City of the Dead

By Denis J. LaComb

Charlotte fights for life and love in the cruel wild American West in book three of the Apache Death Wind series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denis J. LaComb
• Release date: Mar 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311242778

Denis J. LaComb

Denis LaComb is a storyteller. Dissatisfied with a single title such as novelist, screenwriter, or playwright, Denis decided that the most apt description of his work would simply be: Storytelling. No matter what the genre; novel, play, movie, or children’s books, the essence of Denis’ work is storytelling in its purest form. While the characters may change and the story may vary, at the core of all of Denis’s work is a story to be told. A story that might involve mystery, passion, conflict, or the intricacies of relationships. The catalyst for Denis to begin writing full time was a decision to wind down his video production business. With the threat of retirement looming in his future, Denis went back to work on a Western novel he’d written forty years earlier. This was his first writing project and hence, a new career was born. He rewrote that novel and in short order, completed three more novels and four screen-plays. At that point, Denis decided to take some of the made-up tales he’d created for his grandchildren and turn them into picture books. Skinny Hippo is the first of such picture books. Denis is also writing scripts for television movies and has completed several plays, which he is shopping around for the proper venue. Denis and his wife, Sharon, divide their time between traveling, Minnesota, and Southern California with long layovers in Colorado where three of their grandchildren live.

Book preview

City of the Dead

Book Three of the

Apache Death Wind

Series

A Novel By

Denis J. LaComb

City of the Dead

First Edition

Copyright © 2016 Denis J. LaComb

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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters depicted herein are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Some of the locations depicted in this book are real, but the characters and incidents are imaginary.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording; or by any means, now known or hereafter invented) without written permission from the publisher.

Published by BAMs² Publishing

A division of Sharden, LLC.

Credits:

Cover Design by Vida Raine

To Sharon who believed in me at the

beginning and still does after all these years.

To my children, Brian and Melanie, who

continue to inspire me.

To Vida for her help with editing, book design,

blogging, web design, and other sundry

crafts of writing and publishing.

CHAPTER ONE

Jeb followed Brayton out of the spread under the cover of darkness. He and the ranch foreman rode parallel to the fence line for a while, then cut north through several arroyos and dry washes. Once past the fence line, Brayton slowed his mount and dismounted. He motioned for Jeb to do the same. Drawing closer to a scattered tree line, he drew out his revolver and proceeded the rest of the way cautiously.

They found Jeb’s new hideout in a cluster of cottonwoods nestled in a sharp cut out of a rising slope. Jeb tethered his mount and pulled off his saddle and blanket. Brayton dropped two burlap bags of feed on the ground and another canteen of water. He extended his hand to Jeb.

Miss Barrington’s been out of sorts ever since she heard you might be heading back this way. I’m glad you made it with your scalp intact. You should be safe here. The closest our line rider comes by here is about a quarter of a mile south by the fence line. No reason for him to come closer than that. I’ll be back in a day or so when I’ve got more provisions.

Charlotte’s lucky to have a good man like you on her side.

Old man Badger was a mean son-of-a-bitch but his niece is one of a kind. I’ve never met a woman like Miss Charlotte. That’s one unbroken filly that will take a lot of man to tame. Think you’re up to the task ahead?

I’m not sure I want to tame that woman…just keep her. I lost her once in Mexico. I won’t make that mistake again.

Brayton mounted up and leaned over. I’ve got to palaver with the Misses to figure out how we’re going to get your name cleared. Circuit court is probably the place to start but the Englishman is another story. That limey bastard thinks he’s above the law. I’d worry about him more than the captain who is close to being called to rank for some of his bizarre actions.

Jeb shook the foreman’s hand again. Much obliged for all that you’ve done.

Watch yourself out here and I’ll be back.

Jeb watched Brayton ride off into the darkness. The night sounds rose up as Jeb settled down on his ground blanket. The moonlight cast long shadows across Jeb’s campsite and spilled over his body. Jeb lay back against the saddle and stared up at the stars that sparkled overhead.

