by Ralph Hayes
The Way of the Gun
Fired from the Provost ranch and humiliated in front of the whole bunkhouse, Duke Latham swears vengeance on the owner Maynard Provost. Pursuing a life of crime and violence at the head of a small gang of outlaws, six months later Latham kidnaps Provost's beloved daughter Dulcie.
Provost's ranch hands scour the country searching for the girl, but in vain. Then fate throws them, and Provost himself, into the path of notorious bounty hunter Wesley Sumner, known as 'Certainty' because of his countrywide reputation for never failing to find and kill his man. Sumner is persuaded by the desperate father to take up the search for Duke Latham and his kidnapped prisoner.
The Way of the Gun
Ralph Hayes
ROBERT HALE
© Ralph Hayes 2018
First published in Great Britain 2018
ISBN 978-0-7198-2665-8
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 Ralph Hayes 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.
CHAPTER ONE
It was just under six months since Duke Latham had been fired from the Provost ranch, and he had already taken up the lawless ways he had succumbed to before his employment there as Maynard Provost’s foreman. He had gathered three men around him of like disposition, and they had already robbed two business establishments at gunpoint, and held up a stagecoach on a local run.
His first year at the Provost ranch had gone well for Latham. Provost had known nothing of Latham’s outlaw past, and Latham seemed to have a way with the cowboys who tended Provost’s cattle. But then a couple of shady deals with cattle buyers, and Latham’s inappropriate flirting with Provost’s sixteen-year-old daughter had upset Provost once too often, and he had dismissed Latham in front of the whole bunkhouse, humiliating Latham and causing him to make a silent vow to serve Provost with a deserved ‘payback’ if the opportunity arose.
Now, on a cool day in late April, he and his new partners in crime sat around an abandoned trapper’s cabin discussing their immediate future. Latham and two of the others sat at a crude, weathered table, while the fourth stood against a nearby wall. The man at the wall spoke to Latham in a gravelly voice.
‘You want to hit that stage again, Duke?’ They had made a nice haul from the first robbery. ‘We could hit them on a different run. Maybe when they got some gold aboard.’
On a low-slung gunbelt hanging on his right hip he wore a wicked-looking Joslyn .44 revolver, with which he had murdered his own cousin at a very early age. He was Luis ‘The Leper’ Saucedo, as he had had a mild case of leprosy in his teenage days, which had burned itself out. He still had a badly scarred forehead from a botched surgery, and an egg-sized lump on his neck that he tried to hide with a soiled neckerchief.
‘We can’t hit them again right now,’ a cohort at the table responded. ‘It’s too soon, they’ll have guns on board now.’ He was tapering up a cigarette from a tobacco bag, not looking at the others. The law knew him as One Ear Weeks, and he had already killed a half-dozen men in his dark career, a couple of them lawmen. He was considered the fastest draw of the small group, and he was always ready to use the Wells Fargo revolver on his hip. But he would never challenge Latham. His left ear was completely gone, the result of a knife fight, leaving a grotesque scar in its place.
The other cohort at the table, a brawny, broad-coupled fellow, was Ira Sloan; Latham had ridden with Sloan in his pre-Provost days, and he was Latham’s right-hand man because he was smarter than the others. A Schofield .45 hung menacingly on his left hip, because he was a southpaw. He had won prizes for shooting when he was a young man.
‘Duke has some ideas about what’s next,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘Why don’t you let him do the talking?’
Duke Latham took a deep breath in. He was in his late thirties, and athletically built, and some women considered him handsome in a rather dark way. He was taller than the other three, and there was an unnerving look in his eyes that made others uneasy in his presence. Nobody had ever taken him down in a gunfight, and it would not have occurred to any of the other three to challenge him. He had once made Bill Longley back down with the Starr .44 he wore low on his left hip. He was also a southpaw.
He was slouched into the back of his chair now, his demeanour giving him a rakish look as he mulled over the remarks of his subordinates.
