Stringer and Brodie: Hell to Pay

By Tony Masero

When confirmed Unionist, General Charles Griffin takes over Reconstruction in post-war Texas he is all set to dissolve the arrangement with free-ranging lawmen Stringer and Brodie. But then a series of murders close to his wife’s heart brings the two back into prominence. A stolen series of vital charts excites the lucrative promise of big bucks amongst the local villainy and the prospective wealth reaches even further afield to attract a vengeful Chapter of the newly formed Ku Klux Klan. Stringer and Brodie must find their way through a tangled web of bloody deceit, kidnapping and hillbilly anger before they can rest easy on this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Masero
• Release date: Dec 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005152703

Tony Masero

It’s not such a big step from pictures to writing.And that’s how it started out for me. I’ve illustrated more Western book covers than I care to mention and been doing it for a long time. No hardship, I hasten to add, I love the genre and have since a kid, although originally I made my name painting the cover art for other people, now at least, I manage to create covers for my own books.A long-term closet writer, only comparatively recently, with a family grown and the availability of self-publishing have I managed to be able to write and get my stories out there.As I did when illustrating, research counts a lot and has inspired many of my Westerns and Thrillers to have a basis in historical fact or at least weave their tale around the seeds of factual content.Having such a visual background, mostly it’s a matter of describing the pictures I see in my head and translating them to the written page. I guess that’s why one of my early four-star reviewers described the book like a ‘Western movie, fast paced and full of action.’I enjoy writing them; I hope folks enjoy reading the results.

Book preview

Stringer and Brodie:

Hell to Pay

Tony Masero

When confirmed Unionist, General Charles Griffin takes over Reconstruction in post-war Texas he is all set to dissolve the arrangement with free-ranging lawmen Stringer and Brodie. But then a series of murders close to his wife’s heart brings the two back into prominence. A stolen series of vital charts excites the lucrative promise of big bucks amongst the local villainy and the prospective wealth reaches even further afield to attract a vengeful Chapter of the newly formed Ku Klux Klan. Stringer and Brodie must find their way through a tangled web of bloody deceit, kidnapping and hillbilly anger before they can rest easy on this one.

Cover Illustration: Tony Masero

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.

Copyright © Tony Masero 2021

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

The intruders came in through the window in stockined feet.

It was unseasonably hot this time of year and the windows in the single story farmhouse had been left open with only a muslin curtain against the night bugs so it was an easy matter for them to clamber inside.

There were three of them and all wore black bandanas over their lower faces.

The eldest, Jacob Lowenbrough, was leader of the trio, his brother Billy followed on behind and their cousin Aidan was the last. Jacob’s youngest son Boyd, that everybody called Blue, had been left with the horses five hundred yards out amongst a stand of cottonwoods that reached down to the edge of the property.

On the grassy compound outside, the maid, Izabel, slept on the porch of the cabin she shared with her husband, the black manservant, Ebenezer. Mrs. Coulter, wife of the owner, had decided that the two coloreds should marry as she considered it was improper they would share lodgings without the decency of a marital status. In truth, Mrs. Coulter did not want the expense of building another cabin, so even though Izabel was only nineteen years old and Ebenezer somewhere in his late sixties the two had been forced to wed.

They had both been house slaves until Lincoln’s edict freeing the blacks during the recent Civil War but that directive had made little difference here in north Texas and for all intents and purposes they were both still slaves. Little political attempt had been made to enable this freedom for the coloreds under the new adjustment and both had been servants all their lives, they were unlettered and untutored so where were they to go and what to do? Left with little alternative they had stayed where they were, the Coulter’s were not unpleasant people and life was relatively agreeable under their rule.

Izabel did not mind the present situation too much, at his age Ebenezer made few connubial demands on her but despite that the cabin was small and stuffy in the heat so she chose to bed down on the hammock outside with a straw fan against the mosquitoes. Their log cabin was set on its own away from the house across a yard laid to grass and within easy calling distance should the master or mistress need them.

Izabel woke briefly when she thought she heard horses snuffling and bridles clinking but put it down to Mr. Coulter’s carriage team over in the stables, so she slept on whilst the three men slipped past her and into the house.

