.

  It has become a symbol of freedom, when there was always another mountain to climb and another river to cross; when a dispute between two men was settled not with expensive lawyers, but with fists, knives, or guns. Barbaric? Maybe. But some things never change. When the cowboy rode into the pages of American history, he left behind a legacy that lives within the hearts of us all.

  —Ralph Compton

  Chapter 1

  Flat Pass, Wyoming, 1884

  Some men had families. Others had their work. While most folks had both, they could never love them the same. Early in his life, Jarrett Pekoe made his choice and never looked back. He loved his kin with all his heart, but all of his sweat, blood, and soul had been poured into the Lazy J Ranch. It was a small operation. From careful planning, hiring on the best hands, and building partnerships spanning several states, his ranch didn’t need to be large to make a profit. It had taken years to make certain he was the only rancher driving his herd to some of the most selective buyers, and now Jarrett could reap his reward.

  It was a cool spring day and the sun was high in the sky as Jarrett rode the perimeter of his land. Although his official task was to make sure the fence had been repaired in three spots that had rotted away, he barely kept one eye on the wooden rails. His gaze wandered along the horizon, savoring a comfort that could only be granted by contented solitude. Years ago, he’d been a hired hand who needed to make the rounds without taking a moment to lift his eyes from where they needed to be. When he’d ridden as a regulator at the Hard Luck spread up in Montana, his days were filled with chasing rustlers and rounding up strays. Naturally plenty of other men working the same jobs at those same places took time to indulge in simpler pleasures. These days, they were still at those jobs while Jarrett had clawed his way up to being the man who slept in the big house on his own patch of land.

  Just as a smirk had gotten dangerously close to becoming a smile on his face, Jarrett spotted a portion of fence that didn’t quite meet his standards. He immediately pulled back on his reins and climbed down from his saddle.

  “Easy, Twitch,” he said while patting the white nose of his otherwise brown gelding. “Just checking to see if I need to tan anyone’s hide when I get back.”

  Judging by how much the horse shook his head and shifted on his feet, one might think the animal was worried that it was his job on the line. Of course, that very thing was how he’d earned his name. All of the fidgeting in the world, however, wouldn’t have dimmed Jarrett’s view of the horse he’d ridden since his regulator days in Montana.

  Knowing his horse didn’t need to be tied up, Jarrett approached the fence and placed his hand on the top rail.
He gave it a shove, gripped it with both hands, and put his whole body into it as he shook the sturdy posts. When he kicked the lowest rail, he scowled down at the length of wood.

  “I suppose it’ll do,” he grumbled. As he climbed back into his saddle, he was still thinking of new ways to improve the fence’s longevity so even fewer repairs would need to be made in the future.

  All fanciful thoughts from a few minutes ago were gone as Jarrett continued his ride along the fence. That sort of single-mindedness came easier to him without needing to concern himself with a wife and children of his own. If he was going to succeed the way he wanted, he would need to devote himself fully to the cause. He couldn’t do that if he was also pulling the weight of a missus and young ones. Of course he knew plenty of ranchers who raised a whole mess of children on their land. Those men also needed more hired hands to keep their heads above water. More important, they had to be content with taking a lesser part in the growth of their ranch. If Jarrett was going to do something, no matter what it was, he wasn’t going to do it halfway.

  Jarrett’s clean-shaven face was almost always set into firm, straight lines. His light brown eyes weren’t cruel, but there wasn’t a lot of forgiveness to be found within them. The only thing about his appearance that was consistently unkempt was his hair, and that was only because it made more financial sense to cut it himself with a razor instead of paying some barber in town to clip it while yammering on about the weather. As soon as he’d spotted the pair of riders coming his way, Jarrett sat tall in his saddle and stared out at the approaching men with all the authority of a sea captain surveying his crew.

  The men riding toward him were two of Jarrett’s regulators. Matt and Pete were good workers and mostly trustworthy. Although they tended to partake in a bit too much liquor for Jarrett’s liking, they had proven themselves on more than one occasion, which was good enough for him. Pete was the taller of the two and Matt had enough whiskers on his chin to evenly cover his face, his partner’s face, and a good portion of Jarrett’s. All of those whiskers weren’t enough to hide the uncomfortable frown he wore when he caught sight of the Lazy J’s owner.

  “Howdy, Mr. Pekoe!” Pete hollered.

  Waiting until he was close enough to respond without shouting, Jarrett asked, “You men on your way back to the bunkhouse?”

  “A bit early in the day for sleepin’, sir,” Matt said.

  After giving his partner a quick swat, Pete added, “Thought we might get a bite to eat before taking a ride into town.”

  “So that means your work is done for the day?”

  “More or less. All that’s left is some bits of repair work and then taking our turn at patrolling the perimeter to make sure none of them vagrants show their faces again.”

  Jarrett nodded. Even though the vagrants in question had only managed to steal one horse for less than a day before being tracked down, he wasn’t about to give them a chance to take another run at the place. Still, his men had put such a scare into those two filthy thieves that he doubted they’d return anytime soon. “You two have the night patrol, right?” Jarrett asked.

  Matt nodded. “Yes, sir. We should be back from the saloon in plenty of time to—” The next swat he received from the man beside him was almost hard enough to knock him from his saddle.

  Before Matt could say another word, Pete said, “We don’t intend to get drunk, Mr. Pekoe. Just thought we’d play some cards and have a bit of fun in town. That’s all.”

