Savage Gun (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 13)

by Neil Hunter

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  Matt Cord was a good lawman, unable to stomach the soft line being dealt to the outlaws he risked his life to bring in. He made the mistake of dealing out his own law to one man and found himself branded killer. They took away his badge and threw him in Yuma Pen – until they realized his way was the only way. Then they gave him back his gun and sent him out to deal with the most vicious bunch of killers in the territory.

  SAVAGE GUN

  By Neil Hunter

  A Piccadilly Publishing Western No 13

  First Published by Herbert Jenkins in 1976, under the pseudonym ‘Dan Stewart’

  Copyright © 1976, 2017 by Michael R. Linaker

  First Smashwords Edition: February 2017

  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.

  This is for Peter Watts, a good friend and counselor.

  One

  It was a small, faded town, straddling the creek that had given the place its name. There had been talk of a railway running its tracks along that stretch of New Mexico Territory and that had been enough to prompt Sim Gray to lay out the foundations of his town. Spurred on by talk of the riches that would come with the railway, others had followed Gray’s initial enthusiasm. In two months, where there had been nothing, there finally stood Gray’s Creek, its raw timber and adobe gleaming in the summer sun. But the railway never came, the bubble burst and the dream died, and Gray’s Creek became just another prairie town. The newness wore off the buildings and the town took on a battered, bleached look, baked dry by the New Mexico sun. Sim Gray did what he could to keep up the spirit of the place but in the end he too gave up. He died of utter weariness and part of the town died with him. Many of those who lived there left. Some stayed and survived after a fashion. For most of them Gray’s Creek was all they could call home. They had nowhere else to go and there was no telling whether the next place they set down might not turn out to be a damn sight worse.

  Gray’s Creek settled down to a dull existence. It served as a way station for one of the Territory’s stage lines. Surrounding ranches used it to buy their supplies and at the weekends the ranch crews came in and brought the town briefly and noisily to life as they spent their money in the two saloons and three brothels.

  The pattern was set and time drifted by and very little of much consequence took place in Gray’s Creek. That was until Ben Shelby and his bunch rode in on a day that Gray’s Creek would remember for a long time after.

  One of the infrequent rainstorms had turned the town’s single street, which ran from north to south, into a strip of sodden, sticky mud. The rain had come with the dawn and was still falling at mid-morning, showing no sign of slacking off. It was Friday usually the busiest day of the week as the town got ready for the weekend rush of pleasure-hungry cowboys from the outlying ranches. As midday approached the street was deserted. Only those who had no other choice were outside.

  As it was nobody saw Ben Shelby lead his bunch into Gray’s Creek. They rode up the street and reined in outside the Golden Girl saloon. With Shelby were the six men who made up his infamous bunch. Isha Cooley and Bo Redford, a couple of hill-country cousins and a deadly pair of savage killers. Irve Dunker, a self-styled fast gun; he was young and cocky and labeled for an early grave. Then there were the Colton brothers, Sam and Eli, who had ridden with Shelby for three years, building a reputation for murderous brutality that was hard to match. The sixth man was Morgan LeGrand, a pale-eyed giant of a man who didn’t possess a scrap of regard for human life. He was the only man Ben Shelby had ever trusted and he was Shelby’s right-hand man.

  Ben Shelby himself had carved out a solid reputation as an outlaw over a period of ten years. In those years he had ranged far and wide, robbing and killing to excess. Shelby took what he wanted when he wanted and it was as if he was indestructible. No matter how many went out after him, Shelby never even came close to being caught. He possessed an animal’s cunning and a sense of survival that always seemed to bring him out of the most contrived and deadly ambush.

  At the time of his coming to Gray’s Creek he was wanted in most every Western Territory. The list of his robberies and killings was almost countless. As it half-slept through the rainstorm, Gray’s Creek was unaware of the potential terror that was giving it a swift look over.

  ‘Jesus, Ben, this is some pile of horseshit.’ Irve Dunker stared sourly round him as he gave vent to his feelings.