He thought about how beautiful Charlotte had become. She was even more desirable than he had remembered her from their horrific ordeal escaping the Apaches. More beautiful than the night they had made love in that cave and woke up in each other’s arms. He was back with her again and this time, he wasn’t going to let her go. Jeb drifted into a pleasant slumber. The mare chewed on tufts of grass nearby and all was well with the world.

The figure lay nestled by the shoulder of a large boulder. He lay there for a long time.

He could hear voices barely audible coming from the grove of cottonwoods in the distance. He listened carefully but could not make out the words being spoken.

Neither Jeb Burns nor Brayton had seen him slip out a side door of the barn and follow the pair as they left the Badger ranch. He trailed them at a safe distance and then when he saw the grove of cottonwoods up ahead, he dismounted and followed the rest of the way on foot.

The voices slowed and then stopped. Brayton rode out of the grove, stopped to look around, then headed back to the ranch. The figure remained frozen in place with only his eyes following the foreman as he disappeared into the distance.

After waiting for a time to be assured that the other cowboy was settled in for the night, the figure slipped back off the boulder. He shuffled back to his mare that was tied to a willow in an arroyo nearby. Gently untying the horse, the figure walked it a quarter of a mile away before mounting up and spurring it forward.

Matthew Tailor sat quietly in his trophy and gunroom. Across his lap lay the most prized piece in his vast collection of firearms and mounted trophies. It was a rifle so rare and valuable that he kept it locked in a specially designed safe and out of the eyes of ranch hands and visitors alike.

The rifle was an exact replica of a long gun built specifically for the Prince of Wales who had just granted its manufacturer, James Purdey, his Royal Warrant of Appointment. James Purdey was the self-proclaimed King of Gun makers. His rifles, shotguns, and pistols attracted the most discerning of customers - which ranged from English aristocracy to Indian princes. Only Matthew Tailor’s aristocratic connections had landed him the new firearm.

The Englishman’s fingers caressed the smooth cherry stock and exquisitely engraved metalwork. The rifle was a masterpiece of English workmanship and firearms precision. The long barrel and wide bore made the gun an excellent firearm for both large and small game alike. There was no other firearm in the world as accurate and true as that rifle.

The rifle was a gift to the Englishman from his sponsors just before he debarked for the new world and his ranching operations in the territories. As he pondered his ongoing tumultuous relationship with Charlotte Barrington and the continuing threat of her old suitor coming back, Matthew couldn’t help but wonder when he might have enough leisure time for big game hunting.

Someone’s coming a voice called out from the kitchen. Tailor got up and hurriedly nestled his prized firearm back into the safe. He went down the hall into the kitchen where a dark-skinned man with a wide moustache and wide sombrero was sitting at the table drinking coffee.

Why are you still here? Tailor snapped at the man.

Your crew is still chowing down breakfast and the line rider hasn’t come in yet from his rounds. I got me time to work through this mud you call coffee before I leave.

I hired you to ride herd on those saddle tramps, not sit here and waste your time and my money chewing on coffee beans.

I’m leaving, alright!

Hold on a minute, Tailor back-stepped. I don’t recognize that rider.

The man stood up and went over to the kitchen window. He peered out for a moment then turned back to the Englishman.

It’s that old drunk Boyce…Willard Boyce. He’s a farrier on the Badger spread. When he’s sober, he’s one of the best with both mules and horses. When he’s not, he’s a lazy sod and blabbermouth. Talks more than he thinks and most of what he says isn’t worth the breath it takes for him to expel it.

What the hell does he want over here?

Want me to send him off?

No, let’s wait to see what he wants then send him on his way.

Tailor retreated into his gunroom and closed the door. He could hear voices out on the porch then silence. Moments later, footsteps approached the room and a loud knock ensued.

What?

Boss, you gotta hear this!

