by Duane Boehm
A Gideon Johann
Boxed Set
Book 1 - 4
By
Duane Boehm
A Gideon Johann Boxed Set Book 1 - 4
Copyright 2016 Duane Boehm
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For more information or permission contact: [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real.
Other Books By Duane Boehm
Last Stand: A Gideon Johann Western Book 1
Last Chance: A Gideon Johann Western Book 2
Last Hope: A Gideon Johann Western Book 3
Last Ride: A Gideon Johann Western Book 4
Last Breath: A Gideon Johann Western Book 5
Wanted: A Western Story Collection (Seven Authors)
In Just One Moment
Table of Contents
Last Stand
Last Chance
Last Hope
Last Ride
Last Stand
A Gideon Johann Western Book 1
By
Duane Boehm
Dedicated to my father, John Melvin Boehm, and all the rest of us that are cowboys at heart
Table of Contents
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
Chapter 1
The day was beautiful, one of those spring afternoons that a boy had to get out in and celebrate the end of winter. Earlier in the morning, eight–year–old Benjamin Oakes had suffered through his pa’s Sunday morning sermon and now was exploring for gold by walking a creek that ran through their small Colorado ranch. He loved this time of year. The mountains were still covered in snow for the most part and he had a good view of the big one to the north that he called Old Man. When he stared at it until his eyes got glazy, he could imagine the face of an old wrinkled man. Everything below the mountains was turning green with the grass coming to life and the trees starting to leaf out. Even the air seemed fresher from the spring rains and new growth.
He had wandered far enough from home in his quest for riches that he kept looking over his shoulder for his momma. There was enough rock and brush to give him some cover, but that woman could track like an Indian when it came to finding him. His last expedition was still fresh in his mind with the memory of her hunting him down and tanning him all the way back to the cabin. With his attention divided between looking for anything shining in the creek bed and fears of being caught, he about jumped out of his skin when a horse nickered at him. Diving behind a bush, he feared the worst. His pa had always said that this was a country that discretion was the better part of valor. Off the main paths, there were way more ruffians and occasional Indian parties than there were well–wishers. Peeking through the branches, he saw the saddled horse looking his way and a man on the ground next to it. There was enough red on his clothes to know that he was not there sleeping. His first instinct was to run home, but he had never seen a dead man before and he was curious. Visions of claiming the guns and horse also held him in place. He decided to stay put for a good while checking things out and working up his courage to walk up to them. Once he finally stood, the horse nickered again and bobbed its head, drawing him slowly to it and the man. He had goose bumps so bad that it made him shiver and his legs trembled.
“Christ Almighty, what a sight,” the boy said as he reached the horse and man.
The cowboy looked as if he had been used for target practice with bullet holes and blood everywhere. His pistol and rifle were beside him as well as several spent cartridges. A streak of blood was painted down a large rock that he had apparently leaned against before succumbing to his injuries and sliding to the ground. Only his hat appeared to come through the ordeal unscathed, sitting on the ground as if placed there by a beau on a picnic.
Benjamin wondered if getting shot hurt a lot. He prided himself in being tough when his momma pulled a splinter out of him, but this sure appeared as if it was painful from the looks of the man. The size of the holes in the man’s clothes and all the blood sure made it look as if bullets hurt.
One time he had snuck his pa’s forbidden hunting knife out of the cabin so he could get a good look at it. He took it around back and was admiring it and feeling its sharp edge. Until he saw blood, he had no idea that he had cut his finger. He hoped for this man’s sake that it had been like that, but he had his doubts.
The man seemed to be plenty dead, but Benjamin gave his boot a good kick just to make sure. The cowboy let out a loud groan that startled Benjamin so badly that the hair on his neck stood up and he had to squeeze hard to keep from pissing all over himself.
The man opened his eyes long enough to see the boy. During the night, he had come to the realization that no one would find him out here and even if they did, he was probably too far gone. Luck was only reason that he had made it to his thirty–seventh birthday anyway. He made his peace with dying, accepting that this was the way it would end. Live by the sword; die by the sword. He had then prayed for forgiveness for an accidental act that he had committed years ago and that still haunted him every day of his life. He did not believe that it was a forgivable sin, but he felt serene afterward and dozed off not expecting to wake again. When the kid kicked his boot and jarred his whole body, he thought he was waking up in Hell. If he had more strength, he would have laughed aloud at the irony of being found by a young boy.
