The Son of Earp Box Set - Books 1-3

by Chuck Buda

  The gunslinger fired two more shots toward James. He rolled over and hid behind a collapsed section of porch. The wood might not stop the gunslinger’s bullets completely, but James hoped it would at least slow them down. The shots danced through the dirt, sending puffs of dust into the night air.

  James heard Sheriff Morgan struggle behind him. He watched the Sheriff rise to his knees with his rifle aimed at the gunslinger. The Sheriff’s teeth were red, his mouth full of blood from an internal injury. James noticed the bloody stain on the front of the Sheriff’s vest. A gut shot. The Sheriff yelled something unintelligible and fired a round. He cranked the lever to chamber another one and fired again.

  The gunslinger changed his position to level his barrels at the Sheriff. He easily dodged the volley coming his way and he let loose two more shots at the lawman. James screamed “No” as he watched the two bullets hit the mark. One slapped into Sheriff Morgan’s stomach with a wet sound. The other thudded into his chest, spewing blood up to the stars in a fine mist. Sheriff Axl Morgan’s eyes met James’ in a moment that seemed to last an eternity. James thought the Sheriff’s expression showed relief, like his soul would finally be unburdened by the sins of the past. The wrinkles beside his eyes came together in a smirk. A faint smile painted the Sheriff’s bloody lips as he slumped backwards into the soil.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” James screamed again and jumped to his feet. He fired three shots at the gunslinger as he charged at the evil spirit. One shot missed wide. Another hit the gunslinger’s shoulder, passing through without damage. The third bullet hit the gunslinger between the eyes. A loud popping noise cracked the sky as small fragments of skull splintered off. James stopped running when he saw the hole in the gunslinger’s head.

  The gunslinger paused. He stared at James and stood his ground. Both combatants stopped as they tried to figure out what would happen next. The gunslinger stuck his left pistol back in his holster. He reached up and felt around the crooked hole that stood out in the center of his forehead. James didn’t see any blood leaking from the wound. The gunslinger poked his bony finger inside the hole, rimming the bone in a circular fashion. Then he removed the finger to inspect the tip for blood or brains. Something.

  There was nothing. While the bullet seemed to damage the integrity of the gunslinger’s head, it didn’t do anything to put the ghost down. James thought he had a chance using this alternate strategy. Apparently, not, he thought to himself.

  The gunslinger started to laugh. He laughed hard, resting his bony hand upon his belly. The sickening gurgles of laughter prickled the skin on James’ forearms. James watched motionless. Stunned. What else could he do? If bullets had no effect then hitting the gunslinger wouldn’t do anything either. James felt dejection wash over his body as the end seemed near. The gunslinger would kill him now, like it did Sheriff Morgan. Their bloodied bodies left to rot in the hot sunlight. Rodents and carrion feeding on the decaying remains. James imagined weeds growing through his rib cage, as his empty sockets looked to heaven.

  The laughing slowly wound down as the gunslinger came back to the present. He took several steps toward James. The two, just feet apart, stared into each other’s eyes. James tried to remain calm, but his body began trembling as it sensed its end. The gunslinger licked his lip-less mouth with a sickly tongue. He raised his six shooter at James. The end of the barrel mere inches from James’ chest.

  “Make sure you say hello to your friends. Give my regards to Mayor Samuels and Sheriff Morgan.”

  James swallowed hard but leaned into the gun barrel. Defiance surged through his veins. He wasn’t going to die without giving the gunslinger everything he had.

  “I will. And I’ll make sure Sally knows what her daddy has done.”

  Chapter 46

  “What did you say to me?”

  “That’s right, boogiedman.”

  James and the gunslinger turned when the new voice spoke. It was Carson. The little boy stood off to the left of the camp fire. His upper body wrapped in dirty bandages. A greasy tuft of dirty blond hair poked off the side of his head. Dark circles rimmed beneath his eyes.

  “What do we have here? The cavalry in town?”

