Comes a Rider

By Russ McNeill and Kelly Woolley

Paul Mueller returns from the brutal Civil War a jaded young man. He arrives in his Central Texas hometown to unimaginable grief: his parents have been brutally murdered and their home destroyed in the violent Hoodoo wars of Mason County. He seeks out the killers to exact a swift frontier justice and, in the process, becomes a wanted murderer.

Paul flees to Mexico with a warrant on his head, where he lives under the alias Sam Smith in order to avoid detection. He spends years in exile before setting foot on American soil once again. He arrives in Arizona where he dreams of starting a ranch and living the remainder of his life in peacebut fate has other plans.

Sam rides straight into a world of Apache ambushes, corrupt officials, and masked riders. He has no choice but to resort to his fast gun to stay alive and ultimately finds himself suspected of murder yet again. Even worse, he soon runs into someone from his past, and their meeting changes things. For better or for worse, Sam must now wholeheartedly commit to a course of action to achieve the redemption and future he desires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491724095

Russ McNeill

Russ McNeill is a retired telecommunications manager. His career started with AT&T in Tucson, Arizona, and in his last position he was the general manager of a regional telecommunications company in Texas. His current interests include golf, writing, fishing, and volunteer church work. Russ has always had an avid love for the southwestern part of the U.S. with a particular interest in the history and tales of lost treasures. His favorite authors are the late Tony Hillerman, J.A. Jance, and Michael McGarrity. He currently resides with his wife Vashti in the Hill Country of Central Texas on a golf course, two blocks from the lake.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

P aul paused, then walked through the entrance of the swinging doors to the saloon and stopped two steps into the room. His eyes roamed across the room, appraising the situation. The place was rowdy with loud men and women, drinking and having a good time. Someone was playing an off key piano and bar girls circulated around the crowd, trying to entice the men to buy more whiskey. He glanced over to the side of the room and saw a man with his back to the bar, standing there with a beer in his hand. The man wore a black western shirt with a new black hat and he had a badge pinned to his vest. Paul was aware that the lawman was looking him over as he came through the door.

Paul was not overly concerned; he figured the man probably noticed all of the strangers coming into town. He ignored the lawman and continued perusing the room and was rewarded when he recognized the two Mathews brothers sitting at a table playing draw poker with three other men. He had known the two men briefly before the war. They were Anglo immigrants to Texas and had belonged to a crowd that had always hated the German Dutchies.

He walked over and stood on the opposite side of the table, facing the two brothers. One of the brothers glanced up but did not seem to recognize Paul.

The man said, You gonna stand there and gawk, stranger, or do you wanna play? We can make an open seat if you got money. The other men at the table guffawed at the remark.

Paul’s eyes immediately went to the watch chain hanging on the man’s vest and he had an idea of what was on the other end of it. He said, Oh, I might sit in for a hand or two. What time do you have, partner?

The man’s face showed his impatience with the question but when he pulled out the watch to check the time, Paul went cold. It was his father’s watch. It had been brought over from the old country and his dad always told him that someday it would be his. It still will be mine, he thought.

Paul didn’t say a word but turned away from the table and walked purposely to the bar and to the stranger with the badge. Paul introduced himself and as soon as the man spoke, his accent gave him away, a Yankee. Probably a damn carpetbagger, Paul thought.

Paul went straight to the point. He told the marshal he was just home from the war and had found that his mother and father had been murdered. He said he heard the Mathews brothers had been bragging about it and one of them was now carrying his father’s watch. He wanted them arrested and charged. The marshal’s eyes immediately cut across the room to the Mathews men, telling Paul he knew who they were.

The marshal looked back at Paul and spoke, Mister, that’s a plumb serious charge. You come on down to the office tomorrow morning and you can fill out a complaint. But let’s not have any trouble tonight.

Paul’s rage was burning but he kept his voice under control. It was as hard as steel, but not too loud as he spoke, I’ll file the complaint but I want ‘em locked up now. That’s my dad’s watch the man is wearing.