Benjamin had always been taught by his momma and pa that he should help those in need and in his eight years of life, he had never seen someone so in need. He could ride pretty well, but getting in the saddle was the problem. After several failed attempts, he led the horse beside some large rocks. Climbing them, he was able to mount. He said “Giddy–up” and put his heels into the horse a little bit and it took off as if somebody had put a match under its ass. Its ears were pinned back and the animal was in a full gallop. They were going faster than he had ever ridden in his life and he was holding onto the saddle horn for dear life while gripping with his legs Indian style since he could not reach the stirrups. The buckskin was bridle broke and followed his direction home, jumping ditches and rocks as if it knew it was on a life and death mission.
Benjamin’s pa, Ethan, stepped out of the cabin with his rifle, planning to ride out and check on the herd. He caught sight of the fast charging rider and set his rifle handily against the porch rail. The horseman appeared to be small or was leaning forward to make himself ap
pear so and he was certainly in a hurry to get to the cabin. Ethan’s eyes grew large with surprise when the rider was close enough to see that it was his son.
Stress was stamped all over the boy’s face when he reined the horse up in the yard. Ethan, hoping not to add to the tension, tried to sound as casual as if it were a normal conversation, “Looks like you have run into some trouble. What happened, son?” he asked.
Benjamin started spewing words so fast that his father had to concentrate to understand him. “Pa, I was out exploring and I found this man shot all to pieces with blood all over and I kicked his boot cause I thought he was dead and he groaned and so I took his horse to go get you,” he said all in one breath.
“Where is he?” Ethan asked calmly.
“He is near that rock that you call Lot,” Benjamin said.
“You did good, Benjamin,” Ethan said as he lifted his son out of the saddle.
“There is blood everywhere and the poor man is a mess,” Benjamin said.
“How big of a man is he?” Ethan asked.
The boy thought for a moment and said, “I’m pretty sure that he is not near as tall as you and he is thin.”
“We should be able to get him in the wagon ourselves then,” his father remarked.
“What is going on?” Ethan’s wife, Sarah, asked as she stepped out onto the porch.
With emphasis on his first two words, Ethan said, “Your son has been out exploring and found a man that has been shot. I am going to go hitch up the wagon and see if we can get to him. You probably need to come along to help lift him and do some doctoring.”
“I’ll get some blankets and whatever else we have. It is the least that I can do since the son that I apparently conceived by myself found him,” Sarah said as she whisked back through the door of the cabin.
Ethan loved Sarah’s feistiness. It meant that sometimes he was on the losing end of an argument, but the woman kept things lively. He had met her at a Colorado Stock Growers Association social when he was in Denver for one of their meetings. The combination of beauty and sassiness had smitten him from the start and in the ensuing long–distance courting, it seemed to him that only his tenacity and not much else had been the deciding factor in winning her hand over all the other suitors. After he brought her back as his wife, many of the women around did not care for her brashness, but nobody ever walked all over her.
Sarah had noticed Ethan that first night well before he made his fumbling attempt at conversation. He towered over most men and had the muscle to go with it. With his blond hair and broad shoulders, he made quite a dashing figure. She had even found his awkwardness charming, though she was never one to show her hand. Over the next year, she had strung him along making him think he was in competition with other men for her heart when in actuality the others would have had to sweep her off her feet to have had a chance. There was a goodness and humor to Ethan that reminded her a little of her father and the only reason she had drawn out the courtship was to make sure that Ethan had enough determination in him to fight for what he wanted. Once he proved to be up to the challenge, the coyness stopped and the real romancing started.
“Do you think we can save him, Pa?” Benjamin asked as they walked to the barn.
“I don’t know. He sounds bad, but we will try our best,” Ethan said.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him, honest. I was just checking to see if he was dead,” Benjamin said as he looked up at his father.
Ethan rubbed his son’s head and said, “That might have saved his life. You would not have rushed back on his horse if you thought he was dead and he now knows he has a reason to keep living.”
“Is Momma mad?’ Benjamin continued.
“No, I just fired her up a little to help keep her mind off worrying so much about this. You and I both know that when she is mad, you don’t have to ask to figure it out,” Ethan said and winked at his son.
The trip to retrieve the man involved crossing the creek three times to find a suitable path for the wagon and even with that they had to hold on for all that they were worth to keep from being thrown about the buckboard. Once they reached the spot, Sarah took one look and then covered her mouth with her hand, closed her eyes, and shook her head. There was just no way that she could prepare herself for this. Ethan climbed off the wagon and helped his wife down before looking over the carnage.
“The guy is a fighter. I will give him that and he certainly is welled armed. That pistol is one of those Colt Frontiers that I have been telling you about and that is the prettiest Winchester 73 that I have ever seen. Looks like he held his attacker off long enough that they had had enough,” he said with a touch of begrudging admiration.
