Crooked M Killings

by Frank Ellis Evans

  The Crooked M Killings

  Marshal Reuben Kane is charged with finding the men who have spread terror and violence in an unprecedented bank robbing spree. It's a routine, albeit dangerous, assignment. Routine, that is, until Reuben discovers Sal McIntyre, badly beaten and left to die by the men he is hunting. Near to her is the body of her murdered husband.

  Reuben postpones his search in order to nurse the woman back to health, but from the moment she regains consciousness, vengeance is the only thing on her mind. Sal's hatred is all-consuming and, against his better judgement, Reuben finds himself drawn into her ill-conceived plot to kill the men who murdered her husband.

  Reuben sets out to bring them to justice. But Sal McIntyre wants revenge. At any cost.

  The Crooked M Killings

  Frank Ellis Evans

  ROBERT HALE

  © Frank Ellis Evans 2018

  First published in Great Britain 2018

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2726-6

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Frank Ellis Evans to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  To Margaret and RST

  Chapter One

  One Morning

  It was hot. The sky was cloudless blue and the sun cast short shadows across the landscape and the ranch house. Cattle lay in whatever shade they could find and an elderly horse lapped lukewarm water from a trough. The only sign of purposeful activity was that of a slim, sun darkened man mending a fence. Silence fell when he stopped hammering the nail and wiped his brow. He straightened his back, stretched and looked first towards the sun then to the horizon. In the far distance he noticed a small cloud of dust. Cattle or, more likely, riders from a neighbouring ranch looking for strays before nightfall, he decided.

  It had been a relentlessly hot day and his sweat-soaked shirt clung uncomfortably to his body.

  ‘Ed!’ a woman’s voice called from the veranda. ‘Riders coming. About a mile away.’ She was a tall, slim, handsome woman in her mid thirties with jet black hair tied back. Her predominant features were large grey eyes in an open, honest face.

  ‘Seen ’em, Sal. Probably Lazy Gopher boys looking for strays. Roy was asking if we’d seen any on our land the other day in town and I told him to send some of his men round. Strange that they’re riding in a bunch though. It’d make more sense to spread out and cover more ground.

  ‘Are you off to town to get them supplies yet?’

  ‘Yup.’ He grunted acknowledgement, not relishing the idea of a hot two mile ride into Blanca Creek. Reluctantly, he hitched his horse to the rig, occasionally eying the approaching riders.

