A Cowboy’s Honor (The Texas Riders Western #3) (A Western Frontier Fiction): The Texas Riders, #3

By Joseph Powell

You can't escape your past, but you can fight for justice.

Rex Wallace just sold his ranch.

He's tired of living in the place where his wife and son were murdered.

All he wants is a fresh start, as the sheriff in a new town.

But cowboys just can't just start over.

Especially … now … that the man responsible for killing his wife and son is free.

Otis escaped right before his hanging.

And he's out for revenge!

Rex has brothers, nieces, nephews, and he'll do whatever it takes to protect them.

Even if it means letting Otis go.

But Otis has other plans.

He's going to take down Rex and the entire town he's been hired to protect.

Thunder Hill is a small town without many worries, until Otis shows up.

Now its townspeople are all in danger, especially the woman and child Rex has been spending his time with.

He can't turn away from battle anymore, especially not when the battle has come to him.

Rex is ready for war, but will he be the one who ends up dead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Powell
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393238720

Joseph Powell

Joseph Powell is the author of Last Stand at Rock Springs.  He is a classic western writer and his stories always happened at the real place with a fictional eye. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and two children.

Book preview

prologue

* * *

1870 - Blackgate,

Texas

Otis Younger looked out the window of his jail cell and saw nothing but a dark afternoon sky. Rain clouds had been approaching all morning, but not one drop had fallen as of yet. He hoped it would hold off a little longer, until this was all over, but he supposed rain was what April was for.

He moved away from the window, his feet growing itchy as more time passed. His bad knee ached, and for a minute, he thought it might buckle. But he drew in a breath, and it sorted itself out again. The next time he ran into the Wallace brothers, he’d put a bullet into each of their knees so they could see what it felt like. Especially Rex. Rex had taunted him, and Otis did not forget such things.

The darker it got outside, the smaller his cell began to feel. He was in the first of three cells lined up in a neat little row. The other two had three bored-looking men spread out between them.

Otis was alone in his cell. His was the only one with a window. He’d made this cell his last request, asking to have the window so that he might see the sun set and rise one last time before his hanging. They couldn’t refuse.

The sheriff’s station in Blackgate was bigger than others he’d been in, but the cells themselves were just as tight. If he’d laid down across the width of the cell and stretched his hands over his head, he could have touched the walls from one end to the other. The length of the cell was only a little longer. Just big enough to hold a cot, a chamber pot, and Otis. If he’d been any bigger, he might’ve had to curl up at night when he lay down to go to sleep.

The bars wrapped all around his cell except for the wall with the window in it; that was made of adobe. If he’d had more time, and there wasn’t always someone there watching him, he probably could have dug his way out. The head deputy sat at one desk, the sheriff at another. One other deputy lounged in a chair at the back of the station, which was about the size of a large one-room cabin. 

Both the sheriff and his head deputy watched Otis with irritating grins as he moved back to the window and looked out once more.

Why do you keep looking out that window? Got yourself a date? asked the sheriff. He and the deputy let out hearty laughs. Both the men were fat and ugly. It would be a pleasure to put bullets in them.

Otis glanced at the men, and one corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-grin. The permanent crease stuck between his eyebrows deepened. Maybe I do.

The smile dropped off the sheriff’s face. He looked worried now. His left eyebrow began to twitch. Otis walked to the front of his cell and hung his arms through the bars, leaning his weight against them as he watched the sheriff’s eyes narrow.

The only date you got is with your maker, said the sheriff. Tomorrow at dawn, he’s gonna greet you with open arms and then smother you with them when he reads your soul. I hope you’re ready to burn like that cousin of yours who shot your knee out.

Otis’s hands curled into fists. It was true his own cousin had given him this pain in his knee, but it had been the Wallace brothers who had caused him to do it.

The head deputy did not seem to notice that the mood had shifted in the room. He was still laughing. He looked at the three other men in their cells. Maybe Otis here can put in a good word for you three when he gets to the other side.

The other men did not look amused. I’m not set to hang, said one of the men, a shorter fella with bushy eyebrows. He sounded nervous. I’m only supposed to be here another day or two. Aren’t I? His bottom lip began to tremble.

The deputy shrugged.

Otis looked at the bushy-eyebrowed fella. Don’t let them scare you. No one here is gonna hang.

His cellmates looked at him curiously, but the head deputy only laughed. The deputy at the back of the room laughed with him. The sheriff looked nervous. He rose and walked to a window at the side of the station and looked out. He stood there a moment, but seeing nothing, he returned to his desk.

A woman with neatly done hair and a clean dress entered the jail, and the short man with bushy eyebrows immediately got excited. Dolores, he said, grabbing hold of the bars and trying to press his nose between them.

