Strong Convictions: An Emmett Strong Western (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 1)

by GP Hutchinson

  “So Emmett and his brother joined the army?” Geneve asked.

  Juanito shook his head. “Eli Strong was the disciplined one. He went to West Point. Emmett was too—how do I say this?—too distracted.”

  Sikes flicked cigar ashes. “And what did Emmett do? You said his father didn’t have to teach him much about guns. Always a lawman? A gun for hire?”

  “No, my father would never have let Emmett anywhere close to Gabriela if Emmett had been—as you say—a gun for hire. Even as close as our families have been since the eighteen thirties.”

  “So not a hired gun. What then?”

  “Emmett fell in love with my sister when she was maybe fourteen. He was sixteen. All he wanted to do—all day, every day—was show up at my father’s dry goods store and tease my sister. This was down in San Antonio.”

  Sikes chuckled. “I don’t see it.”

  “No, it’s true,” Juanito said. He too was grinning now. “So my father and his father got together and decided that if they couldn’t keep him away from Gabriela, they’d at least make him work to gain her hand.”

  “I like this story,” Geneve said, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “It sounds romantic.”

  “Oh, that’s Emmett,” Sikes said. “Ever the romantic.” He chuckled.

  “Shush,” Geneve said, giving Sikes a playful smile.

  “Emmett worked very hard,” Juanito said. “He had a natural sense for business. Even as young as he was, he helped make my father a wealthy man.”

  “And he won a place in your family tree,” Sikes said.

  Juanito nodded.

  “Did she love him back?” Geneve asked. “I know she must have.”

  Juanito’s gaze drifted. “Ay, sí. They made each other very, very happy. I have never seen such love between a man and a woman.”

  Sikes wiped a palm across his face. “All right. Enough. This is far too saccharine, even for a ladies’ man like me. Tell me about Emmett, the natural pistolero. Was it only handguns? Or the rifle as well?”

  “Oh, he can handle a rifle just fine,” Juanito said, looking as though his mind had transported him to some open field where he and Emmett might have engaged in a friendly shooting match. “But it was the pistola in his hand that was like magic.”

  Geneve edged forward, eyes fixed on Juanito.

  “Nobody—not even our fathers or grandfathers—could remember anyone who could use a revolver so effortlessly and with such incredible results.”

  “Fast?” Sikes asked.

  “Like a bullet itself.”

  “Accurate, I assume.”

  “Without even thinking about it. Up close. Fifty yards away. It still doesn’t fit in my head how he could do it. He could hit bottles, tiny rocks, coins.”

  “What about moving objects?” Sikes asked.

  “Jackrabbit? No problem. Rattlesnake? No problem.”

  Sikes had no delusions about firearms. He knew firsthand that there was no glory in taking a human life. Yet he had to know. “Did he ever have to use those talents against another man?”

  “Not until the day my sister died.”

  It was quiet at the table for a moment. Sikes heard Gus pouring drinks at the bar. Laughter floated on the air from other tables.

  “He never had to use his talents against other men,” Juanito continued. “People knew his reputation. And nobody ever challenged him.”

  Juanito snapped his fingers. “Oh, one day these three hombres came into my father’s store and decided they might rob him. They were from out of town. Didn’t know about Emmett. They had guns out, pointed at my father. Emmett walked in from the storage room in the back.”

  “I thought you said he never used his talents against people until—”

  Juanito cut Sikes off. “One of the customers told the robbers, ‘Hey, I’m not kidding you hombres. You will all three be dead before you reach the door if you don’t leave now. That young man who just walked in, that’s Emmett Strong.’”

  “And they listened to him?”

  “That customer’s face was so white when he said it. The robbers all turned to Emmett. Emmett just kept walking—right up to the robbers. No hesitation. His hand right above his holster. His face as calm as if he were walking into church. Those ladrones backed out pronto. We never saw them again.”

  “And then,” Geneve said, her eyebrows upturned, “that day with his wife? Your sister?”

  Juanito lowered his gaze. “An accident.”

