Ride Away

  “That would’ve been Holt.”

  “Holt? Your brother?”

  Blue explained the situation, including Holt going by the name Sam Holton.

  “I see,” Judge Pence said. “What about the kid?”

  Blue answered, “That would’ve been Jeremy Regan.”

  “I thought the whole family was killed. The boy’s alive?”

  “Yes. He lives with us now,” Blue said. “We’re going to adopt him. Can you make it official?”

  “Sure, we kin do it now. I’ll write it up. Goin’ back to what ya said, could Jeremy have identified any o’ them?”

  He grinned. “No, I don’t think so. I was bluffing.”

  Pence rubbed his chin. “I’d sure like to see the boy. I remember that he favored his ma.”

  “He’s a fine youngster. We’re happy to have him as part of our family.”

  “Those were some mighty big bluffs ya ran, son,” Pence remarked and spit into his can. “Wish I’d have known that earlier,” he smiled, repeating Blue’s earlier statement.

  “Guess so,” Blue said. “We didn’t see another way. Didn’t think you’d let us do it.”

  Pence nodded. “Wal, I’d a’ bin real tempted to let ya do it, but prob’ly not, bein’ that bluffin’ ain’t truly legal.”

  Looking dazed, Sylvestor Tritt tiptoed from the kitchen, glanced at them, and hurried past.

  Pence put out a hand to stop the lawyer. “Tritt, I don’ wanna see ya in my court ever again.” He spit into his can and stared at the disgraced attorney.

  Tritt lowered his head and left. As he cleared the restaurant door, there was a commotion. Into the restaurant with only his right hand raised came Rhey Selmon in his bearskin coat. His shirt was bloody and he could only raise the one arm. His holsters were empty. Behind him with one of Selmon’s silver-plated guns pointed at the wounded gunman was Holt Corrigan. The other was shoved into Holt’s waistband.

  “Where do you want this bear boy? Saw him hiding when I rode in. He wasn’t as brave as he thought,” Holt said. “Go on. Get in here.”

  “Oh, hi, Sam,” Blue said.

  Holt’s gaze took in the room and stopped when it came to the massive body of Agon Bordner. “Came in to give my brothers a hand. Doesn’t look like you needed it.”

  The emphasis on brothers was deliberate. He touched the cardinal feather in his hatband and motioned toward the street. “Saw another hombre in a coat and tie come busting out of the general store and hurry toward the livery. Anybody we should go after?”

  Deed cocked his head. “Ah, Sam, that’ll be Jephrum Virdin. Bordner hired him to run the store but he’s a harmless fool. In a way he helped me.”

  Both brothers were trying to make Holt realize a judge was present. Holt was too proud of his brothers’ finally stopping Agon Bordner’s evil to pay attention, or care.

  Judge Pence waved his arms. “Take Rhey Selmon over to the jail. That’s where the rest of them are. Consider yourself deputized.” He looked over at Blue and winked.

  Blue realized Pence knew it was Holt.

  Holt looked at his brothers. “Deputized?”

  “Uh, Sam, this is Circuit Court Judge Oscar Pence,” Blue declared, frowning at Holt.

  Turning toward the infamous outlaw, Pence said, “I reckon one o’ the heroes of Sabine Pass deserves that . . . and more, Holt Corrigan. Ya bin a’ helpin’ clear up this mess too. As kin to the Regans, I appreciate that more than ya know. So let’s resolve this hyar outlaw issue ri’t now.”

  Holt stood without moving. Selmon attempted to step away, but Holt jammed his gun in the gunman’s back and he froze, cursing.

  “David Copate, he’s a banker in El Paso an’ a friend o’ mine. He tolt me yer name’s bin attached to all sorts o’ holdups . . . an’ he thinks it’s wrong. Jes’ like this hyar so-called holdup an’ the robbery o’ his own bank. Ya weren’t at neither. I agree with Copate.” He cocked his head and grinned. “An’ thar’s no way a court’s gonna prove ya did any other holdup, iffen ya did.”

  He spit into the can and looked at Deed and Blue. “Ya know you all got amnesty at the end o’ that awful war, but it takes a while fer that nasty business to end fer some. An’ some are too proud to ask.”

  Glancing at the dead Bordner, Pence folded his arms, being careful with the spit can. “Holt Corrigan, I also heard ya stopped ol’ bear boy thar an’ two o’ Bordner’s gunslicks from hurtin’ a lady at Emilio’s.” Pence smiled and looked back at Holt. “Yeah, good stuff kin git’round, too, Holt. Emilio’s another friend o’ mine.” He ran his hand through his gray hair. “Ya know, Texas needs good men like ya helpin’ it grow, not runnin’ from past mistakes.” He unfolded his arms and spit again. “Ya should have amnesty, too, Holt Corrigan, an’ I’m gonna do it. I’ll write this up. Holt, ya are now a free man. But it’s gonna cost ya.”

