by Jack Martin
The Home of Great Western Fiction!
All Sheriff Cole Masters wants is to raise a family with the woman he loves. But upholding the law in an era when gunfire speaks louder than words can be a risky business. Cole makes an arrest for the brutal murder of a saloon girl but the killer is the son of a wealthy rancher and it’s clear the old man will do anything to see his son set free. Soon the peace of the small town is shattered with deadly force and Cole finds himself a lawman on the run for murder. The rancher wants Masters dead and the two deadly gunmen on his tail are sure they can do it. Soon blood will run as Cole Masters attempts to reclaim his tarnished star.
LAWMASTER
By Jack Martin
A Piccadilly Publishing Western No 5
First published by Robert Hale Limited in 2009, under the title The Tarnished Star
Copyright © 2009, 2016 by Gary M. Dobbs
First Smashwords Edition: July 2016
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
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
For William John Martin—who led my imagination West
Chapter One
Sheriff Cole Masters sat there in silence, the only sound being the gentle parting of his lips as he puffed on his pipe. He took his time with the smoke, savoring the earthy taste of the burly tobacco; doubly sweet because in all likelihood it could prove to be his last. He had his feet up on the table in front of him and he reclined in his chair. He looked the image of contentment but the trained eye would see that he was, in fact, ill at ease. The sweat on his brow perhaps, would hint that all was not well, or the way his eyes were ever alert for sudden danger.
The town of Squaw was named after an old Indian legend in which the arid land was made fertile by the tears of a squaw weeping for her lover slain in glorious battle. Once the area had been desert but the discovery, and eventual re-excavation by an aging cattleman named Sam James, of a prehistoric canal system built by a long forgotten Indian tribe had created a fertile wonder in the middle of a once barren landscape. The water originated from deep within the bowels of the Squaw Caves and seemed never ending. Some said the squaw was still there, far beneath the ground, weeping for all eternity.
It became a thriving cow town, a stopping off point for the large herds brought down from Texas and the cowboys that drove them. It was wild from the get go with cowboys sending their herds through the streets before bedding them down and heading into town for a night of wild merrymaking in the saloons and brothels that quickly sprung up to accommodate them.
There was money in sin and as always there were plenty waiting to profit.
By the end of its first year the town claimed three saloons, two hotels, a general store, a large theatre which doubled up as a whorehouse, a corral and livery stable as well as housing the head offices of the Squaw Cattle Company, a prosperous firm that benefited from military contracts which allowed it to stay viable even when there was an overall slump in the market. An army marched on its stomach and soldiers had to eat. Over a hundred and fifty thousand longhorns were driven through its stockyards during that inaugural twelve months and the growth would continue. And as the beef trade exploded then so too did the town of Squaw.
Cole stood up and felt a twinge in the small of his back. He was thirty six years old but when he crossed his office it was with the weariness of a man much older. He went to the doorway and tapped the remains of his pipe onto the boardwalk and then stepped outside, squinting into a searing sun.
He went directly to the Majestic Saloon, its doors were open no matter what the time of day or night, and went to the counter and ordered himself a whiskey. It was far too early in the day for strong liquor but he figured no one would be able to blame him.
Not with all the trouble he had facing him.
‘Lovely day, Sheriff.’
Cole looked at the barkeep and offered a wry smile. ‘Seems much too pleasant to die,’ he said, sardonically, and downed the fiery drink in one. He held out the glass and the barkeep immediately refilled it. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins.
‘On the house,’ the barkeep said.
Cole ignored him and tossed the coins onto the counter. He took the bottle from the man’s hands and went over and sat in a corner seat with a good view of the bat wings. There was a card game going on at the table in front of him and several men stood along the counter, drinking and laughing but no one bothered the sheriff. He had a storm of a look upon his face, thunder in his eyes and presumably everyone thought it prudent to keep a safe distance.
That was until Em Tanner came in through the batwings and spied him. The old man shook his head and came directly over, pulling up a chair and sitting opposite him without waiting for an invite. Not that he’d ever needed one in any case.
‘Cole,’ he said and caught the sheriff’s gaze. ‘You’re playing a foolish game.’
‘Wasn’t aware this was a game,’ Cole said and poured himself another whiskey. He offered the bottle to the old man.
‘You think that’s wise?’ The old man took the bottle from him but didn’t drink from it. He held it there, staring at it. It seemed to hold some deep fascination for him as if the answer to all the world’s ills lay within the amber liquid. He contemplated it as if the volatile liquid would explode at any moment.
‘Don’t really matter,’ Cole said and downed his drink. He reached for the bottle but the old man pulled it away, clutching it tightly to his chest.
‘You don’t need this,’ the old man said and turned the bottle upside down, pouring the contents over the floor where it immediately soaked between the boards. ‘This is the last thing you need.’
Cole looked at the now empty bottle in the old man’s hand. ‘I be justified to kill you for that,’ he said.