  ‘I’ll have a swill down ’fore I go,’ he said and sat on the veranda, idly watching the approaching dust cloud. He reckoned there were at least four riders, maybe more. It was difficult to see through the dust they were creating. They appeared to be travelling fast and he estimated that they would arrive at the ranch in five minutes and he wanted to stay and exchange news with them – visitors were rare and welcome in this isolated place – but he knew he had to go. The woman appeared with a jug of water, poured two drinks and sat down beside him. Sal McIntyre was not the usual rancher’s wife. She had met Ed fifteen years ago when he was still helping to build up the ranch which his father had started. At the time she was a sharpshooter and trick rider in a travelling show which Ed and his father had attended. Ed had been smitten from the moment he saw her. Knowing that they would probably never see each other again after the show moved on, he had seized the opportunity and proposed to her. His father was opposed to the idea, but realizing that his son was determined, John McIntyre had, with marked reluctance, given his consent. ‘You’re just like your ma was. Cussed and headstrong.’ That was all the old man had said and they had married in the white wooden church at Blanca Creek. Initially, the atmosphere in the ranch house had been icy but John wasn’t a man to harbour a grudge and he soon realized how hard working and honest his new daughter-in-law was. These qualities, plus her ready smile and her sense of humour quickly won him over. Two years to the day after the wedding, John had been badly hurt in a riding accident and Sal had nursed him for three months until his death, making herself available day and night. Ed and Sal inherited the ranch and through their industriousness and astute planning they built up a fine herd and became reasonably prosperous, even though they did nearly all the work themselves, relying on travelling cowboys only when they were overwhelmed. Sal still practised her shooting skills and she could break a clay pipe in half with one shot from a Colt from twenty feet or hit a moving target with a Winchester with almost superhuman accuracy. She was also a very fast draw. On their bedroom wall hung a framed old poster which described her as Sharp Shooting Sally Seddon. The Fastest Draw Since Billy the Kid! As the Kid had died at the hands of Pat Garrett some years before, no one had ever questioned the claim and Sal often took on challengers for $10 wagers and had only been outdrawn once, when a gunslinger answering to the name of Abraham Coulson had beaten her by two to one in a best of three. Even now, when she thought about it, it still rankled.The gunplay was, of course, all for show. She had never drawn a gun in anger and had no intention of ever doing so. When she shot animals for the pot on her ranch she always felt sorry for the little critters. Indeed, she even hated shooting vermin on the ranch and whenever possible she left that job to Ed. Ed drained his drink and climbed on to the buckboard. ‘See you tonight.’ He blew a kiss. ‘I’d’ve liked to share a word or two with the Gopher boys but I can’t wait or the store’ll be closed afore I get there.’ Sal stood and watched as he rode to the arched wooden gate which bore the sign Crooked M Ranch. He turned, as always, and waved and she waved back.The riders had almost reached the gate themselves now and from what she could see through the dust there were not four, but seven or eight of them. She’d not seen any of the Lazy Gopher boys, even though it was the nearest ranch to theirs, since its owner Roy Gregory had thrown a party to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. As she squinted into the sun she couldn’t recognize any of the horsemen, who had stopped to talk with her husband. The man doing the talking was a gigantic man on a pure white horse. He was powerfully built but flabby. She heard his voice carrying on the air. ‘We’d be obliged if you’d let us water our horses, mister.’

  ‘Sure. There’s a stream at the back of the ranch. You’re welcome to water your steeds and to fill your bottles. Help yourself.’ Ed smiled courteously.

  ‘. . . and mebbe some food for me ’n’ my boys.’

  ‘Sorry. Can’t do. I’m just off to town for supplies. We’re low on just about everything. Sal can probably rustle you up a coffee but we’ve only got a couple of slices of bread and a bit of dried beef.’

  The fat man leaned forward and interrupted him. ‘I said we’re hungry, mister.’ He looked around as if trying to spot something and at length he spoke again. ‘I can see a good few steers round about. I’m sure that you wouldn’t
miss one and it would be a real kindly gesture. So how about if’n we said we was real hungry.’ Ed looked at the men uneasily then met the gaze of the fat man. The threat contained in his words was obvious but Ed continued to smile and spoke in a friendly tone.’I don’t know if you know this territory, mister, but you’re welcome to ride with me to Blanca Creek. They have a real good place which serves steaks and—’

  ‘My name’s Shep Cassidy.’ His smile had disappeared and been replaced with a faintly menacing scowl. ‘It’s a name you’d do well to remember, cowboy. Now I ain’t going to ask you again.’ So saying, Cassidy slid his rifle out of its holster and took deliberately theatrical aim at the nearest cow. Ed stood up on the cart and launched himself at the rifle, causing it to fire harmlessly into the sky. He never saw the weasel faced man in the floppy sombrero draw his pistol.The shot from the sombrero man’s gun hit Ed in the temple and simultaneously Shep Cassidy swung his rifle and fired a single shot. The bullet from the big man’s rifle thudded into Ed’s chest and he was dead before he even hit the ground. The sombrero man holstered his gun without a sound. Cassidy, showing no emotion, replaced his rifle. Sal started to run back to the house where the guns were kept. With a surprising turn of speed and agility for such a large man, Cassidy whipped his horse into action. She was overtaken by the fat man and he kicked out at her, catching her on the shoulder and causing her to fall. As she scrambled to her feet she saw that his gun was pointing at her head. He was smiling a dour, humourless smile.

  ‘Well, pretty lady. I don’t think it’d be wise to try anything hasty.’ He gave a cursory nod in the direction of Ed’s body. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be of assistance. Now stand up and let me see you.’ Sal slowly stood up, wincing from the pain in her shoulder where the boot had landed. She showed no fear and stared venomously. Two men dismounted and stood behind Shep. She recognized them from Wanted posters in town as Rab and Johnny Davies. The Davies Brothers, both wanted for robbery and murder, walked towards her and drew their guns.

