Lawmaster (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 5)

by Jack Martin

  The Bowdens’ thought far too much of themselves and tended to look down on everyone else as if they were not of the same fine stock as they were. It was a joy to watch the old man’s pompous indignation as he stood there before the lawman. He was making it quite transparent that he’d like to strangle him with his bare hands.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cole said. ‘Can’t have your son wandering around naked. It just wouldn’t be decent.’

  ‘I’ll have some clothes sent over presently.’ Clem Bowden said and then glared at Cole. ‘You’re new to this town,’ he said. ‘It won’t be healthy for you to carry on like this.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Cole had asked.

  The old man shook his head. ‘I’m just suggesting you familiarize yourself with the way this town works.’

  Cole shook the thoughts from his mind and closed his eyes. Things had gotten far worse now and the Bowden situation was so far advanced that it would take blood to end it.

  He willed himself to sleep.

  Tomorrow he planned on setting out. The stage would be due and he needed to meet it, explain to the judge what was happening and then, hopefully, divert things, if needed, some twenty miles south to Fort Brannon and get the army involved.

  Soon he was asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam Bowden glared at the half-breed.

  ‘I say we’re going on a wild goose chase,’ he said. ‘We’re following a trail only you can see. I say you’re loco.’

  His beating yesterday had left him bruised and aching, it was painful to ride, but it had taught him nothing. He had simply had enough and was going no further. He wasn’t going to threaten the men again but he was turning back. ‘I’m finished with this.’ He said. ‘If you think were on Masters’ trail then I say you’re roostered.’

  ‘It’s of no consequence to me what you say.’ The man called Quill said. He didn’t bother looking at Sam as he spoke and instead kept his attention directly in front of him. The large black horse he rode seemed to understand the conversation and it snorted in Sam’s direction.

  ‘He’s a regular croaker.’ The man called Boyd said to the half-breed and they both smiled at the joke.

  Sam allowed his horse to fall back so that the two men leading them were in front of him. He looked at the seven men his father had selected to form the posse but none would make eye contact with him. He cursed beneath his breath. He wasn’t about to find any support amongst his own men and he didn’t fancy his chances of going up against Quill and Boyd on his own. Not after the last time. It seemed he had no option but to allow them to continue to lead this wild goose chase. Reluctantly he spurred his horse forward.

  They had followed Cole’s trail North from Squaw. That made good and perfect sense since any man trying to flee would head for the desert and the town of Allensville beyond. But then for no apparent reason other than the stinking half-breed claiming he had located tracks that no one else could see they had changed direction. And now they rode towards Bowden land, the Great Plains and the mountain range beyond.

  That made as much sense as putting a rattlesnake in your underwear, as far as Sam was concerned. Why would Cole choose to hide out on Bowden land? Surely he’d want to get as far away as possible from the men he was trying to flee.

  They rode on in silence and day started to fade away and night began to take hold. Soon even Sam’s private mutterings grew silent but his mood remained darker than the coming night sky.

  ~*~

  The posse had stopped and set camp for the night.

  Em, wanting to sneak past them and reach Cole before they did, had not. He was now getting perilously close to them and walked, leading his horse, all the while whispering soothing words into the roan’s ear so as not to spook her. He breathed slowly, quietly and felt that if he reached out in the darkness he would be able to touch each and every member of the posse.

  A while back it had become obvious that the posse had picked up on Cole’s trail and were following it to the step. Em could see from the direction that had taken that Cole had tried to lay a false trail of sorts but he had not fooled them. The two men leading the riders knew what they were doing and could read the land as if it were a book written in a language known only to them. They saw things that other less trained eyes would skirt clean over.

  Em still had one advantage, though.

  They were following a trail but he knew exactly where it would lead them. They couldn’t track Cole at night and had to rest, both themselves and their horses. Whilst he, on the other hand, had no need to follow faded tracks, to peer for snapped foliage, for disturbed ground. He knew where Cole was and with care he would be able to pass the posse and get there before them.

