Bury Them Deep in War Smoke
Just after Sam Foster the undertaker has received a letter telling him to have three fresh graves dug, a mysterious man in black arrives in War Smoke with revenge in his heart. Jonas Ward has travelled all the way from the eastern seaboard to fulfil the dying wishes of his late brother Lucas: to kill the three people blamed for Lucas' death. Marshal Matt Fallen enlists the aid of hillbilly Heck Longfellow to try to get to the bottom of the labyrinth of puzzles he is faced with. But can Fallen figure it out in time?
By the same author
The Valko Kid
Kid Palomino
The Guns of Trask
The Shadow of Valko
Palomino Rider
The Spurs of Palomino
South of the Badlands
The Masked Man
Palomino Showdown
Return of the Valko Kid
The Trail of Trask
Kid Dynamite
War Smoke
The Sunset Kid
The Venom of Valko
The Mark of Trask
Fortress Palomino
To Kill the Valko Kid
Kid Fury
Stagecoach to Waco Wells
The Ghosts of War Smoke
The Wizard of War Smoke
Kid Palomino – Outlaws
Bury Them Deep in War Smoke
Michael D. George
ROBERT HALE
© Michael D. George 2018
First published in Great Britain 2018
ISBN 978-0-7198-2608-5
The Crowood Press
The Stable Block
Crowood Lane
Ramsbury
Marlborough
Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.bhwesterns.com
Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press
The right of Michael D. George to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Dedicated to the lovely Jess George
PROLOGUE
The howling of the locomotive whistle echoed across the massive cattle town of Dodge City as the steam-snorting train readied itself for the long journey to the sprawling settlement of War Smoke. Unlike the vast majority of freight traffic to and from Dodge, this train carried mostly human cargo. There were no cattle cars attached to its tender for this long trek into the depths of the Wild West: a passenger carriage and a baggage car for freight were its only burden.
As darkness fell upon Dodge, a handful of passengers headed towards the railhead to make the long journey. Some had been on casual visits to kinfolk and were returning home, whilst others were cattle agents sent by their wealthy masters to buy the next herd of steers due to arrive in War Smoke within days. On the face of it everything was perfectly normal, but in reality nothing could have been further from the truth.
Danger lurked in Dodge City.
Amongst the thousands of people within its boundaries there was a living, breathing creature that barely deserved to be called a man. Most men are not created from pure evil as this one was, yet he, too, was headed for the train depot.
He stood alone in both appearance and motive, about to embark on the long journey to War Smoke. The lean figure was entirely clad in black and built slightly. He wore a gleaming nickel-plated six-shooter in a hand-tooled holster, and his shoulders were draped in a dark trail coat. There was only one reason for him taking the long train ride to War Smoke, and it had nothing to do with buying longhorns or any other more joyous reason: vengeance was bringing the stranger in black to War Smoke – nothing more or less than the desire to kill.
The streets of Dodge City were slowly coming to life, as were the folks who plied their various trades and professions during the hours of night. Darkness was slowly being challenged by the numerous street lanterns that were casting their amber glow through the busy cattle-town’s streets. Store windows defied the night as they also sent their coal oil light cascading out on to the sandy streets. Some towns refuse to acknowledge darkness as anything more than nature trying to control humankind and prevent them from enjoying their mutual sins. Dodge City was such a town. Like so many others it wallowed in the fact that it never slept.
Yet none of these emotions meant anything to the lean horseman as he steered his tall chestnut stallion silently along the busy thoroughfares towards the rail depot in answer to the beckoning call of the locomotive’s whistle. Few cast a second look at the rider as he encouraged his trusty mount ever onward towards its goal. Long shadows stretched out between the array of wooden and brick structures which flanked the gleaming steel tracks.
Since his arrival in Dodge the mysterious man in black had done nothing to draw attention to himself, but now he was getting ready to depart. Now it was time to add another notch to his tally of mutilated victims: it was time to kill again, just to keep in practice. One more kill to tide him over until his true targets were within reach – and that would be his last atrocity until he reached War Smoke.
The horseman in black had only one thought on his mind, and that was to administer his own brand of justice: to avenge what he considered a wrong. Nothing could sway him from what was festering inside his deranged mind. Revenge had grown like a cancer inside him until he no longer had any options available to him but to obey his inner demons.
He had spent his entire life robbing the rich back in the more lucrative sections of New York by using his uncanny ability to scale even the highest building with acrobatic ease. Now he was set on a very different course. Since venturing into the wilds of the West, he had learned that it also paid to be a good shot as well as an acrobatic thief. He had learned quickly that to avenge his brother’s execution he would have to become what his late sibling had also become after leaving the eastern seaboard years before: a brutal killer. So far on his long journey he had managed to kill three innocent people and wound double that number. For the man in black it was simply practice – and practice, it is said, makes perfect.
