Return of the Gun
Page 21
“That’ll be two bits!”
Jon slid a silver dollar from his front vest pocket and tossed it on the desk.
The old man’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at Jon. “You don’t look so tough to me,” he barked. A sly grin broke across his wrinkled face as he hocked a big one into the spittoon next to his desk.
Amused by the audacity of the old timer, Jon grinned and stepped out the door. The street was bustling with activity; Jon could feel excitement in the air as he hobbled toward the stables. The bright sun felt good on his battered body as he wove his way through the wagons and buggies.
“Hello, Jon,” Hank Clark shouted as Jon approached the stables. The smiling stable hand quickly hurried out the wide door to greet him. “You’re a celebrity now, you know!”
“Hmmm…is that right?”
“Yep. Just got today’s paper. Look at the headline.” Hank yanked the paper out of his back pocket and spread it open in front of Jon.
Jon glanced nervously at the bold headline:
Stoudenmire Cleans Up County
“Oh boy—I hope Libby doesn’t see that!” Jon laughed.
“You’re a hero around here, my friend.”
Jon frowned. “Hero, huh? Guess I never thought of myself as a hero.”
“Well ya are whether you like it or not,” Hank laughed. “And by the way, Babe’s ready. She’s been prancing around in there all morning. She’s rarin’ to go.” Hank hurried inside and emerged a short time later with Babe in tow, saddled and ready to ride.
“What do I owe ya, Hank?”
“It’s on me, Jon—it’s the least I can do. Oh, and by the way Jon, Sheriff Malone brought in that Ignacio fella this morning. The one who set ya up.”
“I figured he’d flown the coop.”
“I guess he was packed and ready to go when Malone grabbed him.”
Jon smiled at the friendly stable hand as he spun around and rode out toward the edge of town. Every muscle in his body ached as he bounced along the bumpy trail. He felt a surge of anger inside as he approached the gates to Stanton’s former compound. The ever present sentries were gone; the open gates swayed in the gentle breeze. Following Malone’s orders, Pedro and the other henchman apparently had fled the compound. No voices could be heard inside. Jon glanced down at a bevy of tracks heading south from the former fortress. “Good riddance,” he mumbled.
Jon’s stomach knotted as he rode over the rise near the river where he had been bushwhacked by Delgado and his gang a few days earlier. He felt sick as he glanced down at his dry blood stains on the large rock. He quickly jerked away from the disturbing scene and rode on down the path. When he reached the stream, Jon eased Babe into the cool water for a drink.
A strong wave of emotion came over Jon as he gazed ahead at the trail to Vinegar Bend and his cherished vineyard. For the first time, he realized that he was going home. My dream is finally coming true, he thought. No more fighting, no more bloodshed, no more killing. He was overjoyed at the thought of the bright future that lay ahead for him and his beautiful Elizabeth. For once in his troubled life, he would have the peace he so dearly longed for. He would have a life with the woman he loved.
Jon glanced down at his wounds, taking stock. The round blood stain on his leg hadn’t gotten any bigger since Doc had cleaned his wounds the day before, which was good. Doc said his leg could be healed up completely in a couple of weeks. A brownish scab was all that remained of the flesh wound he had taken to his left arm. He carefully unsnapped the buttons on his shirt, pulled it apart and examined his chest. The new bandages were clear of any blood. Doc said the soreness in his ribs might continue for several weeks. But that was okay—if his leg and arm healed on time, he would be able to finish the cabin by late summer. His ribs should be all right by the time Libby arrived, removing any lingering remnants of his violent days in El Cabrera. He wanted desperately to be a whole man when he was reunited with Elizabeth.
Jon carefully dismounted and dropped into the shallow stream; beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, his heart raced as he unstrapped his saddlebag. He dug around inside the bag and pulled out a leather pouch, the same leather pouch he had emptied on a hilltop just east of El Cabrera on his way into town. It was time to renew his pledge to Libby and once again put his guns away. He struggled to unbuckle his gun belt, his fingers still sore and swollen from his nasty fight with George Stanton. He grimaced as he untied, carefully folded his guns together and pushed them into the pouch. Then he folded the flap down and yanked the leather strap tight on the bag. Feeling vulnerable, a sense of panic rushed through him as he stood gunless and alone by the river. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling stopped, and a sense of calm came over him. He collected himself for a moment and then stuffed the leather pouch deep inside the saddlebag. He carefully lifted his injured leg up to the stirrup and mounted up.
“Those guns will never see the light of day again…God willing,” Jon whispered as he spurred Babe down the trail to his vineyard paradise. The haunting call of a raven filled the air as the intrepid warrior disappeared into the dark shadows of the thick forest.
About the Author
An avid student of America’s early frontier, R B Conroy has turned his passion into another compelling novel, Return of the Gun. Return is his second novel and a stand alone sequel to his popular first novel Devil Rising. In addition to the books mentioned above, Conroy has also written short stories about America’s west. He resides in Leesburg, Indiana with his wife Cheryl, where he’s hard at work on his next project.
Other books by R B Conroy
Devil Rising
In My Father’s Image
Deadly Game