  And so he set off for Squaw Mountain along his own trail, keeping as much distance between himself and the posse as was possible. But now they were camped some fifty or sixty yards away from him, in earshot at least.

  He could turn, follow the river some way down and then try to cross but the waters were up and fierce at any time of year. Attempting to cross in daylight would be bad enough but doing so at night would equate to suicide.

  No—there was only one safe place to cross, one single section where the waters were low enough not to sweep both man and horse away, and that would take him closer than was comfortable to the posse.

  There would have a man on watch, they wouldn’t risk otherwise but Em was hoping the lookout would be complacent, not concentrating and maybe even dozing. After all they would not feel in any danger and that could make them careless. If he took his time and moved with the utmost care then he was sure he could slip by the posse without being noticed.

  He crouched down in the grass, pulling the roan’s head down with him. He kissed the horse on the side of the head and whispered softly in its ear. He had to take his time, slowly move forward, but he needed a moment to gain his breath.

  He took the plug of tobacco from his pocket and bit off a sizeable chunk.

  ‘I’ve found myself in some darn worrisome situations,’ he whispered to his horse. ‘But this one tops them all.’

  The horse seemed to roll its eyes in agreement.

  Cautiously the old man moved forward, one step at a time with a pause to listen out between each. The horse came obediently behind him and Em was terrified that at any moment it would make a sound and bring the men investigating. The roan though, seemed to be as eager not to get spotted as the man was and it moved in perfect rhythm with its owner. At one point Em heard a twig snap beneath his feet and it sounded deafening to him, like a cannon roaring off. He’d frozen immediately and his hand found his rifle in its boot but he seemed to have gotten away with it.

  He sighed his relief.

  If Em Tanner had stopped and analyzed his feelings at that moment he would have realized with no small surprise that he was enjoying himself. Sure he was scared, the fear gnawed away in the pit of his stomach and left him feeling sickly, but it had been a long time since he had found himself in a situation of great danger, where he had to rely on his wits to survive. It was like one of the adventures he’d had of old and at that precise moment the years fell from him and he was young again.

  Suddenly he heard a sound, a man coughing and he crouched down deeper into the grass. He pulled the horses head down with all his might and then pushed his entire weight against her neck, forcing her to the ground. He lay across her, holding her down. It was an old outlaw trick but Em hadn’t travelled the owlhoot trail for decades and he was surprised the horse went down so easily.

  Guess you’ve still got it, old man.

  The coughing stopped but then he heard movement ahead. One or more of the posse were up walking about and he heard grass rustle as the man came closer towards them.

  For several seconds, each seeming an agony filled age, Em lay there, soothing the horse, holding it still. Any longer, he knew, and the horse would try to get up and out of this unnatural position. If that happened then all hopes of reaching Cole before the posse w
ould be dashed.

  As he lay, spread across his horse, he gave a silent prayer and hoped that his maker wouldn’t hold it against him that they had not been on speaking terms for so long. He promised to stop cussing, drinking and to visit church every Sunday. All he wanted in exchange was to get past these men without being spotted.

  Whoever it was moving about started coughing again and then cursed as he fumbled with his trousers. Em lay there, not sure how far away the man was, but he could clearly hear him urinating into the long grass. Any closer and he feared he’d get splashed by the urine bouncing from the ground.

  After some time the man turned and headed back to camp and after even more time there was silence again.

  Em, heart hammering in his chest, slowly got up and allowed the horse to come with him. Again it didn’t make a sound and the old man patted the side of its head.

  Best horse he’s ever owned.

  Slowly but surely man and horse moved through the long grasses and Em had to bite back a whoop when they finally reached the river. He mounted the horse and held it there, static for a moment, listening for sounds of the posse but he guessed he’d gotten away with it. All he had to do now was cross the river and then he would be too far away for the posse to hear him.

