Man Who Burned Hell! Read online

  ‘Has Josh turned up yet?’ Willis asked.

  He looked up at the deputy. ‘No. Did you read this?’

  Willis nodded. ‘It sounds bad. Have you ever heard of this Serenity place?’

  Reeves confirmed. ‘There’s been whispers about it. I was goin’ to send a man to check it out a while back but the territorial governor got wind of it and told me not to worry. His words were, ‘Let the local law deal with it’. I’m thinkin’ now that I should’ve ignored him and went with my gut.’

  ‘You do know that there is only one man for the job, don’t you?’ Willis pointed out. ‘With a situation like this, he’s probably the best one to deal with it.’

  It pained Bass to think about it, but Willis was right. He needed the best man on his team for the job and that man was his son.

  Reeves nodded. ‘And if he ever shows up, I’ll assign the job to him. I just wish I knew where he was.’

  ‘You know Ford, Bass,’ Willis commented, ‘he’s probably hip-deep in trouble.’

  ‘Without a doubt, Roy. Without a doubt.’

  Coyote Gibson smiled coldly and squeezed the trigger of his Colt, instantly killing the shotgun messenger where he stood beside the Billings’ stage. The roar brought forth a stream of alarmed cries from the surviving driver and passengers.

  The outlaws had stopped the stage on a level part of the trail, where both sides were strewn with rocks and trees. They’d dragged a deadfall across to create a blockage at the narrowest point. Once the concord was stopped, they ordered everyone on board to step down. Aside from the shotgun guard and driver, there were four passengers: two men and two women.

  Gibson and both of his partners were callous killers, wanted in Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado on robbery and murder charges. One of those happened to be for a town sheriff who had tried to apprehend them on his own.

  From beside the broad-shouldered, scar-faced outlaw, one of his men cackled. ‘That’ll teach the sumbitch to talk back to you, Coyote.’

  ‘Just shut up and give Crick a hand to get that strongbox down, Bones,’ Gibson snapped as he ran his eyes over the cowering passengers.

  One passenger caught his eye; a pretty young redhead woman with pale skin and sparkling green eyes, with a slim figure clad in an emerald green dress. She held her head high, her jaw set firm, a defiant expression on her face. What intrigued him most was the fact that she hadn’t blinked when faced with the cold-blooded murder of the guard.

  ‘What’s your name girl?’ he growled at her.

  ‘Eddie Yukon,’ she snapped.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Are you scared, Eddie Yukon?’

  ‘Not of you, I ain’t.’

  Surprised by her answer, Gibson asked, ‘And why, pray tell, might that be?’

  ‘Where I come from, scum like you are a dime a dozen.’

  One of the other passengers gasped at her blatant disregard for their predicament. The driver whispered urgently, ‘Take it easy, ma’am.’

  ‘And where is it you come from?’ Gibson pressed.

  ‘Deadwood.’

  ‘So, the tough little lady comes from a big tough town,’ Gibson guffawed.

  ‘Tough enough to chew a piece of horse dung like you up and spit you out,’ Eddie hissed.

  Gibson’s eyes flared and he raised his gun. ‘I wasn’t goin’ to kill you when I’m finished here. Not like the others. But I just changed my mind. I’ll kill you first.’

  Just as Gibson’s knuckle whitened with the pressure of squeezing the trigger, a voice from behind him said, ‘Is there a problem here?’

  The stranger was dressed totally in black, from the brim of his low-crowned hat to the toes of his dusty boots. Even his gun belt was made of hand-tooled black leather. The big, blue roan horse he rode remained rock-steady, sensing the calmness of his rider.

  The man’s hat shaded his tanned face and the searching blue eyes of a man in his early thirties.

  Gibson eyed him warily. ‘If you want some advice, stranger, I’d move on if I were you.’

  The rider chose to ignore the advice and climbed down from the horse, his back to Gibson, and removed his jacket, revealing a solid-built frame of just over six foot wrapped in a black shirt.

