by A. T. Butler
“Let go of me!” he cried. “You can’t think this is right.”
Deputy Nelson looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t abandon his post. The other deputies held him fast. Jacob caught Maggie’s eye across the crowd; her anguished expression made him wish he could shield her from this.
“No man is judge, jury, and executioner,” Jacob shouted to the crowd.
He heard murmurs of confusion and protest all around, but it didn’t seem as though any of them would be brave enough to stop the man. Jeremiah crossed the final steps to where Jacob was held kneeling on the ground.
Jacob took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had done all he could to expose this alleged sheriff as the murderer he was. Just as Jacob felt the cold iron against his forehead, he heard the sound of several horses galloping up the street.
Chapter Eleven
With a gun pointed at his head, Jacob didn’t dare turn to look to see who rode up the street, but he counted the hooves of three horses. The crowd that had gathered to watch the altercation began whispering and murmuring in confusion.
“Drop your weapon,” Jacob heard a familiar voice say. “Step away from that man.”
Instead of stepping away from him, Jeremiah grabbed Jacob’s injured arm and yanked him to his feet. This was the first time the two men were so close together, and Jacob realized the outlaw only came up to his broad shoulders. The barrel of the gun was soon jammed hard into his ribs, still bruised from Blanchard’s kick. Jacob could feel the bruising deepen, but he stayed quiet, watching the riders arrive.
At the end of the street from the south side of town, and coming closer with every second, was Sheriff Williams of Bennettsville and two of his deputies.
“I said drop your weapon!” Sheriff Williams yelled. “Give up, Blanchard. Your reign is over.”
Without dismounting, Sheriff Williams held up the wanted poster Jacob had last seen the morning before. Even from this distance, it was easy to identify Jeremiah Blanchard’s scowling face.
“What are you doing here?” Jeremiah said to the sheriff of Bennettsville with a threatening growl.
“Upholding the law. One of these fine citizens of San Adrian telegraphed me to come identify you. You’re not fooling anyone. Now come quietly so no one else gets hurt.”
“The hell I will,” Jeremiah said. “My deputies will arrest you for attempting to assault an officer of the law. Who says I’m the man in that poster?”
“I say,” Jacob retorted. He was rewarded with a punch to the gut from Deputy Barnes.
“I say,” Sheriff Williams echoed from on top of his horse.
“I say,” Timothy said defiantly, making sure to stay close to Sheriff Williams and out of reach of any of the other San Adrian deputies. He raised his gun and pointed it at Jeremiah.
“You better watch yourself, kid,” Jeremiah said.
Deputies Nelson and Conroy looked less and less sure, as the crowd around them grew more hostile, calling for this fight to end.
“Here. See for yourself.” Sheriff Williams thrust the paper at the man nearest him, Deputy Conroy.
The deputy quickly scanned over the document. He shook his head. “The description matches. That’s definitely him, even with this beard trying to cover his scar.”
“You trying to hide your identity with that new scruff, Blanchard?” Jacob demanded. He felt the gun barrel dig deeper into his ribs.
“You murdered your wife?” Deputy Conroy said. “That’s—” He shook his head, speechless.
Jeremiah removed his gun from Jacob’s side and pointed it now at Deputy Conroy. “You got something to say? Huh? You want to try to take me on now that you know what I’m capable of?”
In the commotion, Jacob backed away, out of arm’s reach from Jeremiah, and unfastened his hammer loop. He thought quickly. He could easily outdraw Jeremiah, but any bullets shot with this many people around ran the risk of injuring more than just their target. He didn’t want to get shot, but more than that, he didn’t trust the other man’s aim.
Deputy Conroy thrust the wanted poster at Deputy Nelson. “Here. Read it.”
Nelson scanned it quickly, spitting when he reached the end. “Woman killer,” he hurled at Jeremiah.
“Murderer!” called a voice from the crowd.
Jeremiah turned from deputy to deputy, waving his gun around wildly. “I am the sheriff of this town!” he shouted. “You all need to respect me!” He fired his gun into the air.
That decided it for Jacob. He quickly drew his revolver, pulled the hammer back, aimed, and squeezed the trigger, landing his shot exactly in Jeremiah’s right calf.
“Argh!” the outlaw cried, collapsing.
He was injured enough to keep him from running, as Jacob intended—but not enough to keep him from shooting. His aim was too wild to try to disarm him just yet.
“I am the sheriff!” he shouted again, though it was somewhat distorted by his moan of pain.
“Not any more,” Jacob said. “There is no Sheriff Horne. There never was.”
“You thought you’d get away with changing your name just because you had destroyed the wanted bill?” Timothy said. He was still holding his jaw from where Jacob had punched him, but his anger shone through in spite of whatever pain he might still be in.