  Shelby, a tall, powerfully built man in his late thirties, scrubbed a big hand across his unshaven face. ‘It’ll do for what we want. There’ll be food and drink. Most everything we need.’

  ‘And that,’ Eli Colton crowed, pointing out the slim, dark-haired girl who had come out of a store, ‘is what I come for.’

  He swung out of his saddle and jumped onto the boardwalk, blocking the girl’s path. She stopped, staring at the grinning Eli, her attractive face registering momentary surprise, then swiftly rising anger.

  ‘Would you mind stepping aside?’ Her voice was cool and defiant. She was in no way intimidated by Eli Colton’s violent presence.

  ‘For you, lady, anything,’ Eli grinned. ‘Only don’t you go rushin’ off. I got me an itch and I figure you got the cure for it somewhere under those skirts.’ He reached out and laid a hand across the girl’s hip.

  Her reaction was swift and positive. She brought up her right hand and slapped Eli across the face. The blow was delivered with all her strength, landing with a solid smack. Eli yelped in pain. The girl tried to brush past him but he grabbed her, forcing her up against the saloon wall, his hands tearing at her clothing, ripping the dress from shoulder to waist. The girl fought him in silence but Eli’s wiry strength was too much for her. He forced her down onto the dirty boardwalk, thrusting his hard, lean body onto hers.

  That was when Will Beal arrived on the scene. Unconcealed anger darkened his young face as he strode along the boardwalk. He took one look at the struggling pair on the boards and headed straight for them. He caught hold of Eli Colton by his shirt and dragged him away from the girl. Eli crashed down on the boardwalk, yelling curses. He stumbled to his feet, holding up his sagging pants with one hand.

  ‘You bastard,’ he yelled. ‘I was nearly there and you went an’ pulled me off. Now what you do a mean thing like that for?’

  ‘Maybe she’s his girl,’ Eli’s brother Sam said.

  Morgan LeGrand leaned forward in his saddle. ‘Eli, maybe on Fridays he gets his turn.’

  ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Beal asked. ‘This is a main street, not some dirty back-alley. Gray’s Creek ain’t that much of a town but we don’t allow this kind of thing to happen. As Marshal I aim to see your kind moving on.’

  ‘You the law here?’ Ben Shelby asked. He couldn’t see a badge on Will Beal’s shirt and the man wasn’t wearing a gun.

  That’s right. Part-time marshal but it’s official. Beal’s the name. Will Beal.’

  Morgan LeGrand smiled tightly. ‘Well hello, Marshal Beal,’ he said gently and as Beal glance
d his way he went on, ‘And goodbye.’

  A big, .45 caliber Colt appeared in LeGrand’s fist. He trained it on Beal with almost casual ease, grinning at the marshal’s stunned expression, and then he pulled the trigger, putting a bullet into Beal’s chest. Beal was slammed back against the saloon wall, eyes staring, wide with shock. As his body began to slide down the wall, LeGrand fired three more bullets into him. Beal flopped onto the boardwalk, blood staining the wall behind him and streaking the boards on which he lay.

  The girl started to scream. Eli Colton suddenly jerked back into life. He bent close to where she lay, kneeling beside her, and thrust the muzzle of his revolver against her face.

  ‘Hush your mouth, girl.’ he said. ‘And do it fast.’

  From the saloon came the sound of running feet. Seconds later two men ran out onto the boardwalk. By their dress they were evidently cowhands. Each had a gun in his hand, though neither of them got to use his weapon. Before either of them could even begin to guess what might have caused the shooting they found themselves on the end of a shattering volley of shots. Their torn and bloody bodies tumbled from the boardwalk onto the muddy street, the falling rain washing away the spurting lifeblood.

  Shelby and his bunch swung down out of their saddles, guns cocked and ready. They stood for a moment, searching the length of the street. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Gray’s Creek looked as if it had been deserted.

  ‘All right, let’s get inside,’ Ben Shelby said. He stepped onto the boardwalk and strode into the saloon. His bunch followed him, Eli Colton bringing up the rear with the dark-haired girl.