  “Emmett?” Sikes asked soberly.

  “Witnesses say these men had their hands all over Gabriela. Emmett got the first one that drew on him. Shot his thumb off.”

  “And then?” Sikes asked.

  Juanito was having difficulty going on with his story.

  “How’d he miss?” Geneve whispered, wiping her moist eyes.

  “They say the third man stumbled unexpectedly. Accidentally pushed Gabriela into the line of fire.”

  Juanito stared in silence.

  Sikes didn’t know what to say. He’d been around death—on the battlefield, up at Blaylock’s place outside of Austin. But he’d never been in a situation where someone that dear to him was in imminent, personal danger, and his marksmanship would make the sole difference between sorrow and solace.

  “What then?” he finally asked.

  “Emmett joined the Texas Rangers to hunt down the man who started the incident.”

  “So that’s how he became a lawman.”

  Juanito nodded. “Him and me together. We run down men who ruin other people’s lives. It’s what we do.”

  Sikes lifted his glass. “Must be reassuring to ride with a man so capable with a handgun.”

  “Never has been the same,” Juanito said. “Somewhere inside him, he’s probably as good as he ever was with the pistola. But he has lost his confidence. He won’t draw his Colt unless he has to. And he almost never uses it. If he can do the job with his fists, he’ll handle it that way. If a gun is necessary, he prefers a shotgun now.”

  “Is the word out on him?” Sikes said. “Do outlaws know he’s lost his touch?”

  Juanito shook his head. “Almost everybody still thinks he’s the deadly pistolero.”

  “And Gabriela?” Geneve said. “Does he still pine over her?”

  “Five years,” Juanito said. “I’ve never seen him look at another woman the same way.” At that, Juanito’s gaze rose to meet Geneve’s. “So please don’t be offended if he doesn’t look at you with desire.”

  Juanito turned to Sikes. “That’s what I meant: his body still walks around on this earth, but his heart is in heaven.”

  “Shame,” Geneve said, staring out the saloon’s half doors. “Handsome man. Rugged handsome. Clean handsome.”

  About then, Sikes felt someone standing over his shoulder. He turned and looked up.

  “You gonna take this girl upstairs or not, Mister?” It was a crusty-looking cowhand type. “’Cause I had my eyes fixed on her for near ’bout an hour now. Been waitin’ my turn all polite like. And all you been doin’ is sittin’ here at the table with her. This here woman’s goin’ to waste tonight ’cause of you.”

  Sikes turned his back to the cowhand and said, “The lady’s busy just now.”

  “She don’t look busy.”

  “When she becomes available, I’m sure she’ll let you know, all right?” Sikes’s eyes searched Geneve’s questioningly.

  She shook her head ever so slightly.

  The cowboy shifted to the side and leaned, one hand on the table. “Mister, you need to take this girl on upstairs and get done with her now. Else give her up and let me have my turn with her.”

  Sikes shoved his chair back from the table.

  Geneve clutched his arm.

  “What difference is it to you whether I
pay her to lie in a bed with me or to sit at a table with me?” Sikes said.

  “Like I said, you’re wastin’ her time. These kind of women ain’t for talkin’. They’re for—”

  Sikes sprang to his feet and clamped his hand over the cowhand’s jaw and squeezed hard. Through his own gritted teeth he said, “Whatever her profession, she’s a person, not a thing. You hear?”

  Three other equally dirty cowhands jumped to their feet two tables over, knocking down a chair in the process.

  The fellow in Sikes’s grip went for his six-gun. Sikes jerked his knee up into the man’s privates, then head butted him. He melted to the floor.

  The other three cowboys cleared leather. A shotgun blast roared through the room, and everybody froze in place. Gus leaned over the bar, the scattergun pressed against his shoulder.

  “You three get the hell outta here,” he yelled at the cowhands as he thumbed back the other hammer of the double-barrel twelve gauge. “And take your troublemakin’ pardner with you.” He tipped the business end of the shotgun toward the man Sikes had dropped.