He rode through a narrow alleyway and then turned into a vast open area that stretched out before him. He eased back on his loose leathers and stopped the sturdy stallion beneath him, holding the feisty animal in check as the nagging pain in his skull returned with fearsome wrath. Since he had learned of his brother’s fate the pain that had dogged him for most of his life had grown worse. Only the brief exhilaration he had felt with each of his mindless killings seemed to ease the pounding inside his skull momentarily. It was as though the act of killing somehow eased his agony for a few precious heartbeats. But it always returned with a vengeance.
The chestnut stallion stood on the ramp that led down towards the vast ocean of empty cattle pens and the passenger train. His narrowed eyes stared down at the train as he pulled the long stiletto from his boot neck and tested its sharpness with his thumb. No normal man would have considered taking a life so close to the locomotive’s scheduled departure, but that was all that filled his mind. He pressed the palm of his hand against his throbbing temple, reached back to his saddle-bag satchel and pulled out a full bottle of wine.
He drove the long thin blade of his deadly knife into the bottle neck and
expertly removed its cork in one slick movement. The cold glass neck of the bottle felt good against his dry lips as he downed the entire contents in one long drink. He threw the empty vessel aside, and then heard something to his left.
The horseman in black swung around on his saddle in search of the origin of the noise. He did not have to look for long before he spotted a girl emerge from a shadowy building. Red lantern light spilled out from the half-closed door on to the sand where she stood. He neither knew nor cared who or what she was: all he could think about was killing. A cruel smile etched his features.
Faster than most, he dismounted and led his mount towards the girl; she had halted when she spotted the man, who blended into the dark surroundings. But she knew he was moving towards her, and so there was a chance that the night might not be a financial failure after all. She rested her back against the wall of the house and adopted her most alluring pose.
‘And who might you be?’ she asked, in a well practiced voice that would have worked on anyone else but the man who towered over her. ‘You looking for a good time?’
His wry smile grew wider.
‘I am,’ he rasped, as he loomed over her tiny form. ‘That’s exactly what I’m looking for – a good time.’
She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and allowed her shawl to drop just a few inches to allow the light that spilled out from the doorway to caress her shoulder.
‘The night’s early and I got me plenty of time,’ she said, as he stopped and inhaled her perfume. ‘I got a room inside there. You could spend the night.’
The man in black looked down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson and sighed heavily. He tilted his head and shook it in answer.
‘I ain’t got the time, Missy,’ he said in a low whisper as he touched her cheek and looked into her eyes. ‘I’ve gotta catch the train down there in the yard. I’m in a hurry to get someplace.’
She looked around his trail coat at the handsome stallion held in his firm grip. Then she made a pitiful stab at looking sad.
‘Why’d you wanna take a train when you got yourself such a big, pretty horse, stranger?’ she toyed with his bandanna and looked longingly up into his emotionless face. ‘Trains are for folks who are just too damn lazy to ride. Let the train go and ride that horse to wherever it is you’re headed in the morning. I’m sure better company than the folks on that train will be.’
The man in black leaned down until his face was close to her long dark hair and small ear. He blew at her skin, and she winced as the tickling sensation sent shivers through her.
‘I already bought the tickets for me and my tall pretty horse, Missy,’ he informed her as he moved closer. ‘I’m still going to have myself some fun, though.’
She could tell that she would have to be less subtle if she was going to capture this potential client.
‘How can you have any fun without me?’ Her hands went south and attempted to make him change his mind. Her smile grew wider as she looked up longingly into his face. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to make any difference to the tall man who pinned her seductively to the wall.
‘I have my own notion of fun,’ he said drily.
‘That ain’t possible, handsome,’ she squeezed him just below his belt buckle and waited for a reaction. ‘Together we can make one hell of a lot of fun. All you gotta do is forget about taking that train.’
He glanced down at her busy hands as they continued trying to change his mind. He had never known such flexible fingers, but they were wasting their time, he thought. Then the mind-numbing pain returned to his head and he blinked hard in a vain bid to diminish its tortuous onslaught into his brain.
‘I can’t do that,’ he whispered painfully as he pressed into her. ‘I’m headed to War Smoke. I have something mighty important to do there.’
She giggled and looked up innocently into his shadowy face. ‘What you gotta do that’s so all-fired important in War Smoke? What’s more darned important than you and me having us a barrel of fun?’
The man in black looked down into her smiling face.
‘I’ve got to kill the three people who made sure my brother would hang, darling,’ he whispered into her neck. ‘I gotta make them pay.’
‘You’re joshing with me,’ the girl grinned. ‘What’s the real reason you’re headed to War Smoke? Have you gotta gal there or something?’
He looked at her with a confused expression etched on his face as he fought the incessant pain inside his temple.
‘I have to kill three bastards,’ he repeated.