Tailor opened the door. The farrier, Boyce, was standing there with his hat in hand. Next to him, the gunman stood with one hand resting on his holster. You’re not gonna believe…

He’s here! Boyce blurted out. The drifter’s come back and he was with Miss Barrington last night. I seen them. He left with my boss and I know where they went…

Tailor glanced over at Reese. An evil grin was firmly planted on the cowboy’s face. Sit down, Mr. Boyce, the Englishman said, Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps? Reese, bring this man a drink - my best whiskey.

The gunman stood for a moment.

Damnit, man, I said to bring Mr. Boyce a drink! Tailor snarled.

Reese retired to the kitchen. He returned momentarily with a large glass of whiskey and a cigar.

Now that’s more like it, Reese, the Englishman said with a wide smile. He motioned for the farrier to sit down and for Reese to remain.

Boyce sat down and took a long gulp of whiskey. He rubbed his whiskers and took another drink.

So what is this about the drifter coming back to the Badger place? Did you really see him with your own eyes?

I did, yes sir, I surely did, Boyce answered. I was takin’ a little nap after my work shoeing those damn mules when I heard voices at the other end of the barn. I was in a stall but I could hear both of them talking…plain as day.

Them?

The drifter and Mr. Brayton. They was talking about Miss Barrington and how they had to find a way to clear the drifter of whatever charges the army’s got against him. He and the Misses said…

He was with her?

I don’t know for certain but it sure sounded like he and the girl was in her room when the foreman came upon the both of them.

Her room?

Her bedroom.

What else?

Old man Brayton offered to hide him until they could clear his name. They left and I followed them. They rode out beyond the fence line to a small grove of oak and cottonwood about mile or so north of the ranch. They talked for a while and then the foreman left. You want the drifter; he’s still there.

Why are you telling me this, Mr. Boyce?

I kinda figured you might be willing to pay for such information. What with you being in… Boyce grasped for the right words. …being interested in Miss Barrington like you are.

Tailor stared back at the nervous man.

I mean you’ve done the milkin’, you might as well enjoy the cream.

Crudely put…but noted, Tailor replied. What was your occupation before you came out here, Mr. Boyce?

I was a sutler - and a damned good one at that. Sold all kinds of staples during the war. We took care of them soldiers on both sides when they couldn’t get their goods through normal government channels.

I’m not surprised Mr. Boyce, you sound like an astute businessman. I’ll tell you what. If you can lead me and my friend to the location where the drifter is hiding I’d like to parley with him…to see just what his intentions are.

Boyce nodded enthusiastically.

But first we need to have a very clear understanding that nothing we’ve said here is to leave this room. I don’t want you to go back to Badger’s place until I’ve had a chance to discuss things with the drifter. I have another idea…something to suit a wheeler-dealer such as yourself.

The farrier sat up straight in his chair. He upended his glass of whiskey, downing the brown liquid in one long gulp.

I want you to go into town and decide just where you’d like to set up shop.

What do you mean?

What I mean is that someone with your business skills shouldn’t be wasting his time shoeing mules and horses. You need to be back in business. Tailor reached into his pants pocket and drew out several gold coins. Have a couple of drinks on me. Come back around midnight and you can show us where the drifter is hiding out. After that, I will put you in business. I’ll front whatever you need to buy supplies and set up your own shop in town.

Boyce stood up, grasping the gold coins tightly in his hands. I’ll do that, Mr. Tailor, mark my word. I’ll be back tonight and tomorrow we can talk business.

Excellent. Tonight it is, then, Matthew said. He then became serious, his face steeled and stern. But don’t come back drunk or the deal is off and you will suffer the consequences. Is that understood?

Yes, sir, Mr. Tailor, it surely is.

Boyce left and the Englishman gestured for Reese to close the door behind him. Tail him into town. Make sure he doesn’t talk to anyone. If he does, kill him.

Reese pulled a long knife out