Storm Rider

By Richard Dawes

The Tucson Kid takes the job. He will be guided up the Stick River to Normanson s stronghold on Eagle Mountain by the beautiful half-Indian, Sophie Halloway. Tucson will also have Joe Personelli and his crew of gunmen to help fight off the forces they know Rex Normanson will throw against him to prevent him from reaching the mountain.

The action-packed story follows the expedition as it fights its way up the Stick River, chronicles the developing relationship between Tucson and Sophie Halloway, and describes Tucson s growing conflict with Joe Personelli. But once Tucson reaches the top of Eagle Mountain, he is in for the surprise of his life when he meets Rex Normanson.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781612357256

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

Storm Rider

A Tucson Kid Western

by Richard Dawes

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Storm Rider, Copyright 2013 by Richard Dawes

ISBN: 978-1-61235-725-6

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

STORM RIDER

by Richard Dawes

The Tucson Kid is called to the American northwest by the Great Northern Fur Company. The company hires Tucson to go after Rex Normanson, an erstwhile partner of the company who has gone rogue and is inciting Indian tribes to revolt against the American Government. A coalition of the fur company, the U.S. Army, and the Canadian government want Normanson stopped at all costs.

The Tucson Kid takes the job. He will be guided up the Stick River to Normanson’s stronghold on Eagle Mountain by the beautiful half-Indian, Sophie Halloway. Tucson will also have Joe Personelli and his crew of gunmen to help fight off the forces they know Rex Normanson will throw against him to prevent him from reaching the mountain.

The action-packed story follows the expedition as it fights its way up the Stick River, chronicles the developing relationship between Tucson and Sophie Halloway, and describes Tucson’s growing conflict with Joe Personelli. But once Tucson reaches the top of Eagle Mountain, he is in for the surprise of his life when he meets Rex Normanson.

For my sister, Donna

Table of Contents

Storm Rider

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

Leaning back in the saddle, Tucson adjusted easily to the swinging movement of the huge black stallion as he descended the steep slope, finding his own way around lichen covered rocks, fallen trees, and through the underbrush. At his back, snow-capped peaks glowed whitely in the last rays of the setting sun; and purple shadows, like long fingers, crept through the pine forest covering the lower slopes. On either side, swift running streams cut deep paths in the rocky soil as they cascaded down to the valley below.

When he reached the lower level of the incline, where the pines thinned out and tall grass took over, Tucson reined in the stallion and took in the scene. At the foot of the mountain, the various streams came together to form one river that meandered across the valley floor, became a good-sized lake at one point, then flowed on until it disappeared behind a rocky promontory at the western end of the canyon. Next to the lake and south of the valley mouth was a ranch house and a horse corral. The long building had a shingled roof, glass windows, and a covered verandah running along the front. Tucson counted ten horses in the corral, seven of them with army brands on their flanks.

Reaching inside his leather jacket, Tucson pulled out his cigar case and selected a cheroot. He snapped a match into flame with his thumbnail and, shielding it with his palm, lit the cigar. As smoke dribbled from between thin lips, he watched five soldiers with carbines on their shoulders walking around the perimeter of the ranch house. They would account for five of the army mounts in the corral.

The other two men, probably officers, would be inside the house with the owners of the other three horses. Just over a bridge spanning the river was a long, low building that looked like a bunkhouse, and Tucson

assumed that more men were billeted there. Another corral filled with

wiry mountain mustangs stood next to the building.

Tucson sat for several minutes, smoking and watching the soldiers walking their posts then made his decision. I don’t expect any trouble, he whispered to the stallion, ruffling his thick mane with his fingers, but there’s no point in taking unnecessary chances. There’ll be nothing lost but a little time if we wait until the sun goes down.

He backed the stallion up until there was a tree between him and the valley, then rode on until he found a copse of brush large enough to shelter both he and the horse. Dismounting, he loosened the cinch strap so the stallion could graze comfortably, then found a flat rock where he could sit and finish his cheroot and watch the valley floor. He enjoyed the peace as the day drifted into night. Clearing his mind and letting his body relax, he sank into the rock until he felt no separation between himself and the surrounding country. He lay there for about an hour, breathing just enough to finish the cheroot, then roused himself and looked around.

Night had fallen over the valley, a cool breeze ran up the slope, rustling the tall grass and the trees, and a myriad of stars glittered like diamonds across a black velvet sky. Windows were lit in the ranch house, and by their light Tucson could see the sentries still walking their posts. Tightening the cinch strap on the stallion, he led him as far down the slope as he could, then dropped the reins and ground hitched him. Scratching him between the ears, Tucson whispered, Stay here, big fella. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.

Moving forward at a crouch, Tucson approached the ranch house, careful not to rustle the grass or stumble over any rocks. As he reached the edge of the grass, he dropped to his stomach and watched the sentries. They moved with a regular rhythm, and although there were five of them, there was about a fifteen second period when none of them were walking in front of the house. He let them continue for two more rounds to make sure his calculations were correct then he made his move.

His black sombrero, black leather jacket, dark trousers, and black gun belt meant that he was a shadow moving among other shadows as he sprinted for the verandah. He reached the steps and glided up onto the verandah just as a sentry came around the corner and walked toward him. He pressed his back against the wall and melted into the shadows as

the guard passed by only five feet away. Tucson was careful not to stare straight at the sentry, and the soldier walked on by, not seeing what he didn’t expect to see. Tucson tried the handle of the front door, and found that it turned easily and noiselessly. With a last look around, he slipped through the door and closed it softly behind him.

