Strong Convictions: An Emmett Strong Western (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 1)

by GP Hutchinson

In the moment it took for the lawman to flop from his saddle to the ground, the tension on the platform turned into utter pandemonium. Civilians abuzz with curiosity only moments before now fled in panic. Marshals, sheriffs, and deputies with rifles pressed to their shoulders or pistols in hand swept the train and the station for signs of additional gunmen. Several raced toward the caboose end of the rail yard.

  Emmett instantly recognized the dark-blue silk vest of the shooter. The question of Seth Blaylock’s survival was no longer a mystery. Blaylock was already in the fallen lawman’s saddle, firing reckless shots into the crowd and spurring the poor horse mercilessly. Coincidently, one of his wildly aimed bullets smacked into the side of the railcar no more than a foot from Emmett’s hand.

  Flinching, Emmett managed to hold himself in the car’s doorway as he watched Blaylock gallop madly around the corner.

  A few of the lawmen on foot beat a path up the street. A handful raced into alleyways, presumably to cut him off. A half dozen men on horseback took up the pursuit as well.

  Blaylock’s decision had been desperate. Emmett doubted the man would make it out of Sacramento alive. But then again, this was Seth Blaylock, and it seemed as though he and McIntosh had been beating the odds for quite some time. Perhaps not this time, though, Emmett thought.

  While several folks attended the downed lawman, a tall, mustached gentleman tromped up and planted himself a few yards away, feet spread, hands on his hips. The badge on his chest read city of sacramento marshal.

  “William McConaghy, city marshal,” the lawman said. “You folks’ll need to stay put right here until you answer some questions for me.”

  Emmett stepped onto the platform and discreetly guided Li to stand just behind him and to his left—away from his gun hand.

  Sikes hobbled back and took up a spot on the other side of Li. Juanito held up about ten feet away with his back to the railroad car they’d been riding in.

  As the marshal’s gaze returned to meet his own, Emmett pulled back the lapel of his vest to reveal the Texas Ranger badge pinned to his shirt. “Name’s Emmett Strong. Texas Ranger. Gentleman over here to my right is Juan Carlos Galvez. Also a Texas Ranger.”

  With one hand Juanito pulled the Ranger badge from his pocket and pinned it to his vest, meanwhile keeping his gun hand free.

  Marshal McConaghy’s manner remained businesslike. “Telegram from Summit said there was a big to-do on this train.” He glanced up at the railcar’s shot-out windows. “You boys responsible for all this?”

  Emmett weighed his thoughts. If Seth Blaylock had pulled the trigger on one of his men, this marshal probably wasn’t on Lucian McIntosh’s payroll. Then again, back in Virginia City the city marshal had had one idea about Lucian McIntosh while the county sheriff had had another. All the lawmen here couldn’t be from the same jurisdiction. So the question remained: Was this yet another McIntosh lackey, looking for someone to take the punishment for one more of the big man’s crimes? Or was this man on the up-and-up? He decided to take the bull by the horns.

  “Do you know the name Lucian McIntosh?”

  The marshal nodded. “A persona non grata around these parts.”

  Emmett breathed a little easier. But he still had to account for his role in a bloody shootout—one in which innocent citizens had died.

  “I understand McIntosh owns some business establishments in this burg,” Emmett said, “just as he does in about half the towns from San Francisco to Carson City.”

  “Did. Doesn’t anymore,” the marshal said. “Now what’s all this got to do with Lucian McIntosh?”

  “That was one of his hands—in fact, his segundo—that just shot the gent down the way and stole his horse. Man’s name is Seth Blaylock.”

  “Heard that name too. Another person of interest to us here in Sacramento. Go on.”

  Emmett nodded to his right. “Blaylock’s brother Charlie is lying dead in this railcar. He’s the reason Juanito and I came all the way up here from Texas. Charlie Blaylock shot a Texas state senator in cold blood down in Austin. Then he fled up here seeking protection under his brother’s wings.”

  By now a pair of deputy marshals had strolled over and taken up positions behind and to either side of their boss. The railroad conductor had followed them from the direction of the caboose.