The marshal’s voice showed his irritation. Listen, Mister, I’m telling you upfront that we got law and order now and you rebs have got to learn to respect it. You come on down tomorrow, file a complaint and we’ll see if there is any merit to it.

Paul had heard enough; the man was not going to do anything. He deliberately stepped forward, violated the marshal’s space, tapped the man’s chest with his finger and snarled, Okay, if you’re not going to do anything about it, I’ll take care of it myself. But you stay out of it. I mean what I say, do you understand?

Without waiting for a reply, Paul wheeled from the lawman and walked directly over to the men at the table. He positioned himself directly in front of the two brothers again and this time his voice was soft and cold.

My name is Mueller. That’s my father’s watch you’re wearing. I understand you two pieces of trash burned my folks’ place down and shot my mother and father. Is that true?

All the men rose to their feet and the other three backed quickly away from the table, leaving only the Mathews brothers to face Paul. The noise in the room stopped immediately and the other tables around the two men cleared quickly. The two brothers glanced at each other and Paul could almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they figured their odds. Two to one. They stood, motionless, until one of them looked at his brother and grinned before turning back to Paul.

The man said, Well, now, Mr. Mueller, a lot of the Dutchies around these parts died during the war. Good riddance for the most part. If your ma and pa got it, too bad. It probably served ‘em right. They didn’t belong here anyway and they proved it when they sided with the Yanks. If you ask me…

Paul did not even try to control the white anger surging through his body. He raised his left hand to cut off the man. His voice was still soft. I didn’t ask, but I don’t recall either of you boys going with us to fight for the South.

He continued on, but his voice was harder now. However, it really don’t matter now because you two are going to die right here if you don’t drop those gun belts right now. When the men hesitated, Paul’s voice became as loud as earlier it had been low. He bellowed, Now, damn it! Paul saw the surprise and the doubt appear in the men’s eyes as they contemplated their chances. Suddenly, as if his last word galvanized them into action, both men simultaneously reached for their guns.

Paul was quicker; his hand was like a blur as he drew his pistol and put a forty-four slug in each man’s chest before either could clear leather. Both men fell to the floor, knocking chairs over on their way down. After the two deafening blasts the room remained eerily silent as Paul stood and looked at the men for a moment. Then his eyes moved deliberately around the room and lingered on the marshal for a moment before he looked back at the men lying on the floor. He walked over, jerked his dad’s watch from the dead man’s vest and placed it in his pocket.

While Paul was kneeling he saw the marshal walking toward him and Paul noted the man was careful to keep his hand clear of his gun. Paul rose to face him. When the man spoke, his tone no longer carried the disdainful inflection and instead was very respectful as he said, Mister, that was fast. Those two men never had a chance. Now, you are going to come on down with me and you’ll be held in custody until we can get an inquest to see if it was self defense or not.

Paul looked at the man and laughed, but with no touch of humor. Paul knew what kind of justice he could expect from a Yankee court. It would probably come from the back of a horse, and a rope. He looked around the room to see if anyone would challenge him; no one was moving.

Paul kept his voice even and said, Everyone here, including you, Mister, saw these two men draw first. Remember it.

The room was quiet and no one made a move, but he was not going to take any chances. He backed slowly toward the entrance and out the door, his hand held just above his pistol. He moved to his horse. He was headed south for Matamoras, Mexico.

CHAPTER ONE

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T he solitary horseman riding the big bay sat the saddle easily as if he knew what he was doing. The man was larger than most at a little over six feet two and while there was not an ounce of fat on him, he probably weighed in at about one hundred and eighty five pounds or so. His fair skin was sun darkened from spending many hours outdoors. Friendly, gray slated eyes, dark brown hair, and an easy smile gave his face the appearance of a man who invited trust. At the same time, he looked like a man who could take care of himself. His facial hair hinted he had been on the trail a few days.

