The Drifter and the Deputy: Farr and Fat Jack, #4

By Kendall Hanson

Farr Gunn has found the leader of the militia that massacred his family, but if he wants to get the true murderers, he may need to team up with him first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendall Hanson
• Release date: Feb 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781929516339

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Farr Gunn woke with a start and reached for the pistol in his holster. Through the shuttered window, he could discern that darkness was giving way to morning, but had not yet become sunrise.

He listened carefully, but could hear only the sounds of the earliest birds waking and the slow clop of some tired horses. Farther away he could hear the creak of cart wheels that badly needed greasing. Deciding it was the sound of the horses that had woken him, he relaxed the grip on his pistol as they passed by, but held on to it as he let his hand fall back on the bed.

It bothered him that he had awoken so abruptly. He was used to sleeping light on the trail, and he knew that he seldom woke unless the sound of some danger, real or imagined, alerted him. That he would awake for imagined dangers never concerned him. Better to wake up for nothing than risk never waking at all.

Gunn went through the routine he had been taught long ago by his Chinese guardian. First he relaxed his toes, and then concentrated on relaxing his feet and legs. Within a few moments felt relaxed enough to sleep again, though his mind was alert and taking in all the smaller sounds the city offered before daybreak.

The woman beside him, for instance, was not snoring, but he was aware of the breath being taken in and then expelled in a regular, rhythmic pattern. As his eyes now adjusted to the dim light through the shutter, he rolled his head left to watch her.

Facing him, her hands clutched the meager blanket up under her chin as though it was a defense against whatever dream she was having. In the three days he had shared her bed, she never seemed to fully relax, even when sleeping. Even sleeping she frequently frowned and would occasionally mumble what he thought were swear words. He suspected the frown told of some particularly bad moment in her dreams, but she never cried out loud, though she would sometimes the incomprehensible sounds could be distinguished as a particular word or name. One thing she never did was smile—even when she was awake.

His eyes traced the lines of her face. Her prominent nose had bought her the nickname of Big Nose Kate by some of the wags back in Seven Rivers, but he did not think of it as large. But when her dark brown eyes were open they drew attention away from her nose. Almost black, sometimes, they were set off with dark circles beneath. Her full, rich lips, even asleep, gave her a look of disdain that had ultimately set her nickname simply as French Kate.

He looked away from her and now to stare at the ceiling. What about her held him so, Farr couldn't be sure. If he thought about it, he didn't find her particularly attractive, and certainly she was just about the most difficult and cantankerous female he had ever met. Until three nights ago, she had constantly told him by frequent gesture and sometimes even words how insignificant he was to her in spite of him rescuing her from a bully, and more recently, from a band of outlaws.

Worse, though, was that even as she was haranguing him, her body beckoned as though at war with her mind. It was too much of a puzzle to figure out, especially for someone with as little experience with women as he possessed. He suspected, after all, that she might be as confused as he was.

More sounds now told the town had begun to wake. No voices yet, but he could hear the footsteps of early risers walking along the street outside. It was a strange town altogether, not at all what he was used to. The hotel, for instance, was only a single story and stretched down two streets. The rooms all opened their door onto the street, and there was this single shuttered window as well. In back was a secluded plaza, but guests had to enter it by going through the hotel's main lobby. Farr had never seen a hotel with only one story before. He doubted it would catch on as an idea.

Still, the building was adobe like so many of the building in town, and he suspected it must have been here for a very long time. Maybe it started out as something else, like the hacienda of some forgotten rancher or the palace of some Spanish officer from long ago. The room he shared with Kate was very small, even for a hotel, and being in it except to sleep made him feel trapped. But if he could lie next to Kate, he decided, he would just suffer it.

Things never turned out the way you plan, he decided. Just a couple of weeks ago he had finally determined to get Kate out of his thoughts when she ran off with a pack train leader. Until then, even though nothing much had been said between them, he knew he had been hanging around Seven Rivers because of her.

Besides, he was on a mission to find the men who had killed his mother, father, and brother when his horse had to be put down and he found himself in a small New Mexico town. It bothered him that she had so easily, and unintentionally, made him detour from the purpose that had dominated his thoughts for the last nine years.

