by R. B. Conroy
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Cover
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Author
Other books by R B Conroy
Back Cover
Devil Rising
The Heart of a Gunman
R B Conroy
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
Devil Rising: The Heart of a Gunman
Copyright ©2012 by R B Conroy
ISBN-13 978-1-927360-23-1
First Edition
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Conroy, R B, 1944-
Devil Rising : The heart of a gunman / written by R B Conroy.
ISBN 978-1-927360-23-1
Also available in print format.
I. Title.
PS3603.O57D49 2007 813'.6 C2007-907152-X
Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada
Cover image by Alton Vance: www.NHisLight.com
Extreme care has been taken to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
Publisher:
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
www.ccbpublishing.com
TO MY WIFE CHERYL
Thank you for your total devotion to my work.
In my life, you make all things possible.
and
TO MY EDITOR TRACY JONES
Thank you for making Devil Rising a better book.
Your advice was invaluable.
Prologue
“You damn four-flusher!” The huge, swarthy man was in a rage as he tossed in his hand. The tattered cards landed face up, tobacco juices dribbled down his scraggly beard. His beady eyes cast a jaundiced stare at the startled young buffalo hunter. “You slid that queen off the bottom. I have jacks up, now give me that pot!” His filthy hands reached for the shiny coins.
The young hunter slammed his forearm on the table, blocking the angry wolfer. “You saw my hand mister, queens pat!” He glared at the bigger man. “Pot’s mine!” The gathering crowd gasped as the slight young man challenged the menacing giant
Playing stud at a nearby table, Jon Stoudenmire grimaced as he watched the angry brute shout insults at his friend Ed Morgan. Concerned, he quickly folded his hand, gathered his winnings and moved closer.
As Jon approached, the big man was staring daggers at his partner, his face red with anger. “I’m tellin’ you for the last time runt, hand it over!”
“Like I told you Mister, pot’s mine!” Ed said bravely. The bravado of the smaller man surprised the angry wolfer. Eyes locked on Ed, he slid his hands slowly off the table. Fragments of food from his dinner dangled from the front of his grimy shirt. He smelled like the rotten buffalo meat he had poisoned earlier in the day. He was smelly, ugly, and mean. Ed stayed calm, carefully stacking his chips.
Suddenly, the onlookers screamed and pressed back as the huge man leaped up, leaned over the table and grabbed the young hunter by the collar. He pulled the startled youngster out of his seat and punched him square in the face. Crack! Ed’s nose busted open as he flew back against the side of the tent. Broken glasses, bottles, and coins were flying everywhere as the big man kicked the table aside. Stunned and disoriented, blood spewing from his nose, Ed staggered around helplessly, groping frantically at the tent ropes to keep from falling. The powerful blow had knocked him senseless. Unable to defend himself, he was raw meat for the wicked giant.
Jon became enraged watching the beating. He knew Ed could no longer protect himself from this charging bull. Moving quickly into the fray, Jon planted his legs firmly between his dazed friend and the wolfer. The startled crowd now saw a young man who might be a match for this monster. Jon was thick built and muscular, not nearly as big as the nasty wolfer, but an imposing figure in his own right.
Jon’s chest heaved, his anger grew as he spoke to the wolfer, “Listen up mister, if you lay a hand on him, I’ll beat you senseless.” The crowd groaned, the air was thick with tension.
The wolfer, alarmed by the fury in Jon’s eyes, suddenly lunged forward for an attack. Jon quickly jerked to the side letting the big man stumble and almost fall. Arms flapping backwards, the big oaf struggled to right himself.
“Damn you!” the infuriated wolfer shouted as he spun around and once again charged full force at Jon. Jon saw his opening; he ducked left as his right arm flew forward. With one mighty blow, his fist crashed into the ogre’s forehead, right between the eyes. A loud “pop” reverberated throughout the saloon. The big man stopped dead in his tracks, he was jumping around, screaming in pain and holding his face.
“I can’t see!” he shrieked.
Blood squirted from between the staggering man’s dirty fingers; his forehead began to swell around his eyes. But Jon was not finished. He let loose with another mighty blow, his fist buried deep in the big man’s stomach.
“Uggh! Oh no!” The wolfer folded over in pain. One hand grabbed his belly; the other squeezed his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.
Whack, whack! Jon gave him two more blows to the back. The giant man grimaced; he was moaning and teetering and ready to fall, but Jon wasn’t through with him just yet.
“Ain’t so tough now, are you?” Jon taunted the huge bully as he prepared to administer even more punishment. Jon circled his prey, like an animal preparing for the kill. He moved sideways as he stalked the nasty brute. Suddenly his leg flew forward. There was a loud cracking sound as Jon’s boot crashed into the wolfer’s knee cap, shattering it.
“Gawd!” he screamed as his huge body crashed onto the hard dirt floor of the saloon. His eyes were bulging, just narrow slits now. Blood was gushing from his nose. His knee cap was shattered and his ribs were busted.