‘But you won’t.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Cole agreed. ‘I can always buy another. In any case I got more need of ammunition than I do money’
‘Leave town, Cole. Just leave town before the Bowden boys get here. No one could blame you for that.’
‘Run scared you mean?’
‘If that’s the way you want to look at it.’
‘I appreciate your concern,’ Cole said and stood up. ‘But the Bowden faction are my problem.’
‘They’ll kill you. What good’s one man against more than a dozen varmints?’
‘Likely they will,’ Cole said and then turned and walked from the saloon. His shoulders hunched as if they carried all the world’s ills.
The old man followed him.
‘Darn it,’ the old man said, scuttling in front of him and holding his hands out to stop him in his tracks. ‘You need to send for some help. You can’t be expected to face off these gunmen alone.’
Cole smiled. He was fond of the old man but he didn’t have time for this right now. He had enough on his mind and he shivered as he looked up and down Main Street. Soon, he knew, the cowboys from the Bowden Ranch would ride into town and demand he release Sam Bowden from the jailhouse.
Only he wouldn’t comply and gunplay would follow.
‘Ain�
�t nobody in town wants to be deputized,’ Cole said. ‘The judge is on the way and I guess the state Marshall thinks I can handle the matter until he arrives.’
‘That’s darn poppycock,’ the old man spat tobacco juice into the street. ‘You’ll be like a lamb to slaughter.’
‘More than likely,’ Cole said and gently pushed the old timer aside. He walked over to the jailhouse, ignoring the town citizens who walked by and refused to make eye contact with their sheriff. They wanted him to keep law and order in this town but now that he had come up against a sticky situation they were going to leave him to it.
It was to be expected, he supposed.
The jailhouse was a small building, just the one room with three cells at the rear so that any captives would spend their days looking out into the sheriffs’ office. There was a large green curtain that would be closed at night, or whenever privacy was required, so that it separated the office areas from the cells.
At the moment the only occupant was Sam Bowden and he lay on his bunk, coolly smoking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He ignored the sheriff as the lawman walked in and sat down behind his desk.
Barely a couple of minutes elapsed before the old man burst in and announced that he wanted to be deputized. The old timer stood there and cast contemptuous glances at the prone figure of Sam Bowden.
‘You want to be deputized?’ Cole took his pipe and thumbed tobacco into the bowl.
‘Sure do. If I can’t talk sense into you then I’ll stand besides you.’
‘Little old for the job aren’t you, Em.’ It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. He put a match to his pipe and sent billows of thick smoke into the air.
‘Ain’t too old to shoot,’ the old man said. ‘I was dealing with tough hombres before half these cowboys were born.’ For a moment the old man’s eyes seemed to look into the past, to a time long gone, but then he smiled and added, proudly: ‘And Indians fierce enough to freeze your blood. Ain’t much that’ll scare me.’
‘Well,’ Cole stood up and worked a kink out of his neck. ‘I appreciate the offer of help and I wager you’re a useful man in a fight. ‘But as I told you already this is my problem.’
‘Hell,’ the old man threw his hat to the floor in exasperation. ‘It’s the darn town’s problem. You ain’t the town. You’re just one man.’
‘An old man and a lawman with the shakes.’ Sam Bowden had come alive and was standing peering through the bars of his cell. He laughed, mocking them. ‘Guess I’ll be busted out of here before I know it.’
Cole turned to face Bowden. ‘You’re going nowhere,’ he said and his fingers brushed the handle of his Colt. ‘Until the judge gets here at least. Then you’ll be going away for a few years if there’s any justice.’
‘I’ll be out and free,’ Bowden boasted. ‘And you know it.’
Cole bit his lip in anger. That fact that Sam Bowden considered himself above the law rankled with the lawman. The man’s complete disregard was as obvious as the nose on his face.
‘You want me to shoot him Cole?’ The old man asked. ‘I think I’d enjoy that.’
For the briefest of moments Sam looked troubled as he watched the exchange between the sheriff and the old man but then he slapped the bars of his cell in disgust and went back to his bunk and stretched out. He figured all he had to do was to sit tight and wait for his pa and the boys to break him loose.
‘I’d like nothing better,’ Cole said and looked at Bowden with a smirk on his face. ‘Wouldn’t be lawful, though.’
‘The law don’t apply to a son-of-a-gun like him,’ the old man snapped. ‘And there’d be no witnesses besides us two. Let’s drill him now and be done with it.’
‘Sure,’ Sam Bowden spoke without getting up from his bunk. ‘We’ll see how brave you are when I get out, old man. The only law in this town is Bowden law.’
‘Shut up,’ Cole snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Sam Bowden reconsider his situation. ‘Or I’ll forego the trial and pass sentence here and now. Right between the eyes.’
Chapter Two
‘I don’t want bloodshed,’ Clem Bowden said and looked at the twelve men he had selected to go and break his fool son out of jail. Damn the boy, he was too headstrong and always bringing trouble down on himself. One day, the old man supposed, he wouldn’t be able to protect him and he’d end up meeting his maker with a noose around his neck.