With Kate gone, he was free to pursue the best lead he had had come across. He always asked if anyone had heard the name Campey whenever he came to a town or across a fellow traveler. In Pecos, a bartender, newly arrived from Santa Fe, said that a deputy sheriff named Simon Campey lived there. Farr had immediately set out to find the man. Instead he found himself in Seven Rivers with a saddle but no horse and just enough money for a beer and a plate of beans.

As he waited at the bar, a saloon girl had approached him. He felt her presence, but hadn't turned when he heard her coming. Her voice, though, had sent an unusual tingle up his spine, and when he turned around to tell her he had no money, he had looked into a pair of dark eyes that seemed capable of looking deeper into him than he had ever bothered to look himself. The rest of the room seemed to melt away just then, as though he and she were the only people alive in the world. She held his eyes for a moment and then dropped her head as though she was ashamed in some way, or maybe she had suddenly turned shy. An odd reaction from a woman older than him and obviously wise to the ways of the world.

Then a man at a nearby table had begun to make fun of him, pushing until Farr had to go outside and put him in his place with a single throat punch the Chinaman had taught him. A few days later the man took it out on the saloon girl, nearly beating her to death, and when his pride could stand it no longer, he determined to face down Farr in a gunfight to recover his reputation. It was a poor decision.

Since then fate had bound Farr to this woman, though he wasn't sure where it might end for them. She had told him many times that she didn't want his company, and he had told himself the same about her.

Yet here they were. Together. In a hotel room. And once again, he was nearly broke.

But he had to stay because the man he had come to see, the man he was certain he would kill, was down in Lincoln and wouldn't be back for two more days. Farr wasn't anxious—the Chinaman had taught him patience beyond what most folks could tolerate—but he knew he would have to do something to provide for the woman.

He suddenly heard footsteps running along the boardwalk outside. They were getting loud quickly. He tightened his grip on the pistol. A moment later, there was a light knock on the door. Farr wondered who might be calling so early in the morning, but he got out of bed quietly and went to the door. He threw the latch with his left hand. His pistol was in his right. He opened the door just a crack to see who was knocking.

Fat Jack Craft caught himself as he started to pound harder. He looked at Farr and said, He's back. Early.

What do you mean?

Simon Campey just rode into town leading two horses with bodies slung over them. Tied 'em up in the street and went into the hotel restaurant, Jack said flatly. You naked in there?

Just now? It's hardly dawn. Why are you up so early?

Never quite went to bed. Don't like sleeping in a stable.

You could have slept in here.

No thanks, Jack grinned. Don't want to cramp your style, you know.

Farr thought for just a moment. Let me get dressed.

You going up against him right now?

We'll leave our guns here with Kate, Farr said. I'm going to kill him, but not until I find out where the rest of them are.

And you think he'll tell you?

Only one way to find out.

CHAPTER TWO

Fat Jack Craft thought the Exchange was the strangest hotel he'd ever heard of. Why would you just have one story, he wondered. Hardly seemed like the privacy most doves and their customers preferred, let alone a regular customer. If you were on a second story, then all the sounds of the street didn't bother your sleep. But if you were on a bottom floor, then you must wake up every time someone loud passed by. Even he preferred to sleep in the relative quiet of the stable for a night or two, although he preferred not to make it a regular occurrence. The stable boy coming in this morning had woken him long before he was ready. He was heading for the hotel's restaurant when he spied the deputy coming into town.

The hotel's restaurant had its own entrance separate from the lobby and the hotel's saloon sat in the back in the crook of the building's L. Jack followed Farr into the restaurant. He was surprised to find it was busy already. Apparently the town gentry liked the way breakfast was served. Almost everyone seemed to be eating ranch eggs with red chili on them served in a flour tortilla.

He spotted Simon Campey sitting at a table near the kitchen. A thin blond man with a wispy mustache was standing beside him hunched over and talking while Campey ate. Jack recognized him as another deputy that had been in the Sheriff's office when Farr had inquired about Campey on the first day they had reached Santa Fe.