  Holt frowned. Was the judge asking for a bribe? Blue looked at Deed who shrugged.

  “I hereby appoint ya actin’ county sheriff. Ya will handle that job till the next county election. Deal?”

  Holt nodded and couldn’t stop grinning. “Deal.”

  The three brothers looked at each other and broke into wide grins. Blue walked over to Macy Shields’s body and pulled the badge from his shirt. He brought it to Pence.

  “How about swearing him in right now, Judge?”

  “Good idee.” Pence spit into the can, took the badge, and walked over to Holt.

  “Ah, hold up . . . yer left hand, Holt. That’s plenty good nuff. Ya got business with the other.”

  Lifting his left hand, Holt repeated Pence’s oath. “I swear to uphold the laws of the county and of the great state of Texas to the best of my ability, so help me God.”

  Pence pinned the badge on Holt’s shirt and patted him on the shoulder. “Do good, boy.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Got a feelin’ that’s so.”

  Deed and Blue cheered, so did Atlee.

  Holt smiled and shoved his gun into Rhey Selmon’s back. “Come on, bear boy.”

  The gunman swore and they left with a grinning Holt pushing him to walk faster.

  Smiling, Pence returned to the back of the restaurant and put his arms around Blue’s and Deed’s shoulders. He patted them both.

  “Reckon the court’ll have to decide what to do with the Bar 3 and them other two ranches. Come to think on it, thar’s also gonna be a bank an’ general store fer sale. Hey, an’ a town marshal’s job to fill. Got any suggestions?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Each of Cotton Smith’s novels brings an exciting picture of the human spirit making its way through life-changing trials, driving through physical and emotional barriers, and resurrecting itself from defeat. His stories of the West are praised for historical accuracy, unexpected plot twists, and memorable characters. They are also enjoyed for their insightful descriptions of life of that era—and for their rousing adventure.

  In Dark Trail to Dodge, the ex-Ranger John Checker seeks a reunion with his long-separated sister, bridging a terrible childhood, and Tyrel Bannon, a Texas farm boy, undergoes a trying initiation into manhood. In Pray for Texas, Confederate cavalryman and pistol fighter Rule Cordell struggles to overcome not only losing the war, but the anguish of a tyrannical minister father. In Behold a Red Horse, we see the three Kerry brothers deal with the strongest one being blinded. In Brothers of the Gun, John Checker must face knowing his half brother is an evil man bent on destroying him by kidnapping their sister’s children and taking them into the Indian Nations. And in Spirit Rider, we see a young white man challenged by white society after growing up with an Oglala stepfather holy man who talks with sacred stones. And in Sons of Thunder, Rule Cordell tries hard to put his days as a pistol fighter behind him but finds he can’t when his friends are challenged by a cunning carpetbagger. The Thirteenth Bullet and Winter Kill both carry this fascinating psychological edge. True West agrees, “Although the characters in Cotton Smith’s books are for the most pa
rt traditional Western men—strong, dynamic, action-driven individuals—their motivations and mannerisms definitely break the mold of traditional western novels. For one thing, they have and show far more emotion than the average man (in or out of a western novel). Characters are placed in realistic, emotionally driven situations, bringing with them souls filled with concern, fear, joy, and desire.”

  His love of the West came quite naturally and quite early in life, as did his gift for writing. “I rode with them all, you know,” Cotton likes to say. “Roy, Gene, Hoppy, I was right there with them. Roy Rogers and Wild Bill Elliott were my favorites. Yeah, I can hold my own on western movie trivia with anyone.” From the earliest he can remember, he was wearing chaps, boots, spurs, and strapping on a set of cap guns. “Like the song says, my heroes have always been cowboys.”

  That love affair turned into a lifelong study of the American West. “Silver screen fascination grew into an appreciation I will never grow tired of. I believe the excitement is in what really happened during this special time in our nation’s history. I believe it lives on in each of us, if we simply stop long enough to let it surface. In this time of special trial, that victorious linkage will serve us well. America will win.”

  Cotton Smith was born in Kansas City, Missouri; some would say a century later than he should have been. He grew up enjoying both adjoining states, Kansas and Missouri, living mostly in Kansas. His ancestors fought in the Civil War, mostly for the South, as regulars and guerrillas. As a young man, he learned to ride horses from a grizzled wrangler he remembers fondly. He also learned how to roll a cigarette then, too! “Looking back on it, he taught me the right ways around a horse—and he taught me some other things too. Like swinging into the saddle with the horse loping. And springing up from the rear, like the movie stars did. Never occurred to me then that I could get hurt. Guess no young person ever does.”

  Cotton tells it this way: “There is much we can learn from our ancestors, perhaps today more than ever. The men and women who built this country were exceptionally strong people who overcame enormous odds to establish good families, create towns where only wilderness existed, establish businesses, and leave us with much to build upon. They loved the land and that love was returned manyfold.”

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 Cotton Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3709-4

  First electronic edition: January 2016

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3710-0

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3710-5