Before she could react to his blunt statement he kissed her neck tenderly. Her eyes rolled up under their lids and then closed. She went to kiss him back but a slight jolt forced her back against the wall of the wooden house. At first she imagined that he had just pushed her.
‘Steady on there, handsome,’ the words had barely left her painted lips when a sudden pain tore through her entire body from just under her left breast. ‘What the hell?’
‘Ain’t that fun?’ he smiled.
She blinked rapidly as he backed away from her. The pain grew more intense as she attempted to breathe. Every time she tried to fill her lungs with air she felt as though a boulder had been placed on her chest.
‘What’s happening?’ Then she saw the long-bladed stiletto in his hand. Blood dripped from its honed edge and fell between their feet. Her eyes flashed up at him in disbelief. She tried to speak again, but the only thing that escaped from her mouth was blood. She was drowning in her own blood.
The man in black placed one hand across her mouth to muffle any screams that might alert others of what he had just done. Blood trickled between his fingers for a short time, and then she fell silent. He pulled his hand free and wiped it clean on her shawl.
He had felt her life escaping between his fingers along with her blood, and was exhilarated. The pain inside his temple ebbed and then disappeared as she slid to the ground and crumpled into a sorrowful heap.
He returned his knife to its hiding place, then turned away from his latest victim, gathered up his reins and mounted. With utter disregard for what he had just done, he turned the tall chestnut stallion away and tapped his spurs against its flanks. It covered the distance between the buildings and the brightly lit train quickly, and the horseman had never felt so much power as he did during that short ride.
He raced down through the shadows to the awaiting locomotive as though nothing had just occurred, and was greeted by the train’s crew. His narrowed eyes noted that the baggage car door was open and awaiting his trusty horse, a wide wooden ramp having been laid down from the car door to the ground. He eased back on the reins and stopped his mount beside the locomotive crew, his eyes darting between each of the men in turn as though weighing up which of them would be the easiest to kill.
‘Hi gentlemen!’ he said in his best eastern accent.
The men stared at the eerily strange horseman, unsure as to whether they should be afraid of him or not.
‘Are you the critter that booked passage for himself and his horse, mister?’ the guard asked, as he tested the ramp with his own weight.
‘That’ll be me, friend,’ the horseman answered.
‘You’re only just in time,’ the porter announced as he watched the horseman dismount. ‘We nearly left without you and your horse. Lucky for you I had to go check my timepiece with the depot wall clock, otherwise we’d be long gone by now.’
The narrowed eyes of the ruthless killer watched as his chestnut stallion was led up the ramp into the safety of the baggage car. He pulled out a solid silver cigar case from his pocket and picked out one of its fine Havanas. He bit off its tip and placed it between his teeth and nodded.
‘I had business to sort out up in town,’ he explained as he returned the case to his pocket, then pulled out a box of matches.
‘We got a schedule to keep, mister,’ the porter grumbled as he paced around the tall stranger and eyed him up carefully. ‘We have
to keep to time. Otherwise the whole system falls to bits.’
The man looked out from beneath his hat brim at the porter and nodded as the guard came down the ramp. He lifted it and slid it back inside the baggage car, and patted his hands together.
‘How’d your business go, stranger?’ he asked. The man in black struck a match and lit his cigar.
‘I made a killing,’ he answered through a cloud of smoke.
CHAPTER ONE
Late the following afternoon the scarlet rays of the sun danced off the numerous window panes along Front Street and created the most dazzling of effects that War Smoke had ever witnessed. For a brief few moments as the sun set across the range it looked as though the remote settlement was ablaze. Then the natural light show ceased, leaving the town bathed in twilight as night slowly approached.
The funeral parlour displayed its finery in large double windows set to either side of a well appointed door. Sam Foster was its proud proprietor, but had been finding the physical side of his job becoming ever harder as he grew older than most of his clients. Because these tasks were now beyond his ageing frame he had hired a couple of far younger and sturdier men to dig the graves and move his lifeless clients around. He was a tall, thin, bald man who had started to look as though he should have been in a coffin rather than hammering nails into them. Yet as with most men in his profession, Sam refused to retire. It was as though he believed that as long as he was burying folks, he was safe from being visited by the Grim Reaper himself.
Sam thought he had experienced most things during his seventy-two years of living, but he had been wrong. A confused frown etched his thin bony face as he sat on a hardback chair outside his parlour.
Heck Longfellow was the total opposite of the always elegantly attired Foster, yet both men had become friends over the years. Longfellow always wore clothes that seemed a few sizes too big for his diminutive body, yet with the aid of a stout rope belt and a cheeky grin, his pants had always remained up. As he strolled across the wide street towards the funeral parlour he noticed that Sam was engrossed with a letter in his hands. Heck knew that the letter must be important because his educated pal was wearing his spectacles. Even as old and bald as the undertaker was, he still retained the vanity of his youth.
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