Bullets Always Kill (The Texas Riders Western #11) (A Western Frontier Fiction): The Texas Riders, #11

By Joseph Powell

He wants to clean up the town… they want to chase him out.

Sheriff Rowan Keller is the new sheriff of Blackgate.

There's just one problem.

The old sheriff doesn't want to leave.

He's spent years taking bribes from criminals so they could pass through unscathed, and he's not eager to give things up.

But Rowan's about to put an end to all that.

Blackgate's got a poker tournament coming up, and it's drawing all the wrong kinds of people. But no one beats Wade Sharp. Evil, corrupt, and soulless, Wade has a gang of men who will kill anyone who gets in their way.

Even women and children.

When Rowan puts up a fight, Wade decides him and the entire town must pay.

Especially Tillie.

She's pretty and kind, and Wade's taking her with him when he leaves.

But if he thinks Rowan is just going to let her go, he's mistaken.

Rowan's ready to go into battle, even if he has to do it alone.

Can Rowan save Tillie and the entire town, or are they already good as dead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Powell
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393439677

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

* * *

1873, Bull Creek, Texas

Tillie Swanson hid behind a wagon that was parked on the side of the dirt road, watching her father, Kenneth Swanson, limp toward the saloon with a crutch under one arm. It had taken three men to set his leg when he’d broken it in the mining accident three months ago.

Had it only been the lower leg that had cracked, it would not have been so bad. But his thigh bone had broken in several places and been almost completely crushed in others. Dr. Nelson had said it would take months to heal, if ever.

His father’s boss had expressed his condolences, given them a check for twenty dollars, and promptly given her father’s job to one of the hundred other men waiting in line to take it. She had not seen or heard from him since.

A cold breeze blew Tillie’s blond hair around her head. She pushed a strand of it behind her ear and pulled her coat tighter around her slim body.

A winter chill had settled into the air last week, as soon as December had hit. Her father shivered as he made his way through it in his too-thin coat. She’d only learned yesterday that he’d sold his good thick one for two dollars. It had cost several times that when she’d bought it for him last year.

The last few weeks, he’d taken to selling everything around their house that was not tied down, as long as it did not belong to her, Izzie, or Johnny. Her younger brother and sister, who were six and eight, were blissfully unaware of their father’s strange behavior. 

Her father’s crutch caught in a hole in the road and he stumbled, falling over and crying out in pain. The other men hurrying toward the saloon merely glanced at him without stopping. There was a poker tournament going on there tonight, and they were anxious to get to it. Tillie ran to help her father.

He looked up at her as she came to his aid, and his eyes widened. Tillie, I told you to stay home. Izzie and Johnny are too young to be left to themselves.

Tillie helped him up, and she could tell he was more embarrassed by falling than he was cross with her.

I took them to Mrs. Baumgartner’s. She’s promised to watch them till I return.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He seemed uncertain about what to say next. The saloon’s doors were just a few feet away.

Father, why are you going to a saloon?

Kenneth Swanson had never been a drinker. Only once in her entire twenty-two years had she seen him take a sip of alcohol, and that had been the day after her mother died giving birth to Izzie.

His cheeks colored. Go home, Tillie. There’s something here I must do.

She looked at the saloon and bit her lower lip. Is this about the bank manager? I know he came to see you yesterday.

He sighed and shook his head. I don’t want to worry you. Everything’s going to be okay.

She arched one eyebrow. What would I have to worry about? She’d known for a while he was keeping something from her; she just hadn’t known what. When she’d seen the bank manager speaking to him yesterday, she’d started to get some ideas.

He shrugged, almost slipping again as his crutch moved. He caught his balance and lifted his eyes to hers. We are behind in payments. The money I have isn’t enough to cover what we’ve missed.

Tillie’s heart pounded. How much time do we have?

Wind whipped past them, sending a chill up her spine. I gave the manager what I could and managed to buy us a couple of months, but I’ve sold off everything we have of value. That’s why I’m here. I must win this poker game tonight. It’s the only way we’ll be able to keep the house.

Tillie’s eyes widened. But do you even know how to play poker?

He smiled indulgently at her. It has been some years, but when I was a young man, I was quite a good poker player.

She didn’t know what to say. This was a side of her father she knew nothing about.

I have just enough money to enter the game, he told her. I’ve prayed on the matter. Now you go home and pray as well. God cannot ignore us both.

He turned and entered the saloon. Tillie stood there a moment then followed him inside. He was already busy talking to the man in charge, handing over a small bag of money. No wonder he’d sold his coat. It all made sense now.

