Buchanan 1: Buchanan's War (A Buchanan Western)

By Jonas Ward

"There's a little town thirty miles from here called Scottsville," Major Jones told him. "Your first job as a Texas Ranger will be to stop a war there."

Even before Major Jones finished giving him his orders, Buchanan knew he would find Scottsville to be hostile territory. Two cattle barons, who happened to be quick-drawing women, had torn the town apart in a duel that had already cost several lives.

Now Buchanan was expected to stop the war, and he knew that he couldn't do that without spilling more blood very possibly some of his own...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly
• Release date: Jan 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463308684

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There’s a little town thirty miles from here called Scottsville, Major Jones told him. Your first job as a Texas Ranger will be to stop a war there.

Even before the Major stopped talking, Buchanan knew he was going to find Scottsville an unfriendly place to be. Two cattle barons, who happened to be quick-drawing women, had torn the town apart in a duel that had already cost several lives.

Now Buchanan was expected to stop the war. In order to do that, more blood would have to be shed—some of it Buchanan’s!

BUCHANAN 1: BUCHANAN’S WAR

By Jonas Ward

First published by Fawcett Books in 1971

Copyright © 1971, 2019 by William R. Cox

First Edition: January 2019

Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. 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 or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

Series Editor: Ben Bridges

Text © Piccadilly Publishing

Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

Chapter One

Buchanan sat on the big black horse called Nightshade and considered the situation. It was coming on dark and the couple of hundred head of Lazy M cattle were gaunt and restless and there was pursuit. Thus far, they had avoided violence, which was all to Buchanan’s liking. He had signed on to recover the stolen herd, not to kill anyone.

Scott McKay strode over to him, and Buchanan got down from the saddle, all six-feet-four of him, to talk to the owner of the Lazy M. The two men made an odd contrast.

Buchanan was a gentle giant, all bone and gristle and muscle, scarred from many reluctant battles. His florid complexion and hazel eyes reflected his Scottish ancestry. McKay was short and lean with dark skin, piercing black eyes, a fierce mustache and a commanding presence.

McKay said, There’s only a half dozen greasers. We can wipe them out.

They’re Corrido’s men, Buchanan replied. "Maybe even he’s with ’em. You don’t call them ‘greasers.’ You call ’em vaqueros. They’re mighty tough people."

They stole my cattle. They’re thieves.

"Bandidos," Buchanan said. They reckon all Texas and everything in Texas belongs to them by rights.

Whose side are you on? McKay demanded. You’ve been talking up those greasers all the way.

Now, McKay, Buchanan said patiently, it’s just that you don’t know these people. You been up on the Canadian border fightin’ Sioux and Cheyenne. These people are different.

I don’t see it. The Indians think they own the country, too.

As McKay’s voice became more impatient, the two Lazy M riders who were not tending herd drew closer. Obie Deal, the foreman, was a trained cattle herder. A barrel of a man, he was stubborn and as loyal as a man could be. Hunt was easily recognized as a gun, one of the legion who roamed for hire and who never worked very hard. A slim, narrow-faced man, he was tall as a rake and not much wider.

No use to argue, no time for it. Buchanan spoke easily. Thing is, I know Corrido. Now you got to remember that, across the river there, is maybe Major Jones. The Rangers don’t look too kindly on us goin’ down to take back your cattle. It’s sort of agin’ the law. Or somethin’. So—we got a war behind us, and ahead we got to find a way over the rio.

We kill those damn horse thieves, then we’ll worry about the Rangers. McKay closed a gauntleted fist. By God, nobody runs on me. Nobody ever did, and nobody ever will.

Buchanan looked helplessly at Obie Deal. Why don’t you tell your boss? You know about Corrido. You know Major Jones.

The foreman had a voice like a rasping file. It don’t make no neverminds to me, Buchanan. What Scott says—that’s gospel.

Hunt? He knew it was no good, but he had to ask.

When I hire out, I take orders, the thin man said.

