The Fast Draw

By John J. Law

It had been a long three days of travel from Stone Ridge to Riverton. Connors Slate was on the trail of one of the territory's most wanted men—a man named Johnny Black. Johnny was wanted for eight murders and three bank robberies. He was suspected in more than a dozen other robbery-murders and was known as a gunslinger for hire. If you had a dirty job needing done, and you weren't up to doing it yourself, he was your man to turn to for help. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Dec 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223278016

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It had been a long three days of travel from Stone Ridge to Riverton. Connors Slate was on the trail of one of the territory’s most wanted men—a man named Johnny Black. Johnny was wanted for eight murders and three bank robberies. He was suspected in more than a dozen other robbery-murders and was known as a gunslinger for hire. If you had a dirty job needing done, and you weren’t up to doing it yourself, he was your man to turn to for help.

Of the eight confirmed murders by Johnny, four were lawmen sent to arrest him. He’d gunned them down in the street in front a crowd of witnesses. The witnesses claimed that Johnny really hammed it up. They said he had a flair for the dramatic, and afterwards, he even took a bow.

Johnny was also a very fancy dresser, what was typically called a dandy. He was rarely seen in public in dirty or dusty clothes. He always wore white shirts and black pants with rhinestones sewn on the outside seams of the arms and legs. The cuffs of his sleeves had tassels sewn on them, as well. He even wore a black hat with a bright red feather in the band. You’d think a man who dressed so flamboyantly would be easy to find, but not so far. All Slate had found out was Johnny’s location a few days before—and rumors.

Riverton was the latest place Johnny Black was said to have been. Supposedly, he had been brought here to kill a rancher named Hartwell—Louis Hartwell, Sr. Hartwell was in a range war of sorts with another rancher, Guy Tenant. Up until this point, it had been a quiet little dispute with little bloodshed. There had been a fair amount of property destruction and several saloon brawls between the hired hands of the two ranchers, but only one killing. That wasn’t officially part of the range war, though, as there were no witnesses or any real evidence that it was related to their dispute.

The range war was over water rights. Slate heard the Sand Creek ran down the middle of Hartwell’s ranch. The ranch was a hundred and twenty-five thousand acres, and Hartwell wanted to build a flood control dam to avoid losing any more cattle to flash floods and spring run-off floods. To build the retention lake, Hartwell needed another eight thousand acres on the northern edge of his spread that was part of a natural depression in the land. The depression was in the shape of an egg, and all but the southern thousand acres was part of Tenant’s seven-thousand-acre ranch. If Tenant allowed Hartwell to build the dam, it would flood his ranch and force him out of the ranching business.

Hartwell had made a token effort to buy the land from Tenant. Of course, he offered to buy it at substantially less than market value. After all, the land was going to be under water most of the time. His offer was refused with good reason.

Hartwell, naturally, went ahead and started building the dam, leaving Tenant no choice but to try to stop him. Tenant had sabotaged the dam’s construction several times. Hartwell, in an effort to counter Tenant’s attempts at sabotage, was rumored to have hired a couple of gunslingers. One of these gunslingers supposedly had promptly killed one of Tenant’s men who was simply riding the range, tending to Tenant’s cattle. There were no witnesses or evidence to back up this claim, so the man wasn’t prosecuted. This left Tenant feeling as though the sheriff and the town had sided with Hartwell, which left him no choice but to hire a gunslinger of his own. Johnny Black. 

Slate made his first stop the sheriff’s office. No point in waiting to get off to bad start. He was pleasantly surprised when he entered the jail house. Sheriff Clint West was in, and he seemed like a nice man on top of it. Slate shared his papers with him, and the man seemed genuinely happy to see him.

I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Slate, I can use your help. I’m a good sheriff when it comes to dealing with the everyday type of petty crimes that a small town like Riverton has to deal with. But when it comes to dealing with gunslingers, I’m totally out of my depth. Oh, I’ve had to shoot men before, and I have. It’s just having to face down a gunslinger in the street. I’m a lousy draw. I just can’t do it. 

Slate had heard it before and knew no matter what he told the sheriff, the man would avoid getting caught in a situation where he’d have to draw down on a gunslinger. It wouldn’t help, even if Slate explained that he, too, was afraid of coming up against a faster draw than him. Slate knew if the sheriff believed he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t, and he’d lose.

Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Sheriff.

So who is the man you’re after now? Sheriff West asked.

He goes by the name of Johnny Black. He’s a fancy dresser—a dandy—and extremely fast with a gun. He has killed eight men, four of whom were lawmen sent to arrest him, Slate shared.

How do you propose to take him in if he’s that big of a killer? Sheriff West asked.

Stroking his chin, Slate replied honestly, I haven’t quite figured that out yet. 

I’ll be glad to tag along with you, if that’s all right? Sheriff West offered.

There is likely to be showdown between us. Seems the larger and more serious the number of crimes the bad guys are charged with, the more often they’re willing to risk it all in gunfight, rather than in a court of law, Slate shared.

No offense, but I wasn’t going to stand next to you if things got serious, Sheriff West stated as he grinned at Slate.

No offense taken. Just don’t stand behind me, either. Stand off to the side and be ready to shoot the guy in case he beats me to the draw, Slate stated firmly. Sheriff West could tell by the look on his face he was serious.

I’ll do my best, Sheriff West said soberly.

That’s all I can ask, Slate replied, then asked, So, where’s a good place to sleep here in town?

That would be the Riverton Inn. They have reasonable rooms to rent, baths and a dining room for breakfast and dinner. I’d ask for a room on the back of the building, though. Every now and then, we do get a little ruckus in the main street due to drunken cowpunchers, but it’s never too wild or crazy, just noisy.

Thanks for the heads up. I’m going to go check in and grab a meal before heading over to the White Water Saloon. I tend to find the most wanted men in saloons after nine at night. If you’re willing come on by, we’ll have a drink and check out the locals who like the night life, Slate offered.

Well, there is no shortage of night owls around here, the sheriff stated.

I’ll see you about nine, then? 

Nine works for me, the sheriff retorted with a friendly smile on his face.

Slate nodded in reply and was turning to leave, then spun around. Say, where is the undertaker? I may have need of his services. One never knows. 

Sheriff West pointed across the street. Slate looked