Sarah was checking the man over and said, “Those guns did not keep him from getting shot all up, but he is still breathing. We best get him back and not dally.”
The man was medium height and thin. Ethan grabbed him under the arms and Benjamin and Sarah each took a leg. He groaned loudly when they lifted him, but did not open his eyes or offer any resistance as they maneuvered him into the wagon. Sarah and Benjamin rode in the back with him, trying to hold him in place through the rough ride back to the cabin. They managed to get him to their home and into Benjamin’s bed still alive. He had not opened his eyes the whole time, only moaning occasionally when they hit a bump.
“I’ve never seen so much blood in my whole life and the ride got it going again,” Sarah said.
“Me either, but we had to get him back here. There was no other choice,” Ethan said.
“He’s going to die isn’t he?” Sarah asked as she wiped the sweat from the man’s face with a rag.
Ethan did not answer, but instead said, “Since his horse is already saddled, I’m going to take it to town to get Doc.”
“I’ll try and get some water down him,” Sarah said.
“Go ahead and strip him down. You’ll have to cut that shirt off him and maybe his trousers too to start cleaning him. I’m sure you won’t see anything that you haven’t seen before,” Ethan said and winked at her, trying to get her to smile and relax a little.
“Ethan Oakes, some of the things that you say, and then to preach on Sunday. And besides, you forgot that I have my son that you were not taking ownership of today so maybe I will see something new,” she shot back.
Ethan gave her a kiss and said, “That was the old rancher in me talking, not the new preacher, and he loves it when you talk like that. I’ll get back as quickly as I can.”
He put the buckskin into an easy lope and headed towards town. The ride gave him time to think about the situation. Ethan had been born here and over the years he had encountered just about every kind of man that chose to hang their hat in Colorado. It did not seem likely to him that the man had been hunted down. Whoever shot him would not have likely been satisfied to leave him alive and returning fire at them, especially if he had a bounty on his head. The cowboy could have accidently surprised someone not wanting to be discovered and paid the price, but if he had to guess, he suspected the man had been after the people that shot him and was ambushed. Either way, he hoped he would not come to regret putting the man under his roof.
Less than three hours later, he was riding back into his yard. The trip home seemed as if it had taken forever as his mind wandered over all the possible scenarios the cowboy might bring upon his family. He let the horse have its fill of water and then put it in the barn.
Entering Benjamin’s room, he found his son standing attentively at the foot of the bed and his wife sitting beside the man, trying to get him to drink water. Both Sarah and Benjamin had concern etched on their faces and he noticed that the room now had a pungent smell of sweat and sickness.
“Doc Abram is on his way. He took off before I did and I passed him on the way back. He is coming as fast as that horse and buggy will allow,” Ethan said.
“I’ve gotten some water down him and cleaned him up. It looks like he is shot in the thigh, side, and up in the shoulder area. All on the
left side. I don’t think he is really conscious. He hasn’t opened his eyes once,” Sarah said.
“Is he still bleeding?” Ethan asked.
“I got it slowed way down. I think the wagon ride about did him in,” she said.
“I went through his saddlebags in town while I let the horse cool down and he travels light. There wasn’t any identification that I could find. Just a half of a bottle of whiskey, some food, change of clothes, and some money,” he told her.
“Do you think he is an outlaw?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know, but the man knows horseflesh. That buckskin loped all the way to town and could have gone farther,” Ethan told her.
An hour later, Doctor Abram came trotting up in his buggy. The doctor was up in his sixties, having spent his entire career in the town of Last Stand. He had delivered both Ethan and Benjamin and had treated pretty much every injury or sickness known to man in the little town.
The doctor was known for his congeniality as long as no one got his dander up. After the war, the area was overran with ruffians and one named Durango Dick showed up at his door wounded and brandishing his pistol. “Doc, I need you to fix me up,” he said when the doctor opened his door.
“Put your gun away and I will see what I can do for you,” the doctor said.
“Maybe you don’t understand, but I got the gun and I make the rules,” Dick said as he waved the gun about in his agitated state.
“Now put your gun up and I can help you. A gun is not necessary,” the doctor said in a measured tone.
“Damn it, I ain’t telling you again,” Dick roared at him while still waving his pistol at the doctor.
The doctor calmly reached for his shotgun behind the door and blasted Durango Dick into the street before the outlaw even realized what was happening.
Walking out into the street and standing over the dead man he said, “You were right. I just treated you with your gun drawn.”