‘Actually, I’ve been giving some consideration to a sweet little bank I just run into over in Blaneyville when I rode over there yesterday for that Colombian coffee I like.’
‘A bank?’ Saucedo said, frowning from his position against the wall. ‘Are we ready for that, Duke? They got these new-fangled safes they’re using now.’ He touched his bandanna to make sure it was covering the egg of flesh on his neck, and the thick scar on his forehead glistened dully in the light from a nearby window.
‘What do you know about banks, Lumpy?’ Weeks laughed in his throat.
Saucedo’s ugly face darkened, and he started to reply.
‘Hold it down, you two,’ Sloan growled, ‘and listen.’
‘I’ll have to pay it a second visit,’ Latham went on, as if the others hadn’t spoken. ‘But the safe hasn’t been replaced. It must be fifty years old. Anyway, a safe is only as strong as its weakest officer staring into the muzzle of my gun.’
Ira Sloan grinned. ‘Well said, Duke.’
‘I like the idea,’ One Ear Weeks announced, casting a smug look at the leper.
‘We can ride back over there together, you and me,’ Sloan suggested to Latham. ‘I’d like to see that safe, too. Compare it with others I’ve done.’
‘Good idea,’ Latham told him. Despite his casual manner in that room, everything on Latham was spit-and-polish. The Starr on his hip looked like it had just come off a factory assembly line. He wore it in a custom cut-away holster that was always well oiled. ‘I want you to look the people over, too. And look for alarms.’
‘Why aren’t we going?’ Weeks asked with a frown, referring to himself and Saucedo.
‘You don’t have to know anything,’ Latham said irritably. ‘Just remember which end of those guns to point.’
Weeks looked hurt, but Saucedo just grunted in his throat.
‘Incidentally,’ Latham went on, rising up on his chair and sitting forward. The others watched every movement, hung on every word. He was the undisputed boss. ‘I have a little something planned for us before we go back to work.’
Even big husky Sloan narrowed his eyes quizzically. ‘What do you mean, Duke?’
‘This isn’t for money,’ Latham went on. ‘This is for payback to Provost.’
‘That rancher that fired you?’ Saucedo frowned. ‘Are we going to start rustling cattle now in our spare time?’ He gave a low giggle.
Latham’s whole demeanour changed, and he spoke to Saucedo in an easy, even tone. ‘If you make one more comment about things you know nothing about, you misshapen fleabrain, I’ll blow your liver out past your
backbone.’
A lead-heavy silence fell into the room like a swamp fog, and everyone there was reminded why they gave such deference to the man in the dark clothing with the dark countenance.
‘I was just funning, Duke,’ returned Saucedo, almost inaudibly.
Latham turned to Sloan. ‘That bastard boned me, Ira – in front of the whole damn bunch. I can’t just move on and act like it never happened. Provost needs a lesson in life.’
‘You going to take him out?’ Sloan wondered.
Latham shook his head. ‘He has a small army to defend him out there. And they probably suspect I’ll do something. No, that could get some of us killed.’ He took a deep breath in. ‘I’m taking Dulcie.’
‘Who’s Dulcie?’ Weeks said.
Ira Sloan was frowning heavily. ‘Provost’s daughter?’
Latham gave him a crooked smile. ‘That little brat bad-mouthed me to Provost more than once. I’d still be out there except for that little high-and-mighty. I’ve got it all worked out. I’m taking her from him.’
‘You mean kidnap her for ransom?’ Weeks suggested. ‘How much would Provost pay?’
‘I told you, this isn’t for money,’ Latham said, staring across the room, his lean face sombre. ‘I’m taking her permanent. Provost will never see his spoiled brat again.’
Sloan was sober faced. ‘She’s only sixteen, ain’t she, Duke? What do you expect to do with her?’
‘I don’t want to shoot a kid!’ Saucedo muttered. ‘I’m superstitious about it.’