He found himself in a dark hallway that led to a well-lighted main room where he could hear voices. It was warm inside the house, and Tucson was reminded that he hadn’t eaten all day as he picked up the aroma of cooked food hanging in the air. Inching down the hallway, he paused just beyond the light to listen to the conversation taking place in the main room.

A young, sandy-haired man lounged casually in a wooden chair set sideways to the door, a glass of wine in his pale hand. Are you certain of this man’s credentials? he asked in a supercilious voice tinged with a French accent.

A large man, his bald head glistening in the lamplight, sat at a desk to the right of a stone fireplace. We’ve gone over this subject before, he answered. I’ve checked all over the country and no one comes more highly recommended than the Tucson Kid.

I must agree with that, said a man in a captain’s uniform, standing next to the fireplace. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a swirling mustache. The Tucson Kid made his reputation as a boy, scouting against the Apaches down in Arizona. He seemed to have some intuitive faculty that helped him to sniff out the Indians wherever they were; and they say he’s a genius at fighting.

Genius is one way of putting it, added the bald man. He shot up the Ames brothers in New Mexico and the McCarthy gang in Wyoming a few years ago. And he out-drew Jeb Hollander in a stand-up gunfight in Abilene that folks’re still talking about. Tucson’s got a reputation for going where other men can’t go and doing what other men can’t do.

I’ve heard that Tucson was good friends with Wild Bill Hickok before Hickok got himself shot in Deadwood, put in a grey-haired officer seated next to the desk, between pulls on a cigar. He had Brigadier General’s stars on the shoulders of his uniform, and his voice had the edge that comes with years of command.

A young woman standing at the fireplace next to the captain turned to face the Frenchman, and Tucson saw that she was beautiful. Large dark eyes sparkled over a straight nose and full red lips. She was tall,

slender, with a high bosom and long legs. This Tucson Kid sounds very qualified—and very interesting! Her voice was low and clear. We’ll just have to see what kind of impression he makes when we finally meet him. Her mouth turned down in a frown. So often, people don’t live up to their reputations.

And that is another point, the Frenchman replied petulantly. Where is this Tucson Kid? His telegram said that he would be here today. He glanced pointedly around at the others. A good sign of dependability is arriving at an appointment on time.

Tucson chose that moment to step into the doorway, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. I understand you folks want to speak to me, he said in a deep, resonant voice.

With cries of astonishment, the bald man leaped to his feet and the general gagged on his cigar. The tall captain and the woman spun around to stare at him; and the Frenchman practically jumped out of his chair, spilling wine down his shirtfront.

In profound silence, they all gaped at Tucson in amazement.

Where did you come from? sputtered the bald man.

How did you get past the sentries? the general demanded.

Tucson’s cold grey eyes swept over everyone in the room then came to rest on the bald man. You mentioned that I can go where others can’t go, he stated flatly. Your message indicated that you may have a job for me. Well, here I am and I’m ready to listen.

* * * *

Regaining his composure, the bald man looked triumphantly around at the others. Well, he said, I guess we can dispense with any questions about the Kid’s qualifications. Bringing his attention back to Tucson, he came around the desk and extended his hand. I’m Tom Cartwright, he said cordially. He pointed to the general. This is General Hastings, he gestured to the captain, He’s Captain Lewis, he pointed to the Frenchman, this is...

We do not need to mention my name, the Frenchman inserted hastily, raising his hand. Addressing Tucson, he added, Suffice it to say, monsieur, that I represent the Canadian government.

As you like, Cartwright replied, then indicated the woman. And this beautiful young lady is Sophie Halloway.

Tucson nodded to each man as he was introduced, but his gaze

lingered on Sophie. Although very pretty, she had the long, straight black hair and the dark complexion that suggested Indian blood. He stared at her for so long her cheeks turned red; then she raised her head in defiance. Is there a problem? she asked archly.

Tucson shook his head. No problem. He turned his attention to Tom Cartwright. Suppose you tell me what’s going on.

Right, Cartwright replied, going back behind his desk and sitting down. General Hastings re-seated himself, took a match from a holder on the desk, and re-lit his cigar. Have you heard of Rex Normanson? Cartwright asked.

Only vague rumors, Tucson responded. He has something to do with the Indians in the north as I understand.

Cartwright pointed to a couch along the wall. Why don’t you sit down and take a load off, Kid? he said. How about some supper—have you eaten yet?

I could certainly eat, Tucson answered coolly, dropping onto the couch and stretching his legs. He removed his sombrero and a long strand of black hair fell across his forehead.

Maria! Cartwright called, and an old Indian woman came in from another room. Cook up a steak with potatoes and biscuits and bring it in to the Kid, here, he told her.

The old woman nodded then shot a malevolent glance at Tucson as she left the room.

Now to business, Cartwright said, rubbing his palms together. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts then said, Rex Normanson, John Halloway, and myself created the Great Northern Fur Company about ten years ago. We got most of our furs from the northern Indian tribes and a little less from the plains Indians. Normanson and Halloway dealt with the Indians and the shipping of the furs, and I took care of the business end of things—sales, distribution and what not.

He broke off when Maria came into the room carrying a platter heaped with beef steak, potatoes, onions, and biscuits. As she handed the food to Tucson, the hatred in her eyes was unmistakable. She paused at the door as Cartwright asked, Would you like some whiskey with that, or some wine?

Just a glass of water, please, Tucson replied, already cutting into the steak.

Cartwright nodded to Maria, and she left the room.

Cartwright picked up a bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk and looked at the officers. Gentlemen...? Both Hastings and Lewis got re-fills, then Cartwright continued, The operation went well for about eight years—Halloway and Normanson were a good team, and they both got along well with the Indians. He shook his head. Well, maybe Normanson got along a little too well with them.

What do you mean? Tucson asked around