Sam Smith thoughtfully rubbed his hand through his unkempt beard. He was having a spell of nostalgia. He pulled the old German watch from his watch pocket and noted he was a little over three hours north of the border, well back into the United States. As Sam thought about it he realized that, until this morning, he had not been north of the border for ten years. It was a strange feeling, one that he wasn’t used to. While living in Mexico, he heard there was a warrant out for the arrest of a Paul Mueller in Texas but that was nearly ten years ago. He changed his name to Sam Smith when he crossed the border after the incident in Mason. The events of one night had changed his life forever and he had come to regret it. He shook his head as he remembered how cock sure of himself he had been as a youth.

After a long year of fighting as a mercenary for the Austrian Emperor Maximilian he found himself on the losing side of yet another unpopular war, but then found work as the personal bodyguard for a rich Mexican landowner where the money was good. Better than very good in fact, and he now had enough money in his saddlebags to maybe do whatever he wanted for a while. All he had to do was figure out exactly what that was, he thought ruefully.

He found himself growing tired of Mexico and making his living with a gun. He never killed in cold blood without giving his opponent a chance but he was so fast, he knew it wasn’t much of a chance. The killings started to bother him more and more as he grew older. He also learned that no matter how fast he was, on any given day someone could be faster. He found himself thinking about going home to the States and trying to find a way to make a living without using a gun.

He knew going back to Texas probably wasn’t a good idea so he had started thinking about Arizona and finally made a decision to give it a try. Maybe he could find some land somewhere where no one knew his past, and try to build something. After ten years, he knew he was a changed man. From time to time he wondered if the warrant for his arrest in Texas was still active.

Sam’s musings about his past were cut short. His horse was tired from their long journey and Sam allowed the horse to move slowly with his head down. The horse suddenly stopped, jerked his head erect and snorted. They had been moving leisurely through the foothills on the western side of a mountain range which ran north to south. In the Mexican border town of Agua Prieta Sam heard that the mountains were called the Chiricahuas but pronounced Cherry Cows or something like that. He also knew he was in the heart of Apache territory where a man could lose his life quickly.

He realized with a start how quiet it had become and that none of the birds were chirping as they had been all morning. He leaned forward and moved his left arm to pat the big bay’s neck to calm him. Later, he figured the move saved his life. He heard a sound like a swish and was suddenly slammed violently from the horse. He hit the ground hard on his right side, aware of an excruciating pain on the left side of his body. He reached over with his right hand and found that an arrow had penetrated his left arm, and it hurt like hell.

He had ridden directly into an ambush. He did not know where the attackers were and more importantly, how many he was facing. Sam tried to move his left arm and found with an effort that he could, except that it caused even more pain. Maybe if he was lucky the arrow had missed the bone and was not going to cause major damage. He decided to lie perfectly still until he could take stock of his surroundings. A quick glance around showed he had fallen next to a large rock, which he hoped might provide some protection if he could figure out where the enemy was. He was also aware that the area was heavy with scrub oaks and manzanita bushes which made it difficult for his assailants to see him. He figured this meant they would have to get close to finish him off. His rifle was still with his horse but he knew he had six shots in his pistol and if the Indians did not have guns, he still had a chance. It just depended on how many of them were out there.

Sam heard a quail whistle somewhere up in front of him and in spite of his apprehension, he smiled to himself when he heard an answering call over on his left. How dumb did they think he was, anyway? He lay still and after a few seconds he heard another call, except this one was closer and he figured they were getting ready to come in for the kill. When he heard soft footsteps very close to him, he rose up and drew his pistol. A painted Apache brave with a knife in his hand was about ten feet from him and when he saw Sam rise, he charged with the knife held low in front of him. Sam snapped off a quick shot and saw the bullet find its mark, hitting the Indian in the shoulder and dropping the man in his tracks. Sam knew the impact of the slug would take the Indian out of the fight so he pivoted quickly back toward the direction of the answering quail call.