She stayed in the back, not wanting him to see her. But she had to see what happened. She prayed to God, asking for his help, and when her father won the first round, her heart cheered. When he won the second round, it cheered even louder. Perhaps God was with them after all.

Tillie continued hiding in the shadows, afraid that if her father saw her now, it would break his concentration and his lucky streak along with it. There were a lot of people in the saloon, so it was easy to stay hidden.

Finally, it came down to her father and four other men. Two male spectators in front of her were talking about the dark-haired fellow sitting opposite her father. That’s Wayne Shannon. He’s never lost, said the first man.

I feel sorry for anyone playing against him, said the second.

Tillie looked more closely at the man they were speaking about. He was perhaps thirty, with dark hair and a dark, bushy beard. She’d seen him moving from table to table, and he was about six feet tall.

Several of his friends were here cheering him on. All of them were drinking whiskey and eyeing the saloon girls walking around.

The game started, and her father won the first hand. Tillie relaxed slightly, thinking the two men she’d overheard talking must have been mistaken. Wayne Shannon was no better a player than anyone else. But then he won the next hand and the next.

Her father’s brow started to sweat, and Tillie moved in closer. Wayne knocked one of the other men out of the game entirely. He grunted and walked off, angry at his loss.

That left four men at the table. After ten minutes, it was down to three men. Another ten, and it was down to just Wayne and her father.

Tillie’s entire body tensed as she watched her father’s already small supply of money dwindle that much further. Everything he’d won up until now was gone, and he was down to his last few dollars. A smile spread across his face as he held his cards in front of him. He laid down four queens, and a few men in the crowd cheered.

But Wayne returned his smile. Tillie thought it looked malicious somehow. He laid down his cards, and a murmur ran through the room. Wayne had just put down a royal flush. Tillie could not believe it. She knew only a little about the game, but she knew enough to understand how rare such a hand was.

Wayne began collecting his money. Her father sat there, a devastated look on his face. But he rolled his shoulders back and held out his hand to Wayne. Good game.

Wayne looked at her father’s hand and shook it. Same to you.

Her father’s eyes shifted down. They were staring at something. His jaw tightened. What is that? he asked, and Wayne quickly withdrew his hand. He was gathering up all his money and putting it into a sack.

What is that? her father repeated. He looked around at the other men in the saloon. He’s got a card up his sleeve.

Wayne scoffed. Don’t be ridiculous.

But one of the other players grabbed Wayne and pulled him back, lifting his sleeve. Several cards fell out, and the room erupted in angry voices calling for Wayne’s head.

* * *

Wade Sharp knew he’d been caught, and he was glad now that he hadn’t used his real name when entering the game. As far as anyone here knew, he was Wayne Shannon. It would make things so much easier when he made his escape.

He pushed off the man who’d taken hold of him and drew his pistol. The Smith and Wesson drew several gasps, but it wasn’t as though he was the only one in the saloon with a gun. Luckily for him, a dozen of his men were here with him. They all drew their pistols as well.

The man who’d taken hold of him backed up, raising his arms. I don’t want any trouble, he said.

Wade looked at him. You should have thought of that before you put your hands on me, he said and shot the man in his chest. Blood soaked his shirt, and several of the saloon girls screamed and started to run.

Wade, let’s get out of here, called out Judah. Wayne groaned. His best friend was excellent with a gun and loyal to a fault, but he had a bad habit of forgetting to use Wade’s alias. In the chaos around them though, he didn’t think anyone had heard.

Hang on, Wade called out to Judah, whose own Colt Navy revolver was drawn.

Wade turned to Kenneth Swanson, the cripple who’d outed him, and aimed his gun at the man’s head. Kenneth’s eyes widened. He tried to stand, but his crutch had fallen over and his leg would not work without it.

Please, Kenneth said. I have three children.

Kenneth shook his head sadly. You should have left well enough alone. I wasn’t looking for trouble tonight.

Wade’s finger started pulling back, but before it could go all the way down, someone shoved him from behind. He turned and saw a mass of blond hair and the shapely figure of a woman. She’d fallen over when she pushed him though, and her face was hidden from his view. He turned his gun on her.

One of the town’s deputies who’d come by to watch the game called out to him. Drop your gun.

Wade shot him in the stomach. He turned back to the girl, but she was already gone. His men were shooting anyone who drew their weapon. Wade, the sheriff’s coming, Judah said.

Damn. If the sheriff showed up, he’d have more deputies with him, and the chances of all his men getting out of here alive went down. He grabbed his money, forgetting about Kenneth Swanson and the woman who’d pushed him, and ran out the doors.

Their horses were tied up out in front of the saloon but half of them were missing. He had twelve men, plus himself, and there were only six horses left. They’d either gotten loose or someone had taken them.