She hurried over to him, kissing him through the bars, and the sheriff immediately rose. I’m sorry, miss, he said. You can’t be doing that.

She glared at him and rounded her shoulders back. He’s my fiancé. I can kiss him if I want to. She pressed her face close to the bars again and managed to steal another kiss before the sheriff yanked her away.

None of that now, said the sheriff. He was tall and made an imposing figure when his chest puffed out.

My fiancé doesn’t deserve to be in here with the likes of them. He’s no killer, like some of these men. She looked right at Otis when she said that. Otis had made the papers a lot lately, especially when his lawyer had managed to get him an few months’ extension on his hanging. That extension time was up though.

Otis smiled at her. She was pretty to look at. It had been a while now since he’d seen a pretty woman. A good month, at least.

The sheriff sighed heavily. Otis walked back to the window. This time, when he looked out, he spotted Eddie Shields riding toward the station with two other men. His smiled deepened, and excitement began to pulse in his neck. He watched them get closer, listening to Dolores argue with the sheriff about how her fiancé deserved better than a tiny cell where he was surrounded by killers.

Eddie and his men pulled their horses up behind the station as the rain finally settled in. It came down all at once, not wasting its time, just like Eddie. His friend’s dark hair got wet as he came right up to the back of the station without saying a word and held up a Derringer pistol.

Otis tried to slip his hand out through the bars, but he realized they were spaced tighter together than his cell door, and his thick arms couldn’t quite fit. Eddie didn’t hesitate. He got up on his tiptoes and slipped the gun through the bars to him. The Derringer fit easily.

What are you doing? asked the head deputy, finally taking notice of him.

Otis held the gun tightly against his chest, giving Eddie and his men time to go around. Its small size made it easy to conceal. The barrel was no more than two or two and a half inches at most. The smell of gun oil traveled up his nostrils, and Otis knew Eddie had cared for this gun well.

Just looking at the rain, Otis said.

Don’t think that a little rain’s gonna stop your hanging, said the head deputy.

Otis counted to three. No, but this might, he said and spun around.

In two swift strides, he crossed his cell and held the gun up. He fired it through the bars and hit the head deputy in the chest. Blood soaked his shirt as he fell out of his chair and to the floor. He was still breathing, but he wasn’t moving, which meant he was out of the way enough for Otis.

The deputy at the back of the room was slow to react. His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at the sheriff before reaching for his gun. The sheriff already had his drawn and was pointing it at Otis.

The door to the station banged open, and Eddie and his two men came running in. Eddie’s eyes darted across the room, picked out the sheriff, and fired. The sheriff had quick reflexes though. He jumped out of the way and the bullet missed him. It hit Dolores instead.

She held her hands to her stomach, where red soaked through the cream-colored dress she’d worn that day. Her fiancé’s eyes widened, and he reached for her through the bars. No! he shouted as she stumbled across the floor, still clutching herself.

The sheriff fired a deafening shot at one of Eddie’s men, hitting him in the gut. He followed it with another fast shot, this time getting him in the chest. The second shot sent Eddie’s man stumbling, and he fell half-in, half-out the front door, which was still hanging open. One leg twitched as he lay on the ground.

Otis looked around and saw that Dolores had finally stopped stumbling. And breathing. He fired fast, while the sheriff’s back was still turned, and got the sheriff in the neck. Blood spurted out of him, and he dropped his gun. He pulled at the collar of his shirt as if that could somehow save him. He was gasping for breath. Eddie picked up where Otis left off and fired another shot, sending it into the center of the sheriff’s chest and ending his life.

Gunsmoke choked the air. Otis’s eyes watered and his throat stung. His knee wrenched with pain, but it all felt good. It felt like home. Otis hadn’t realized how much he’d missed a good fight until this very second.

The last remaining deputy at the back of the room had finally started to react, but he was too late. Eddie grabbed hold of him and pressed his brand-new Smith and Wesson to the man’s head. The deputy froze.

P-Please don’t shoot me, said the deputy. I’ve got a baby on the way.

Eddie grinned maniacally. That’s never stopped me from killing a man before, he said and pulled the trigger. Half the deputy’s brains blew out the side of his head. He fell to the ground in a soft clump.

Eddie fished the keys from around the sheriff’s waist and opened Otis’s cell. He stepped out, and the two men embraced like brothers.

I knew you’d come, Otis said.

What about us? cried the prisoner in the last cell on the end. Eddie looked at him, then looked at the middle cell, which contained Dolores’ fiancé and a third man Otis bore no grudge against. Dolores’ fiancé looked as though he wanted to kill Otis though.

