Gunman

By Richard Dawes

In Gunman, the Tucson Kid is hired by a businessman to track down and kill a band of outlaws who have kidnapped his daughter and taken her into the Badlands. In the Badlands, Tucson is captured by a tribe of rogue Comanche; it’s only by passing a series of ordeals that he can win his freedom. When he finally reaches the lair of the outlaws, Tucson must use all of his fighting skills to defeat them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Jun 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781612359144

Richard Dawes

Richard Dawes was born and raised in California and now resides in a small town in Texas. After a tour of duty in the Marine Corps, he spent fifteen years in management in the Moving and Storage, Computer and Credit Union industries. He began writing short stories as a boy, and has written several historical novels. A long time student of Native American traditions, he includes positive references to those traditions throughout the Tucson Kid series. Other sub-themes explored in the series are authentic masculinity, relationships and power — what are they and how do they manifest.

Book preview

Special Smashwords Edition

Gunman

A Tucson Kid Western

by Richard Dawes

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Gunman, Copyright 2014 Richard Dawes

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-61235-914-4

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Becca Barnes

Table of Contents

Gunman

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Previews

GUNMAN

by Richard Dawes

In Gunman, the Tucson Kid is hired by a businessman to track down and kill a band of outlaws who have kidnapped his daughter and taken her into the Badlands. In the Badlands, Tucson is captured by a tribe of rogue Comanche; it’s only by passing a series of ordeals that he can win his freedom. When he finally reaches the lair of the outlaws, Tucson must use all of his fighting skills to defeat them.

Chapter One

It was still dark when Tucson opened his eyes. His first act was to glance at the stallion to see if it was giving signs of anything unusual, but the horse was grazing peacefully on a clump of juniper. Tucson relaxed back into his blankets and stared up at the fading stars in the sky. He enjoyed the period just before dawn when the world for the most part was still asleep, and the countryside was pervaded by a sense of peace. It was early spring and the air was crisp and clean, with a fresh scent of pine riding on the breeze. His ears picked up the faint sound of quail scratching for seeds in the underbrush and the scampering of squirrels in the trees. Slowly, the sky shaded from steel grey to light blue as the sun climbed up the eastern sky. The leaves of the trees overhead and the shrubs surrounding his bedroll became distinct, and the landscape took on life and color.

Reluctant to break the mood, Tucson sighed, rolled out of his blankets and slid his feet into his boots. Standing up, he stretched his tall, lean frame to get the kinks out, then strapped on his Colt .45 and slid the Colt .32 into the shoulder harness. Walking to the ridge, he gazed down into the dry riverbed at the cold fire he had left the night before. When he was on the road, it was his habit not to sleep where he made camp. Leaving a decoy bedroll next to the fire, he had climbed up the embankment and thrown his extra blankets out in the concealment of the bushes just in case any intruders tried to sneak up on him. He studied the terrain carefully but couldn’t see any disturbance in the leaves he had scattered on the ground.

Reassured, he moved off behind a tree to relieve himself.

A few minutes later, the stallion stomped its hoof in warning; Tucson heard the distant nicker of horses and the low whispers of two men approaching his campsite. The morning sunlight glinted off the guns in their hands as they crept stealthily toward his bedroll spread out next to last night’s fire. Evidently, they had been following his trail for some time because they hadn’t had any trouble noting the hoof-marks of the stallion where Tucson had reined it off the road and come down into the dry riverbed.

From the cover of a juniper bush, Tucson watched them halt about five feet from the bedroll, then fire repeatedly into the blankets. The roar of gunfire shattered the morning stillness, and a flock of birds swept up out of the surrounding trees and winged their way south across the cloudless sky.

Tucson rose to his feet, holding his Colt at hip level, then cocked and pulled the trigger so fast that all four shots sounded as one continuous roar. Blood sprayed the air as the bullets ripped into the assassins’ chests, throwing them off their feet to land on their backs on the leafy ground. The trigger-finger of one jerked spasmodically, discharging a shot blindly into the sky, then both men lay still in spreading pools of blood.

Silence, complete and final, descended over the campsite.

Moving carefully, his gun still cocked, Tucson approached the bodies to make sure that each man was dead.

Looking into their faces, he recognized two men he had seen at a roadside trading post that he had stopped at the day before to buy supplies. He hadn’t paid too much attention to them at the time, but they obviously picked him out as a likely prospect for robbery and murder. His thin lips stretched in a grim smile and his gaunt features took on the appearance of a skull.

That miscalculation had cost them their lives.

Rising back to his feet, he thumbed fresh shells into his Colt as he walked up to the road where they had tied their mounts, gathered up the reins and led the horses back to the campsite. Lifting the bodies, he threw them over their saddles, and then used a couple of lengths of rope to tie their boots and hands together so they wouldn’t slip off. Once that was done, he turned and let out a low whistle. There was a crashing in the juniper bushes as the huge black stallion charged into the clearing, its head up and its nostrils flaring.

Tucson grinned affectionately. Easy, big fella, he said. It’s all over now. I just need to get the saddle on you and we’ll be on our way.

* * * *

It was still early morning when Tucson guided the two corpse-laden horses out of the central Texas mountains and rode down into the foothills. Tall pines and firs, and steep, rock-girded slopes gradually gave way to rolling foothills covered with oak and cypress trees and thick gamma grass. In the clearings, he passed grazing herds of white-tailed deer and elk, and startled coveys of quail from the thick underbrush. A grey wolf, still gaunt from winter, stood on a distant crag and watched him pass, licking its lips over the smell of fresh meat.

