Lawmaster (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 5)

by Jack Martin

  ‘Em,’ Cole said and knelt over the old man. There was a huge gaping wound in his stomach and gore seeped through it and was mixing it with the blood and dirt on the ground.

  All color had drained from the old man’s face and he looked ghastly. His eyes were dreadfully bloodshot and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His breathing was shallow, blood bubbled in the back of his throat and threatening to choke him.

  ‘Did I kill him?’ Em asked, coughing as his mouth filled with thick blood and dribbled down his chin. He winced in pain with each breath and his mind started to cloud over. The world seemed to darken as if nightfall had come early.

  ‘You killed him,’ Cole said. ‘Between us we got them both.’

  ‘They killed me too,’ Em said. He coughed again and blood bubbled from his mouth. ‘Guess I’m gonna’ ride that roan again after all,’ he said and then his eyes rolled back in their sockets as he breathed his last breath.

  Em Tanner was dead.

  For a long while Cole knelt there, besides the old man. His head bowed, he closed his eyes and felt a wave of mixed emotions—regret, grief, guilt but above all a seething anger.

  Eventually Cole stood up and went over to the fallen gunmen. Mechanically he removed their weapons from their corpses and then went and got one of their horses. The other horse he tethered to the gnarled branch of a long dead tree.

  He took a bedroll from the saddle and used it to create a makeshift shroud for Em. He tied it around the old man’s body and then lifted him and carefully placed the body over the horse. Next he collected both his own and Em’s belonging from their dead horses and tied them next to the old man. He kept the Winchester and slid it into the boot of the other horse.

  Then and only then did he walk over and take a look at the two gunmen. Em had been right and the first man was definitely of mixed race, a half-breed with his Indian side being genetically dominant. The other man, the one Em’s rifle had made short work of, was white. He lay there a ghastly sight, his eyes wide open and sightless in death with a third bloody eye between them.

  Cole searched the bodies for any evidence to link the men with Clem Bowden but all found was a thick envelope which contained a thousand dollars. Blood money, more than likely. He put the money into his own saddlebag, thinking that the cash would, if not tie the men to Bowden, then it would at least add weight to the charge that he had hired them.

  Scum, Cole thought.

  ‘Ain’t wasting time burying you,’ Cole said and without looking back at the two men. ‘Buzzard’s got to eat.’

  Cole reached into his shirt and removed the buckled badge. With his thumb he wiped at the bloodstain, Steve McCaw’s blood, and then placed the badge on.

  He was still the sheriff of Squaw and he was going to stop the stage, and bring the Bowdens, both of the son-of-bitches, to justice. Too many men had died here today and one of them at least had been a good man; a damn good man.

  Maybe there would be other deaths before this was all over but that was the way it had to be. It was Bowden who had forced things this way and by God he was going to pay.

  Cole mounted up and sent the large horse trotting forward, he had the reins of the horse carrying Em tied to his saddle horn, and the horse followed behind at the casual pace Cole set.

  ‘It ends now,’ Cole said and bit back a tear at Em’s passing.

  There would be time enough for grieving later.

  For now the only emotion he needed was the seething anger in the pit of his stomach for it would keep him fresh, help him remain focused on what had to be done.

  He looked down at the buckled badge he wore and it became more than what it actually was to him. He saw it as a symbol of all things right and a harbinger of destruction to all that stood against it. It represented a law higher than that of man; it was a weapon in the eternal battle between good and evil.

  Cole thumbed tobacco into his pipe and took a match to it. He smoked slowly and rode even slower, all the while his every limb ready to spring into action should he come across the remainder of the posse. But the journey went without event and soon, after crossing the river, Cole saw the trail the missing posse members had left as they’d rode off, back towards the town of Squaw.

  That was one mystery solved and Cole looked back at Em’s body, draped in the makeshift shroud and tied over the horse. ‘Guess you were right, old man,’ he said and then spurred the horse to gain a little speed.

  The sheriff of Squaw rode on.

  His mind set on the final showdown.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cole eased his horse forward and looked down onto the landscape below him. The stage was nowhere to be seen but he knew it would be approaching soon and he filled his pipe with the last of his tobacco and smoked while he waited.

  He figured he had less than an hour to wait before the stage showed up on the horizon. It would have reached the Fort the previous night and was due to leave for Squaw at daybreak. Sam Bowden’s trial had been scheduled for this coming Monday and the judge would be expecting things to go ahead as planned.

  As much as was possible that was still Cole’s intention.

  Earlier Cole had tethered the horse carrying Em’s body to a tree. He’d collect it later, after squaring things with the judge, and take the old man into Squaw for burial. He had considered burying him out here in the wilderness, amongst the landscape that the old man had wandered so many times in his younger days, but he preferred to have his final resting place close by.

  The grave would be easier to tend that way and Cole planned on taking care of the old man’s plot. When this was all over he’d visit with Jessie and together they would make sure there were always fresh flowers to mark his spot.

  He figured it was the least he could do seeing as how he owed the old timer his life.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Cole had ridden through the night, all the while alert for the remaining members of the posse but the ride had passed without event. They must have long reached Squaw and would not be expecting him to return.