“You destroyed the wanted poster, too?” Deputy Conroy said, marveling. “That is low. That’s not upholding the law. Where is your respect for your duty?” He took a deep breath and deliberately turned his gun to point at Jeremiah.
The outlaw cursed, but still would not surrender. He fired again toward Sheriff Williams, but it went high and wide.
“Sheriff Williams,” Jacob said, offering his last nail in the coffin. “When you take this man before the judge, be sure you let him know Blanchard is under suspicion for murdering at least one more man. Sheriff Winthrop died while alone in the desert with Blanchard. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Mr. Charles, the undertaker of this town, has agreed to testify about what he witnessed when the body came in.”
“Sheriff Winthrop, too?” Deputy Nelson shook his head, relaxing his gun arm and looking dejected for just a short moment. He stopped himself, looking up again and glaring at Jeremiah. He took a deep breath and in one quick step moved from pointing his gun at Jacob, to pointing it at Jeremiah, now joining his fellow deputies.
The outlaw let out a frustrated hiss. “You’ll regret that.”
“You get one last chance, Blanchard. Surrender. You no longer have even a single deputy on your side,” Jacob said.
Jeremiah growled, glaring at Jacob. He looked around, realizing how many guns were pointed at him. Even Ed Baker had a Winchester in his arms, trained at the man. The tide had turned. Deputy Barnes had left his side, and was now standing closer to Jacob, with his gun holstered, arms harmlessly at his side.
Seeing his last ally had deserted him, Jeremiah cursed, tossed his gun to the ground, and surrendered.
Chapter Twelve
While many guns were still pointed at the outlaw, the Bennettsville deputies dismounted and bound him, wrists and ankles together. As soon as it was clear that Jeremiah Blanchard had been contained, Jacob finally let himself relax. He had done his job; the town was safe again.
The moment he felt himself let his guard down, Jacob spotted Maggie Winthrop’s gleaming hair pushing through the crowd. Her expression was frantic as she checked on Timothy. Once she had ascertained that he was fine, she turned to Jacob.
“Let me clean you up,” Maggie said. She took his uninjured arm and led Jacob to the boardwalk on the side of the street, guiding him to sit down. The sleeve was torn and bloody where the bullet had gone in. “I’m going to have to tear your shirt, Mr. Payne.”
“That’s all right. With the reward from catching Blanchard I can get a new shirt,” he said with a smile.
She handed him a small bottle of whiskey. He took only a mouthful while she washed and disinfected his wound.
“This is going to hurt,” she said softl
y.
He nodded. “Go ahead.” He had been shot before. He’d had bullets extracted before. He knew what to expect, but that wouldn’t make it hurt any less. He balled up his fist as she carefully, delicately pulled the bullet out of his bicep with a pair of tongs. He didn’t move, he didn’t squirm, he didn’t cry out, and she was done in no time.
“Now, you really should rest a bit,” Maggie said, fixing his bandage over the wound. “I don’t want to hear about you getting in any fights or inspiring any shootouts for at least a couple hours.”
Jacob laughed. “A couple hours? No promises, but I think I can handle that.”
“If you come to supper at our home tonight, that should keep you busy for at least a little while. You won’t be able to peel potatoes, though.”
“Then I guess we won’t be eating potatoes,” he said with a laugh.
She smiled but then grew serious, bending her face closer to his. “Jacob,” she began in a quiet voice. “That is, Mr. Payne. I need to thank you for what you did for us. For me. I never thought I would see justice for my Alex, and then you come to town and not only uncover the truth of his death but also rid our town of his murderer.”
“It’s my job, ma’am. I’m happy to do it.” He wanted to put his arm around her, to squeeze her hand, to comfort her in some way, but he knew he had done all he could. “I’m just glad you weren’t around to see the part of my job where I had to rough up your nephew.”
She smiled. “I stayed away from that as much as I could. Knowing it had to happen was one thing. Seeing it happen would have been quite another. Although, that reminds me . . . maybe I’ll set you to cleaning bloodstains out of Timothy’s shirt when you come over later.”
Jacob grinned. “Whatever I can do to pull my weight.”
“Oh, Mr. Payne!” Mrs. Finch exclaimed as she burst through the crowd. “Mr. Payne, that was so brave of you. I knew, we knew, there was something not right about Sheriff Horne, but I never would have dreamed he was such a horrible character.”
A round man, shorter than her, stood just behind Mrs. Finch, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he let her lead the way.
Jacob stood to greet them, keeping his left arm resting at his side. “This must be Mr. Finch.”
“Norman Finch, at your service. We’ve upgraded your room at the Wildflower Hotel. We’re hoping you’ll still stay the night with us before moving on again.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh, Mr. Payne, you must stay,” Mrs. Finch gushed. “And come to supper at our home. Give me your laundry to do before you leave. There must be something more we can do for you.”
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am. I’ve already made plans for supper, but I’m much obliged for the room.”