Jack pointed to Campey. That's him. The big man with the shoulder-length hair and the beard. Campey had removed his hat, but he was still wearing a white shirt still dusty from the trail beneath a wool coat that had a deputy's badge pinned to its breast. The man's face was square, making his large head seem even bigger, and thick black eyebrows almost met above the bridge of his nose. He looks like a mean one, Jack said.

He is, Farr said and walked directly to the table, hardly minding the other customers or their servers who had to step aside or shuffle their chairs so he could pass. Jack followed him, but made apologetic noises in Farr's wake.

The blond man straightened up as Farr approached. That's the kid I was telling you about, Simon, he said a Farr stopped by the table.

Campey looked into Farr's eyes and cocked his head. You have business with me?

I do. Old business.

As long as you're not heeled, he said, bringing his right hand up and setting it on the table beside his plate, You might as well sit down and say your peace.

Farr pulled out a chair and sat. Jack moved around so he could see them both, but decided to lean up against a post near the blond deputy. Something about Campey told him that nothing would happen from that quarter, but he wasn't so sure about the skinny blond man who shuffled nervously from one foot to another.

Farr didn't speak right away. Campey tired of waiting and shoveled more huevos rancheros into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully but giving Farr his full attention otherwise.

Diamond Springs, Farr said quietly.

You're a long way from California, boy. Isn't that near Placerville?

Not California, Farr almost whispered. Kansas.

Campey had a spoon full of eggs, but lowered them back down on the plate. He stared at Farr thoughtfully for a few seconds. You the boy I let get away?

I survived.

The deputy nodded. He rescued his spoon of egg and brought it to his mouth, then chewed slowly as though he wanted time to say the right thing. I can't help what happened, Campey said finally, But I apologize. It wasn't supposed to go that way.

Farr looked angrier than Jack had ever seen. What do you mean? You apologize? You rode in and massacred my family and the other people at the station. That takes more than an apology.

Campey shook his head. Nope, I didn't ride in first, and I gave my outfit orders no one was to be hurt.

Then tell me what happened. Why was my family killed?

"Quantrill had sent us off on patrol to see how he might get to Abilene safely. We were getting short on supplies and then Dick Hogan remembered there was a way station with a trading post. On the way to it, we spotted some Indians—Kiowa or Comanche, they all look the same to me—so anyway, I sent the others on ahead and I stayed back to make sure they weren't going to make a play for us.

Then I heard shooting. I had told those boys to just take the supplies we needed and leave everyone alone otherwise. My brother Ted told me later that the man at the store pulled a rifle on my brother Al, and that set off my brother Davey who just began shooting anyone who moved. So did Dick because he's dumb enough to follow anything Davey does.

And you weren't there, Farr said grimly. You expect me to believe that.

I rode up fast as I could once I heard the shooting. I saw you escaping. I could have killed you, you know, but I didn't.

You couldn't see me. I was running through the tall grass.

You left a clear trail, boy, and it would have been easy to ride you down.

Farr waited, his face impassive.

Campey shrugged. Not much else to tell. By the time I rode in and got the boys to stop shooting, almost everyone was already dead. I saw a little girl running to hide in a root cellar, but I didn't make out like I did. Managed to keep the boys from going over in that direction. Got them to load up as many supplies as we could and took off. I told them the Indians was headed our way. It was the best I could do for you and the girl.

When Farr said nothing, Campey shrugged his shoulders again and began spooning up the rest of the eggs. Jack noticed he was using his left hand for the chore, but at least he was keeping his right on the table. Campey sat back and looked up at the blond deputy. You still here Peavey? Go on and get those boys I brought in to the undertaker. They'll be smelling up the street pretty soon and the Sheriff won't be too happy about it if the Governor calls him on it.

The blond stirred at the sound of his name. For a moment Jack thought he might reach for his sidearm, but instead he heard the man say in a low voice, You sure you don't want me to show this boy the street?

Campey waved him away. "I have a feeling this boy wants to jaw a little longer, and I can use some more coffee. You go on like I