If your horse is here, grab it and go. We’ll meet back at camp, he said to his men. The rest of you follow me.

Judah, Toby, and Arthur hurried after him along with three others. They ran a bit down the road, toward the edge of town.

An open-top coach came up on them, trying to get the family of four it was carrying away from all the commotion. Wade jumped out in front of it and shot the driver.

The horse slowed and Judah ran up alongside it, jumping into the driver’s seat and bringing it to a complete stop. Get in, he shouted and pushed the dead driver out of the coach.

Wade and the others hurried forward. In the back was an older man and his wife, plus their two children, no more than six years old. The man tried to put on a brave face. We’re getting out, he said, but Wade saw the gun inside his vest as his hand moved toward it.

Wade shot him twice, once in the chest and once right between the eyes. His wife and children all screamed and started to cry. Instead of running though, like they should have done, his wife reached for her husband’s gun.

Toby grabbed a hold of her and pushed her down onto one of the seats, taking her gun. The children were way too loud. They were drawing attention, and several townsmen started running toward them.

Wade tried to pry the boy away from his father’s dead body, but he was clinging to the man and refused to let up, so Wade shot him.

The little girl screamed, and Wade instinctively turned and shot her too. Then he shoved both children out of the carriage and told Judah to get a move on. The rest of his men piled into the back.

The woman was sobbing. She tried to get away as they started off, but Toby pulled her back down. He started fondling her breasts and lifting her skirts.

Wade’s muscles tightened. Toby, leave her be. You know we don’t do that.

Toby looked at him innocently. Can’t I just touch her a little?

Wade pointed his gun at him. I said no. We don’t rape women. He would never forget the cries of his mother and sister when they’d been raped in front of him by two men who broke into their house while their father was at work.

Toby did not stop touching her though. Wade’s temper flared. He shifted his gun a little to the left and pulled the trigger. His bullet entered the woman’s right eye. Blood poured out of her and she slumped over. Toby looked at him, irritated. What’d you do that for?

She’s no longer an issue, Wade said calmly. The next time you touch a woman like that in front of me, it will be you with a bullet in the eye.

Toby’s face paled. Sorry, he said, then shoved the woman out of the carriage as they hurried toward camp. Wade finally started to relax, and a smile rose on his face. He still had the money he’d won. And no one would be looking for him; they’d be looking for Wayne Shannon. He had gotten away with it.

* * *

chapter  0 1 ✪

* * *

A couple of months later...

Rowan Keller passed the sign that read Blackgate and smiled. He’d spent his entire twenty-six years living and working in Charbury, and not too long ago he’d thought nothing would ever change.

When he’d gotten the mayor’s letter asking him to take over as Blackgate’s new sheriff, he’d felt like a kid at Christmas. It didn’t matter to him that Blackgate was only the next town over from Charbury, no more than a few hours’ journey; it was something different.

Rowan had enjoyed his time as head deputy of Charbury, but he was moving on to bigger and better things. He entered the town and was not disappointed.

Charbury’s buildings had been old and rundown, never built very well to begin with. Recently, people had begun fixing things up, but it still had a dirty feel to it when you first set foot there.

Blackgate was the opposite. Its buildings were ten years old, but they all looked clean and sturdy. None of them were falling down or in desperate need of repairs, so far as he could see.

The wooden structures in the downtown area that made up all the shops stood side by side and sometimes back to back, with narrow alleyways running in between. The roads were wider than he was used to, and horse manure, though speckled throughout, had not overrun them.

Rowan passed the town square and saw several men and women working together to hang a large banner over a large gazebo. It read Blackgate Turns 10!

Out here, being ten years old was quite an accomplishment. Charbury had been older, but it hadn’t always been called Charbury. The town had gone through several name changes and altering borders over the years.

Blackgate had always been Blackgate. The town had remained virtually unchanged since it was founded ten years ago, and it appeared as if the town was getting ready to celebrate it.

He did not blame them. Especially with the sort of reputation Blackgate had; they were known to be an upstanding community, the kind of place women could walk the streets alone at night and not have to worry about being accosted. Not many towns in Texas could claim so much.

He passed the usual shops: a mercantile, ladies’ dress shop, barber, dry goods store. But there were also shops that he’d never seen before, at least not in Charbury. There was a small theater off on the right and a fancy-looking chocolatier across the street from that.

He did not see any brothels, though he assumed there must be one or two lurking around somewhere. The saloons he passed were nicer than those in other towns. There were no drunks hanging off the banisters, and no saloon girls out front dressed in sordid clothing that left little to the imagination.