  “Who else is dead up there?” the marshal asked.

  The conductor didn’t miss a beat. “He can tell you.” He pointed to Emmett.

  “Unfortunately I can.” Emmett nodded. “Six more of the McIntosh and Blaylock bunch…and sadly, two innocent travelers.”

  “And why the blazes would you get in a shootout with a bunch of gunslicks—McIntosh’s or anybody else’s—on a train full of, as you yourself put it, innocent travelers?” the sheriff demanded, taking a step forward.

  “Self-defense.” Emmett held his ground yet was careful not to mirror the marshal’s aggressive posturing. “We were on our way home. Wanted nothing more to do with these people nor these parts. They came in—smoke wagons blazing—from both ends of the railcar at once…and from the roof, to boot.”

  The marshal eyed the conductor.

  “These folks,” the conductor said, indicating Emmett, Li, Sikes, and Juanito, “they all had tickets just like any other passengers. We didn’t sell tickets to that other bunch. They stole their way onto the train.”

  “You know that for a fact?” the marshal asked.

  “For a fact,” the conductor said, nodding. “Our brakeman’ll be able to testify to that once he gets better.”

  “Better?”

  “Yes, sir. Me and the fireman just found Hicks—our brakeman—in a bad way back in the caboose. Knocked about the head real bad. Little bit we got out of him was that a passel of pistoleros sneaked on and beat him up back there in Truckee.”

  From only a couple of blocks away, the report of a single gunshot split the air. The deputy marshals whirled that way in tandem as the marshal stayed put and yanked on his six-shooter.

  Before the marshal could clear leather, though, Emmett’s Colt was out and pointed at the marshal’s chest.

  “That wasn’t us,” he was quick to say, jutting his jaw in the direction of the single gunshot. “But you were drawing on me, and I had to protect myself and my party.”

  His hand still on the grip of his gun, the marshal peered into Emmett’s eyes. His deputies wavered behind him.

  “Let go of your Schofield there, Marshal, and I’ll holster my Colt.”

  For a tense moment, others on the platform crouched with hands poised to draw.

  “He’s a good man, Marshal,” Li said from behind Emmett. “He won’t hurt you.”

  The marshal blinked repeatedly, evidently taking real note of Li’s face only now.

  “You can trust him,” she said.

  Out of the afternoon glare behind the marshal, a very young deputy came running, one arm pumping, the other hand on the crown of his hat. “Marshal, you gotta come see!” he yelled. “Marshal McConaghy, come look!”

  After just a beat more, the marshal let his pistol drop back into its holster. “Shall we go take a look together?” he asked Emmett.

  Emmett held up his free hand and eased his Colt back into his own holster. He nodded once. “Let’s go see.”

  At a brisk pace the entire knot of lawmen—Californians and Texans alike—set off behind the young deputy. Emmett motioned for Li to join him. She trotted to catch up and took up a quick walk beside him.

  When the group rounded a second corner, Emmett spotted what the deputy was so animated about. Sprawled on his back in the dust of the street with a dozen deputies encircling him was Seth Blaylock.

  Over the clothes he’d already been wearing was a long black duster. The duster was unbuttoned, exposing his expensive, patterned silk vest. Fastened to the lapel of the vest with a hatpin was a square of paper.
On that paper was written one lone word—kidnapper.

  Emmett approached the body, cocked his head, and studied what he saw.

  Exit wound in the front, he mused.

  “I’ll bet if you roll him over you’ll find that he was shot at point-blank range,” he said to the marshal.

  After eyeing Emmett for a moment, Marshal McConaghy said to one of his deputies, “Do it.”

  On the black fabric of the duster it was difficult to notice at a glance, but on closer inspection it was clear. Whoever shot Seth Blaylock had pressed the gun right up against his back.

  Emmett looked up and down the street.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Somewhere South of Sacramento

  Emmett and Li sat arm in arm, facing forward on the left side of the train. Since the railcar wasn’t very full, Sikes sat sideways on a bench across the aisle, resting his bad leg on the seat cushion. His hat was lowered over his eyes.

  Does me good to see him resting, Emmett thought.