  He was looking forward to showing them that was not the case.

  He sat there, upon the bluff, looking down on a landscape that was both beautiful and opposing, and waited for the stage. He smoked the pipe until it went out and suddenly felt bone tired, recent events were catching up with him, and there was not one single part of his body that didn’t seem to throb. The bruising of his beating at the hands of Bowden’s foreman had all but healed but the pain he felt now was not due to any physical injury.

  It was a mixture of exhaustion and grief and it originated from the centre of his very being.

  ~*~

  ‘You really are a stupid son-of-a-bitch,’ Clem Bowden said and shook his head in disappointment. ‘Don’t you ever listen, boy? ‘

  ‘Goddamn it. They were leading us ragged,’ Sam protested.

  He was weary from the long ride and all he wanted now was a drink and then a long uninterrupted period in bed. ‘They weren’t going to find Masters. They went off his trail and led us clean across country. Enough was enough.’

  Clem Bowden looked at his son as he had so many times before, a look of distaste in his eyes. He wanted to tell him that those two men were the best trackers in the territory, that they could do things with a gun that would leave him standing, that they were worth twice, no ten times what he was, but instead he said nothing and merely shook his head.

  The expression upon his face and his sad sunken eyes spoke volumes, though.

  ‘Cole Masters is long gone,’ Sam continued. ‘Now let’s leave it at that.’

  Again Clem ignored his son and looked at the rest of the men.

  They were all equally weary and trail dust clung to them like an outer skin. They were good men all told and Clem knew it wasn’t their fault that they had broken away from Quill and Boyd. They would have been confused, unsure who to take orders from and their loyalties to him would have made them side with his son. Couldn’t really blame them for tha
t but the problem was his son was a buffoon.

  Clem considered keeping them in town but decided against it. The posse was too worn out to be of any use to him and he already had a half dozen of his best men stationed in town. If Cole had managed to elude the two man hunters and made it back to Squaw then he had all the protection he needed already here in place. These men needed food, rest and a clean up before they would be of any use to either themselves or anyone else.

  ‘You men,’ he said. ‘Go back to the ranch. Get yourself rested up.’

  Without another word the riders turned and wearily headed back out of town leaving the old man standing there in the street with his son. After a few moments of silence Clem turned to his son and the look of disappointment on his face shone clearer than ever.

  He seemed to regard his son they way one looked at a diseased range dog.

  ‘Pa?’ Sam gave the old man a quizzical look. He didn’t like what he saw in his father’s eyes and at that moment he felt something happen between them that he couldn’t really understand. He felt a strange sensation of expanding space between them and he realized that when this was all over things would never again be the same.

  ‘What do you want me to do now?’ He asked, not liking the uncomfortable feeling between them.

  ‘You’re the sheriff,’ Clem snapped. ‘Get over the hotel and get yourself washed up and then get back here.

  ‘Thought maybe I’d get some sleep,’ Sam said. ‘I’m bushed.’

  ‘You’re the sheriff,’ Clem repeated with a sigh. ‘The stage’ll be here just after noon with the judge upon it. He’s come here to sit over your trial so I suppose you should be here to explain the situation. When he arrives I want you there to meet him. You can sleep later if you’re not back in the jailhouse.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Sam said but cursed the old man beneath his breath.

  He was a grown man and as his father had said, the sheriff, of this sorry excuse for a town. He guessed he could pretty much do what he wanted and right now he had a burning desire for a strong drink and maybe a woman before sleeping off the past few days.

  There was no use arguing with the old man though and he guessed there would be time enough for pleasures later.

  Clem Bowden opened the door of the jailhouse but before entering he turned back and took another lingering look at his son. ‘And stay out of the saloon.’ How well the man knew the boy. With that he went inside and slammed the door behind him.

  Sam stood there for several long minutes, an anger seething up inside him that threatened to take all reason from him. He had to resist the urge to burst into the jailhouse here and now and put a bullet into the miserable old bastard he called his father. These thoughts were not new but it used to be that he felt ashamed and would suppress them but now he would like nothing better than to act upon them

  He spat into the dust. ‘One day,’ he mumbled and turned and walked away from the jailhouse. He kept his head bowed to the ground as he walked and ignored the sensation of feeling like he was being watched.

  ~*~

  Across the street Jessie watched the exchange between the two men.

  Today being Saturday, not a school day, she had been tending to her garden, anything to take her mind off things, when the posse had ridden in to town.

  She crouched lower down behind the picket fence Cole had built for her as Sam Bowden turned and walked over to the Rainbow Hotel.

  She wondered what had happened. Where were the two men who had led the posse? What had happened to Cole and Em? She didn’t think the posse had caught up with them and although she couldn’t hear what words had been spoken across the street it was obvious from the men’s manner that their mission had not been a success.

  She stood back up and looked up and down Main Street. Now that Sam Bowden had gone into the hotel and his father the jailhouse, the street was deserted. It should have been thriving even this early on a Saturday morning but there was a feeling of foreboding that hung like a dark cloud over the town and kept the citizens off the street for all but the most important of chores.