Buchanan shook his head, but McKay went on, accusing.

I hired you to show us the way because you know this country, Buchanan. You did your job, that’s okay. But now you’ve been buckin’ me for two days. I’m beginning to have my doubts about you.

Uh-huh. Buchanan sighed. Well, if I was you and in a spot like this and had doubts—I’d pay the man off.

I won’t pay you a dime, McKay shouted. You can stay and do like I say, or you can quit like a dog.

Hunt faded back a step to give his gun hand an angle. Obie Deal moved closer to his boss as though to protect him. Behind Buchanan the two herders, Madigan and Bender, dismounted and began to walk carefully toward the group.

Contrary to his practice and because he was riding a herd, Buchanan was wearing his six-gun. He would rather it was in his saddle pack, where it usually roosted. Few men would kill an unarmed person, but at this moment he was meat for the grinder in which he was caught. His mind went around, but in neither haste nor fear, considering the situation.

He had a slight edge, he thought, because they did not know what he could do. A big man, slow moving, he had not been forced to action during the foray into Mexico. They had no idea he could cut down Hunt, then seize Scott McKay and use him for a shield. In that case he would have to kill Obie Deal also, before the loyal one could interfere. Of course, this procedure might get him killed if the men behind him were prompt, but he doubted this. Madigan and Bender were only riders, cowboys, they weren’t killers.

Only Hunt was a killer, he reflected. McKay might be hardheaded and wrong, but he was a decent enough man and Obie was a staunch one. None of them had taken Buchanan in as their own: Hunt was a loner, and the Lazy M men stuck together and kept to themselves. He never had had the wish to hurt people, and now didn’t seem the right time to start a small war.

Meantime, it would be dangerous to make a sudden move. He slowly raised his thick arms to shoulder height and spoke in a humble voice, watching Hunt, the dangerous one.

Yeah ... well, what can I say?

Take his gun, Hunt, McKay said. Somebody get his rifle and let him ride away. We don’t need a yella hound to get home.

Hunt, disgusted by Buchanan’s defeated manner, sauntered forward. Buchanan felt the men behind him relax. The thin gunslinger lifted the Colt’s from the holster.

The moment the muzzle cleared, Buchanan took hold of Hunt in his two hands. He picked up the thin man and launched him like a projectile toward Obie Deal, yelling, Catch!

Deal put up his hands, and the force of Hunt’s flying body sent him staggering backward. He tripped over a chunk of buffalo grass and went down.

Buchanan wheeled and got hold of Madigan. He rolled the cowboy toward Bender, banging their heads together so they rang like gongs. Then he kicked out a long leg and booted the six-gun from McKay’s hand so that it described a neat parabola and landed in Buchanan’s own fist.

Sure hate this sort of fuss, he told them. My pay, now, it would be a hundred and two dollars, countin’ today. I’ll take it in bills or in gold, any old way, Mr. McKay.

Hunt made a move and Buchanan turned the revolver toward him. McKay stood stock still, his face frozen, one emotion after the other parading in his dark eyes, struggling for composure. Obie Deal climbed to his feet, saw the pistol which Buchanan held and stopped dead.

Hunt said without raising his voice, Reckon you want your own iron, Buchanan.

I’d admire to have it, yes, indeed.

The gunslinger got up and walked over and extended the Colt’s butt first. You move good. You move real good. Like to see you try it with the gun some time or other.

I ain’t much for gunfights, Buchanan said. You mind droppin’ your belt for now?

Not at all, Hunt said. Comes the time, my papa always says, comes the time.

You mind payin’ me off? Buchanan asked McKay.

The cattleman hesitated, then said calmly, I’d rather have you stay on. You just showed me somethin’.

I apologize, the big man said. Hate to start a ruckus. But I did my job, and I don’t agree with your orders nor your notions. I’m not a Lazy M man; I didn’t hire out to ride for your outfit. So let us part in peace.

