Blood Bond 9

by William W. Johnstone

  Sam took a step toward the couple, but stopped when he heard Petty’s laugh.

  “Got you now, Two-Wolves. You’re a dead man.”

  Sam, though knee-deep in water, turned with an amazing speed and saw the gun in Petty’s hand. The outlaw cocked and started to pull the trigger.

  Sam’s draw was faster than it had ever been. The gun like magic was out of its holster and in his hand. He squeezed off a shot, hitting Petty in the shoulder, spinning him around. Petty shot, but the bullet went wild.

  Sam fired again, this time hitting the outlaw squarely in the chest, knocking him back into the brush. Petty screamed as another set of snakes suddenly appeared and swarmed over him.

  The blood brother rushed over to where Lilly and Derrell were almost to the creek bank. Sam helped pull the couple from the water. Several snakes were still trailing behind them. Sam killed them with well-placed shots. The water was again still, except for the floating bodies of the dead snakes and King Petty.

  “Didn’t leave much for me to do?” Matt asked as he rode up.

  “I got to him first,” Sam answered.

  Lilly was crying as she kneeled over Derrell.

  “Will he be all right?” Lilly asked, touching Derrell’s face. “He risked his life to save me. Will he live?”

  Sam looked him over, saw several red welts where the snakes had bitten. He took his knife and cut back the pants to take a better look at the bullet wound.

  “He’s not in good shape,” Sam admitted. “But Derrell Brown is a strong man. And I have a friend in town that knows some old remedies that might help him. I’d lay odds that Derrell will pull through as strong as ever.”

  “Could you get your friend to help him? Please?”

  “I’m already going,” Matt said.

  “Tell Clarissa we’ll be at Lilly’s place. She’ll need to bring some of her special tea and dressings.”

  “Please save him, Clarissa. Don’t let him die.”

  Lilly’s voice was pleading as Clarissa put the palm of her hand against Derrell’s forehead.

  “The fever’s going down. The poultices are working. The danger is past. He’ll live.”

  “Thank you, Clarissa . . . thank you!”

  Clarissa looked thoughtfully at the man stretched out in the bed. “It’s not really my doing,” she said. “Derrell has a strong will to live . . . he has a strong reason to live. And I think you know what it is.”

  “I . . . do know . . . but it’s been so soon since . . . since . . .”

  “The hurt will heal in time. Just let it heal. And accept the gift of live when it’s offered.”

  Derrell groaned. Sam and Matt, sitting in the adjoining room, looked through the door.

  “What he needs now is tender loving care. You look after him for a while.”

  As Clarissa left to join Matt and Sam, Lilly was smoothing the covers around Derrell with a concerned look on her face.

  “How is he?” Sam asked.

  “The worst is over. The best is yet to come.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Clarissa and Henry Ponder were behind the counter, restocking cans on shelves. Clarissa turned when Sam entered, smiled, and stepped down to greet him with a hug. Henry waved and called out, “Hi, Sam!”

  “Henry. Clarissa. I came to tell you both goodbye.”

  “You done what you came for,” Henry said, holding out his hand. “We were hoping you’d stop by before leaving.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true,” Sam said, smiling. “Never did get that fishing out of my system.”

  “Too many snakes?” Henry asked.

  “Too many snakes—of all kinds,” Sam agreed. He leaned his hip against the counter. “We got rid of some of those critters, with your and Clarissa’s help. It took a lot of courage to do what you did.”

  “We should have acted against Petty a long time ago, but we were all scared. Until you and Matt came along and stood up against him. Matt gave us a little scare when we thought he was going to turn down the offer to serve as marshal . . . but it worked out.”

  “Matt’s a little hard-headed sometimes, especially when his fishing is interrupted,” Sam said. “But you can count on him. Always.”

  Clarissa laughed and suggested, “You two are very close.”

  “Closer than brothers,” Sam agreed.

  “I’ve got to run,” Henry said. “A town council meeting scheduled, to fill the marshal job. Wish you and Matt would stay.”