  ‘You know what I think, pretty lady?’ Shep said, with a wide smile. ‘I think the boys and me have not seen a woman like you for a good time. I can see that you’re hospitable like. Now wouldn’t you like to have a bit of fun with me an’ the boys?’

  He leaned down from the saddle, held her firmly by the hair and ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair tracing a line down to her cheek. She tore herself from his grasp and ran for the house and this time he was too slow, hindered by his enormous girth. She grabbed the Winchester which stood leaning on the door post and turned. Two horsemen had drawn their guns and she fired twice with deadly accuracy. They both fell to the ground. She pulled the trigger for the third time, this time aiming at the fat man, but there was only a click.The gun was empty. With a furious bellow the fat man was upon her. She hissed an oath and spat full in his face. He simply laughed and shoved her, causing her to stumble and almost fall. The other men began to cheer and laugh as the fat man pushed her against the gate. She saw Ed’s hammer lying on the floor and grabbed it then swung it in the direction of the big man’s face. Too late. The man’s heavy punch made contact with her jaw and was followed by another. Everything went black. Cassidy stood over her, breathing heavily due to the exertion. None of his men had moved, even when Sal had shot their two friends. Cassidy shoved Sal’s prone form with his boot and seeing that she was unconscious, he turned to his men.

  ‘That was a fine bit of shooting,’ he drawled. ‘Did you see that, Pete?’

  ‘Sure did, Shep. Never seen a woman shoot like that afore. Two shots. Two dead. They never knew what hit ’em.’ He looked thoughtful but totally unmoved. He scratched his chin then he said, ‘Mayhap we should try a bit of target practice. Mebbe if we give her a five-minute start we could see who could hit her first with a Winchester. Waddya think, boss?’ Shep appeared not to hear him and knelt down next to Sal’s still body before running his hand lasciviously over her thigh. Neither he nor any of the men were moved in any way by the death of their two friends. In fact, apart from confirming that the two were dead and greedily removing guns and valuables from the corpses, the remaining men paid attention only to the woman lying in the dust.

  ‘A fine lookin’ woman.’ The speaker was the man sitting on his horse furthest away from Sal. He was yellow skinned and saucer eyed. He rarely blinked and had a disconcerting way of staring at people – a habit which had got him into many bar room brawls. He had, over the years, gunned down six men and a boy of twelve. He had killed his first man in an argument over a girl in Tombstone when he was only thirteen years old and after the murder, he had stolen a horse and hightailed out of town in the knowledge that he was a wanted man, or more accurately, a wanted boy. Within days he had gunned down the twelve-year-old, an innocent boy who had caught him stealing from his father’s shop. The murdered youngster had been unarmed and posters had soon appeared, offering the outraged populace a reward for capture of the killer. As his name wasn’t known, the posters could only base their information on the fact that he was in his early teens and he had staring, black eyes. He had adopted a selection of aliases for some time and had been described on posters as The Black-eyed Boy, but eventually he had been identified as Jed Gambles by a barman in Tombstone. He stared at Sal. ‘Fine looking woman,’ he repeated softly to himself. ‘Don’t you think she’s a fine looking woman, Shorty?’

  The final member of the group was a squat man, no taller than five feet, who spat out some chewing tobacco and tipped his hat back off his forehead. Shorty Gambles was Jed’s twin brother, but there was little similarity in looks. Shorty had an almost square face and immensely strong shoulders and a barrel chest and whereas Jed sported a long, drooping moustache, of which he was inordinately proud, Shorty merely had rough stubble. In some respects Shorty was the most vicious of all the men. He enjoyed gratuitous violence and had once smashed a beer glass in the face of a saloon girl then shot her in the stomach simply because she preferred his brother to him. The men climbed down from their horses and gathered round the woman. Pete Robinson, the man in the sombrero and second in command to Shep Cassidy grinned and prodded Sal with the toe of his boot. Pete was known as ‘Crazy’ Pete Robinson because of his unpredictable and violent nature. It was a nickname which he hated. Even Shep was wary of him, but for the moment Pete was smiling, almost amiably.