  The sun’s rays fell brightly through the windows on that side of the car. Juanito’s seat faced the rear of the car. He stared out the glass, not seeming to mind the blazing afternoon glare.

  The rhythmic beat of the carriage moving over the rails had a hypnotic effect. It would have been very easy for Emmett to drift off to sleep. Not just yet, he thought.

  As warm as it was on the railcar and with danger behind them, Li had shed her duster. In Emmett’s opinion the shirt and vest she wore did nothing to diminish her feminine allure. Her dark hair hung in a single braid in back, with a few loose wisps around her face tossing in the breeze.

  Their eyes were fixed on one another’s now. Until she smiled—which drew his attention to her lips.

  He squeezed her hand tenderly and was just about to lean in to give her what promised to be the longest kiss of her nineteen and a half years when he sensed someone approaching in the aisle behind them.

  Li’s eyes widened and her smile disappeared.

  The hair on the back of Emmett’s neck stood up.

  As the person at his shoulder moved into full view, Emmett’s heart jolted.

  She was dressed much as Li was—trousers, shirt, vest, but of finer fabrics. All were very costly—custom tailored, no doubt. She too had dark hair and deep-brown eyes. But she wasn’t Chinese. Or Oriental at all.

  After taking a quick peek at Juanito, who was still staring out the window, and at Sikes, who was still asleep beneath his hat, she bent in close to Emmett and Li.

  Emmett felt Li beginning to tremble, which prompted him to smoothly lift the Colt revolver from beside his thigh into the uninvited guest’s side. He thumbed back the hammer.

  Without flinching, the woman whispered in a silken voice, “Mr. Strong, my name is Ettie Main. I just thought you might like to know—I shot Seth Blaylock. I shot him for that Chinese girl he killed by the arroyo.”

  Her gaze shifted to Li. Her voice remained hushed. “And I shot him for you.”

  Then drawing herself upright—all five feet and a smidgen of her—she eyed the couple calmly. “I did it for both of you. Live a happy life together.”

  She gave a slight smile, turned, and sashayed up the aisle, leaving the car through its front exit.

  Keeping his eye on the door, Emmett eased the hammer of his Colt back down and raised Li Xu’s hand to his lips.

  To the Reader

  Thank you for taking time to read Strong Convictions. If you enjoyed the book, please consider telling your friends about it or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and is much appreciated.

  If you think you’d like to be a part of my “street team” and receive free advance copies of my future books in return for honest reviews, please contact me at author.gphutchinson@gmail.com.

  Much obliged.

  GP Hutchinson

  gphutchinson.com

  www.facebook.com/author.gphutchinson

  twitter.com/GP_Hutchinson

  Coming Soon

  Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Western #2)

  Strong Ambitions (Emmett Strong Western #3)

  Also by GP Hutchinson

  Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller

  Acknowledgments

  I am tremendously grateful to the Lord God for giving me the imagination and the opportunity to create stories for people’s enjoyment. I believe that both the dream and the realization of the dream are gifts from Him.

  I can’t thank my wife, Carolyn, enough. She is there for me every single day—my sounding board, my encourager, and my friend. As always, I love you, Carolyn.

  I have to thank author and writing coach Marg McAlister once again. You helped me gain traction when I didn’t quite know where to go next, Marg.

  Thank you to the team at CreateSpace for doing such a professional job on every service you’ve provided. It’s always a pleasure to work with you. Your input is priceless.

  And finally, to you, the reader, a heartfelt thank-you for picking up this first installment of the Emmett Strong series of Westerns. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story.

  GP Hutchinson

  January 2015

  About the Author

  Former high school teacher GP Hutchinson now turns his attention to the craft of writing. Hutchinson’s passion for Westerns started when he was sixteen years old, when he wrote a research paper titled “The Cowboy in American Literature.” His influences include artists Frederic Remington and Charles M. Russell, as well as Western author Elmore Leonard. Hutchinson, a father of three and grandfather of eight, lives in the upstate of South Carolina with his wife and one of his daughters. He is a graduate of Louisiana State University and Dallas Theological Seminary who has also lived and studied in Costa Rica and Spain.