Otis pointed to the man in the cell by himself. Let him out. Leave these others.

Dolores’ fiancé fumed. The man who shared his cell protested, but it fell on deaf ears. Otis wasn’t about to open that cell up and risk getting shot in the back by Dolores’ fiancé.

Otis looked at the man Eddie let out of his cell. What’s your name? Otis asked.

Glenn Hall.

Well, Glenn, you ride with us now. Glenn looked uncertain. We lost a man today; we need to replace him. Otis held his gun out, pointing it at Glenn’s head. What do you think?

I think I ride with you now, Glenn said.

Eddie’s friend, the one who’d managed to avoid getting shot, said, We’d better go.

Otis stepped over the dead man in the doorway and hurried to his horse.

* * *

chapter  0 1 ✪

* * *

Rex Wallace heard two carriages pull up to his farmhouse at almost the exact same time. His ears were sharp, maybe even sharper than his blue eyes. His brothers, Clay and Perry, must have timed it so that they left their farms within minutes of each other. Their dusty brown hair, lightened by hours spent in the sun, matched his own.

Perry was the oldest, and he had a permanent worry line stuck between his brows because of it. That sort of thing came with age. Clay, being the youngest of the three of them, managed to stave off worry until the reason for it was smack in his face.

Rex waved to them from the doorway of his farmhouse and tried to act like he wasn’t about to drop an earth-shattering piece of news on them. They weren’t going to be very happy when they heard it. If he could, he’d go and sit in his bedroom and let them have their dinner without him. His farmhouse wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that he could avoid them if he had a mind to. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a dining room.

The wood was rotting out in places, especially toward the back of the house. He’d fallen behind on repairs since losing his family and didn’t care all that much about catching up. He had acres of land that the cattle kept from getting overgrown, but the plot he’d set aside long ago for farming was dead and dried up. He hadn’t planted anything in months, and he had no intention of doing so ever again.

Hi, Uncle Rex, shouted Harley, Perry and Nadine’s oldest boy. Rex thought how much he was going to miss his nieces and nephews, and his throat tightened. Instead of saying hello, he just nodded.

His sisters-in-law and their assorted children climbed carefully out of their carriages. The children, aged four to seven, ran to him and threw their arms around his legs. Harley came up past his hips now.

Leave your uncle alone before you topple him over, Perry shouted, but he was smiling.

His sister Mollie and her child, the youngest at only two-years-old, had yet to arrive. That wasn’t unusual these days. Ernest was living with Mollie now and getting his wheelchair in and out of the carriage was a challenge.

Clay and Perry had both offered to let Ernest stay with them, but Mollie had told them that caring for Ernest gave her something to do with her time. She had a growing child to care for, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

Mollie had lost her husband some time ago, and Rex had the feeling that the more people Mollie could care for, the happier she was. If Ernest hadn’t been like family to them, it might have been improper, but he was practically their brother, so no one worried much about it. Except maybe for their good friend Corny, who shot jealous glances Mollie and Ernest’s way whenever he saw them together.

That was Corny’s own problem to deal with though. Mollie would have married him in a second if only he’d ask her, but he hadn’t. At least not yet.

Rex looked back over his shoulder toward the kitchen, afraid something might burn if he left it unattended for too long. Mollie and his sisters-in-law had offered to come over early to help him prepare things, but he’d declined.

He was tired of everyone trying to do everything for him. Ever since his wife and son had been murdered, his family had walked on tiptoes around him, afraid of rattling his nerves. Well, he was done with that. Rita and Turner were buried, but he was still breathing. It was time he got on with things, and it was time his family let him.

The first step toward that was letting go of this ranchland and especially this house. Every time he passed by his son’s empty room, his chest got tight. The bed he’d shared with his wife felt cold and empty, and most nights he ended up sleeping on the couch.

Yes, it was definitely time to move on.

When Mollie finally arrived, everyone got themselves seated around the table. It was an old oak table his father had carved when Rex was just a little boy. It was the one piece of furniture in the house he hadn’t sold. He’d tell Mollie, Perry, and Clay they could decide between them who got it.

The spread he’d laid out was nothing fancy, like Rita would have done. Potatoes, a roast, and carrots. Things that were easy to cook. He’d planned to skip dessert, but then he’d thought the children would be disappointed. Dessert had been Turner’s favorite part of a meal.

So, he’d made some simple sugar cookies—Rita’s old recipe—which he’d nearly burned. The kids didn’t care though. Their eyes lit up as Rex set the plate in the center of the table. Why wait till their meal was over to serve them? He didn’t know when they’d all be gathered together like this again.

He waited until their mouths were all full before he made his announcement. He cleared his throat and stood up. I wanted to tell you all know how much I care about each of you.