  The saloon was empty save for the bartender.

  ‘There’re three dead people outside,’ Shelby said. ‘You give us any problems and it might get to four.’

  Irve Dunker bellied up to the bar and surveyed the long lines of bottles on the shelves. ‘Fill some beer glasses and put a dozen bottles of whisky on the bar.’

  The bartender was a little slow in reacting. Dunker made no fuss. He just lashed the barrel of his revolver across the man’s face, opening a sizeable gash. The bartender staggered back, clutching a hand to his injured face, moaning softly as he felt blood welling out from between his fingers.

  ‘You need any more help?’ Dunker asked.

  The bartender shook his head, blood dripping from his face. He produced the required beer and placed whisky bottles on the bar.

  ‘I could do with some food,’ Bo Redford grumbled.

  Shelby blew foam off the top of his beer. ‘So go and get some for God’s sake. Sam, take him out and get him something to fill his empty belly.’

  Morgan LeGrand joined Shelby at his table. ‘Ben, how long we going to stop here?’

  ‘Ain’t decided yet.’ Shelby glanced at LeGrand’s face. ‘We’re safe enough, Morg. Look, we need to rest up a spell. Few days. Nobody in this damn town is liable to stop us.’

  ‘Maybe.’ LeGrand toyed with his glass. ‘Be better if we had us a little insurance.’

  Ben Shelby smiled at the expected. ‘Always looking behind you, Morg.’

  That’s why I’m still alive.’

  Shelby knew that LeGrand was right. The town was quiet now but given time it might find nerve enough to make a stand. LeGrand was talking sense.

  ‘When you’re ready, Morg. Go get us some insurance!’

  LeGrand nodded and settled back to finish his drink. He left the saloon a while later, taking Dunker with him, and when they returned some fifteen minutes later, they had company.

  ‘Now that’s what I call thinking ahead!’

  Eli Colton climbed down off the bar, spilling whisky over his shirt. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with pleasure as he surveyed the four young women that Morgan LeGrand ushered into the saloon ahead of him.

  ‘I figured we might as well get some pleasure as well as insurance,’ LeGrand said.

  Ben Shelby walked over to where the four women stood in the center of the saloon floor. He circled them a couple of times, smiling to himself. He had to hand it to Morgan, he decided. He had a damn good eye for fine-looking females.

  ‘Any trouble?’ he asked.

  LeGrand shrugged. ‘Had to crack a couple of heads is all.’

  ‘He’s a liar!’ one of the girls said. ‘He beat up Sheb Parkin so bad he might just die.’

  Shelby glanced at the girl whose spirited outburst was a cry of defiance. She was in her mid-twenties, tall and red-haired, with a strikingly strong and shapely body beneath her green dress.

  ‘He should’ve done as he was told.’

  ‘Sheb Parkin is sixty years old,’ she hurled back at him.

  ‘So he should have known better by then,’ Shelby told her. ‘Now you shut your pretty mouth, else I’m liable to have to knock some manners into you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ the girl said angrily.

  Ben Shelby hit her twice. Open-handed slaps across her face. Red blotches flared on her cheeks. The girl staggered under the impact of the blows but recovered and stood motionless, her gaze fixed on some distant corner of the saloon.

  ‘The same goes for the rest of you,’ Shelby yelled. ‘I don’t want any kind of crap from any of you. Too much trouble and this town’s going to need a mass-burial. And don’t think we won’t do it. Makes no difference to us if you all die. We all got hanging notices out on us so it don’t make no mind. A man can only hang once so after the first one the rest are for free.’

  Sam Colton and Bo Redford made a trip later, returning with loaded flour-sacks which they emptied onto one of the tables. There was food and coffee, even plates and tin mugs.

  ‘Hey, you behind the bar,’ Redford yelled. ‘Get that stove lit. I want coffee brewing. Hot and black. And get some of this food warmed up too.’