The Coulter’s were an elderly couple and Edward Coulter a well respected man locally, having served successfully as an officer during the Mexican Wars and as a result was valued in the community and well connected politically. As witness to the fact that the Coulters had only recently been hosting the new martial commander to Texas, General Charles Griffin and his wife, until he was unexpectedly called away suddenly to answer an urgent matter concerning the construction of the new state capitol building in Austin.

The three intruders found themselves in a spare room that Coulter used as his den and office, which was exactly where they wanted to be and hastily they searched the room by the bright light of the half moon. A door opened and they all froze as they heard shuffling footsteps and saw the light of a candle flicker in the corridor outside.

A child’s voice called out tentatively, ‘Is that you grandpa?’

Then the deeper sound of the old man, ‘Yes, it is, honey. Just getting me a drink of water.’

‘It’s awful hot, grandpa.’

‘It is, dear, but best you try and get some sleep now.’

His tone was gentle and affectionate and the men could hear the warmth with which he regarded the child.

‘Don’t know if I can,’ said the little girl.

‘Aw, sweet thing, it’s a big day tomorrow. You get to ride that new pony, remember?’

‘I wish it were tomorrow already.’

‘Sure,’ Coulter chuckled. ‘But right now is bedtime or you’ll be too tired tomorrow, so get along, Emily.’

‘All right, grandpa.’

The footsteps neared as they heard the child’s door shut quietly and at that moment, Billy who was over by the desk, touched a stack of correspondence that slid from the edge and fluttered to the floor. All the men froze rigid at the soft sound and Jacob drew his revolver.

Coulter paused at the wisp of sound but made nothing of it, there were always strange noises in the old house and he continued on his way to the indoor pump in the kitchen.

‘What do we do?’ hissed Aidan nervously.

‘Be still,’ rasped Jacob. ‘The old bastard will be through in a minute.’

They heard the pump work in the kitchen and the clink and rustle as the old man drank his glassful. The slow steps began their journey back along the corridor and the three men hovered in the shadows barely daring to breath.

They were all surprised when the door was suddenly flung wide and Coulter stood there with a lighted candlestick in his hand. He glanced down at the papers spread across the floor and cursed softly thinking a breeze through the window had upset them. Unseen the robbers sunk back deeper into the shadows as Coulter bent down to pick them up. Then he felt a cold pistol barrel press into the nape of his neck.

‘Hold it right where you are,’ husked Jacob.

Coulter dropped to his knees and spread his hands wide, ‘What do you want?’ he asked nervously. ‘Who are you people?’

Billy leaned over and took the candlestick from Coulter’s grasp and set it on the desk.

‘Where is it?’ hissed Jacob.

‘Where’s what?’

‘The General’s folder.’

‘He ain’t here now,’ said Coulter, playing for time as his mind raced with possibilities.

‘I know that, dumbass. He left a folder of papers with you, where is it?’

‘What the hell do you want with that? It’s just official stuff, ain’t got no value. You want money, I’ll get it for you.’

Jacob bored deeper with the pistol, screwing it into the old man’s neck, ‘I ain’t going to ask you again.’

‘Look, I got my wife and grandchild asleep here, you ain’t going to harm them, are you?’

‘Give me them goddamned papers and we’ll be on our way,’ snarled Jacob. ‘We ain’t interested in your womenfolk but you keep playing me around and we might very well get interested. You hear me?’

‘Okay,’ said Coulter, seeing it was no use to prolong it further. ‘Over there on the bookcase, in the leather portmanteau binder.’

Jacob nodded at Billy and his brother went over to fetch the large folder wedged between two tomes of law books. ‘Pretty fancy,’ he grunted, stroking the soft cowhide surface impressed with a single golden star. ‘I believe I ain’t….’

‘Don’t none of you move!’ they all jumped as a harsh female voice came from the doorway.

A small white haired woman in a long nightgown bearing a heavy double-barreled shotgun and waving it to either side of the room stood at the door.

‘Edna!’ gasped Coulter. ‘Don’t.’

‘Hey now,’ said Jacob, keeping his cocked pistol pressed into Coulter’s neck.

‘Let him go,’ snapped the woman. ‘You damned scoundrels come in my house,’ she went on angrily. ‘Do you know who that is you got on his knees?’

‘Let’s ease it down a notch,’ said Jacob in a placatory tone. ‘There’s no need for all this.’