As he finished the turn, he saw two other Indians less than twenty feet away racing straight for him. He thumbed the hammer back on his pistol and pointed the weapon straight at one of the men…but he didn’t shoot. Both men were dead and evidently they both knew it.

They stopped their charge about ten feet in front of Sam and stood straight up as if they were waiting for the inevitable. Sam could see both of the men’s eyes clearly and he was shocked to realize there was no fear in either man’s eyes.

Sam realized at that moment that he had to make a choice. He could kill these two men, but he didn’t have to. If he was going to change, this was the time. He kept the barrel of his pistol trained on both men and then pointed to their wounded comrade who was lying on the ground, moaning softly.

Sam said, Boys, I don’t know if either of you fellers speak English or not but you had better pick up your friend here and get him some help before he bleeds to death. Sam thought he noticed a fleeting look of amazement on the shorter man’s face but he could not be sure as it was only for a second before the stoic countenance returned.

The man said something in a guttural language to his companion and pushed him in the direction of the wounded man. They picked up their companion and Sam watched as they disappeared down the trail.

Now, Sam thought, he had two problems. One, he wanted to catch his horse before the Indians thought about it, if he wasn’t already too late and two, he had an arrow sticking out of his left arm. First things first, he wasn’t going to catch anything with the arrow in his arm.

He pulled off his shirt as carefully as he could and when he examined the wound he realized the stone arrowhead had penetrated most of the way through the arm and the tip was actually showing on the underside of his bicep. He grasped the shaft and tried to pull it out but the sharp waves of pain shooting through his body told him he was not going to remove it that way. The arrowhead was apparently barbed and would not move.

Sam thought about it for a second and realized he did not have an option. He grabbed the shaft again and this time instead of pulling backward he took a deep breath and forced the arrow forward. Waves of pain rolled through him as the wound still hurt terribly, but not as badly as before. Sam saw the arrowhead come through and clear his arm. He stopped to catch his breath for a minute and then retrieved his knife from his pocket. He tried to ignore the pain when the arrow jiggled as he worked to remove the stone arrowhead from the shaft. He finally worked it loose and after resting again, he then grabbed the shaft on the other side, took a deep breath and pulled as hard as he could. The shaft came out cleanly.

Sam knew he should clean the two wounds quickly but first he wanted to find his horse. Every cent he had saved was in the saddlebags on the horse and now that the immediate danger was past he wanted it in his possession again. Sam started walking down the trail and had traveled less than two hundred yards when he spotted the horse grazing in the shade next to a large cottonwood tree. He approached cautiously and by talking very gently and soothingly, he was able to capture the horse. He checked the saddlebags and was relieved to find the money still there. He grabbed his water bag and cleaned and bandaged the wound as well as he could. He figured he was still several miles south of his next stop at Fort Bowie and he hoped to find a doctor there who could properly care for the arm.

CHAPTER TWO

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B eth Mueller felt tired from the constant jolting of the stagecoach. The trip was already over six hundred miles and she knew she was still at least fifty or sixty miles from her final destination. She was having second thoughts about her decision to make the journey and the dust and constant jostling were not helping her state of mind. What could she have been thinking to leave her home and move to this country she knew nothing about?

The man sitting across from her on the stage spoke again. Where did you say you were going, Mrs. Mueller? He had boarded the stage at the last Butterfield stop in Lordsburg and had made a pest of himself during the whole way. Fortunately, she didn’t think they were too far from the next stop at Fort Bowie and he would be leaving the stage.

The San Pedro Valley, Arizona, she replied curtly in an attempt to curtail further conversation. She did not really expect it to work, but she could hope. From the time the man had boarded the stage, he chattered incessantly.

Why in the world would a pretty lady like you want to go to the San Pedro Valley? There are not many towns up in that part of the territory. In fact, there is not much there at all.

I’m going to teach school, actually to start a school in a new community there. A place called Benton Springs, she said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

Benton Springs, you say. Yeah, seems I have heard of it. I recollect that a man named Tom Benton divided a lot of land over there into sections and sold them to folks back East. A bunch of Dutchies from Texas moved up there together, I believe. Why would you want to go to a place like that?