But Jon was still not ready to quit; in a state of uncontrollable rage, he wanted more. In a fight with young Jon, there was no quarter asked and no quarter given. He stood over the fallen giant preparing to unleash ever more punishment. Suddenly he was shaken out of his rage by a voice from out of the crowd.
“Stop Jon, you’re killing him!” Ed screamed as he ran over to where his good friend was standing.
The sound of Ed’s voice was the only thing that could have stopped big Jon. He was straddling the fallen man, holding him up by his collar. Jon looked over at Ed; sweat was dripping from his forehead, his chest heaving as he stood shaking over the massive brute. He was in a fit of rage and waiting to come out of it.
“It’s okay Jon, it’s okay!” Ed s
aid calmly.
Jon just stood there for a moment with his arm cocked, fist clenched. Ed and the others waited anxiously; Jon slowly let the big man’s bloody shirt slide through his fingers. He watched as the huge body fell to the floor with a thud, his arms flopped to the side.
“He’s had enough,” Jon said quietly.
There was a collective sigh of relief among the patrons in the bar. Jon took a couple of steps backward, bent down and picked up his hat. He looked around the room at the people. With all eyes on him, he felt he had to apologize to the folks.
“Sorry, but this man had a whuppin’ coming and I gave it to him.” Jon was almost whispering, his breathing labored as he spoke to the shaken bystanders. “Just send me the bill bartender,” Jon said as he glanced over at the stunned barkeep. “I’ll take care of the damages.” Other than some sore knuckles, Jon had nary a scratch on him.
Ed’s white silk shirt was stained red with blood, his nostrils stuffed full of cotton as he approached his good friend. “You okay?”
“Yea, I’m a might better off than he is,” Jon said quietly as he glanced down at the fallen man.
“How are you doing, Ed?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.
“I’ll live my friend. Why don’t you and I head on back to camp?”
Jon nodded as the two young buffalo hunters put their arms around each other and slowly walked toward the front of the saloon tent, pride and dignity intact.
“No charge, Jon!” the bartender shouted at the departing warriors. “That damn wolfer has been causin’ trouble in here all week. He got what was comin’ to him.” The other patrons all nodded in agreement as the tough, likeable young hunters walked out of the saloon and back to camp. A couple of bargirls hovered over the battered wolfer, tending to his wounds.
Many times over the years, Jon would think back to that hot summer evening in the buffalo camps in the Red River Valley, Dakota Territory. Each time he was tried and each time he won, he would remember that day, when he came to the defense of his good friend Ed Morgan. It was the first time he had become that angry or violent; it was the first time he had seen the devil that was buried so deep inside of him. That explosive event, coupled with so many others during his adult life, would continue to haunt Jon Stoudenmire as he made his way through the towns and outposts of the early West.
The powerful youngster grew into a tough, seasoned gunman and made quite a name for himself in the rough and rowdy early frontier. After twenty years of hard living and violence, he decided to escape to his vineyard in central California. During his long journey through the hot Sonoran Desert, he stopped at Logan’s Crossing, a small mining town to stock up. To his surprise, he met up with his old friend Ed Morgan for the first time since their buffalo hunting days. The bond was still strong between Ed, a popular local miner, and the weathered gunman.
After dinner one evening, Ed made Jon an offer. With the support of the County Commission, he asked Jon to stay on as County Sheriff. The town felt Jon’s reputation as a gunman would come in handy when facing down the many unsavory characters in the desert town. Jon, short of ready cash, agreed to take the job on a short term basis. He asked Ed to be his deputy; Ed gladly accepted. Jon’s dream of going to his beautiful vineyard nestled in a lush valley near the Sierra Madre Mountains was put on hold.
Chapter 1
The cool winter breeze sent a chill down Pecos Street. Local residents scurried to get inside on this unusually cold day in Logan’s Crossing. Quiet conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside the Barbee Saloon, a safe haven from the unexpectedly cool weather. Inside, Sheriff Jon Stoudenmire and a few of his closest friends enjoyed a game of five card stud.
“Are you going to make a play or just sit there and look at your cards all day?” big Jon needled his good friend, Ed Morgan. The aging gunman, now lawman, was on a roll and didn’t like being held up. His eyes squinted through the curling smoke from his Havana.
“Alright, alright, I call,” Ed replied. Three shiny silver dollars bounced on the table as the trusted deputy called the bet. “Just consider this another donation to our chief law enforcement officer here in Mesquite County,” he said sarcastically.
Jon gulped down a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. “I can’t think of a more worthy cause.” He tossed his hand on the table and pushed he cards apart.
“All black, queen high,” Jon announced as the spade flush became visible to the other players. They just shook their heads. It looked like another winner for big Jon.
“Well, you better get that fixed,” Ed said as he quickly laid down his hand. “Full up, Jacks and threes!” Ed snickered as he leaned forward to rake in the pot.
