Table of 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
Teaser chapter
AN UNEXPECTED BETRAYAL
To Wolpert’s surprise, a good portion of the anger in Burt’s eyes faded away. He gazed wistfully at the stagecoaches, turned back to the men coming from the south and then looked at his gang. Some of them were struggling to get up, but most were crawling a few paces to dig in the dirt.
“You really mucked this up good for me, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Burt squared his shoulders to Wolpert and took a few cautious steps back. “I ain’t gonna run and I sure ain’t gonna hand myself over to some double-crossin’ backstabber like you.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Still, it’s been good workin’ with you.”
Wolpert twitched at the earnestness in that remark. He hadn’t seen it coming and didn’t know what to say about it.
When Burt took his next step back, he dropped to one knee and drew his .44 in a smooth motion. . . .
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
eISBN : 978-1-101-44303-3
First Printing, September 2010
Copyright © The Estate of Ralph Compton, 2010
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
http://us.penguingroup.com
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
Sedley, Nebraska
1887
Some towns had long, proud histories. They sprouted up from gold rushes in distant hills or by the design of prosperous salesmen who’d banded together to fleece a particular stretch of an otherwise overlooked trail.
Some towns were carefully nurtured by a body of like-minded neighbors who simply admired the same view.
Sedley wasn’t such a place. It was more of an afterthought populated by folks who didn’t have the gumption needed to organize it into a proper community. Homes, a handful of saloons and a crop of various stores were clumped around a U-shaped street that didn’t even have a name. One end was packed with shops ranging from a tailor’s place to dry goods. From there, the street passed in front of some homes and curved to the east for a stretch before hooking north again, where it ended at a stable that rented its filthy stalls for a few cents more than they were worth and a livery that sold whatever horses its owners could find at something close to fair prices. At the middle of the street, like a bunch of slimy rocks that had settled to the bottom of a murky lake, was a pair of saloons. Both establishments had had names at one time, which had been painted onto signs that had become more appealing than a row of clay pigeons to the armed drunks who stumbled in and out of them at all hours of the day and night. With both signs shot to bits, the locals simply called the saloons “the First One” and “the Second One.” Depending on which end of the street they lived on, folks switched the names as it suited them.
It was early winter, which meant the winds that ripped across the Nebraska terrain had acquired a steely edge that sliced through anything in its path. Buildings rattled and teeth chattered as the drafts made short work of whatever layers of clothing were wrapped around a body. Some might have complained about the harsh manner in which the elements pulled warm breath from a person’s lungs, but such talk wouldn’t come from those who made Sedley their ho
me. They’d been stuck out in the prairies of western Nebraska for too long to think anyone would listen to their bellyaching.
Lucy Myles stood outside the livery her family had owned for the last year and a half. Dale and Matthew were nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t unusual. Once the sun inched its way down instead of up, her two brothers were more likely to be spotted propped against a bar than lifting a finger to keep the Thrown Shoe Horse Sales and Livery in business. Although she was a pretty woman in her late twenties with a round face and long, dark hair, Lucy was no longer concerned with trying to appeal to any of the men in town. There were a few good apples in that batch, but the work of keeping her livery afloat, despite her brothers’ willingness to let it sink, consumed too much of her day. It had been months since she’d put on the frilly blue dress she’d gotten a few birthdays ago. Tonight, like most every night, she covered herself with a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders and heavy brown skirts that allowed dirt and manure to blend in to the hem. None of those garments stood up to the wind that stampeded in from the west.
Clutching her shawl a little tighter beneath her neck, she scowled in the direction of the First One Saloon. If she concentrated hard enough, she could just about pick out the sound of Dale’s voice amid the chorus of bawdy laughter and off-key banjo plucking. This was his night to watch the place, but she didn’t expect him to show his face where it belonged. If someone hadn’t needed to be there to watch the new pair of spotted geldings that had arrived that afternoon, she would have left long ago.
“I swear to all above and below, I will skin you if you leave me here by myself,” Lucy grumbled. Considering how often her brothers were absent and the selection of other companions that were available in Sedley, she’d become quite accustomed to talking to herself.
Someone staggered out through the saloon’s batwing doors. Leaning forward as if that extra bit of closeness would help her pick out the details on the man’s face, Lucy studied him for a few seconds and then leaned back again. “Damn it, Dale. Just buy the bottle and bring it here. All I need is a warm body to fill a chair. If there’s one thing you can do right, it’s sit.”
She leaned against the post marking the corner of her lot. The saloons were still a ways off, but it was the best view she could get without leaving the livery unattended. Behind her was a patch of fenced-in ground that was just big enough for a team of horses to get some sun while they drank from a trough that was currently a quarter full of ice. The livery was bigger than the Myles homestead, which was at the back end of the cluster of nearby houses. While Lucy’s eyes remained fixed on the saloon, her ears were alert for every little sound to come out of the structure behind her.
Hooves clomped against the floorboards.
Heavy, snuffing breaths were let out as the animals tried to keep warm.
Something creaked.
That last one caught her attention immediately. The wail of the hinge attached to the side door might as well have been a bell announcing the presence of a customer or lazy worker trying to sneak in and sneak back out again.
Twirling around while gathering her skirts, Lucy rushed around the fence line as quietly as she could. The leather of her boots was thin enough to make every step as subdued as if she were in bare feet. She knew right when to duck when passing a window and exactly when to hop to avoid getting tripped up by a rut or partially buried rock. By the time she’d circled around the livery, the side door’s latch was just being eased into the bracket attached to the wall.