  “Can’t do it.”

  “I understand.” Henry shook Sam’s hand again and said, “You come up this way again. You’re always welcome here. Maybe next time you’ll even get that fishing done!”

  Henry took off his apron and left through the rear door, leaving Clarissa and Sam in the room. The room was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Clarissa finally said, “You’ve been thinking about our talk?”

  “Not much time to think, not with all that’s been going on.”

  “Sam . . . that’s an excuse. Not a reason.”

  Sam smiled. “You’re a lot like my mother. You’ve seen through me.” He paused, then said more seriously, “Have you wondered why I don’t live my life as a Cheyenne? It’s because a long time ago I made a promised to my father to turn my back on my life as an Indian. Of course, I sometimes have doubts. But I couldn’t go back now.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Clarissa said. “I said to keep your heritage in your heart . . . recognize it . . . and live it. My grandmother was Cherokee, though nobody knows that but Henry and you. That’s not important. What is important is that I know. And that I try to live the old ways in my heart. You should realize, if you don’t already, that you are living as a Cheyenne . . . in your heart. You have the soul of a warrior. I know you still follow many of the Cheyenne ways. Most important, you are true to what you believe is right. That is the most important thing.”

  “Thanks, Clarissa.”

  “One more question.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “You and Sam are blood brothers, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That explains a lot. Others, like Henry, accept us, but could not truly hope to understand.” She hugged Sam. “Take care. You and Matt will always have a place here.”

  Derrell Brown was stretched out on one of the easy chairs in Lilly’s front room, his legs bandaged and his face puffy from the bullet wound and the snake bites that he had received. He was a tough fellow, however, and had survived the nights and days following the bites, first with Clarissa’s help and then with Lilly’s. He would live.

  Lilly stood near him, a concerned look on her face as she plumped his pillow and tried to make him comfortable.

  Matt was on the front porch, enjoying the spring weather and watching Sam ride in from town. Sam’s horse came to a sliding stop. He tied it to the porch rail and came up the stairs in one jump. He glanced through the open door, saw Lilly and Derrell talking to each other.

  Matt looked at Sam and grinned.

  “Looks like Lilly will come out of this all right.”

  “Her husband’s death is still too recent; the loss is too fresh,” Sam answered thoughtfully. “It does seem obvious that there is an attraction between those two.”

  “Derrell came near killing himself when he pulled the woman from the river. That’s a bit more than just an attraction.”

  “It does make him seem like a hero to her,” Sam said. “That Tommy likes him, and the feeling is mutual, doesn’t hurt either.”

  “Lilly’s an attractive woman. Aren’t you a little jealous that you—Mr. Sam Two-Wolves, the ladies man—lost out this time to Derrell?”

  Sam hit Matt with his hat, laughing softly.

  Matt turned from the scene, walked to the edge of the porch, and looked across the fields.

  “Sometimes I wish I had this wanderlust played out. That I could just find a woman and stay in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. Go home, and stay home.”

&
nbsp; “I know what you mean. Lilly and Derrell will have a good life here. The land is rich, there’s plenty of water, it’ll be a good place to raise kids. I can say the same about our ranches up north. But I’m wondering if that’s what I really want. Is that really me? Is that really the life for me?”

  Matt knew Sam better than anybody. Sometimes it was better not to joke. He said seriously, “You’re thinking about your promise to your father to turn your back on your Indian heritage.”

  “Yeah. That’s it. I did more than promise. I made a sacred oath. And I’ll die before I renege on that oath. But something just doesn’t seem right. Sometimes I feel I’m missing something, and don’t know what. I’m not entirely comfortable with the new ways, but I couldn’t go back to the old ways—even if I wanted to.”

  “You’ll figure it out in time,” Matt said. “Maybe a trip home would help.”

  “Maybe. It’s something to think about.”

  Lester Brown came around the corner of the house, talking with Tommy as the boy led a cow pony. Tommy saw Matt and Sam and waved.