Mrs. Coulter swung the shotgun towards him, ‘Let my husband go or by god I’ll blast you, the whole damn lot of you.’

‘Edna,’ pleaded Coulter. ‘Let it go.’ He knew his wife’s temperament and her capability with firearms; she had come here with him in the early days and fought off Indians and Mexicans with the same ferocious ability as any man.

‘Goddamn it, will you do as I say?’ snapped Edna.

‘Okay,’ said Jacob, pulling down his bandana with one finger and offering a crooked smile. ‘Whatever you say, lady.’

It happened all too briefly.

Jacob raised his pistol away from Coulter and fired and Edna did the same, both of them together. Her spread of shot hit dead center and doubled Jacob over sending him flying backwards across the room whilst Jacob’s bullet struck Edna in the side and spun her around. With a grim face gritted with pain she swung the shotgun and loosed the other barrel at Billy as he drew his own revolver. The ten-gauge load struck him in the thigh and carved off a chunk of flesh whilst his own shot blew the back of her head off. White hair fluffed and a long splash of scarlet ran in a curved sweep across the open door.

‘No!’ screamed Coulter, lunging towards his fallen wife.

Billy was tumbling backwards and although stunned he thought that Coulter was making a play for the shotgun so he fired as he went down. The slug hit Coulter in the ribs under the reaching arm and blew his pump apart, he died before he made it to his wife’s side.

‘What the holy hell?’ breathed a shocked Aidan, rigid and staring white faced at the bodies through the haze of gun smoke.

‘See to Jacob,’ groaned the leg-shot Billy.

‘He’s gone, Billy, that shotgun near cut him in half.’

‘Get the folder then and help me up. Oh, Jesus, it hurts!’

As Aidan helped him up, Billy snatched off his bandana and began lacing it around the bloody wound in his leg.

‘You ain’t ever going to get out that window with that leg,’ said Aidan, who was a mite traumatized and also not very bright to begin with.

‘I know that, you ass,’ spat Billy. ‘Out the front door.’

Hopping on one leg with his arm over Aidan’s shoulder, the two struggled down the corridor and onto the front veranda.

They heard screaming then, high pitched and female.

‘The kid,’ said Billy, looking back over his shoulder.

‘No, it ain’t, it’s that black gal over there.’

Billy looked across to the log cabin and saw Izabel on the porch, both hands held bunched to her cheeks and emitting ear-piercing shrieks that reverberated around the clearing. Ebenezer bundled her aside as he came out of the cabin with an old-fashioned flintlock pistol in his hand.

‘Goddamn!’ cursed Billy. ‘A hot-assed Negro with a popgun, let me down Aidan.’

Aidan released him and tottering on one leg, Billy cocked and fired his Army Colt three times rapidly at the oncoming old black man. Ebenezer staggered as the bullets struck, he was a big man and the lead thudded into him as if striking a wet sack of grain. Ebenezer managed to raise the flintlock but his legs went from under him and as he dropped he released the flintlock’s flaring shot into the ground.

‘Aw hell!’ spat Billy, staring down at the blood soaking his leg. ‘We gotta get to Blue and the horses, the whole damned neighborhood will be here directly.’

They limped past the distraught and still wailing Izabel and disappeared into the trees, hopping over stones in their bootless feet.

‘Watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do?’ sobbed Izabel, staring at the fallen Ebenezer, his blood steaming in the dawn air.

A small white clad figure burst out the open door and fled from the house, her nightgown soaked red down the front with stains of blood.

‘Oh, my Lord!’ wailed Izabel. ‘Littl’ Miss Emily. Y’all right, baby girl?’

She held her arms wide and the child rushed into the embrace. Tears streaked the girl’s chubby face and she sobbed, ‘Grandpa and Granma is shot dead, Izzy, and now I won’t get to ride my pony tomorrow.’

Chapter One

Marshal Stringer Bone creaked back in his chair behind the desk whilst his deputy, a bored Brodie Middenhoff sitting across the room, idly picked at his teeth with a match end.

‘So, what are you saying?’ asked Stringer.

Jesse Delray the other man in the room drew a deep breath and answered in a low voice, ‘Governor Throckmorton’s out, General Griffin has ousted him in favor of the military.’

The broad-shouldered Delray may have appeared the perfect civil servant, always quietly dressed and unobtrusive, a man of the shadows, yet somehow, during the