  “But what you gonna do ’bout that fella?” one of the three ventured, pointing at Sikes.

  “He ain’t done nothin’,” Gus said. “Now get out like I told you.”

  Sikes turned to Gus and touched the brim of his hat. He slipped his fingers into his pocket and drew out a single coin—a ten-dollar eagle. “For the beer and for the lady’s services,” he said. “You and Miss Lindsey work it out, will you?”

  “Got you covered,” Gus said.

  The cowboys holstered their smoke wagons under Gus’s watchful eye.

  Juanito, still seated—back to the wall—on the other side of the table, discreetly showed Sikes the butt of his revolver as he slipped it back into its holster.

  Once the cowhands had dragged their friend out of the saloon, Geneve looked up at Sikes. “You wanna take me upstairs now?”

  He glanced at Juanito.

  Juanito spread his hands and shrugged.

  Sikes said to Geneve, “You go on up and dream of a man like Emmett Strong. I suppose Juanito and I had better head over to the hotel. We have a long way to travel tomorrow.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You’re a sweet girl, Geneve. It’s been a pleasure.”

  She stood up beside him, her lips slightly parted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carson City, Nevada

  Charlie Blaylock breathed a sigh of relief as he got off the train in Nevada’s capital city. It had been a long trip, but he was happier than he was tired. In fact, he felt happier than he had in years. In killing Eli Strong, he had at last avenged the death of his big brother, Thomas. He had made good on an oath. And he had made a clean getaway from Texas.

  Don’t care if I never step foot in that godforsaken state again, he thought. And let’s see them Texas law dogs just try to touch me up here.

  He mused over what he’d heard about his little brother’s fortune here in mining country. Money and power. Not that he planned to lean on Seth forever. Maybe he could start a dig of his own. Enjoy the good things in life. Have people bowing and scraping to him for a change.

  Taking in a deep breath of the cool, dry air, he picked up his war bag. A railroad employee was loading luggage onto a hand truck nearby. Charlie ambled over.

  “Where might I find the post office in this town?” he asked.

  “Thataway.” The porter pointed. “Just across the street on the next corner.”

  Charlie thanked the fellow and strolled on.

  Inside the post office, he waited for two men to finish up their business at the counter. Each looked to be in his thirties. Both wore new-looking clothes powdered with a bit of trail dust. When they turned toward the door, Charlie stepped aside to let them pass. He heard the door close behind him as he strode up to the desk.

  “I just arrived in town,” he said. “And I’m looking for Seth Blaylock. Reckoned if anyone would know where to find him, you might.”

  The postal clerk’s gaze went from Charlie to the front window. Charlie followed the clerk’s line of sight and through the glass saw the two men who had just concluded their business there. They were talking to a third fellow—a younger, shorter hombre. Had the look about him. Almost certainly a gunhand.

  “M-maybe you should ask those gentlemen right outside,” the clerk stuttered. “They can probably help you better than I can.”

  Charlie frowned. What could’ve drawn that kind of reaction from the postal clerk? He stared at the visored employee momentarily, then nodded and pushed away from the counter.

  Outside, he paused, waiting for a break in the three men’s conversation. He paid particular attention to the one he figured to be the gunhand. Shiny, tall-shanked boots. Silk vest. Nice hat—low crown and broad brim. It wasn’t the way the fellow wore his gun that made him look so dangerous. It was more a matter of his stance—the way his hand hung. Looked like a man you’d never catch off guard.

  Before long the three noticed Charlie staring.

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” the oldest of the three asked.

  Charlie shifted his weight. “Clerk inside…said I ought to talk to you gentlemen. I’m looking for Seth Blaylock.”

  “You are?” the one who looked like a gunhand said. His steely gaze seemed to bore right through Charlie.

  Charlie Blaylock licked his lips. An old feeling welled up from somewhere deep inside. People often seemed to look down on him—and talk down to him. He was so used to folks writing him off as a no-count good-for-nothing that he could only assume these men had jumped to the same uncalled-for conclusion.