  While Jarrett might not have been one to drink much liquor himself, he wasn’t the sort who would harbor bad feelings against those who did. For the purposes of keeping his men on their toes, he kept his expression severe and waited a few heartbeats before nodding. “You’d best be riding your patrol and have enough of your wits about you to see a jackrabbit bolt from its hole or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Naturally, Mr. Pekoe,” Pete said while tapping one finger against the rim of his hat.

  Neither of the two men was much younger than Jarrett himself, but they treated him with an earnest respect. Jarrett repaid that by not treating them like anything less than the men they were. “Tell you what,” he said. “I had a look at a portion of fence that you two were responsible for repairing.”

  “We were just headed back that way,” Matt said. “We patched it up, but I didn’t think it was sturdy enough, so we’re just about to finish the job.”

  Having already spotted the tools, lumber, and bag of nails being carried by the men, Jarrett dug into a pocket while saying, “I guessed as much already.” He then tossed a silver dollar to each man. “Do the job right and there won’t be any need to pay me back.”

  They smiled and caught the money in callused fists. “We’re good for it, Mr. Pekoe!” Pete said.

  “I know. You see anything else while you’re out here?”

  “Matter of fact, we did. There’s a wagon coming in from the east.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes, sir. Weren’t you expectin’ company?” Pete asked.

  “Yes, but not for another day or two,” Jarrett replied. “How many were in the wagon?”

  When Pete looked over to him, Matt said, “Couldn’t say for certain. There was two in the driver’s seat and at least one horse riding alongside, but they were a ways off and taking their time in getting here.”

  “Any children with them?”

  “Maybe.”

  Furrowing his brow a bit, Jarrett asked, “Could it be another damn salesman?”

  “After the way we chased the last two off this property, I sure doubt it,” Pete replied with a laugh. “That wagon we just saw has probably been riding hard for a good, long while. The team was tuckered out. A blind man could have told you that much.”

  Slowly Jarrett’s smile returned. “Then that could be Norris.”

  “That your brother?” Matt asked.

  “It sure is. And it’s just like him to try to get here early to give me a bit of a surprise.”

  “You want me and Pete to ride out to greet them?”

  “No,” Jarrett replied. “You said they were coming in from the east?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’ll go see them myself. If Norris worked this hard for a surprise, there’s no good reason for me to spoil it.”

  “So, you’re all right with us two heading into town?” Pete asked. “After we finish with that fence, of course.”

  “Sounds like a plan. You two have a good time and try not to fall off your horses on your way back.”

  Unaccustomed to seeing their employer in such good spirits, both of the hired hands waved to Jarrett and snapped their reins to ride away before he added some other bit of hardship to their workload.

  Jarrett not only snapped his reins as well, but tapped Twitch’s sides to coax a little more speed from the gelding. The horse was all too happy to comply since he always seemed more comfortable when his hooves were churning through the dirt and the wind was in his face.

  After riding for about a quarter mile along the fence, Jarrett turned north and rode for a short ways more. With every second that passed, Jarrett’s grin became wider. Pulling back on his reins, he stopped less than fifty yards away from the spot where a wide road pointing toward Nebraska met up with a gate in the Lazy J’s fence. Jarrett reached into his saddlebag and dug around for a pair of field glasses. When he found them, he brought the glasses to his eyes and peered through the lenses. The magnified view might have been somewhat marred by several scratches on the glass, but he saw more than enough.

  “You sure are taking your time, little brother,” Jarrett said to himself. He then panned the field glasses away from the wagon he’d found until he spotted another horse keeping pace with the wagon while maintaining a healthy distance from it. Jarrett squinted through the lenses but was unable to make out much of the rider. “Scott’s getting bigger,�
� he mused. “I imagine he insisted on riding in on his own. Thought for sure Grace would be the one to scout ahead.”

  On a hunch, Jarrett kept searching the horizon. Before long, he found the other silhouette he’d been looking for. “There you are,” he said.

  The sun was just bright enough to cast a glare on everything below. Although it was the same ball of brightness that shone down on the rest of the world, it seemed to cast longer shadows in Wyoming than anywhere else. If he lived closer to Old Mexico, he surely would swear that it was hotter and he’d heard more than a few men from Montana tell him how their sun resided in a wider sky than the blue expanse that could be found over any other part of the country.

  Having lived in Wyoming for years, Jarrett rarely pondered such things anymore. The harder he strained to get a better look at his approaching guests, the more he wanted to curse the sun for being too damn bright and his glasses for being too damn old. When his horse stomped the ground with one front hoof and shook its head hard enough to jostle the man on its back, Jarrett sighed and said, “You’re right. I already know it’s them.” While putting the field glasses away, Jarrett scratched his horse behind the ear. “My nieces and nephew are getting big. Before you know it, I’ll be hiring them on as hands for a summer or two. Then maybe one of them will want to work here for good.”

  He flicked the reins to point the horse’s nose away from the fence and start moseying toward the road that led all the way to the center of the ranch. “Last time we saw Grace, she was nothing but a sprout with pigtails in a wrinkled dress,” he said fondly. “And Scott was kneehigh to a grasshopper. Ain’t even seen the baby yet, but that’s about to change.”

  Jarrett took a quick look over his shoulder. The wagon in the distance was picking up enough speed to kick up a cloud of dust, and the horses accompanying it were drawing in closer. Surely the young riders were getting a few final instructions from their father.

  Knowing how much Norris enjoyed his surprises, Jarrett had intended to ride all the way back to the house so he could play his part as the oblivious host. He made it less than a hundred yards before bringing Twitch around in a sharp about-face turn. “Eh, to hell with it,” he said. “Just because Norris is the baby of the family, that doesn’t mean he gets to have all the fun.”