by A. T. Butler
Trouble By Any Name
A Western Novella
A.T. Butler
FREE STORY
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Lonesome Trail
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Before Jacob Payne arrived in the Arizona Territory, before he was a bounty hunter, before he learned how to survive in the desert, he had to travel west. Innocents in trouble, quirky characters and life-threatening peril are along every mile as he passed from Virginia through Texas to the desert of Arizona.
When Jacob comes across a family that has fallen victim to horse thieves, he can’t just ride on and leave them to his fate. He’s not yet a bounty hunter, but Jacob Payne can still hunt down the evil-doers. Tucson will be waiting for him once he brings these men to justice.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Many thanks
Free Jacob Payne Story
Also by A.T. Butler
Danger in the Canyon — Chapter One
About the Author
Chapter One
“I knew you’d get him, Payne,” Sheriff Williams said.
When bounty hunter Jacob Payne handed over the stinking, nearly unconscious horse thief, the sheriff grabbed hold of the upper arms of the drunk before he fell on his face on the hard wooden floor. The older, heavyset man pushed and shuffled the thief back into one of the dirty cells of the Bennettsville jail before he came back out to give the bounty hunter his reward.
Jacob had turned to gaze out the window of the jail while he waited. His tall, built frame filled the entire window as he looked out, his dusty coat fitting snuggly over his broad shoulders. He watched the small town bustle. Shop owners stood in their doorways to greet passersby. Women in starched bonnets stopped to talk to their neighbors as they passed on the boardwalk. Small children pulled free of their mothers and ran out into the street, kicking up dust as they played and dodging horses. Bennettsville was a small town. Even from here Jacob could feel their affection for one another.
Jacob had learned of the reward and picked up the trail of the horse thief, Ted Glassey, outside Tucson. The trail was plain as day, as though it hadn’t even occurred to Glassey that someone might try to follow him. He had only stolen a single horse, after all. Surely not worth the trouble for most bounty hunters. But Jacob Payne didn’t get to be the best by turning up his nose at small rewards. Each new opportunity gave him a chance to learn, to get better, and to add more to his savings.
The thief’s track had led Jacob to a dry riverbed a few miles outside Bennettsville. Glassey had built a fire. He was keeping it small, but not small enough to hide from Jacob, whose keen sense of smell was a unique advantage he had over other lawmen. It was that same unique advantage that drew him straight to the campfire. He tied his horse down fifty yards away and crept up to Glassey’s camp on foot.
Once he got close enough, he saw he needn’t have worried. Glassey was passed out drunk, whiskey bottle in hand. Without even having opened his bed roll. Jacob walked right up to the thief, pulled the bottle from his grasp, and bound his wrists without the other man even waking up.
Now that he had brought the prisoner back to town and secured the reward, Jacob could think about his next steps. His dark hair, almost black, was more shaggy than he was used to. Jacob made a mental note to visit the barber before he left town. It was easier to live rough without messy hair to fall in his face. But after that, he could be on his way. He’d find the next outlaw that needed to be taken down and make the country safer.
“He give you much trouble, Payne?” Sheriff Williams asked as he reentered the office.
Jacob shook his head. “Nope. The man was already passed out when I found him. Seemed surprise anyone came after him, to be honest. Thought he was better hidden in the brush than he really was. It was just a matter of getting him on his horse and in the direction of the jail.”
“Easy money, sounds like.”
“Sure. But I didn’t come all the way to Arizona because it’s easy.”
Sheriff Williams nodded and lowered his bulk into the narrow wooden chair behind his desk. He rummaged in the bottom drawer, pulled out a sack of cash, and counted out the twenty dollars that was Jacob’s due.
“You’ll return the horse?” Jacob asked.
The sheriff nodded. “I’ll take care of it, get word to them at the Triple S Ranch. Where will you go now? Not enough trouble in Bennettsville to tempt you, I’m guessing.”
“Nope. You’re doing a fine job here all on your own. I can be of more use somewhere else.” Jacob examined the wall of wanted posters by the door. “What can you tell me about this’n?” He pointed to the dead-or-alive price for Elliott “Slippery” Stone. Three thousand dollars was a sizable reward.
Sheriff Williams shook his head. “Haven’t heard head or tail of the Slippery Stone Gang in months. Makes me nervous. Like they may be planning something big. That one, though.” He pointed to the next poster over. “Jeremiah Blanchard, with the five-hundred-dollar reward, I might have some info on. A few days ago there was a stranger come through here who claimed he saw a man fitting that description just up the road in San Adrian.”
“You think that’s true?”
Sheriff Williams leaned forward on the desk. “He seemed certain. The man said this was the new sheriff of San Adrian going by a different name.”
“The sheriff?”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his belly. “Seems the last sheriff died and this new man up and took over a month or so ago. Stranger what came through here didn’t say much else. Didn’t seem to want to stay long, neither. Might be some trouble over in San Adrian even if this isn’t your man.”