Beth sighed before she replied. My husband was of German descent, a Dutchy as some people call them. He was killed in Texas and his parents moved out to Arizona to make a new start. They’ve sent for me and offered me this job. There, now you have it, so if you don’t mind I think I’ll shut my eyes and try to get a nap before we reach Fort Bowie.

Her voice must have shown her irritation. The man’s response was a little stiff as he said, Sure, ma’am. No offense about the Dutchy remark and I surely didn’t mean to pry but was just trying to pass time.

She forced a smile. And I’m sorry I’m not much company. It’s just that I have a lot on my mind. I didn’t mean to be curt but I think I need a nap.

She closed her eyes but did not sleep. She had made a big decision to move out here and she hoped it was the right one. The Mason County troubles or the Hoodoo Wars, as some people were calling them, had gone on since before the Civil War and now, ten years later, the tensions still ran high. As an Anglo girl who dared to fall in love and marry a German, she had friends on both sides but that only seemed to make the problems worse.

Then her husband was gunned down in an altercation involving an old family quarrel. The assailant had a brother in the Texas Rangers and was not prosecuted. She had to make a choice of which side to take. At first, she went back to her own people. However, some of them could not get over the fact that she married a German and she came to realize they would never entirely accept her again.

When she received the letter from her deceased husband’s parents offering her a chance to start life over in a new territory where the ethnic tensions had not taken hold, she decided to accept the job. She had agonized over the decision for some time but there was no turning back now. She needed to stop second guessing herself and make the best of whatever lay ahead.

Beth opened her eyes and realized she had dozed off. They were stopping at the Butterfield station just outside of Fort Bowie. She knew she was in Arizona now. The driver pulled the stage up to the station and dismounted to open the door for Beth and her traveling companion. The man said, Well, this is where I will be leaving you. Best of luck to you and your new job.

Thank you and good luck to you, too. Beth was a little embarrassed that she had ridden sixty miles with the gentleman and she had not even gotten his name or asked what he was doing in this part of the country.

The driver spoke, There is a hot meal inside and accommodations for the night. We will be leaving right after sunup tomorrow and should make Benton Springs late tomorrow evening. It will be a long trip so try to get a good night’s sleep.

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Sam reined his horse up to the sentry station and saw the guard dressed in the blue uniform he had fought against for four years. It brought back unpleasant memories but he knew he needed to get over them. The sentry was too young to have fought in the war and even if he had, it wouldn’t be personal now. Sam raised his arm and spoke to the sentry. Howdy, it’s a mite hot today, Sam smiled as he spoke and was rewarded with a smile back.

Sure is, say what kind of accent is that, and what happened to your arm? the sentry asked.

Sam’s smile widened at the east coast boy’s own accent, Didn’t know I had an accent but I guess it could be part Texan, maybe part German, and possibly a touch of Mexican. I’ve been living down south for a spell. As for my arm, I had a little Indian trouble between here and the border earlier today. Didn’t know the Apaches were riled up.

Riled up? That’s putting it mildly, stranger. Geronimo is on the warpath again. He took some braves and jumped the reservation up at San Carlos and has the whole territory in an uproar. You’re lucky to still have your hair if it was him and his bunch you tangled with. Then the sentry focused on bandage and the makeshift sling Sam had rigged for his arm. He continued on, Say, you better have Captain Hunt, he’s the post doctor, look at that arm before it gets infected.

Aiming to do just that, trooper. How do I find this doctor? Sam asked.

The soldier told Sam how to find the army doctor. Sam rode slowly into the fort and followed the trooper’s instructions to the building that Sam surmised served as the post infirmary. The doctor turned out to be an affable sort who cleansed the wounds on each side of Sam’s arm with an antiseptic and then bandaged them tightly. He put Sam’s arm in a sling to minimize the movement. He told Sam he had been extremely lucky in that all he had was a flesh wound and if he kept it