  Even the Majestic, usually a hive of sin, seemed quiet and there was none of the usual laughter or music drifting through its batwings.

  The town of Squaw was in terminal decline and she knew that it would continue to wither away until nothing remained. The town had a cancer, a powerful malignant tumor that gnawed away at its heart and soul and unless it was cut away then there was no hope.

  That cancer went by the name of Bowden.

  ~*~

  Cole had been napping, sat on his horse, when he heard a faint rumble. He looked, squinting against the sun, and he saw the tiny speck in the distance that he knew was the stage. He scanned the landscape for the remainder of the posse but still they were nowhere to be seen.

  He took a drink of water from his canteen and spurred his horse forward, taking it slowly as they made their way down the hill to the flatland below.

  He checked his Colts and the Winchester and then made sure his badge was visible on his chest. Once again he turned the events of the last few days over in his mind, wanting to get everything clear before he spoke to the judge.

  No doubt the Bowden’s would contest his story but he hoped his reputation, as an honest man, a brave man, a good and courageous sheriff would add a little extra clout to his words. And maybe if the town’s folk saw the way things were going they would stand up and speak out. Bowden ruled the town by fear and Cole knew that was always a tenuous grip. Once broken the Bowden Empire would crumble like a sand-fort in the wind. Fear never made a solid foundation for anything worthwhile. It only took one man to stand up and confront it head on and the shackles it provided would fall away. Folk would suddenly find the strength to stand up and speak out against their former masters.

  Cole steadied his horse and sat there in the road like some highwayman as the stage approached. All the while he was alert for any riders, he feared Bowden’s men would turn up at any moment and attempt to finish him off here and now.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Not after all that had happened.

  He sat and waited.

  As the stage neared, he raised his empty hands toward the sky to show he had peaceful intend and shouted for the stage to stop. The driver and the man besides him riding shotgun exchanged puzzled looks but pulled the stage to a perfect halt.

  ‘I’m Sheriff Cole Masters of Squaw,’ Cole said. ‘Have you got the judge on board?’

  ‘We have,’ the driver, a short podgy man with skin that had been burnt bronze over years of exposure to the elements, said.

  ‘I need to speak with him,’ Cole said and dismounted and walked towards the stage.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cole rode into Squaw ahead of the coach, trailing the horse carrying Em’s body behind him, and made straight for the jailhouse.

  He saw Jessie out of the corner of one eye; she had seen him too and was running towards him, a mixture of relief and horror on her face.

  Cole raised a hand, warning her to stay away, to go back to the house. She took his meaning correctly and after glancing at the shrouded body on the back of the horse she turned on her feet and headed back to her place.

  Cole dismounted outside the jailhouse and hitched both horses to the rail. He slid the Winchester from the boot and stood there in the street. He looked up and down Main Street but there was no one to be seen. He turned on his feet and walked over to the general store and tucked himself away in the alley between it and the livery stable.

  He waited for the Stage that was only a few minutes behind him; all the while keeping his eyes on the street but for the moment everything was silent.

  He had stopped the coach earlier and told the judge everything that had occurred these last few days; it seemed like years since he had taken the beating in the Main Street. Cole had told the judge everything, leaving nothing out, going all the way back to the whore killing. And to his surprise the judge had insisted on contin
uing to Squaw and assisting in Cole’s arrest of the Bowden faction, as he called it. There would be no need for military intervention as the judge was confident he could deal with the Bowdens. From the way Cole had described them, the judge felt they would buckle when they saw the weight of the law against them. It was one thing disputing Cole’s word but they would never go against a territorial judge. The truth will out, the judge had said.

  The one compromise Cole had won was that he would ride in ahead of the stage, make sure the coast was clear. And so, after collecting Em’s body, that is what he had done.

  Cole heard the coach approaching and then seconds later it came into Main Street, the six strong team slowing to a gentle trot. The coach pulled to a stop in the centre of the street and then the jailhouse opened and both Clem and Sam Bowden emerged. They looked down at the horses tethered at the rail and then Sam Bowden went and pulled the shroud from the body and stood back when he recognized the old man.

  ‘It’s old man Tanner!’ He exclaimed and looked at his father, a vacant expression on his face.

  ‘I can see that,’ Clem said. He recognized the horses as being those of Quill and Boyd but the gunmen were nowhere to be seen. A puzzled expression crossed his face.

  He looked at the stage and watched as the door was opened and a small portly man stepped out into the street. Out of the corner of his eye Clem saw a number of his men emerge from the saloon and take up positions in the street while they waited for an order from their boss.

  ‘I’m Judge Lucas Meredith,’ the small man introduced himself and smiled his thanks when one of the stage drivers handed him his bag. ‘I’m looking for the sheriff.’

  ‘That’ll be me,’ Sam Bowden said and stepped down off the boardwalk.

  ‘No,’ Cole said, stepping out into the open, the rifle cocked and ready to fire with the butt resting against his hip. ‘That’ll be me.’

  The Judge didn’t flinch and it was obvious to Clem Bowden that Masters had briefed him and that he knew what was going on. The expression on his face was one of solid, fearless, resolve.