  His gaze never left the gunhand. He reasoned that even if he managed to drop his war bag, he’d never get both hands on his Winchester before this little bantam would gun him down right where he stood.

  “You gonna stare at me all day, fella?” the gunhand asked. “Or you got something you wanna ask about Seth Blaylock?”

  “Well,” Charlie said, “I heard Mr. Seth has some, uh…” He swallowed. “I may be mistaken—bein’ new around here and all—but, uh, I heard Mr. Seth might be hirin’ some new help. And I’m lookin’ for a job.”

  The two men who had been inside the post office pivoted to face Charlie more squarely. They both chortled. The gunhand smirked.

  “You come with a recommendation?” the gunhand asked. The fingers of his right hand twitched just a hair.

  Charlie’s thoughts raced. Who are these cusses?

  “’Cause Seth Blaylock don’t hire just anybody off the streets,” the oldest one said.

  Again the men chuckled.

  Now wait a minute. Charlie shook his head. How would they know who Seth would or wouldn’t hire? He finally got ahold of himself, stuck out his chest just a little, and said, “My name’s Charlie Blaylock. I’m Seth Blaylock’s brother. Now you gents know where I can find him or not?”

  At that all three men guffawed. The gunhand slapped his knee.

  “We was just funnin’ with you, Charlie,” the oldest one said, still laughing.

  “Yeah?” Charlie asked. “Well, what’s so all-fired amusin’?”

  The oldest one wiped a tear from his eye and said, “Seth told our boss you were coming.” He chuckled again.

  “Who’s your boss? What’d Seth tell him?”

  The gunhand said, “Seems you sent your telegram to the wrong town, Charlie. Your brother lives up near Reno—almost thirty miles back up the line. He works for Mr. Lucian McIntosh up there.”

  Charlie was thoroughly befuddled. He felt his ears grow warm. “I thought my brother worked for hisself up here.”

  “No,” the third man said. “Seth works for Mr. Lucian McIntosh. And we work for Mr. Lucian’s brother, Mr. Thaddeus McIntosh.”

  “I never heard of either Mr. McIntosh,” Charlie said. He began to fear t
he legends of Seth’s wealth and power might be just that—myths, stories, corral dust.

  “Oh? Well, you’ll hear plenty enough about them from now on. Thaddeus McIntosh practically runs Carson City,” the third man said.

  “And Thaddeus McIntosh works for his brother, Lucian McIntosh,” the oldest fellow said. “Man practically runs Reno.”

  “So the McIntoshes run this whole stretch,” Charlie said. “Practically.”

  The three men nodded.

  “And my brother Seth works for the big boss,” he added.

  “That’s right,” the gunhand said.

  Charlie breathed easier. He didn’t want to admit that they had frightened the deuce out of him. Growing up, he’d been in enough scraps to know that the pack will often turn on the weakling. And he’d shown himself weak for a second. But he’d recovered.

  “So what kind of business do the McIntoshes run? What’s my brother do for ’em?” he asked.

  “You’ll learn about all that soon enough,” the oldest one said. “Let’s get you up to Reno and squared away.”

  “C’mon with us.” The gunslick turned and motioned for him to join them.

  Charlie picked up his belongings and fell in behind them, half fearing that in reality Seth might be nothing more than some rich fellow’s errand boy. It sounded to him like these McIntosh men were the real powers-that-be up in these parts. And if they were, he’d have to find a way to come under their good graces like Seth had. Whatever else he might be looking for up here in Nevada, he needed somebody to help keep those Texas law dogs from ever getting their muzzles on him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two days later, the train carrying Emmett, Juanito, and Sikes chugged its way into Virginia City—the biggest city in Nevada. Nearly fifteen thousand souls and still going strong some twenty-two years after the first big silver strike.

  You could see it all and hear it all in Virginia City. Churches just a couple of blocks from the terminus of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad. Breweries, saloons, and brothels over on C Street. Banks. Claims offices. The works.