by Neil Hunter
It should have been a routine job for US Marshal Alvin LeRoy—escort two captured bank robbers to Yuma Territorial Prison. It turned out to be anything but.
As they’d tried to make their escape after the robbery, the outlaws ran down and crippled Daniel Machin, brother of wealthy rancher Lawrence Machin.
The Machins now wanted to take their own brand of revenge.
Followed by a trio of men determined to take his prisoners away from him, LeRoy also discovered that he had a bounty man named Lang on his trail. Lang was working for the bounty offered by Lawrence Machin.
And so simple transportation job became a nightmare for LeRoy. With enemies to every side, he had to call on every ounce of strength left in him just to keep on going. Leroy didn’t have any quit in him. He was tough, determined … relentless.
LeROY, U.S. MARSHAL 3: RELENTLESS
By Neil Hunter
Copyright © 2019 by Neil Hunter
First Digtial Edition: July 2019
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Cover Art by Richard Clifton-Dey
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
A citizen of the United States, in the custody of a United States Marshal under a lawful commitment to answer for an offense against the United States, has the right to be protected by the United States against lawless violence; this is a right secured to him by the Constitution and laws of the United States, and a conspiracy to injure or oppress him in its free exercise or enjoyment is punishable under that law.
One
Landiss, Arizona Territory.
‘This ain’t about to get any easier,’ the town Marshal, Bernie Statler, said, reaching for the key ring behind him. He pulled himself out of the creaking chair, the effort causing him to catch his breath. ‘Truth be told, LeRoy, I can’t say I envy you your job. Dragging every kind of law breaker across the country an’ all. Especially Teague and Hobbs. Always were a sorry pair. Do anything to make them some money long as it’s illegal.’
Alvin LeRoy turned from the steaming coffee pot sitting on the stove. He carried his filled mug back to where he had been sitting.
‘Trouble with you, Bernie, is finding the worst in any situation. Don’t you ever look on the bright side?’
‘You mean there is a bright side? Let me show you what I got back there.’
Marshal Statler opened the solid door that led to the cell block. Stepped aside so LeRoy could view the occupants of the pair of cells.
Homer Teague and Rubin Hobbs stared at him through the bars. An unshaven pair, solid built men with feral eyes, their scruffy clothing sending out waves of sourness that even reached LeRoy.
‘Well, hell,’ Hobbs said, ‘they even sent Mr. High-and-Mighty LeRoy for us.’
‘Rubin, we must be real important,’ Teague said. ‘Hey, LeRoy, you should be honored to be dealing with us.’
Both men began to laugh.
LeRoy shut the door and returned to his seat. He took a drink of Statler’s coffee.
‘You know there’s bad feeling in town having that pair here,’ Statler said. ‘Been talk of gettin’ a couple of nooses ready.’
‘Machin behind that?’
Statler nodded. ‘Could be. Never would admit it, but he has a lot of hate boilin’ up in his gut. Having Teague and Hobbs responsible for his brother getting crippled after that bank robbery gives him a reason to want ’em dead.’
‘He starts anything he’s inviting trouble.’
‘Machin never considers what might happen. He just goes ahead and does what he likes. Man has a one-track mind and a reckoning is due far as he’s concerned.’
‘Not this time,’ LeRoy said. ‘Teague and Hobbs are due to be delivered to Yuma Territorial Prison. It’s my job to see they get there. Anyone gets in my way...’
Statler let go a sigh. ‘Machin has a tough crew to back him. Damn bad luck on my part I was there when that pair robbed the bank and tried to make a run for it. They ran down Daniel Machin and just left him there on the street. Broken and bloody. Just luck I had my rifle with me and put their horses down.
‘Doing your job is all.’
‘Right now, I wish I hadn’t been so righteous. Trial was the talk of the town and then Judge Deakin sentenced them to serve time in Yuma. I should have put those bullets in Teague and Hobbs. They’re getting away light. Daniel Machin is going to be in a wheelchair the rest of his life.’
‘It’s no holiday in Yuma, Bernie. I’ve been there a time of two. Seen how it’s run. That pair in there are going to feel every day of their sentence. They’ve been heading for the lock up for a long time.’
‘And they had to choose my town to do it in.’
Statler filled his coffee mug. Took a half bottle of whisky from his desk drawer and tipped a good slug into his drink. He pointed the bottle towards LeRoy who shook his head.
‘I’ll stay with neat coffee. Maybe take a beer later.’
‘I’m gettin’ too old for all this trouble. One time I might have walked through it easy, but I figure this one is too much for me, LeRoy.’
‘Bernie, you’re not that far gone. Anyhow I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.’
‘It’s a long ride to Yuma,’ Statler said. ‘Rough territory between here and the prison. You know what I mean, LeRoy.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
Two
Hal Dennison found his employer in his study. Lawrence Machin liked the word study. It added gravitas to the book-lined room that contained Machin’s big oak desk and leather-bound chair. On the paneled wall facing the desk was a large collection of mounted guns. Revolvers and rifles. Shotguns as well. His weapons were worth a substantial fortune. Machin would spend hours cleaning and maintaining them. No one ever touched the guns. They were the man’s passion.