Latham glanced darkly at him. ‘I don’t want to kill her, you half-wit.’
Weeks’ face changed: ‘Oh.’
Latham looked over at him but said nothing. Ira Sloan still looked sombre. ‘Do you mean, she would be with us?’
‘She wouldn’t be in the way. She can cook for us and keep our place clean. And whatever else I decide she should do.’ He grinned. ‘When you get a look at her, I don’t think you’ll mind having her around.’
Sloan shook his head, though. ‘You’ll have the whole damn county down on us, Duke. How can we operate under those conditions?’
‘I’m way ahead of you, partner. After we take that little bank nearby, I’ve got big plans for us. I’m going where Provost will never find me, a world away from Ogallala and the Provost ranch. I’m heading for the Indian Territory. I hear the pickings are good down there.’
‘The Indian Territory?’ One Ear Weeks frowned. ‘That’s half way across the world!’
‘That’s just the way I want it,’ Latham told him. ‘Anybody don’t want to go, you’re free to go your own way.’
There was silence in the room. ‘She takes a morning ride three times a week,’ Latham went on, rather to himself. ‘Across the ranch to the Wolf Creek crossing. She sometimes has a cup of coffee there, in the shade of some cottonwoods. She always has a ranch hand with her, but that should be no problem. I don’t want him hurt. I want him to ride back and tell Provost what happened.’
More heavy silence. Finally, by Weeks: ‘Sounds like a walk in the park.’
‘We won’t return to the cabin. We’ll ride south. I might stop in Sioux Corners briefly to look for a guy named Quinn. He was fired from the ranch a while back, too, and might want to ride with us.’
Weeks looked over at him. ‘Uriah Quinn?’
Latham nodded. ‘He held up the Ogallala State Bank a while back. He’s a good man.’
‘He’s dead,’ Weeks said.
Latham stared hard at him. ‘What?’
‘I just heard it in town. Some bounty hunter gunned him down. Name of Sumner. Probably shot him in the back.’
‘Good God,’ Latham muttered.
‘That would be Certainty Sumner,’ Ira Sloan offered. ‘Got quite a reputation. Never takes a man in alive.’
‘Goddam swamp scum!’ Saucedo blurted out.
Latham sighed. ‘I was kind of counting on Quinn. If I didn’t have this other thing going, I’d make the time to find this Sumner and introduce him to six feet of dirt.’
‘I’d guess,’ Sloan said, ‘that where we’re going you’ll never see the likes of him.’
Latham made a sound in his throat. ‘Well. Let’s get back to the Provosts,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what our business is.’
‘When are we going?’ Sloan asked him.
Latham regarded him impassively. ‘Why, tomorrow morning, Ira. It’s Dulcie Provost’s day out.’
The next day was a bright, cool one. Dulcie Provost was up just after dawn, and went out to the stables to prepare her pinto stallion for a morning ride on Provost property. After that she came back into the sprawling ranch house and had coffee on a rear patio with her father.
As they sat across a small round table from each other, enjoying the fresh prairie air briefly before Dulcie headed out, Maynard Provost found himself staring at his daughter.
‘You know, I haven’t noticed lately, but you’re turning into a grown woman right before my eyes, young lady. Your mother would have been proud of you.’
Dulcie gave him a big smile. She was just barely sixteen, but her body was already very adult, and Provost had some trouble keeping the ranch hands away from her. She was a pretty girl, with big, green eyes and thick auburn hair, which was now caught up behind her head so she could accommodate it to the small-size Stetson she wore on her rides. Because of being brought up by her father after her mother’s early death, she had learned to repair barbed wire, drove cattle, and occasionally break a bronco. But she was very feminine, in both looks and manner.
‘I miss Mother every day,’ she finally responded to him.
‘She would have made you into a lady,’ he said with a smile. He was a tall, thin man with silver in his hair and a lean, lined face that was weathered from riding the cattle trails. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’
‘You’re doing just fine, Papa,’ Dulcie smiled at him.