One saloon he passed looked twice as large as the others. Hanging outside its doors was a sign: Poker Tournament Coming Soon.

Rowan wasn’t a gambler himself, but he knew poker tournaments could draw a lot of men to the tables. He’d have to find out more about that. Might be he’d have to station his deputies around the saloon that day. He didn’t want any trouble.

The sheriff’s station wasn’t quite in the center of town; it was several blocks closer to the east end. But it was close enough to center that he would not have far to go from one end of town to the other.

He tied his horse off and went inside. The station was a decent size, bigger than the one he’d left behind.

Two empty cells lined the back wall, with one window in each cell. The bars looked sturdy despite having some rust on them, and each cell had two cots with pillows and chamber pots.

Three desks were also spread across the station. Two were seated near to each other; the third one was on the opposite side of the room. Rowan approved of the arrangement. If there were criminals locked up in the cells, they’d be covered from either side of the room. No angle would go unseen.

At the two desks set near to each other were two men. One of them was in his early twenties and rather lanky. He looked tall even sitting down. A deputy’s badge was pinned to the outside of his shirt, and a grim expression was planted across his face.

The thirty-year-old man to his right, seated at the largest of all three desks, had dark hair and light brown eyes, and an expression more irritable than grim. He stood up as Rowan walked into the room, and a slight protuberance around his midsection told him the man enjoyed indulging in fine meals.

Based on his age, Rowan assumed this must be his head deputy and moved toward him with an outstretched hand. I’m Sheriff Rowan Keller; you must be Timothy Dean.

The man in front of him did not extend his hand to return Rowan’s handshake. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest.

The younger man on the left rose and said, I’m Timothy Dean, Sheriff. Good to meet you. He held out his hand and Rowan shook it. It was a good grip, and there was a brightness in the man’s eyes that portrayed a desire to do good. Rowan liked him immediately. As for this other fella...

This is Elijah Sims, said Timothy. Our former sheriff.

Sheriff Sims glared at Timothy, whose cheeks colored slightly. We’ve been through this, Tim. Nothing’s changed. I’m still the sheriff here.

Rowan looked from one to the other of them, confused. It was my understanding that—

Elijah Sims unfolded his arms from his chest and narrowed his eyes, cutting him off. I’m afraid there’s been a terrible mix-up, Sheriff Keller. I’m still the sheriff in this town. So you can just turn around and go on back to Charbury.

Something wasn’t right. Timothy Dean could barely look at Sheriff Sims.

Perhaps I’d better speak to Mayor Clifton, said Rowan. He’d been the one to write him, after all. The mayor could undoubtedly straighten this out.

I sent Edgar, one of the other deputies, to fetch him, said Timothy. He oughta be back with him soon enough. He glanced up at Rowan and offered a half-smile, as if trying to reassure him this would all work out.

The three of them stood in silence for a minute or two until the doors opened and a distinguished-looking man in his forties came striding in. He was wearing a gray suit of fine linen and had a sour expression on his face. A young man of maybe nineteen or twenty hurried in behind him, shutting the door and standing with his back straight to the wall.

The older man looked at Rowan. Sheriff Keller? I’m happy to see you made it. I’m Mayor Heath Clifton. He extended his hand, and Rowan shook it.

Happy to meet you too, Mayor. Rowan turned to Sheriff Sims. Sheriff Sims here seems to think I’m not needed.

Mayor Clifton shook his head and took a step toward Sheriff Sims. Elijah, you and I talked about this. Please, don’t make things worse than they already are.

Sheriff Sims set his jaw firmly in place and put his hands on his hips. I told you I’m not leaving. I’m still the sheriff of this town.

No, you’re not, said the mayor. I relieved you of that post weeks ago.

You can’t fire me. I’ve been taking care of Blackgate for the last five years.

Mayor Clifton’s face turned red. Taking care of us? Is that what you call accepting bribes from criminals?

Rowan’s ears perked up. What was this? He’d heard nothing about any sort of trouble in Blackgate. When Mayor Clifton had written him, he’d assumed their current sheriff had merely decided to move on. There’d been no mention of bribery.

Sheriff Sims’ nostrils flared, but he didn’t deny the mayor’s charges. Nothing bad ever happened, did it? No one got hurt, so what’s the crime?

But Mayor Clifton was not going to back down. Elijah, taking money from outlaws so that they may receive safe passage through Blackgate is not acceptable. How many outlaws stayed at our hotels? Dined in our restaurants?

If you paid me more, I wouldn’t have needed the money.

The mayor spoke through clenched teeth. You are no longer sheriff of Blackgate. Kindly leave your badge on the desk and exit the station.

But Elijah did not budge. His hand inched toward