The man himself looked up when Dennison knocked on the door and called for him to enter.
Dennison never felt comfortable in the room. It overpowered him with its persuasive smell of wealth and power. He felt suddenly poorly dressed, walking across the polished wood floor, self-consciously pulling off his hat.
‘What’s happening in town?’ Machin said. ‘Nothing good I’m sure.’
‘US Marshal showed up. He was over to the jail last I heard.’
‘He got a name?’
‘LeRoy …’
Machin started at the name. He knew the man who carried it. His reputation, hard earned, and he thought what it might mean.
Nothing pleasant.
Alvin LeRoy was the most dedicated US Marshal around. Not a man to be trifled with. Or try to influence. If there was one man less likely to be talked out of his duty it was Alvin LeRoy. Given an assignment the man walked a straight line. Refused to step over it. The tale was known he would follow through hell or high water to finish what he started and any man who stood against him could expect hard treatment.
Machin had heard someone described LeRoy. A simple reasoning that was the truest he had ever heard.
‘LeRoy? Set that hombre on a man...he never let’s go. He’s relentless. On’y way I can say it. That’s Alvin LeRoy.’
Now Machin hadn’t thought much about that when he had first heard it, which
had been some time ago. But with his own problem the name pushed its way into the front of his mind, because Alvin LeRoy, with his reputation, would now be a matter Lawrence Machin might need to confront.
‘I got Vern Carrick keeping an eye on things in town. Told him to let me know if he finds anything out. He’ll do it to earn himself money. Sneaky hombre but he can be useful.’
Machin nodded. ‘We need to keep on top of this, Hal. And I mean on top of it. We get loose and LeRoy will pick up on it. Don’t figure he’s just another lawman. He might be a sonofabitch, but he’s the best there is. But I’m damned if I’ll back away from what I have to do.’
Dennison recognized the determined tone in Machin’s tone. He knew the man’s solid determination. There was nothing on God’s green earth that would deter him. Once Lawrence Machin set himself on a path there was no turning him from it.
‘How’s Daniel?’
‘Same as yesterday and the day before. And the same as he will be for the rest of his life.’
Dennison sensed the mood change in his employer and figured it was time to leave. He nodded and turned away, reaching the door before Machin spoke again.
‘Hal, I wish I could give you better news. But there’s nothing any of us can do for Daniel...except to make sure those two bastards do not get off so lightly.’
‘I guess you’re planning something about that.’ Dennison said. ‘I’ll go see if your visitor has showed up.’
Three
Alone again Machin crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky, downing half of it straight off. He knew he was drinking more these days. His excuse was that concern over his brother had pushed him into it. True or not he found the liquor helped him to face things. A weakness that he pushed to the back of his mind. He drained the glass, took another jolt, then left his study and made his way to Daniel’s room.
One of the ground floor rooms had been converted for his crippled brother and Daniel spent a great deal of time there now, surrounded by the things that offered a degree of comfort. The room’s main window looked out across the ranch yard, with clear views of the corrals and stables. Before his accident Daniel had been a keen horseman, riding whenever he could. That was denied him now, but he derived a degree of satisfaction by watching the activity that went on in the wide ranch yard. Seeing the horses and the ranch hands coming and going allowed him some pleasure. It would never take the place of the real thing but outwardly it seemed Daniel had accepted the restrictions of his life.
Lawrence had reservations over that. He had seen the longing in his brother’s eyes. The yearning for his past, lost life, and it hurt. Despite his wealth and his position there was nothing Lawrence Machin could do to cure his brother.
His only offering was to make Daniel as comfortable as possible and give him whatever he wanted. Before his accident Daniel looked after the ranch accounts. He had a meticulous mind and was excellent with figures. That at least was something he could still handle. Lawrence had a custom-made desk fitted in his brother’s room facing the wide window so he could observe the activity outside while working on the accounts. A Mexican, Hector Robles, had been assigned to see to all Daniel’s physical needs. It was by far less than perfect, but it kept the younger man occupied.
Standing just outside the part open door to his brother’s room Lawrence watched Daniel moving around in his wheelchair, rolling it to so he could stare through the window. In the end there was nothing more that could be done. He had to be content simply watching the busy life beyond the glass. Close by, Hector, Daniel’s constant companion, handed him a small glass of Laudanum. The compound helped subdue the pain Daniel suffered most of the time. He had become dependent on the elixir.
Watching him Lawrence experienced the sadness that engulfed him whenever he witnessed his brother’s suffering and simply bolstered his desire to seek a reckoning for him. He turned away from the door, unable to confront his brother at this time.
He was halfway through the house when Dennison appeared.
‘He’s here,’ he said. ‘I put him in your study.’
Lawrence nodded. ‘See I’m not disturbed. No one to bother me.’
Dennison was the only man on the ranch who knew about the visitor’s purpose.
Reaching his study Lawrence went inside, firmly closing the door.