“I’ll check it out,” Jacob said. He read over the poster’s details. He’d be looking for a short man. Of course, most men were short compared to Jacob, but this Jeremiah character was barely over five feet. Dark hair beginning to gray. Scar along the man’s left cheek. “Poster says he’s wanted for murdering his wife and her parents. How’d such a despicable character make it all the way out here without getting caught?”
Sheriff Williams shook his head. “That’s the way of it sometimes. It’s why I became a lawman.”
Jacob studied the drawing, committing the man’s face to memory. “Says here he’s from Virginia.”
“You familiar with it?”
“Might be. Might have been there once. Feels like a long time ago, though.”
“Might be useful for you.”
“Might be. Did this stranger say what the new name was?”
“Horne. Sheriff John Horne. He ain’t been there that long, but this ain’t the first time I’ve heard stories come out of that town.”
“All since the last sheriff died?”
Williams nodded. “Seems to be more good folk leaving there than going. If this new sheriff is a murderer, that might explain some of their unease.”
Jacob raked his eyes over the other wanted posters lining the wall by the door. All the known members of the Slippery Stone Gang, of course, but also a motley collection of murderers, bank robbers, smugglers, rapists, and all manner of bad men running loose. Many people might look down on bounty hunters, call them killers or profiteers and sneer at them for taking money to kill people, but Jacob didn’t see it that way. He was just one more member of law enforcement. If he took a bigger financial
reward than a sheriff or U.S. Marshal, it’s because he took a bigger risk as well.
As was the case now. Jacob was about to head into a dangerous situation, all on his own, with only his revolver and his wits to defend him.
“Well, it seems I have an appointment with Sheriff Horne, then,” Jacob said. “Appreciate your help and the info.”
“Glad to,” Sheriff Williams said. “You’ve been a great help to me, not having a deputy. Next time you’re in Bennettsville, you’re welcome. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Jacob tipped his hat in thanks as he went out the door. He tucked his twenty dollars deep in his pocket and strode off to find the tonsorial parlor before his several-hour ride to San Adrian.
Chapter Two
Jacob guided his pinto along the twelve miles to San Adrian. He kept one eye on the horizon and one eye on the brush. Snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas would usually stay away from horses out here in the desert, but Jacob followed the wisdom that you never could be too careful.
The sun was climbing in the sky. Jacob had plenty of water and turned his attention to the task ahead of him.
He needed to consider his plan of attack. In his last nine months of bounty hunting, nearly all of his targets had either fought back and shot at him once they realized they had been caught, or gave themselves up and hoped to live another day. This time could be different. This time his target had already spent weeks to get the town on his side and could lean on that new alliance to escape. Jacob would have to break that link.
As he rode into San Adrian later that morning, Jacob felt the unsettling chill of a town under pressure. There was a muted quality about it, like the weight of a heavy quilt tamping down the town’s energy. Hardly anyone was out in the street, unusual for the lunch hour when he arrived and a stark contrast to Bennettsville earlier that day. The few citizens that were outside kept their heads down, watching their feet, not making eye contact with Jacob or with each other. He didn’t even try to say hello.
Not very sociable, he thought to himself. No wonder people are leaving this place.
He trotted slowly up the center of the main thoroughfare in San Adrian, toward the brick hotel at the end of the street. No friendly waves or neighborly greetings found him along the way. It was as though the citizens of the town didn’t want to be seen, like they were hiding from something.
Or someone.
At the end of the main street stood the Wildflower Hotel, the tallest building in town at three stories. Jacob tied up his horse outside and made his way in.
The lobby was deserted this time of day. An older woman met Jacob at the counter. A small, ludicrously feathered hat sat atop her tight gray curls. Jacob wondered if the woman’s aim was to be memorable or if she just didn’t realize how ridiculous the thing truly was.
“Good morning, ma’am. You have a room available tonight?”
She glanced over his shoulder toward the front door. “You may call me Mrs. Finch. I might find something for you. What business do you have in San Adrian? How long do you think you’ll be here?”
Jacob shrugged. “A day or two. I’ve got business with the new sheriff. Horne, I think I heard his name was.”
Mrs. Finch pursed her lips. She didn’t comment but paused before she pulled out her ledger for Jacob to sign in.
Jacob noticed her hesitation. “Beg your pardon, Mrs. Finch, but I’ve never met the new sheriff. Is there anything I should know?”
She visibly relaxed after that, and she handed Jacob the pen. “Oh, well, that’s all right then. We’ve had all kinds come through here these last few weeks, all looking for Sheriff Horne and all making trouble during the time they’re here. I thought you might be one of them.”
“No, ma’am. I apologize for worrying you. I was sent here by the sheriff of Bennettsville to look into a couple things. What kind of trouble you been having?”
“All kinds. Cheatin’ at cards, putting wild stories in the ears of some of the boys around here, harassing poor women just trying to do their shopping. If he weren’t the sheriff, I might think Mr. Horne was trying to take over this town, the way his friends seem to be scaring everyone away from San Adrian.”
