Guns of Vegegance: Range War: Guns of Vegegance, #2

By Douglas Sandler

The year is 1876 one year after Marshal Allen Johnsons wife was kidnapped and murdered by the Edwards gang who rode into town to rob the bank. After he found her body he tracked them to Mexico and killed them. Now his peace is shattered by a range war that threatens his new wife and his town. Powers unknown want land and an imposter stands in their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: American Creative Services Publications
• Release date: Aug 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393173205

Douglas Sandler

Douglas Sandler (b. 4/13/67-) Born in Brooklyn, NY I am the author of 9 indie books.I Graduated from Gulf Coast Community College with an A.A. History in May 2010 and an A.A.S. in Paralegal studies from Gulf Coast State College (former Gulf Coast Community College) in May 2012. I graduated from Florida State University Panama City, Florida with a B.S. History/Political science 2017 and finally a Master's degree from Purdue Global in 2021.

Book preview

Dedication

I dedicate this my tenth book to the readers of my nine other books. I also dedicate this book to my goddesses Hecate, Bast, ISIS, Diana, and Santa Muerte. They have helped and inspired me. I also dedicate this to Florida State University for helping me improve on my writing. I also dedicate this to my parents.

Chapter One

Red Rock, Texas was a small town in Northern Texas with a population of 2,500 and ten ranches. Town Marshal Allen Johnson sat in the Lucky Six Saloon throwing back his whiskey in silence. It was March 1876, one year since his wife was murdered by an outlaw gang who robbed the bank. One year since he found her body and followed them into Mexico and hunted down and killed the gang, but he still felt empty and alone.

He felt guilty about moving here in the first place. His wife didn’t like the town but he wouldn’t listen, now she was dead and he drank heavily. He wondered why the town council rehired him. Just then Andrew Younger the town’s mayor entered and as he approached Johnson the mayor noticed that Johnson’s six-foot frame was hunched overtired and his jet black hair had gray in it not there one year ago and approaching Johnson's table and said, Morning Allen! You do know that drinking won’t help; what happened has happened.

Allen Johnson looked up at the mayor and responded, What can I for you mayor?

The town council wants to build a new courthouse/jail and municipal building and they want your input.

Why would they want that? I am just a washed-up marshal.

Allen if the town council thought that we could not have renewed your contract for another ten years.

Perhaps the mayor sensed a wavering in the marshal for he said, The guns only a tool, Allen, the same way a surgeon’s knife is a tool. It’s useful, too, like your horse and rope. A gun doesn’t make a man a killer. It’s something in the heart that does that.

Johnson thought on the mayor's words and before he answered the mayor said, You were in the war. Did they send you into battle with nothing but your bare hands?  Look at it this way, do you judge a war by its size and the number of men involved? Susan up in heaven doesn’t hold you responsible for what happened and this job as a marshal is just a job. Johnson got up and left a dollar bill on the table and followed the mayor out to go to the town meeting. As Marshal Allen Johnson entered the city hall meeting room he saw that Councilmen Jennings, MacGregor, Matthews and the deputy mayor, as well as Hale County Sheriff Patterson and Judge Green-Reed, were seated around the table with the clerk ready to record. The Newspaper Editor Samuel Gompers approached Johnson and asked, Marshal what do you think about the possible investment of Alexander Morgan in Red Rock?

Who?

What oh sorry. He is a wealthy cattle baron back east and owns the largest bank in New York State. He wants to expand his empire and wants to buy out several ranches.

What do the ranchers have to say?

They all said no and he is not very happy about that. He’s here to pitch his investment to the city fathers as a way to expand the town.

As the meeting started the sheriff stood up and said, Last night rancher Jerry Thompson was found killed and he had a tax lien on his ranch. I will be selling it and mister Morgan might like to buy it as it fits in with his goals.

A man in a suit stands up and says, Sheriff you can’t do that.

Who are you? And why can’t I?

I am Donald Davis from Davis & Davis and we administer Mr. Thompson's estate and will. He left his estate to his only nephew who is arriving from Virginia and we have paid the debt.

It’s already done your too late.

No, we're not sheriff. If you look at his will it states ‘upon my death the estate will be held in escrow and any money will be used to pay any outstanding debts. I leave all to my only nephew. So this morning we paid the tax debt and here is the receipt. If you try to sell or if you already did you will be guilty of land fraud and theft you are warned.

The sheriff looking upset just says, Fine the matter is closed.

At the same time, the lawyer and sheriff are fighting in Northern Texas Ben Moran gambler/thief/killer was arriving at the river and he swam his horse across it. The north bank looked like the east treeless prairie sod. The wheels of traffic had cut deep ruts of many a covered wagon had passed here. In the deepest of the ruts stood a teamless stage, its driver sprayed across the seat.

Ben Moran had seen death many times before, had dealt it himself, and was hardened to it. But here was a picture to freeze the blood there’d been four passengers, all four of the men had been dragged outside and one still remained in his seat. Like the driver, all four were riddled with bullets, scalped and badly carved up.

Moran averted his eyes, Let’s get out of here. He said to his horse as he kneed his mount and headed north. As for reporting the massacre, let the first passing wagoner do that; no use getting embroiled in it, yet a sudden bold idea made Ben Moran wheeled his horse around and again faced that ravaged coach. Five men lay dead there each mutilated beyond recognition. What if one of these five were himself, Ben Moran?

What more than his watch, lucky ring, spurs, and wallet? What about a batch of IOU’s accumulated from various gaming tables in Texas, all payable to Ben Moran? But a vague idea of using them as