  “Mr. Brown is telling me about being a cowboy!” Tommy said excitedly.

  “Tommy?” Brown said.

  “Sorry. Lester was telling me about cows and showing me a little about riding.”

  Derrell and Lilly heard the talk outside. Derrell hobbled to the door, leaning a little on Lilly. Lester said to the woman, “Just telling the boys about your son. He’s a natural. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have your boy help me and Derrell out some . . . and we’ll help you on your place.”

  “That’d be . . . wonderful!” Lilly said.

  “Then it’s a done deal.” Brown’s bushy eyebrows cast shadows under his eyes as he turned to Matt and Sam. “Looks like you boys are headed out.”

  “Time to move on,” Matt said.

  “Wish you all could stay awhile.”

  “We’ll make it back this way, I suspect,” Sam said.

  “Where to in the meantime?”

  “Haven’t decided yet,” Matt said. “We may continue north . . . up to our home places. Or we may head to the southwest and see the desert country. Or we might wind up someplace totally different. Depends on which way the wind blows.”

  The two blood brothers stepped into their saddles, waved one final goodbye and then headed down the road. Soon, Lilly’s house was out of sight.

  “Been meaning to talk with you for a while,” Matt said, a serious look on his face.

  “So talk.”

  “I’m trying to figure out how one fellow can get himself in so much trouble! Send you to town for some groceries, and next thing you know we’re facing a killer. Think maybe next time I’ll go in myself for supplies!”

  “That so? Whose idea was it that we go after some cattle rustlers . . . just as a matter of principle?”

  “Well . . . a man’s got to live according to his own principles,” Matt said, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you say . . . brother?”

  Sam nodded. “You understand it well . . . brother.” Matt and Sam rode in silence for a while, enjoying the spring day. The two did not have to exchange words to communicate with each other, since they in fact did share a bond that would be impossible for most men to comprehend.

  “So what’s next?” Matt finally asked as the sun rose higher in the sky. “Want to head home for a while?”

  “What’s your thinking?”

  “Well, I do have an idea.”

  “Not like you to be shy. Spit it out.”

  “I’d kind of like to head farther west.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I’ve heard that there’s some of those mountain streams that have some pretty good fishing . . .”

  Matt howled and raced away. Sam laughed and gave chase with a loud rebel yell as the blood brothers hurried toward the next adventures waiting for them down the road in the West.

  He’s known by the name of Cotton and was pretty fair with a six-gun. So when the town fathers of Doubtful, Wyoming, offer him the job of sheriff, Cotton takes it . . . not knowing he’s about to stick his nose into the biggest hornet’s nest in the territory—a deadly range war is brewing and Cotton is smack dab in the middle of it.

  Turn the page for an exciting preview of

  DOUBTFUL, WYOMING

  By

  Bestselling author William W. Johnstone

  Coming in November 2006

  Wherever Pinnacle Books are sold

  DOUBTFUL, WYOMING

  ISBN 0-7860-1770-8

  Chapter One

  When I come off that ridge, there wasn’t but one thought in my mind: hunt a hole and crawl in deep.

  I didn’t want to look behind me. I had a pretty good idea what I was gonna see. And that would be a good-sized posse with an already knotted rope. And the necktie party they had in mind was gonna feature me as the honored guest.

  If hangin’ was ever an honor.

  I knew I should have stayed out of that little pissant town. Something warned me that I was lookin’ at trouble. But I’d been paid off ’bout ten days back, up in Montana Territory, and I hadn’t as yet found me a place to spend none of it. I had me six months wages—earned hard winterin’ in a line shack—and I had me a growlin’ belly. I could smell that food a-cookin’ in that cafe. Least I thought I could; might have been my imagination. I’d run out of grub couple of days back and was so hungry I could have et the ass end out of skunk. Well . . . almost.

  I sat Critter on that little hill overlookin’ the lights of town and ruminated matters around in my head.

