The Sioux Kid

By Cameron Melancon

They called him the Sioux Kid. Most good folks liked him. Outlaws hated him. And lawmen - well, some did and some didn't. They said he was faster with a revolver than any one man alive, but he was even faster with a Henry carbine. The Sioux Kid lived by his gun because he had been given no other choice, not because he wanted to. He had promised his mother and father that as long as he lived by his gun, it would only be pointed at wrongdoers, with the intent to do good. He kept that promise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643500539

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The Sioux Kid

Cameron Melancon

Copyright © 2018 Cameron Melancon

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64350-052-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64350-053-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Avenger of Blood

Chapter 1

It was pitch dark when he rode into town, but that did not bother him at all, for he had been stared at, laughed at, and whispered about plenty while passing through the last town during broad day. He thought to himself that he must be a strange sight to see at the moment, for he wore dirty buckskins, old soled moccasins, and worn leggings. In his hand, he carried a Henry Carbine, and in his belt was a knife and a tomahawk. His skin was darker, like that of an Indian, but not very dark, and his hair dark, very dark, almost black, and long reaching past his shoulders. His face was handsome and young, his cheekbones high, and his eyes blue and set like steel. The horse’s hooves beat softly on the soil underfoot as he rode through the town. His face looked straight ahead, but his eyes were very alert and constantly shifting from one building to another. Finally, he reached the hotel. He shifted the reins to the left, walked his horse up to the hotel, dismounted, and tied it securely to the post, and walked into the hotel. The clerk didn’t even hear him come in and was asleep. His head and hands rested on the desk.

I need a room for the night, the young stranger blurted out.

Ah, what … who, the clerk jerked his head up, startled. What’s the big idea mis … his words trailed off, and his mouth shut suddenly. He felt terrified. There he was, staring into the stranger’s steel blue eyes. How can I help you,? He asked, his voice shaky.

You can start by giving me a room, the stranger said in perfect English.

Oh, sure, have any one you like, just don’t scalp me!

I’m going to pay for the room, the stranger replied, laying down a dollar bill on the desk.

The clerk looked at the bill in unbelief. But it’s only seventy-five cents for a room, the clerk said, looking up at him.

Well, I just paid you for some more than the room. I also paid you for some information.

What kind? the clerk asked curiously.

Do you know a man by the name of Judson?

All of a sudden, the clerks face became white. No, I … I never heard of or know anyone named Judson, he replied nervously.

Just then, the stranger heard a voice behind him. Why don’t you just ride out of here, Indian!

He spun around to face the speaker and found himself looking into the eyes of monster of a man with blonde hair and a shaggy blonde beard. His eyes were mean and cold.

So, you’re not an Indian, you be a mongrel breed, he laughed coolly. Then his eyes turned from mean to ugly. I’m going to kill you breed. He slapped his hand on his holster.

Just then, he moved his hand to pull iron but was too slow. Quick as lightning, the stranger raised his carbine and fired once, then twice. Both bullets hit the man; the first in the shoulder and the second in the chest. The big man fell with a thud to the floor. He was dead.

The clerk looked up at the stranger. You know who you just killed?

Who? the dark stranger asked, reloading his Henry.

That was John Miller. He was a famous gunman around these parts.

Chapter 2

Well, he should have kept his gun in his holster, the stranger replied dryly. How about the room? he asked.

Oh, of course, the clerk replied with some hesitation.

Oh, by the way, this is for his burial the stranger said, putting a bag of coins on the desk in front of the clerk. Aren’t you going to tell the sheriff?

No need to, I already know, a voice spoke out clearly. The stranger turned around to face the sheriff. You just murdered a man, and you’re going to jail.

I killed him in self-defense, and I’m not going anywhere! the stranger said calmly.

He’s right, Sheriff. As much as I hate to admit it, Miller drew first without provocation from the kid, the clerk spoke up.

You sure of that or were you scared out of telling me the truth?

As sure as Gospel, Sheriff, the clerk replied.

Well, Rye’s word is good enough for me, mister, the sheriff said, turning to the stranger. But you better ride first thing in the morning. Folks around here don’t like Indians.

Does that go for you too, Sheriff?, the stranger asked coolly, staring the sheriff in the eyes.

No, but it does for some other good folks, the sheriff replied blandly, then turned to leave.

Sheriff! the stranger called.

What? he answered, looking back.

Do you know of a man named Judson?

Yes, I do. He paused for a moment and then said, Ride out come morning, if you know what’s good for you. Without another word, he left the hotel.

Once in his room, the young stranger took a bath and went right to bed. Next morning, he awoke to the sunshine that shone through the window of the room. He got out of bed and washed his face in a basin of water, put his hair in two Indian braids, put on fresh buckskins, and slid his knife in the sheath around his waist, put his tomahawk in his belt, and grabbed his Henry, making sure it was loaded, and went downstairs to the lobby.

Good morning, sir, the clerk said to the stranger.

Good morning, he replied.

Will you be leaving now?

No, I’m staying.

But what about the sheriff?

What about him? the stranger replied stoically; and without further ado, he walked out of the hotel and onto the street. There were many people on the street for it being so early, and all of them stared at him when he passed them like he was some animal from the wild.

He was just about to cross the street and go into the store when a man busted out of the swinging doors of the saloon with his hand on his gun belt. You, Indian! What do you want with Mark Judson?

He gave no reply but just kept on walking.

Turn around or I will shoot you down like the Indian dog you are!

The stranger still kept walking.

Okay, I warned you, breed, the man said. Then he went for his revolver.

He had only lifted it halfway out of his holster when he felt a lead ball hit him in his right side. He dropped his gun and fell back to the ground with a cry of pain, moaning and whimpering like a hurt puppy. The stranger then reloaded one bullet into the Henry and went on his way to the store.

Chapter 3

The sheriff was waiting outside the door when the stranger came out of the general store. He looked up from puffing his pipe.

You better … he began to speak but stopped. The stranger whom he was looking at now had on a fancy black cowboy hat. He also wore a smooth brown leather jacket which he left open, revealing a black button-up shirt. He also had on black boots and brown chaps with fringe hanging down from the side seams.

Well, well, aren’t we dressed mighty fancy, the sheriff blurted out.

I don’t see how me picking up a few things at the store is any of your business, or do you always make a habit of waiting outside the store for strangers who go in and buy supplies? the stranger replied and then walked past the sheriff.

Lucky for you, the man you shot in the street today is not dead or you’d be in my jail right now. Just ride out of town, redskin, if you know what’s good for you.

The young stranger was already halfway across the street when he spun around to face the sheriff. Listen here, Sheriff, he said angrily. I’m not leaving until someone in this blasted cowardly town tells me where Judson is holding up! After he finished speaking, he turned and started for the saloon.

When the sheriff returned to his office, there was a man sitting in his chair. He did not have to ask who he was. He already knew.

"Still haven’t run that