  By mid-afternoon they were well settled. They had all eaten and were starting to relax. Lamps were lit against the afternoon’s dullness. Outside it was still raining heavily.

  The Colton brothers were playing poker with Isha Cooley and Irve Dunker. They had forced two of the girls to join them. Morgan LeGrand had taken himself a table in a quiet corner of the saloon where he was stripping down his Colt for cleaning.

  With his feet propped up on a chair Ben Shelby relaxed beside the glowing stove. He was watching the red-haired girl. There was something about her that had got to him. Just looking at her gave him an ache. She had made a point of ignoring him and that made her all the more desirable. She was the most appealing woman Shelby had set eyes on in a long time. She was above the type he was generally forced to put up with. Outlaws on the run had little time to be choosy. When it came to having women they had to take whatever pleasure they could from the foul brothels of a thousand dirty little border towns. But this one. Shelby found himself wondering what the hell she was doing in a town like Gray’s Creek. There was little here for anyone, especially a good-looking woman. It was a played out town on the long, cold road to nowhere.

  Shelby didn’t wonder about the girl for too long. All that mattered was that she was here and he wanted her. It was as simple as that. He’d been too long without a woman. He was tired and wound up inside like a watch-spring. Of late there had been too much running, too much avoiding the law, and Ben Shelby was ready for a stopover. Gray’s Creek was providing the haven—the girl would provide the rest.

  He got up and went across to the bar. The bartender watched him with scared eyes, as if Shelby was about to shoot him. There was a dried crust of blood down the side of his face where Dunker had hit him, the flesh swollen and discolored.

  ‘Which is the best room?’ Shelby asked.

  The bartender showed his relief by way of his nervous reaction. He stared at Shelby for a time, then glanced up at the open balcony that ran around the saloon’s upper floor.

  ‘Number seven,’ he said hoarsely.

  Shelby grinned. He took a fresh bottle and a couple of glasses off the bar. Turning he looked directly at the red-haired girl.

  ‘Come on, lady,’ he said and ma
de for the stairs. He paused at the foot, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘And I mean now. One way or another you’re going up there. You got the choice of going the easy way or the hard way. So you be quick and make your choice ‘fore I make it for you.’

  Every head in the saloon had turned towards the girl. She stood motionless, staring at Shelby with hate blazing in her eyes. Her mouth was set in a straight, hard line.

  ‘Think about it.’ Shelby leaned against the stair-rail. ‘Ain’t no way out of it. I aim to have you and I’d prefer it with your face still pretty.’

  The girl stiffened for a moment. Then she crossed over to where Shelby waited for her. Going past, her head held high, she walked on up the stairs. Shelby followed her, watching the supple sway of her body. He pushed open the door of room seven and they went inside.

  ‘You superstitious?’ he asked as he kicked the door shut. ‘Number seven. Looks like one of us is going to be lucky.’

  The girl turned to him and there was a faint smile on her lips. ‘I’ll tell you something now,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to fight for anything you want from me. And if you get it you won’t like it. I’ll make sure of that.’

  Ben Shelby laughed. ‘Honey, you don’t know how good that sounds. Why do you think I brought you up here? One thing I like is a woman who fights, and by God, I knew you were a fighter the minute I set eyes on you.’

  He reached out and caught her arm, dragging her to him. The girl resisted and there was surprising strength in her lithe body, Shelby kissed her roughly. For a moment he felt her resistance cease but then her sharp teeth bit into his lower lip. Pain made him grunt. He tasted blood in his mouth. Anger surged up in him and he made to slap her. Again she was faster. The toe of her shoe drove into his left leg, just below the knee. Shelby staggered back. The girl twisted away from him and made for the door. He lunged after her, his pain and anger welling up into a burst of violent rage. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her away from the door, swinging her towards the bed. As she faced him he hit her across the side of the head and she was slammed down onto the floor. Shelby dragged her to her feet and tossed her onto the bed, tearing the front of her dress open. The sight of her white flesh set his blood surging and he felt an urgent stirring in his loins.