“Mr. Payne, can I speak to you?” Sheriff Williams said, interrupting the women’s fawning.
The sheriff led the way to the San Adrian jail and let himself in.
Jacob again found himself watching out the window of a jail while the sheriff escorted one of his captures. This time, though, instead of taking the thief to a cell in this jail, Jacob watched the Bennettsville deputy ride off to their own jail with Jeremiah Blanchard in tow. He was lashed to a horse, and none too gently.
When he returned from giving his deputy instructions, Sheriff Williams lowered his giant frame into the chair behind the desk of the San Adrian jail. “Can’t say this fits me any better than the chair at home.” He dug through the mess of paperwork on the desk to find a pencil and scrap of paper to make a note. “Well, Payne, that’s a second reward for you in just as many days. Since we don’t have the cash on hand, where do you want this one sent?”
“Wire it to Mrs. Maggie Winthrop in San Adrian.”
“All of it, Payne? What are you hunting bounties for if you’re just going to give all the money to someone else?”
“This man murdered her husband, and she was just as useful in getting him caught as I was. She deserves the reward and she can use the help. This will keep her from having to worry about money for a while.”
“Want me to send a telegram along with it?”
“No. She doesn’t need to know who it’s from.”
“She’ll know.”
Jacob smiled. “She might guess, but I’ll never say—and you’d better not either.”
“You’re a good man, Payne. As long as you swear to me you won’t go hungry by giving up this money, I’m happy to pass it along to the sheriff’s widow.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“You know where you’re off to next? San Adrian might like to see you stand for Sheriff now that Horne—I mean Jeremiah—is gone.”
“No. Thank you. I’m not meant to be stuck in one spot very long. There will be another criminal that crosses my path sooner if I move on to the next town. I’ll stay here another night, enjoy another supper with Mrs. Winthrop and give the Finches my business, but I’ll be on my way in the morning. Thank you all the same.”
“Well, in that case, how about that drink I promised you before you head to supper?” Sheriff Williams asked.
“I’ll take you up on that. I bet Ed would be happy to see us,” Jacob responded with a smile.
Many thanks
Thank you so much for reading Trouble By Any Name!
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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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Also by A.T. Butler
Jacob Payne Series:
Trouble By Any Name
Danger in the Canyon
Justice for Jasper
Blood on the Mountain
Outlaw Country
Death By Grit
Desert Rage
Arizona Legacy
Fool’s Demise
Silent Night
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Courage On The Oregon Trail Series:
Westward Courage
Faithful Trail
Frontier Sisters
Unyielding Heart
Wild Promise
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Other Western Novels by A.T. Butler:
Hawke’s Revenge
Loyalty’s Price
The next book in the Jacob Payne series, Danger in the Canyon, is available now!
Jacob Payne, bounty hunter, is on the heels of another dangerous outlaw. Deadly and cruel, Jed Corker cares for nothing other than his own hide.
Tracking a bank robber through the Arizona desert, Jacob has to contend with snakes, falling rocks, and other dangers like running out of water.
Will his back east survival skills keep him safe from everything the desert—and the outlaw—has to throw at him?
If you love traditional westerns, with noble men fighting for what's right, you're going to love Jacob Payne.
Grab your copy today!
Danger in the Canyon — Chapter One
Jacob Payne dismounted. The relentless, scorching Arizona sun beat down, drenching his dark, close-cropped hair with sweat and plastering it to his skull. With one hand he took off his hat to fan his face, and with the other took hold of the reins to lead his pinto down through the uneven, rocky bank of the dr
y river bed. The sandy ground shifted and crumbled under his feet. As he took the first step through the brush, the dirt bank collapsed and one of the ragweed plants uprooted altogether. Jacob almost lost his balance as he slipped down the low slope. Going so long without water, even a desert plant couldn’t hang on forever, and Jacob knew he would be the same way. A body could only take so much.
The tall man paused to let the dirt and rocks tumble down the rest of the bank while he replaced his hat. His shirt clung to his sides, tight across his broad shoulders, the sweat running down his back under the layers. He blinked back the sweat dripping into his eyes. Once the rocks had settled he would lead his horse across, searching again for both water and his man. He couldn’t risk his horse making a false step. He couldn’t risk sweating out all his water. He still had a ways to go.
The bounty hunter had been on the outlaw’s trail for three days from Tucson, winding far to the south and the west following his mark. While he thought he had packed enough water when he set out, the canteen was running low now. He had been able to supplement a little along the way, but if he didn’t find a substantial source of water soon he might have to give up this hunt.
Jacob had never walked away from a reward once he started tracking and he had no intention of starting now. The man he was after would need water just as badly, and Jacob knew he could best him.
About the Author
I grew up in the southwest—California Missions, snakes and constant threat of drought weaving the backdrop of my childhood.