His visitor was standing at the window, motionless, a lean man with narrow shoulders under the dark shirt. He gave the outward appearance of a thirty-a-month cowhand rather than the deadly killer Lawrence was about to hire. His shoulder length dark hair brushed his collar. Lawrence didn’t miss the casual way his left hand lay close to the holstered .45 he wore. Rawhide ties hung from the tip of the leather.
‘Mr. Lang?’
The man turned, cold gray eyes taking in Lawrence.
‘Lang is all.’
The voice was low, spoken quietly.
Lang’s brown face was lined, deep grooves set above his thin-lipped mouth.
‘Take a seat,’ Lawrence said and watched the man cross to one of the chairs ranged in front of his oak desk. Effortless moves. Minimum effort. Lang removed his black, curl brimmed hat and draped it over one knee.
‘Drink?’
A slight shake of his head. Lang watched as Lawrence poured himself whisky, took his own seat.
‘Two men in Landiss jail. Due to be taken to Yuma. US Marshal’s in town. His job is to escort them there. I don’t want them to reach Yuma. I’d prefer them delivered to me alive. If that doesn’t work dead would be just as satisfying. I just want them to suffer.’
‘You know who the Marshal is?’
Lawrence hesitated a moment before he spoke.
‘Alvin LeRoy.’ Lang’s expression didn’t change. ‘That make a difference?’ Lawrence said.
A finger flicked at the hat balanced on Lang’s knee.
‘Should it?’
‘LeRoy has a reputation as a tough hombre.’
This time a sliver of a smile edged Lang’s thin lips.
‘I don’t figure that means a damn thing.’
Lawrence leaned forward. ‘You want the job?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Let’s talk money.’
They did and agreed on a substantial figure. Lang informed his new employer he would collect when the job was done.
‘What do I do now?’ Lawrence said.
Lang stood tall and straight. He put on his hat.
‘You do nothing...I deal with it. My own way. Just let me know when LeRoy leaves town.’
‘Stay around the ranch until I give you the word. There’s a room ready for your use. Dennison will let you know when it’s time to move.’
Lang turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Lawrence drained his whisky. He felt as if warmth had returned to the room again with Lang’s departure. The man had been one cold individual. But then he was a bounty man and that took a particular attitude.
Dennison knocked and stepped into the study.
‘It done?’
Lawrence nodded. ‘That man unnerved me,’ he said.
‘Men like Lang are different. Keeps them a distance from normal folk. I guess it’s what makes them what they are.’
‘Apparently we wait now. Show him to his room and we’ll wait until Carrick let’s us know when LeRoy leaves town with his prisoners.’
Four
While Marshal Statler walked his midday rounds of town LeRoy readied his weapons. He stripped them down and meticulously cleaned them, the .45 Colts Peacemakers – he wore one in a conventional right-side holster and the second one in a butt forward position on his left hip. There was even a third .45 he kept in his saddlebags. The .44-40 Winchester and the 12-gauge cut-down Parker Brothers side-by-side shotgun. He fully loaded each weapon. Even the handguns were given six packed chambers; the adage about leaving one empty didn’t apply for LeRoy; there was no chance of him accidentally firing off a stray shot. Alvin LeRoy only took out his weapon when he
was about to use it. He always gave himself the extra advantage and six shots were better than five. He checked his belt loops were full. A trio of boxes of extra ammunition for all the weapons went into his saddlebags. His movements while tending to his armaments were smooth and unhurried. He could have stripped and reassembled them in the dark. His final piece of weaponry was the wickedly sharp bone-handled knife sheathed on his belt on his left side.
A total black outfit, including his wide brimmed hat, completed LeRoy’s no-nonsense appearance. His US Marshal badge was pinned to his shirt. He completed his weapon’s check. Inspected his blanket roll and slicker and made sure his possibles bag was complete with food and cooking utensils. There were four large canteens ready to be filled before he moved out; two for himself and one each for his prisoners. They would be responsible for their water and if they over indulged the consequences would be on their own heads. LeRoy wasn’t about to be overly hard on Teague and Hobbs, but they were men grown and he would allow them to make their own decisions when it came to individual comfort.
LeRoy stood in the office’s open door, hoping a breath of wind might cool things down. It didn’t. Landiss sat and baked under the wide, cloudless sky. The town sat isolated and alone in the empty Arizona heat. It was at a crossroads, there to serve the outlying community of ranches and farms. Supplies that provided lifeblood to the spreads. A sun-seared place of businesses far from anywhere. There was no railroad yet; it was a two-day ride to the closest railhead A stage route offered the only transport connection to the outside world apart from horses. The telegraph had arrived a year back connecting the town to the rest of the country.
Behind LeRoy, Vern Carrick, Statler’s part time assistant, shuffled around listlessly sweeping the dust that always managed to get inside. He moved slowly his broom sifting across the office floor. A presence hardly noticed as he worked his way around the office. Carrick was one of life’s unseen and unheard. A slow individual, who hovered in the background, did his chores without complaint and was barely noticed. Carrick employed that impression. A shadow man some called him. There but often disregarded. He let it follow him around, while inside he was a great deal sharper than most realized.