‘What about the sheriff?’ Steve McCraw asked. A big man from Texas, he had been with the Bowden’s a long time and had worked his way from cowboy to ranch foreman.
‘Take him down without killing him,’ Old man Bowden snapped, firmly.
‘Could be tricky,’ Steve said, running a hand through the stubble on his chin. He had the beginnings of a beard there. ‘Cole Masters may insist on a fight.’
‘He’s one man,’ Clem said. ‘No killing.’ He mounted his horse and tipped his hat down over his brow to keep the sun off. ‘We’ll get Sam out without blood,’ he added.
They set off—the old man leading, with Steve riding by his side while the rest of the men took up their places behind them. They rode with all the discipline of a military procession.
Clem Bowden was fifty-five years old and a widower, his wife had been too delicate for the life out West and had never really adjusted to the hardships of running a ranch. She had been sickly almost constantly. Clem felt with hindsight that it had taken her twenty years to die from the various ailments that had dogged her throughout her life. Maybe she started dying as soon as they had arrived out west, first settling outside Abilene and then moving onto Ellsworth where they had supplied beef to the army, making a small fortune in the process and establishing the name of Bowden as a force to be reckoned with in the cattle business.
He had met her back East—New York. She had been the daughter of a successful lawyer and Clem had been instantly taken with her that first time he saw her walking down County Road, resplendent in her elaborately decorated bonnet and brightly colored dress.
He had never seen a woman that had such an immediate effect upon him. She set his stomach churning and raised the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. That was the stirring of love, he supposed.
He wanted her and Clem Bowden, even then, always got what he wanted.
He had introduced himself and their courtship had been surprisingly brief. They had married exactly one year to the day of that first meeting.
They had gone west with Bowden chasing his dreams of wealth and empire and for a few years things had been good. Clem had been making money rounding up mavericks and selling them on. This gave him a stake to start his own ranch. His smallholding outside Abilene had grown quickly and only a few short years later he had a ranch with over two thousand head of prime beef.
Then came the birth of their son, Samuel and for a blissful couple of years life was perfect.
Clem Bowden was ambitious though and he moved his family to Ellsworth when the cattle trade took a dive in Abilene following an outbreak of Texas fever. They stayed there a few years, again constructing a sizeable ranch that Clem then sold for a fortune to the railroad who wanted to bring their new line through his land. They then moved further west and settled in Squaw, an upcoming cow town, and Clem built a ranch of such size that it was second only to the magnificent spreads owned by the likes of the Chisums’ and Goodnights of the world’.
The empire, though was built on shaky ground and when Mrs. Bowden died from the consumption, Clem had found himself left alone with a twelve year old son they had both over indulged. But Clem threw himself into the ranch and had little time for the boy, who reminded him of his departed wife. He’d hired a nanny for the child and spent very little time with him other than to say good morning and good night. Or to give him gifts to assail his conscious. The boy had too much, his every whim answered, and it had spoiled him.
He could show a nasty streak if he didn’t get his own way.
‘This sheriff’s getting too uppity,’
Steve said after a long silence. ‘I know what you said but I’m thinking we should take this opportunity to put him in his place before it’s too late.’
Clem scowled but was thankful of his foreman for breaking his reverie. It didn’t pay to ponder too much, to chase what ifs and maybes. He reached into his shirt and pulled out his Bull Durham.
‘Oh, we’ll strike the fear of God into him,’ he said and put together a smoke.
~*~
‘I’ll call you if I need you,’ Cole said. ‘I guess you’ll be a handy man to have around in a fight.’
The old man smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. ‘Damn tooting, I am,’ he said.
‘I’ll come get you if I need you,’ Cole repeated, eager to get him away from the line of fire, and gently led the old man outside. He expected Bowden’s men to arrive any time and the last thing he wanted was this old man around when trouble started.
It was too late and as soon as they got outside and stood on the boardwalk, Cole’s heart sank. Jessie Fuller was coming across the street, heading straight towards them.
It never rains but it pours, Cole thought and his mood darkened further.
‘I’ll keep watch out here,’ the old man said, noticing the woman, Cole’s sweetheart, crossing the street. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the hem of her dress was dragging along the dusty ground.
‘You do that,’ Cole said. It didn’t look like he had any choice in the matter in any case. Not only was the old man hanging around but now he had his fiancé to contend with. Facing the Bowden crew would be difficult enough without the extra worry these two provided.
‘Hello Cole,’ Jessie said and stepped up onto the boardwalk. ‘I’d like to speak with you.’
Cole looked at her, frowned. He wanted to tell her to leave, to go home and lock herself in until this was all over but instead he smiled, wryly and said: ‘Of course. Let’s go inside.’
Jessie and the old man exchanged looks by way of greeting and then she followed Cole into the sheriff’s office. The old man sat himself down on the boardwalk, bit of some tobacco from his plug, and waited for any sign of Clem Bowden and his cowboys.