  I figured I’d passed into Wyoming Territory a few days back—not that it made no different noways. I didn’t have nobody waitin’ neither behind nor ahead of me, and I sure wasn’t on no schedule.

  “What you say, Critter?” I asked my horse.

  He just looked at me sort of mournful-like.

  I give him his head and down that hill we went. He was as tired as me, I reckon, and lookin’ for a warm stall and a bellyful of hay, maybe some corn if he was lucky.

  The name of the town was Doubtful. That right there should have warned me off. Who in the hell ever heard of a town called Doubtful? But it looked to me a right nice-sized town, and nobody was shootin’ at me. Yet.

  The cafe was warm and sort of homey, the food was good, and the gimp-legged, scar-faced man served plenty of it. So after two plates of food and half a dozen cups of coffee, I just naturally headed for a saloon. I had my choice of three. I picked the closest one. Place was near-bouts deserted, except for a few hard-lookin’ ol’ boys playin’ poker. I bought in. Second mistake of the evenin’.

  I could tell after a few hands that I was bein’ cold-decked, bottom-dealt, and palmed from the word go. Problem was, they was all so clumsy with it. And that made me mad; like they figured I had just rode in on a turnip wagon and fell off it.

  I also noted that they was all wearin’ two guns. and you don’t see no average puncher packin’ that much iron.

  So I told them ol’ boys, all of ’em, that if they wanted to play poker, why, that was fine with me. but the name of the game was draw, and that meant take the first five off the top and halt.

  One of ’em asked me my name and I told him it was Cotton.

  They all thought that was funny, all except for this feller dressed in a business suit standin’ at the bar drinkin’ him a beer an eatin’ a hard boiled egg from the platter.

  I slipped the hammer thong off my .44 with my right hand and sorta grinned along with ’em.

  If they thought Cotton was funny, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell ’em my Christian last name.

  Then this fat, ugly, young one asked if I was accusin’ him of cheatin’. I told him the way he was comin’ off the bottom with them pasteboards, it sure looked like it to me.

  Then damned if he didn’t call me a right ugly name.

  Next thing you knowed, they was two of them ol’ boys stretched out on the sawdust with holes in them. The air
was filled with gunsmoke, the guy eatin’ the egg had jumped behind the bar, and I knowed ol’ cotton had done screwed up again.

  We just couldn’t go no more. My big horse, Critter, was so bad tuckered that he was staggerin’. And I’d be damned if I was gonna kill my good horse over some tinhorn gamblers. ’Specially one that was as ugly as that fat one was.

  Or had been.

  I found me a stand of timber with a little stream runnin’ through it, a sheer rock wall to the back, and a good field of fire to the front. I stripped the saddle off Critter and told him to take him a good roll and a rest.

  “And keep your head down when the shootin’ starts,” I added.

  You spend a lot of time with a horse, you get to talkin’ to it. I used to try to sing to Critter, but ever’ time I done that he bucked me off. I reckon he had him a tin ear.

  Surely, it wasn’t my singin’. But come to think of it, I did get blamed for stampedin’ a herd one time when I was ridin’ nighthawk. I blamed it on the weather, but the cook said my singin’ sounded like a bear caught in a trap.

  I listened to Critter take him a roll and a good long drink, then he got to croppin’ at the grass. It was spring, with new grass, but this high up, it’s liable to be warm and then an hour later, start snowin’. When he finished chompin’, I picketed him and got back into position, my Henry at the ready, all full and ready to bark and snarl.

  Damn, but I was tired. I wasn’t much worried about nobody slippin’ up on me. Critter was better than any watchdog I’d ever seen; he’d warn me. So I just put my head down on my forearm and closed my eyes.

  Critter’s soft nickering woke me up. I opened my eyes to a real pretty day. Sun shinin’ and warm and lazy-like. I couldn’t help wonderin’ if this was gonna be my last pretty day, ’cause when I looked around, there was about twenty men sittin’ their horses about two hundred and fifty yards off.