  Carson leafed through the small book with his good hand. He must have found it where James had dropped it. As he paged through the drawings the gunslinger faced the boy. He moved in the direction of Carson before pausing.

  “Gimme that book.” The gunslinger spoke with a quaver in his voice.

  “No.”

  “Gimme the book.”

  “No.” Carson removed the old photograph from the inner cover. He had to wedge the book against his hip with his bandaged arm in order to get to it. The book fell to his feet. Carson rubbed some excess dust from the photo with his small finger. “She’s pretty.”

  The gunslinger took a few more steps toward Carson. James caught another whimper from the ghost. He followed close behind the gunslinger.

  “She was my whole life.”

  Carson squinted up at the gunslinger. Then he looked back at the photo.

  “I couldn’t live without her.”

  James wondered how Carson had changed the gunslinger’s emotions. Was it because he was a child, like Sally? Did Carson’s slowness remind the gunslinger of his own daughter’s disability? Or was it the purity? The innocence? Perhaps the absence of sin? Whatever the reason, James needed to take advantage of this opportunity.

  The gunslinger knelt down and picked up the book. He turned it over in his hands, each finger tracing the fabric, attempting to connect with the original owner. He opened the book and stared at the first drawing. A shaky, bony finger traced some of the lines. The gunslinger looked up at Carson.

  “She was special. Like you.” The sounds came out in whispers. Sad and faint.

  Carson handed the photograph to the gunslinger. His arm holding the faded picture in front of the apparition’s face. The gunslinger accepted the photograph, caressing the faces that were captured in a brief moment in time. The gunslinger lowered his head and sobbed. Carson looked up at James and shrugged. James didn’t understand if Carson was showing he didn’t care or he didn’t know what to do next.

  Carson put his good hand on the gunslinger’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  The gunslinger stopped sobbing and looked at Carson. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  Carson nodded. “You were just mad. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

  James was stunned. Was Carson going to forgive the gunslinger? After all of his pain and suffering? Is that all it would take to rid the haunting?

  The gunslinger clutched Carson’s shoulders. It looked like he searched Carson’s eyes for something.

  James realized that the gunslinger had become a solid being. It dawned on him that Carson had patted the gunslinger’s shoulder. And now the gunslinger was holding Carson. James felt an urge to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mind were playing tricks on him. After all, the whole concept of haunted spirits shooting people was crazy. Maybe he was losing his mind.

  “Why?”

  The ghost of Doddy shook Carson as he bellowed to heaven.

  “Why? Why? Why?”

  Carson flopped like a rag doll in the clutches of the gunslinger. His face grew pale as the pain of the apparition’s hands on his wounded arm washed over him.

  James acted immediately. He spun the pistol around in his hand and hammered the handle upon the gunslinger’s skull. The blow crunched bone beneath the flattened hat. James felt the recoil of connecting with a physical surface all the way up his arm.

  The gunslinger tumbled to the dirt, dropping Carson. His hat flew from his head, revealing decayed sinews hidden beneath sparse crops of grayed hairs. A flap of loose flesh dangled from the back of his rotten scalp.

  Before James could hammer another blow, the prone gunslinger kicked a spurred boot, connecting with James’ face. The spur sliced through James’ cheek, releasing a fountain o
f blood. He flew back against a burned out post. His gun lost in the shuffle.

  The gunslinger regained his feet and charged James. A boot stomp crushed the wind out of him. The spur again removing gore. This time a chunk of meat tore from James’ chest.

  The ghost of Doddy lifted James off the ground by his throat. He struggled for air as he looked down into the crooked maw of the gunslinger. The black eyes narrowed with focus. He had to do something quick before he suffocated under the death grip.

  James flailed his boots at the gunslinger. Each time they connected, the gunslinger seemed to hardly notice the strikes. It was like James’ kicks were as weak as a gnat.

  He used his right hand to throw a punch at the gunslinger. It glanced off the rotted skull as it grazed across the thin mustache and the bony nose. James attempted another swing but completely missed the second time around.