It was with a sense of reluctance that he left the solitude of the mountains and headed back to civilization. He spent much of his time riding the high places, the solitary places. Rugged mountains and harsh, desolate deserts were where he felt most comfortable—most at home. Although he had nothing in particular against people, he had found that he was able to be most himself when he was alone. On the other hand, when he was around people he felt most constrained; when he was around people, trouble followed like echo to sound.

Still, he knew that there was a town out on the prairie, and he felt a responsibility to turn the dead bandits in to the marshal there.

* * * *

It was just before noon when Tucson rode out of the rolling foothills and approached the town of Cedar Flats from the east. At that point, the country flattened out all the way to the western horizon with vast herds of cattle grazing on the plentiful gamma grass covering the prairie. On the western side of a river running diagonally across the plain, Cedar Flats sat at the intersection of two major roads, one running north and south and the other running from east to west.

Tucson pushed the stallion through the herds as he made his way to the road that led into Cedar Flats. The cattle parted grudgingly as he passed, and a few cowhands stopped roping calves to stare curiously after him. Coming out onto the road, he walked the stallion onto the bridge spanning the river, leading the two horses loaded with the corpses behind him. Noticing a group of boys fishing in the swift-running waters below, he paused to watch as one of the boys pulled a huge twisting trout up and out of the stream. The other boys crowded around, shouting with excitement as he landed it on the bank.

Smiling to himself, Tucson nudged the stallion and continued on into town.

Cedar Flats was a good-sized town, prosperous, with a wide main street and several side streets. There were quite a few buildings and homes spread out around it, with huge stock pens to the north and a rail head for shipping beef.

As Tucson rode onto Main Street, the dead bodies slung over the saddles behind him caught the attention of the townspeople. In no time, there was an excited, murmuring crowd of men, women and children following him down the road, all of them curious to know who the dead men were. Although they shouted out questions to him, Tucson just stared grimly ahead and rode on.

Sighting the marshal’s office in the middle of town on the right, he guided the stallion to the hitch-rack out front. As he dismounted amongst the milling crowd, the town marshal stepped out of his office to see what the commotion was about. He was a tall man, rail thin, dressed in range clothes, with a .44 Smith and Wesson strapped down to his right leg. His face was weather-beaten, and pale blue eyes stared hard above a narrow nose and a lip-less mouth.

Those eyes went even harder when he saw the bodies draped over the saddles of the two horses.

Whatcha got there, stranger? he asked, in a voice as flat and dry as a file.

Tucson jerked his thumb at the bodies. These two jaspers tried to bushwhack me back down the trail this morning. I brought them in so I could report it to you and you could look them over. For all I know, he added, they might be wanted.

Without moving, the marshal looked Tucson over, his gaze ranging over the black, flat crowned, wide brimmed sombrero, the black leather jacket cut off at the waist, and the Colt .45 with blued steel and rosewood grips riding low on his right hip.

Instinctively, his right hand moved a little closer to his .44 as he asked, And jest who might you be?

My name’s Tucson...

The marshal’s eyes widened with surprise. You mean you’re the Tucson Kid?

A startled murmur rippled through the crowd as the townspeople repeated the name, then pressed in even closer to stare at him.

Tucson sighed. I’ve been called that...

The marshal pushed his sweat-stained Stetson to the back of his head, revealing sandy blond hair. Well, now, I guess that explains why they didn’t get the drop on you. Stepping down off the wooden sidewalk, he added, Let’s see who these fellas are—or were.

He went to the first corpse, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back the head, nodded, then went to the second, pulled back the head and nodded again. These hombres are wanted, alright, he said, peering around at Tucson. I believe there’s a reward out on both of ‘em. Glancing over the crowd, he spotted a townsman he seemed to be looking for then called out, Joe—I was hopin’ you’d be handy. As a small man in a brown suit stepped forward, the marshal said, Take these bodies over to your shop, will you, and get ‘em ready for burial?

Sure thing, Marshal, Joe replied, reaching out for the reins of the horses.

Then the marshal spoke to the people still milling around. The rest of you go on about your business. There ain’t nothin’ more to see here.

As the crowd dispersed, Tucson followed the marshal back into his office. After the heat of the street, it was cool inside, and Tucson dropped into a wooden chair as the marshal went around his desk and sat down. Wanted posters and bulletins were pinned to a board on one wall, and strong-looking iron cells lined the other. A cowboy, his Stetson pulled down over his face, snored on a bunk in one of them.

Reaching into a drawer, the marshal pulled out a sheaf of wanted posters and riffled through them. Here they are, he said, setting two posters aside and returning the others to the drawer. They were Harry Connelly and James O’Flaherty, and the reward is five hundred apiece, dead or alive. His blue eyes rested speculatively on Tucson. Those two birds were mighty mean hombres—cold blooded killers. When Tucson didn’t respond, he added with a shrug, It usually takes about a month for a reward to come in.

Tucson shook his head. I’m no bounty hunter. You keep it – or donate it to charity.

The marshal’s pale brows went up. That’s quite a sum you’re givin’ up, mister.

What’s more important to me now, Tucson answered, is where in this town I can get a room with a bath. I’ve been on the road for about a week, and it’s getting to the point where I can’t stand myself anymore. I want to sleep in a bed and eat food I didn’t cook myself over a campfire.

The marshal chuckled. Try the Coburn House—it’s the best hotel in Cedar Flats. He paused for a moment then asked quietly, Just how long you intend on stayin’ around, Kid?

No more than a couple of days, Tucson replied. "I’m heading west, and I’ll