  With luck he would be able to put a few miles between them before dawn

  ‘Ready girl?’ Once more he patted the horse’s head and the spurred it onwards at a slow pace. They crossed the river cautiously; hoping the noise of the running water would conceal the sound they made as the horse waded through.

  Once on the opposite side Em smiled and bit off another piece of tobacco from his plug and then allowed the horse to trot a little further before quickening its pace. He spurred the horse gently in the side and she increased speed and once he deemed himself out of earshot he sent her into a gallop, feeling the wind in his hair as his heart beat slowed to normal.

  ‘You’ve still got it, old man.’ He said, speaking as much to himself as the horse, as he left the danger of the posse behind. ‘Could teach them young whippersnappers a thing or two.’

  After a while he slowed the horse back down and kept it trotting forward at a steady but comfortable pace. There was still a way to go and he didn’t want to exhaust the roan. She had been ridden hard since he’d set out from Squaw and the horse going lame on him would be the last thing he needed.

  He kept up the same pace for the rest of the night and as the onset of dawn made itself known then so did Squaw Mountain appear in the half-light. Through the early morning mist the old man could see the mountains reaching towards the sky, majestically framed against the fiery horizon.

  The long grassed plain stretched the seven miles or so to the mountains and Em guessed that in a couple of hours he would reach the mountains and start the hazardous climb.

  He’d been there before, many times, and he knew that you could ride an horse almost to the peak but it took time and great care as some of the sections were dangerously tricky and would cause problems for a mountain goat let alone a horse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Enough was enough, Sam Bowden thought, as he shook the dirt from his bedroll and tied it to his horse. This was it and despite his earlier confrontations with the half-breed he was not taking another step.

  ‘I ain’t going another inch,’ Sam Bowden said and spat into the campfire. The rest of the men had mounted up and were ready to follow the two men who had led the posse from the get go. Neither of the men had said very much , other than to issue a few commands. When they did talk, it was usually to each other and then only in hushed tones, excluding the rest of them.

  The taller of the two men, Quill, the half-breed, drove his horse forward towards Sam and looked down at him the way a stern master might regard a wayward child.

  ‘This is getting tiresome.’ He said.

  ‘I ain’t going no further with you. I mean it this time.’

  ‘Whatever pleases you.’ Quill said. ‘You can take some supplies and head back to Squaw if you’ve a mind to.’

  ‘Damn,’ Sam said and tossed his hat onto the ground. He kicked dirt and clenched his fists. ‘Where the hell are we going? That’s all I want to know—where the hell are we going?’

  The tension between him and the two men leading the posse had intensified these last couple of days and Sam was close to breaking point. He couldn’t understand why his father seemed to have so much faith in them.

  ‘We’re following the man’s trail.’ Quill said.

  ‘Trail,’ Sam all but screamed. ‘We left the goddamn trail a ways back. Why would Masters be heading onto Bowden land? The last place he’d want to go is onto Bowden land.’

  ‘We’re following his trail.’ Quill repeated, completely disregarding Sam’s opinion. He cast an eye to his companion and something seemed to pass between them, as if with a mere glance at each other they could convey legions. It was as if they had a secret language based in gestures at the exclusion of words. Sam found it all creepy.

  ‘Son-of-a-bitch,’ Sam mumbled, feeling he’d like to drag Quill from his horse and stamp some respect into him. Just as the half-breed had done to him. ‘I’m the goddamn sheriff. I should lead this posse. You should answer to me.’

  Quill simply smiled at that and drove his horse back to the front of the posse. ‘Please yourself.’ He said over his shoulder.

  Sam stood there, incredulous. He watched the posse start to move out without him. He pulled his Colt from its holster and fired it twice into the air. The riders stopped and all heads turned to face him. He holstered the weapon and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  ‘ I’m the sheriff,’ he repeated, firmly. ‘I’m the only one with any real authority and by damn I’ll lead this posse.’

  Quill smiled. ‘Then lead, Sheriff.’ He said.