The women’s eyes misted over.

We love you, too, said Genevieve, Clay’s wife. There were general murmurs of agreement. He waited for them to take another bite before continuing. With full mouths, it would be harder for them to argue with him.

He’d practiced this speech a hundred times in his head, but now that he had to say it out loud, the words seemed stuck in his throat. He patted the gun he always kept in his belt holster, an 1851 Colt Navy revolver. The .36 caliber gun always made him feel safe. The barrel address was sharp and clear, and there was no rust or pits anywhere on the frame. It had the best grip of any gun he’d ever owned, and he’d owned a few.

His family was still watching him. He tried again, deciding to forget his practiced speech and just spit the words out. I’m leaving Cedar Summit.

His brothers paused with their forks halfway to their mouths. Leaving? Clay asked. You mean on a trip?

Rex shook his head. No. For good. I’ve sold my land and this house.

He braced himself for the protests that erupted from everyone around the table. It didn’t matter. Knowing what was coming was not enough to stop the irritation from percolating inside him when his brothers said in one voice, You can’t go. You’ll be all alone.

Maybe that’s what I want, Rex told them. His family looked hurt. He shook his head. I love you all, you know that, but I need a place where everything doesn’t remind me of Rita and Turner. His eyes scanned the room, and he could almost see his wife and son’s faces peeking at him playfully from behind the curtains.

Mollie rose and walked over to him. Sometimes a change is good, she said, embracing him. We’ll miss you, but we want you to be happy.

Ernest rolled his wheelchair out from behind the table, his iron wheels creaking on the floor. Mollie moved to make room for him. He held his hand out to Rex, who shook it. It was a good grip; Ernest was getting stronger. The bullet that had put him in that chair might not keep him in it after all.

Good luck to you, said Ernest.

Slowly, his brothers followed Ernest’s lead.

Nadine, Perry’s wife, finally asked the question none of them had yet to ask.

Where are you going?

Rex looked at her. I’ve been offered the sheriff’s job in Thunder Hill.

Nadine dropped her mouth open in surprise. Her recently deceased brother had been from Thunder Hill. He had died elsewhere, but the name had a meaning for her, as it did for all of them. They’d all known the previous sheriff, Sheriff Cooper. He’d died about a year ago while helping Rex and his brothers fight for justice.

Clay hesitated then broke into a grin. Thunder Hill? Why didn’t you say so? That’s only a few hours’ ride. We’ll see each other all the time. Besides, it’s boring there; nothing ever happens. I give it a month and you’ll be back here looking for a new ranch to settle into.

Rex shook his head. Boring was just what he wanted. Being the youngest, Clay didn’t always understand that.

You’ve never been sheriff before, said Perry, sounding worried and confused. That was the older brother in him coming out. Worry was his specialty.

Yes, but our reputation with a gun is known around here, said Rex. He and his brothers had been involved in bringing down some outlaws a time or two. That was how Rita and Turner had ended up dead. And he’d never forgive himself for that.

When do you leave?" asked Genevieve.

I’ve got two days.

* * *

chapter  0 2 ✪

* * *

Rex left Cedar Summit early in the day. The land between his new home and his old one was a choppy plain that was a pretty sight but sometimes slowed down travel. Gently rolling hills gave way to wild wilderness. Oaks, hickories, elms, and gums blanketed the forested areas in rich greens. The closer you got to town, the more the soil turned to tight clay or shale. Farther out, the soil was looser and coarser, almost like sand.

After riding his toffee-colored horse all morning and part of the afternoon, Rex spotted a small, dusty town in the near distance. The downtown area had several wooden one-story structures all closely set together in long rows. The buildings were right on top of each other so that there was hardly an inch of space between most of them, and many of them were poorly constructed.

There was one main dirt road running straight through the center of it all. The road took you straight into one end of town and out the other. Looking at it, he didn’t think you could approach the town from any other angle. If you came at it from the sides, you’d encounter a wall of buildings that would be difficult to pass, unless you and your horse happened to be only a few inches wide.

It was actually sort of a good idea, providing the downtown area, at least, a measure of safety since you could always see who was coming and who was going. Too bad the rest of Thunder Hill didn’t have such precautions.

Just outside of Thunder Hill, he could see a big vacant spot where trees had been chopped down to build homes and shops or for firewood. The leftover stumps were clumped together, as if everyone had agreed this was the area for chopping and nowhere else.

He’d been here a handful of times before but never for very long. There wasn’t much of a draw. The few times he’d been here it had been to buy a new steer for his ranch or to sell off a heifer.

There were several ranchers, a few he knew by name, living well on the outskirts