  A loud crack thundered.

  The gunslinger dropped James. He landed hard, what little air remained in his lungs escaped him.

  From the ground, James saw Carson holding his gun. A wisp of smoke leaked from the barrel. Carson was crying. But he kept the gun trained on the tormentor.

  The gunslinger looked down with shock. His bony fingers trying to hold in the spilling contents of his gut.

  “You can’t…”

  Carson stared as tears ran down his cheeks. His expression revealed sadness. His posture, resolve.

  “…kill me.”

  The gunslinger teetered to the side. His hands desperate to stuff rotted innards. James gagged at the smells that carried on the soft breeze. He dragged himself to his feet, still doubled over and gasping for air.

  Carson stood his ground as the gunslinger ambled toward him. The pistol aimed higher.

  “Sally…”

  BANG.

  A hole cratered the gunslinger’s forehead. His expression turned from sadness to surprise. The ghost of Doddy dropped to its knees and stared through Carson.

  “I’m not Sally.” Carson whispered.

  The gunslinger fell forward and rolled on his side. Nothing leaked from the rounded hole in his forehead.

  James climbed over the body, ready to finish the gunslinger off. But it was unnecessary. The ghost of Doddy was gone.

  Carson handed James the pistol. He stuffed it in his belt loop and squeezed Carson to his chest. Carson squealed from the pain in his shoulder. James let go and apologized, messing Carson’s hair.

  “Carson!”

  They both turned as Sarah came running through the desolation. She slid on her knees to embrace James and Carson. The three of them, lost in the moment. Relieved that they were all alive. And still together.

  Carson wriggled free and picked up the tattered book. He tucked it inside the gunslinger’s duster, alongside the old photograph.

  “What was that?” Sarah looked at James.

  “A gift from the past.”

  Carson turned his face up to Sarah and James. “So he could show it to Sally.”

  Before Sarah could ask who Sally was, the shape of the gunslinger faded into the dust. Where there was once a corpse, only earth remained.

  Chapter 47

  James decided that they should wait until morning light to head back to town. He maintained the fire while the three of them sat huddled together. Carson spent most of the time balled up in Sarah’s lap.

  When the sun rose, James loaded Sheriff Axl Morgan’s body across his horse. He tied the reins to his saddle so the horse would follow along. Carson and his mother rode together on the horse she borrowed.

  “What are we going to tell folks?” Sarah asked her question without looking at James.

  “The truth.”

  “And what the hell would that be?”

  James didn’t know. He struggled to make sense of what happened, let alone figuring out how to explain it to someone else. Sheriff Morgan’s death and his own wounds ought to give folks a rough idea of how bad things had gone. Although they would be relieved that the haunted gunslinger had now become a scary tale instead of an annual horror show.

  Carson slouched in the saddle as he bounced upon Sarah’s chest. James was worried about Carson. He had been through so much. Shot twice. Found out his mother was dead. And then he had to kill the gunslinger to save James. Since last night, he hadn’t uttered a word. James recognized the far-off stare in Carson’s eyes. The trauma of what had happened not completely understood by the young boy.

  James touched the wound on his face and winced at the sharp pain. The cut from the gunslinger’s spur was deep. He knew Doc Stinson would need to run some thread through it. And it would probably leave a scar. James furrowed his brow. The thought of a nasty scar on his face, affecting his chances of finding a beautiful woman someday, irked him. But at least he was alive, he reasoned.

  As they rode slowly through the overgrown trail, James wondered what was next. He lost his job at Miller’s. And he didn’t want to go back to sweeping up saloons. So his future was uncertain. Then James smiled. Uncertainty just meant that his calendar was wide open. He was free to figure out where to go and what to do. Maybe the town would hire him on as the new sheriff now. Nah, he thought. They would never choose a young man for the job. Besides, as much as he wanted to follow in Wyatt Earp’s footsteps, serving as sheriff of one small town seemed too…well, small.