  That seemed to throw Sam and for a moment he seemed unsure of himself. He mounted his own horse and looked directly into Quill’s eyes. ‘Then we turn back,’ he said. ‘This ain’t no trail you’ve got us following. We go back and pick up on his real trail, follow that. Then we’ll find Masters.’

  ‘You go whichever way you want,’ Quill said. ‘Take the others with you but we go our own way.’

  ‘You speak for the two of you?’

  ‘He does,’ Boyd said

  ‘My father hired you to ride with the posse.’ Sam pointed out.

  ‘No,’ Quill shook his head. ‘Your father hired us to find Masters. The posse’s for your benefit to make it all nice and legal for the judge. We ain’t working for no law and if we were I don’t think it’d be for a law like you.’

  ‘We’d make better time on our own,’ Boyd put in and nodded to his companion. He allowed his coat to fall open, showing his weapons, which he wore crossbones style across his stomach, in a red sash.

  ‘Guess we might at that,’ Quill said as if considering the situation. Escaping Bowden’s constant whining would be a big plus.

  ‘Goddamn you.’ Sam said. ‘I ought to beat you real good. Teach you a lesson.’

  ‘You try.’ Quill said and opened his coat to reveal his own guns. Unlike his companion he wore a more traditional belt and holster. ‘You’d be the one to go to Hell.’

  Sam didn’t like the way the half-breed was talking to him but he decided against any action. He not done so well the previous time they had clashed and there was something about the two men that worried him.

  ‘You two can go to Hell for all I care,’ he said. ‘The rest of you are coming with me.’

  The remainder of the posse seemed unsure of what to do for a moment but then deciding that Clem Bowden called the shots and that Sam was his son, which in their eyes gave him more authority than the badge he wore, they turned and rode with him.

  They rode off in the direction they had come leaving Quill and Boyd to follow their own path.

  ‘He’s got his father’s temper.’ Quill said after they had watched the posse riding into the distance.

  ‘Difference
is,’ Boyd said. ‘He doesn’t know how to control it.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll learn.’

  ‘Nope,’ Boyd scoffed. ‘No chance of that happening. He’ll end up dead before he ever learns anything.’

  ‘Had a good mind to kill him myself.’ Quill said and laughed. He brushed a wisp of thick black hair from his eyes and tucked it beneath his hatband.

  ‘I guess killing would improve him some.’

  ‘Dead—he’d certainly go up in my estimation.’ Quill took the makings from his saddlebags and rolled a smoke. ‘Don’t think his father would be very pleased with that outcome.’

  ‘Guess not,’ Boyd agreed. ‘Damn shame, though.’

  And then without another word they rode out, their horses at a casual trot as each of them scanned both the ground beneath them and the land before them. They figured they weren’t too far away from catching up with Masters and the fact that Bowden’s boy and the rest of the posse were not with them didn’t really bother them. As Boyd had pointed out, they would make better time on their own, and as long as they killed Masters and gave the credit to Sam Bowden then they would have done the job they had been paid for.

  Doing the job they had been paid for mattered to them.

  It mattered above all other things.

  ~*~

  Cole had noticed the lone rider some time ago and he crouched down, resting against a large rock and watched. The rider was still too far away for identification but he seemed to be heading directly this way. He checked both his guns, filled each chamber and took a handful of shells from his saddlebags and slipped them into his belt. Once again he wished he’d had a rifle but there was no use moaning. He had the two Colts and would make do with them. And besides in Cole Masters’ hands a Colt was as efficient as the truest of rifles.

  He filled his pipe and brought a match to it, smoke billowed from the bowl and drifted lazily on the still air.

  ‘Damn,’ Cole muttered to himself.

  He supposed he could jump on his horse and flee down the mountain. He was going to leave later today in any case in order to rendezvous with the stage. The rider was far enough away for Cole to have vanished down into the mountains before he got anywhere close but to do that he’d have to go some way in the wrong direction from where he needed to be.