  ‘Go to it, big man.’ He laughed. ‘Go to it.’ Sal was dimly aware of the laughing and whooping of the three men as Shep pressed upon her. They seemed to be far, far away. She smelled sour whiskey and somewhere in her mind she felt a sharp pain before unconsciousness mercifully enfolded her again. Before leaving, the men stripped the house of the remaining food and drink.

  Chapter Two

  Reuben

  Reuben Kane sat on a rickety wooden rocking chair outside the Diamond King saloon. He was a tall, lean man heading towards middle age and he rested his heels on the hitching rail, hat tipped forward so that his eyes were shaded from the searing heat. A casual observer would have simply seen a man enjoying a doze in the sun. Closer observers, however, would have noticed that his hat had been carefully angled to ensure that there was a tiny space through which his open, alert eyes surveyed the street. They would also have noticed that his hands, lying loosely on his stomach, were rested inches away from the twin Colts which nestled in his well-oiled holsters. Even closer inspection would have led to the discovery of a badge with the inscription US Marshal, the tip of which poked out of Reuben’s waistcoat pocket.

  The hot sun was having its usual effect on the folk of Blanca Creek. Most had retired to a shady place or to the saloon. There was little movement. An old man was sweeping the walkway outside the general store and a boy, about ten years of age, was splashing his face and neck in the horse drinking trough. Apart from that there was no life. No life, that is, until a group of men came riding slowly into town. Reuben’s eyes fixed on them. He had seen them leave town early that morning accompanied by two others and he knew them fr
om the posters he had seen in the sheriff’s office in Flintlock. Shep Cassidy, Crazy Pete Robinson, and the Gambles twins were chatting quietly, each of them scanning the street with alert eyes.

  Reuben’s hands inched towards his firearms. As he watched, two more men joined them, riding out from the side street next to the livery stables. He recognized a man on a black and white pony as John Bridge, a suspected bank robber wanted in three states. Reuben didn’t recognize the other man, a skinny, unkempt looking character in a green shirt. The men looked up and down the street as if they were assessing the situation, then they rode slowly in the direction of the county bank. The man in the green shirt and Jed Gambles stayed on their horses but the others dismounted and entered the bank, leaving their companions to hold the other horses and look for any signs of danger. After a few seconds, John Bridge emerged from the bank and said something to the green shirted man. Then hell broke loose. First, three shots from within the bank, immediately followed by John Bridge leaping onto his horse. Reuben Kane was on his feet in a split second and as he rose, he drew his guns in one lithe movement. Bridges turned towards him, recognizing him immediately. Both Bridges and the man in green went for their guns but they were way too late. Kane’s Colts were already in his hands and he was firing even as the two men reached for their own guns. The first bullet struck Bridges in the chest; the second inflicted a mortal head wound on the man in green. Bridges continued to grasp for his gun but a second shot to his chest catapulted him from his horse and he lay dying in the street.

  Kane was about to open fire on the men emerging from the bank when the young boy, panicked by the gunfire, ran straight across his line of vision in an attempt to get to home and safety. The split second of delay gave the foursome a chance to open fire and Reuben dived for cover behind the horse trough as their guns spurted a deadly orange flame volley. Reuben’s horse was tethered to the rail and almost in slow motion he saw it crumple and fall under the hail of bullets. He realized that they had shot the horse as a deliberate tactic to slow him down and he cursed himself for being so careless by leaving the poor animal so exposed. The four fleeing men lashed their horses into action and rode hell for leather down the street. Reuben could only empty his guns as a gesture, knowing that already they were out of range. He checked his horse but knew that she was dead. Cursing to himself, he dragged the saddle off and went to the livery stable. ‘I’m Marshal Reuben Kane. I need a horse.’ The old man in the stable looked up but continued raking straw as if he was oblivious to the drama in the main street.