  Carson glanced at James with sullen eyes. He was wrapped in a wool blanket even though the day’s heat was rising already. James smiled at Carson, but the boy just turned his head back to the trail. No recognition of the eye contact whatsoever. James sighed. The worst scar left by the gunslinger would be his effect on Carson.

  The town’s edges came into view. James tugged the reins to stop the horses. His mother stopped alongside him. They stared at the town for a few long moments before turning to each other.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Of what, sweetheart?”

  “Them.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m bringing back their dead sheriff.” He touched his cheek. “And nobody likes me.”

  “He was OUR sheriff. And nobody knows you. So how could they judge you?”

  “The Sheriff told me everyone blamed me for the Mayor’s death. That I was the reason people were dying now.”

  “Oh, yeah? And how many of these folks stood toe to toe with the gunslinger? Huh? Which ones came out to the farm with you and the Sheriff to end it?”

  James saw her point but he wasn’t buying it. He knew they would tie him up and hang him once he rode in with the late sheriff.

  “Besides, you afraid of some drunks and chicken shits?”

  James swung to look at his mother. She rarely cussed but when she did, it was usually something to remember. His face revealed his shock at her statement. Then it slowly turned into a grin.

  She laughed. Just a few chuckles at first. Then she snorted through her nose, which turned the chuckles into downright laughter. James joined in, relief washing through him. She was right. He had fought Crouching Bear and the haunted gunslinger. What could these folks possibly do to him?

  Carson’s face switched between James and Sarah. He cracked a small smile. But he didn’t laugh. James noticed. His laughter slowly settled down.

  “Best be on our way then.” He winked at his mother.

  “Yep.” She winked back.

  James tugged the reins and they continued in the direction of the clock tower. He knew there would be questions and lots of shouting. He envisioned the whispers in the crowd drawing more folks from the shops and offices. Mobs growing around them. No room to move or breathe. Better to get it over with rather than delay it. Experiencing the mob could only happen once. In his head, it happened countless times.

  His thoughts shifted to Eleanor as they neared the town. Their last encounter had been uncomfortable. He hoped he could make amends with her. Eleanor had been one of the few people who didn’t despise James before. It would be real nice if they could get along like they had. He enjoyed his time
with her. And he thought she was really pretty too. James wondered if a grown woman like Eleanor could ever be interested in a guy like him. Then again, even if she could, James got the not-so-subtle sense from his mother that she wouldn’t approve of him spending time with her. James rolled his eyes to himself and grinned. Maybe there were more things about growing up that he had to learn. And he looked forward to it.

  Chapter 48

  “Here’s to our new hero!”

  “Here, here!”

  “Well, down it, son.”

  James felt boxed in. The saloon was packed full of people and they all pressed in to get closer to him. He kept getting rough slaps on his back and punches to the shoulder. The town found cause for celebration in his return. And they wanted to drink to that.

  More like the town never really needed a reason to celebrate so much as an excuse. But James wanted nothing to do with it. He was carried into the saloon on shoulders of men he had never seen before. At one point, he thought he had wandered into the wrong town because all the faces that came at him were those belonging to strangers. Until he caught glimpses of Mr. Miller and Clip Jones and several other town regulars.

  The crowd pressed closer as they implored him to drink with them. The mob chanted, “Drink! Drink! Drink!” over and over again. James spun in circles, trying to search for his mother and Carson. Instead, he found a sea of dirty mustaches and tobacco stained teeth. Panic ran through his veins until he realized the only way out of this situation was to knock back the whiskey they handed him.

  James downed the amber liquid.

  And it burned.

  James choked and coughed, gasping for air. His wheezing sent the crowd into an uproar as even more hands smacked his back through the leather and denim waves. It felt like his eyes were going to shoot out of their sockets. Fire burned in his throat and gut. But then a nice warm calm spread to his extremities. The pain of the nasty firewater receded and left him somewhat…happy.