Jacob kept what he knew to himself. This Horne fellow wasn’t a sheriff. Not really.
“Do you know he has four deputies now?” Mrs. Finch shook her head. “Four. Never before has San Adrian needed such firepower. I’ve not seen the like.”
“Has anyone talked to him about these new strangers coming into town?”
“Well, my husband tried. Mr. Finch owns this hotel, you know. One of the most important men in town, of course.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “But he didn’t want to make more trouble. When the sheriff threatened him with his pistol and told Mr. Finch to mind his own business, he dropped it. And if Sheriff Horne’s new friends all stopped staying here? We’d be out of business. Besides, it’s hard to tell a man he’s doing wrong when he’s wielding a gun and surrounded by four armed deputies.”
Jacob filed this information away. He would have to come up with a way to get Sheriff Horne on his own. He didn’t want to have to fight his way through a crowd of men all armed and deputized to uphold their bastardized version of the law.
“Thank you very kindly, Mrs. Finch. I’ll keep all that in mind. I wonder if I could trouble you for one more thing. Can you tell me where I might get lunch around here?”
“Well, I can set you up with some biscuits and jerky to take with you, but if you’d like a hot meal then the best place is Ed’s saloon up the road a bit. We used to have a proper diner, but Sally packed up and moved north after just a couple weeks of dealing with Sheriff Horne’s men.” She shook her head again.
“Think I passed the saloon on my way here. Ed? He the owner?”
Mrs. Finch nodded. “Ed Baker owns the place and tends the bar. His wife cooks, but they only serve food at meal times, so you’d best hurry and get over there before lunch is over. The Bakers have lived here as long as San Adrian’s been standing, but things have got so bad, even Ed is talking about pulling up stakes.”
Jacob thanked the hotel proprietress and said his good-byes. He led his horse to the livery and paid for food and stabling for a couple days. He didn’t know how long he’d need to stick around to capture Blanchard, but the pinto could take a well-earned rest while he was in town. Next, Jacob sought out his hot lunch. Without crowds of people or gregarious shopkeepers trying to get his attention, he had no trouble finding the saloon just a few blocks east of the hotel.
When he entered, everyone in the room turned to look. At the sight of a stranger some of the customers just turned away again, but three or four took the time to glare at him, turn a cold shoulder and do whatever they could to make him feel unwelcome without making trouble. He could understand it. From their perspective, he was just one more stranger come to descend on San Adrian and wreak havoc.
“Y’all got coffee?” Jacob asked as he sat down at the bar across from its tender, a bald older man with a salt-and-pepper beard.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll make you a fresh pot.”
“Thanks. You Ed? Name’s Jacob Payne. Mrs. Finch sent me, said you’d be serving lunch about this time.”
Ed nodded. “You almost missed it, but I’ll have my wife fix you a plate. Anything else?”
“No, sir. Not right now.”
Ed left to start the coffee, and Jacob turned his attention to the rest of the saloon’s patrons. He was the only one sitting at the bar, but diners sat at more than half the room’s tables. Jacob felt as if the other customers, mostly men, were watching him, waiting for him to give some kind of clue as to his loyalties or his business. The room was full of chatter, but Jacob couldn’t make out any individual conversations.
A few minutes later, Ed came back out to the bar, hands full with a plate of roasted chicken and potatoes and a cup of coffee. It smelled delicious and Jacob heard his stomach growl. He was used to it; he often went without meals while on the road,
so focused on tracking down criminals as he was.
Ed set the plate and mug down in front of Jacob, then stepped a short distance away and started wiping down dirty glasses. He glanced at Jacob every few seconds as he did so, as though wary he might try something.
“Where can I find Sheriff Horne?” Jacob asked as he took his first bite of hot, buttery potatoes. He kept his voice down. He didn’t know who any of the other customers were. One might be the outlaw’s right-hand man.
“Well,” Ed started slowly. “If you hadn’t told me Mabel Finch had sent you, I might not be willing to say. I don’t like to get on the sheriff’s bad side. But as far as I know, he might be comin’ here tonight for supper or cards. That’s the best I can offer you. Says he has a lot of cleaning up to do after Sheriff Winthrop died. Paperwork or some such. He stays shut inside the jail most days.”
“Really?” Jacob took a drink of his coffee.
Ed nodded, keeping his attention on the dusty mug under his rag. “No one’s really sure what he’s doing there, but your best bet if you want to go find him is to show up at the jail.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Jacob took his time finishing his chicken and potatoes, all the while watching the other customers in the saloon. To a man, they all looked cowed. The chatter that filled the room wasn’t the cheerful, sociable conversations he expected to hear over lunch. They were frantic, whispered discussions, hurried meals so the men and women could leave again quickly. He put down a dollar for his meal and drink and strode through the door.
Time to find the man going by the name Sheriff Horne.