Hunt said to no one in particular, I’d let the man go with his pay, my ownself. Again McKay hesitated. Then he reached inside his shirt and unbuckled a money belt. He counted out bills and extended them. Buchanan flipped open McKay’s revolver and emptied it of bullets, then returned it to its owner. He pocketed the money without counting it.

Fair exchange is no robbery, he remarked. You-all better head for the river right now. Take that crossin’ nearest El Paso like I told you. They won’t be lookin’ for you to cross there. And if Major Jones shows up, don’t start nothin’ with him or his Rangers.

We heard all that before, McKay said. Now take my advice: Stay away from the high plain and my town.

Your town? Scottsville?

You heard me.

Your town. Why, Mr. McKay, I hear some about Gabe Goodwin bein’ first man on that graze.

McKay turned purple as the prairie sage. Gabe Goodwin, my left hind foot. I’ll take care of him my own way.

You know, you ain’t a bad sorta man in some ways, Buchanan told him. "Thing is, you got some loco notions. Like all Mexicans are no-account greasers. Indians don’t have rights in land they once owned. Gabe Goodwin is somethin’ you can handle quick and easy. You got a lot to learn about Texas and Texans. Believe me ... Now, everybody just be nice and let me get aboard my horse, please. I’d purely love to go peaceable."

He backed to where Nightshade, a trained and able beast, awaited him. Never taking his eyes from the Lazy M bunch, he made a mount that seemed impossible for a man of his size and heft. He grinned at them and drew his rifle from its boot.

So long and lots of luck, he called and put the horse into a long, circling movement which allowed him to continue to keep one eye on the group as he aimed for the Rio Grande as close to El Paso as possible. They did not make any move to grab rifles or to follow.

Indeed, McKay stood with his money belt in his hand, staring hard at the giant on the big horse as they diminished against the horizon and night came apace, his mustache drooping, indecision upon him. The herders picked themselves up dazed, not sure what it was all about.

Damn him to hell, Obie Deal said. If I ever see him again I’ll put the boots to him.

Better not try, Hunt said. He still held his revolver in his hand. He looked down at it, then at McKay and the Lazy M men. Buchanan is somethin’ else again, seems like. Also and otherwise—I think he’s right.

Don’t you start up, now, McKay said. I’ve had enough for one day.

Hunt said, You think you had enough. Not quite, I’m afraid, not quite. Like—I’ll take that money belt if you don’t mind. Or even if you do mind.

He was the only man with drawn gun. They knew his reputation. Obie Deal cursed like a muleskinner, but he made no overt move. Only McKay stood stubborn, and outraged.

McKay said, Come and get it, gunny. I saw Buchanan handle you like a baby. Come and try me.

But, you see, I ain’t Buchanan, Hunt remonstrated. The revolver spoke. The money belt flew from McKay’s grasp with a hole in its buckle end. Next one finds a gut, anybody’s gut, I ain’t particular.

Obie Deal picked up the belt and handed it over. No use, boss. This one’ll kill us all.

Obie knows me some, Hunt said. He walked to his horse and hung the money belt on the saddle. But I ain’t an honest-to-goodness thief, am I Obie?

Not until now, you dirty rotten son.

Not now, neither. Way I figure, Buchanan ran one on us all. So, I take the money in advance. Too bad, I sorta like the way he handles hisself.

Money in advance?

Oh, sure. Hunt slid into the saddle. Might’s well.

For what?

Hell, after what happened here? You got to ask?

I’m askin’.

Why, I got to kill Buchanan, that’s all. He rode off in the general direction of the river. Obie’s swear words followed him until he was out of view.

McKay said, All right. Always take your losses and go forward. Learned that in the War when I was a kid. Get the herd goin’, men.

To where Buchanan told us about?

That’s the place. And let’s move. All I need now, McKay said, is to have those damn Rangers on my back.

The riders went to their ponies. This was their business. They knew how to drive cattle. In a few minutes they had the recovered herd headed