Lucy peeked in through the corner of a square window beside the door. Even though there was only one lantern in the livery casting its dull glow, she recognized the slender build and messy hair of her brother. He kept low as he approached the stalls along the opposite wall. Just past those stalls was the loose floorboard where the little iron strongbox was kept. Dale had probably forgotten to bring his money along for his drinking binge. The notion of other ways he might waste their small amount of income was enough to send her through the door and into the livery in a rush.
“Dale Abraham Myles,” she bellowed while dropping a hand down onto the man’s shoulder, “if you think you’re sneaking back out just so you can go to that saloon, you’re sorely mistaken!”
He straightened up and turned around as if trying to stay under her hand rather than shake it off. While his build and features were similar to her brother’s, this man’s face was different. Where Dale’s mouth was all but covered by a scraggly mustache, this one’s was a thin line drawn from one ear to another. Her brother had been fortunate enough to inherit his mother’s little nose and took good care of it. This fellow’s nose was slightly larger, but was crooked after having been broken on at least three separate occasions.
“Well, now,” he sighed. “Ain’t this a pleasant little surprise?”
Lucy pulled her hand away and stepped back. “Oh, excuse me. I mistook you for someone else.”
Looking down at the spot where her hand had been, the man swiped his finger across his shoulder as if he was sampling icing from atop a cake. He passed his fingers under his nose and replied, “You can mistake me for anyone you like, darlin’.”
“We’re closing up,” she said as she clasped her hands and placed her back against a post. “But if you need to rent a stall for the night, we can accommodate you.”
“Don’t need a stall.”
“Then what brings you here?”
The man’s narrow mouth hung open just enough to show the browned tips of his teeth. Light blue eyes flicked up and down her chest while his shoulders wriggled as if he was trying to get comfortable within his own skin. “Came for these horses.”
She didn’t need to take her eyes from him to know that the stall he’d approached was the one currently occupied by the two newly arrived geldings. “They’re not for sale. We’re holding those for someone else. Why don’t you come back in the morning so I can show you some other ones?”
“These look plenty good to me,” he said while staring directly at the curves of her breasts as if he could stare directly through all the layers of clothing encasing her. “How ’bout I take ’em off yer hands right now?”
“My brothers won’t like that very much.”
“Your brothers ain’t here.” Stepping toward her, he added, “Matt’s losing his shirt in a card game over at the Second and Dale’s getting his pole waxed at the First. If’n you take proper care of me with them pretty lips, I might be convinced to leave your stock alone.”
The Myles brothers might not have been respected in town, but they were big enough to keep men like this one away from her. That is, if they were anywhere in sight. She kept a shotgun stashed near the front door, but that might as well have been at the saloon district as well.
“Take the horses if that’s what you’re after,” she said.
“I already told you what I was after.”
Inching toward the front door, she said, “My brothers will be back soon. That’s why I thought you were one of them just a little bit ago.”
“I suppose I’ll just take my chances with that. Now get over here.”
Lucy saw the gun at the man’s side and summed up her odds of outrunning him or a bullet. Doing her best to stifle the tears burning at the corners of both eyes, she moved forward and clasped her hands even tighter in front of her.
“On yer knees.”
Once she was close enough to smell the stink of the man’s breath, she lowered her eyes, let her head hang low and even stooped her posture. Lucy gave every indication that she was following his command, without actually doing it. When she bent her knees slightly, the man assumed he was getting what he wanted and began unbuckling his belt. His eyes were partly closed in expectant contemplation, which allowed Lucy to get in the first punch.
Having grown up with two brothers, Lucy knew how to beat a man in a fight. Her fist thumped against the stranger’s groin, doubling him over and forcing a pained, hacking breath up from the bottom of his gut. Before tha
t breath was all the way out, she ran for the door.
Either this man was resistant to pain or was used to being rebuked by women, because he recovered from the blow quicker than Dale or Matt ever could. He grunted half an obscenity at her while forcing his body to move after her. Even though his legs were as wobbly as those of a newborn colt’s, he managed to shamble fast enough to catch her with one flailing paw of a hand.
“Where you goin’?” he coughed.
It wasn’t in Lucy’s nature to scream. Instead, she kept her eyes set on her goal and tried to loosen the man’s grip with a few quick backward kicks. The first couple only rustled her skirts, but the third drove her heel squarely into the man’s shin.
He dropped to one knee, cursed some more, but held on. Tightening his grip around her arm, he looked up at her with a lurid grin and yanked her down to his level.
Lucy was only a few paces from the door, but turned away from it as if the escape route was ten miles away. She fell onto her side, caught herself with both hands and then rolled onto her back. The man stood over her and lowered himself to straddle her. The moment he reached to pull at the laces along the front of her dress, he was introduced to both heels of Lucy’s well-worn boots. He winced as kicks landed on his chest and stomach, but he was wearing more than enough layers of clothing to absorb the impacts. Even so, her legs were just strong enough to keep him from getting much closer.
“All this fightin’s got me worked up, darlin’. I can think of all kinds of ways for me to let off this kind of steam.”
Waiting for him to come down a bit more, Lucy cocked back her right leg and put everything behind it to slam her heel into the man’s face. She caught him just above the left eye, which snapped his head back and opened a nasty gash in his forehead. As soon as he staggered back, she pulled free and scrambled to her feet.
Ralph Compton Rusted Tin Page 1