“There’s over two hundred dollars in that pot!” someone shouted.
“Yea, it’s a good one alright, but I still ain’t well by a long shot,” the smiling Ed replied.
“Quit complaining, you no account sidewinder!” Jon barked as he watched his friend drag in the biggest pot of the day. “You’re about the luckiest varmint I’ve ever seen!”
Ed just smiled as he carefully stacked the pot full of silver dollars.
“If I keep winning like this, I’ll be able to quit my deputy sheriff’s job and become a professional. Don’t you think so, Jon?”
“I wouldn’t make any rash decisions. I’ve seen people starving before and it ain’t a pretty sight.” Jon grinned as he carefully flicked his ashes in the small metal tray.
“Yea, yea, starving my foot,” the feisty Ed retorted not wanting Jon to get in the last word.
Just then a soft, gentle voice interrupted the two friendly combatants. Elizabeth Thompson, the beautiful owner of the Barbee, had just returned from a visit to the bank and was approaching the table. Once a renowned actress from New York City, for reasons unknown, she had moved west to open the Barbee a year earlier. When Jon arrived in town, the sparks flew almost immediately between the seductive actress, better known as Libby, and himself. They were soon a couple.
“My oh my, you boys are at it again. If I didn’t know better, I would actually think you didn’t like each other,” Libby said as she walked gracefully over and put her arm around Jon’s big muscular shoulders.
“You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Libby,” Jon said. Smoke curled up as he punched out his cigar and laid it in the ashtray. He slid his arm around her tiny waist and gently pulled her a little closer. “How’s my girl?” Jon checked his hole card with his free hand, still waiting for his up card.
“Just fine, thank you honey.”
Libby looked stunning in her full length dark blue gown and white neck scarf. A gold earring dangled from each ear and a delicate gold necklace seemed to draw attention to her bare, well proportioned shoulders. Her long auburn hair was combed upward into a bun, adorned by a blue onyx hair pin. The delicate features of her beautiful face were lit up with a never ending smile. To all these men way out in the Sonoran Desert, she was indeed a sight for sore eyes.
“I’ll let you fellows finish your game, I’ve got plenty to do around here. And don’t forget Jon, you promised to take this girl to dinner tonight. So don’t lose it all,” Libby said flirtatiously.
Jon beamed at his lovely Elizabeth.
“Oh don’t worry Libby.” Camp Wilson, stable hand and part time deputy, jumped into the conversation. “If Jon goes bust, one of us would be happy to fill in. How about it, boys?” The other men smiled, there heads rapidly nodding in agreement.
“Now just hold on there,” Jon exclaimed loudly. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before this lovely lady goes to dinner with one of you claim jumpers.”
“Claim jumper, is it? That’s it, put ‘em up Sheriff.” Young Camp jumped up, his fists rotated in front of him, challenging Jon to a mock fight. Everybody at the table joined into a spontaneous round of laughter, as the lawman put his hands up, palms forward in defeat; all the while grinning from ear to ear at his young friend’s antics.
The fun did
n’t last long. Suddenly two shots rang out and screams could be heard coming from the street in front of the Barbee. The shots seemed to be coming from the area around the general store, caddy cornered from the saloon.
Jon jumped up instinctively; gathered his coins, stuffed them in his jeans.
“Excuse me Darlin’.” Jon tipped his hat to Miss Libby as he made a hasty exit out the door.
“Please be careful Jon,” Libby pleaded, as Jon rushed toward yet another possible shootout. Libby and the others were close behind.
This town sure is changing, Jon thought. The wooden step creaked as he stepped down off the boardwalk. Since the nearby Brockston silver mine busted open, it seemed like every conman, card shark, rustler, rounder, and gunslinger had decided to call Logan’s Crossing home. The now famous town had become a magnet for all sorts of bad actors. A new raucous saloon had recently opened down the street.
Jon’s heart raced as he charged across the dusty street toward the hardware store. As he got closer, he could see chubby storeowner Bill Webster looking down at the ground. A crowd quickly gathered; their faces told Jon that someone was badly hurt.
Jon’s eyes went to the ground; he saw the long slim body of his deputy, Jack Malone, lying on the street. Jon felt like he’d been punched hard in the gut. Jack’s white cotton shirt was stained red with blood.
Doc Fletcher arrived and dropped down on both knees next to the wounded deputy. He snapped open his black leather bag and yanked out his stethoscope. He ripped Jack’s shirt open and placed the end of the scope on Jack’s chest. His fingers pressed around on his ribs and stomach, checking for internal injuries.
“How’s he doing Doc?” Big Jon knelt down next to his deputy.
“He’s lost a little blood Jon, but I don’t think they hit any vital organs. The bullet passed clear through his side; he should be okay.” The doc took the stethoscope from around his neck and stuffed it back in the bag.