His face sobered. ‘You keep away from the help, honey. You’re too young for serious stuff with men. That’s why I fired that Latham. I’ll horsewhip any of these men that molest you.’
‘I can take care of myself, Papa,’ she assured him. ‘Anyway, I like a little attention now and then. Practically speaking, I’m a grown woman, you know.’ She rose from her chair. ‘I’m heading out, Papa. I’m taking Corey Ross with me today. It’s his turn.’ A knowing smile. ‘I’ll be back way before you want to eat. I’m going to make you a surprise.’
‘You’re a good daughter, honey. Enjoy the morning.’
Fifteen minutes later Dulcie had found young Corey Ross, boarded her favourite pinto stallion, and was on her way for a sunny spring outing. Ross was one of the younger cowpokes who nursed a secret crush on Dulcie despite her youth. It was a two-hour ride out to Wolf Creek, which was the south edge of the big Provost ranch, and where Dulcie often spread a cloth on the ground and enjoyed a second cup of coffee with her chaperone before returning home. They didn’t talk much on the way there. The cowboys who took her out had learned that Dulcie liked silence on her rides.
They arrived at the Wolf Creek ford at mid-morning, and were letting their mounts drink at the small stream when four men rode out from the cover of young cottonwoods downstream a short distance.
Dulcie and Ross turned in surprise at their approach, and Dulcie recognized Duke Latham immediately. She wheeled her pinto around, frowning. She had never liked him during his tenure at the ranch.
‘What are you doing out here, Duke?’ she demanded in a hostile tone. She looked the other three over warily. ‘Papa won’t want you on his property.’
‘Dulcie girl!’ Latham grinned at her. ‘Just as sassy as ever, I see!’
Corey Ross walked his mount up beside Dulcie’s. ‘You ain’t supposed to be here, Duke. Maynard likes you even less than before. He heard some things.’
The grin slid off Latham’s dark-visaged countenance. ‘You learn how to tie your shoe laces yet, boy?’
Ross’ face coloured slightly. ‘I recommend y
ou take your mounts across the Wolf before you get into trouble,’ he blurted out.
‘Never mind, Corey,’ Dulcie said. ‘This place is spoiled now. We’ll just leave.’
But Luis the Leper had moved his mount up close to hers. ‘Not so fast, girlie,’ he said in his guttural voice. ‘We ain’t even got acquainted yet.’
She looked him over, and his appearance frightened her. But she responded boldly: ‘You’d scare crows out of a cornfield,’ she told him. ‘Now get out of my way.’
But now Weeks had reined up beside her, grinning at her. ‘I like this one, Duke. She’s a little honey badger.’
Now Latham was facing her on his chestnut stallion. ‘The thing is, Provost’s daughter, you’re not heading home this morning. Or ever.’
‘Hey, now wait a minute here!’ Ross exclaimed. His hand went out to draw his gun.
‘I wouldn’t do that, Corey,’ Latham said easily. All three of his men had rested their hands on their weapons. ‘I’d like you to live through this if possible.’
Ross slid his gun back into its holster.
Dulcie was very scared now. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Duke?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Papa will skin you alive if you hurt me!’
Latham grinned easily. ‘I won’t ever see your daddy again. And neither will you.’
Dulcie’s mouth went dry. ‘What are you saying, you trail bum?’ she shouted into his face.
‘I’m saying you spoke your last words to Provost when you last saw him.’
Dulcie’s face blanched. ‘You animal! You think I’d go off with you? I’m going home! Come on, Corey.’ She started to wheel the pinto around, but suddenly Saucedo was there, grabbing her reins.
She took a short riding crop from her saddle, and began flailing at Saucedo with it. He threw his arms up in defence, but one blow got through and struck the thick scar on his forehead. He sucked in his breath, his eyes became wild-looking, and he slapped Dulcie hard across her face.