  The outlaw leader frowned. ‘Are you stupid or somethin’?’

  The stranger turned around, the nickel-plated United States Deputy Marshal’s badge pinned to the left chest of his shirt, immediately evident. His hand dropped to the butt of his Colt Peacemaker.

  From atop the stage, Gibson heard Bones say, ‘Will ya get a look at that.’

  ‘Are we goin’ to do this the easy way, or the hard way?’ the marshal asked in a casual tone.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Gibson said. ‘A lawdog.’

  ‘Use it or drop it, Gibson.’

  ‘So, you know who I am,’ the outlaw mused. ‘It seems to me that I’m at somewhat of a disadvantage.’

  ‘The name’s Ford. Josh Ford.’

  There was a spark of recognition in the outlaw’s eyes and that was all Ford needed to spring into action. With blinding speed, the Peacemaker came out of its holster and roared. Gibson’s head snapped back violently as the .45 caliber slug punched into his skull and blew his brains out a hole in the back of his head.

  Ford shifted his aim and fired twice more. Atop the coach, the outlaw known as Bones screamed in pain when both slugs smashed into his chest. Almost gracefully, he fell from his elevated position and landed unceremoniously with a thud on the dusty trail.

  The third outlaw, Crick, brought up an old Remington six-gun and snapped off a panicked shot at Ford. It whined harmlessly off into the surrounding brush. The Peacemaker in the marshal’s fist spat lead once more and the final outlaw died with a bullet in his chest.

  A thin wisp of blue-grey gun smoke spiraled lazily from the barrel of Ford’s six-gun as he reloaded. He turned to look over the passengers who stood beside the coach, seemingly in shock.

  ‘Is everybody all right?’ he asked.

  The grey-headed driver with a handlebar mustache stepped forward. ‘I – I think so. Except for poor Jim there.’ He indicated the dead messenger on the ground. ‘He had a wife and two young’uns.’

  Ford nodded. ‘A man like that ought not be ridin’ guard on a stage. He should have a permanent town job.’

  He looked each passenger over until his eyes settled on Eddie Yukon. ‘And you, Miss, have a big mouth.’

  Her jaw dropped and her pale face flushed with anger. Ford cut her off before she could say anything. ‘One thing you need to learn is you don’t go pokin’ a bear like Coyote Gibson and expect to get away with it. He paid no never mind to any of the people he killed. Men or women, it was all the same to him. Just you remember that.’

  ‘I guess I should thank you then,’ Eddie acquiesced.

  ‘Just remember it the next time you get held up on a stage. I might not be around to save your ass.’

  The look she gave him was that of indignation. One thing he realized about her: unlike the other female on the stage, she showed no effects of the violence that had passed. Maybe she was tough. She certainly was pretty.

  ‘I take it you’re all headed into Billings?’ Ford asked the driver.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Get everythin’ sorted out. I’ll ride with you.’

  The main street of Billings was playing host to a macabre procession that ended outside the jail. A large crowd of onlookers lined both sides of the thoroughfare as Ford passed through; the only things missing were cheers and bunting or it could be mistaken for a festive occasion. He led the outlaws’ horses loaded with their stiffening bodies draped over them.

  Across the street, Bass Reeves stood on the rough-plank boardwalk outside of the hotel, along with two other marshals: Willis, and a big man called Crown.

  ‘This is becomin’ a habit,’ Reeves growled in a low voice. ‘They’ll treat him like some kinda hero now and worship the ground he walks on. He is only doin’ his job.’

/>   ‘C’mon, Bass,’ Crown said, ‘even you gotta admit he’s good at what he does.’

  ‘Yeah, and one of these days he won’t be and it’ll get him killed,’ Reeves snapped.

  ‘What’s the problem, Bass?’ Willis asked. ‘Is it that he takes unnecessary risks, or is it because he reminds you of yourself?’

  Reeves’ gaze hardened. ‘Go and rescue him from that mob before I send you to Serenity in his place.’

  He turned around and walked back into the hotel to wait for his son.

  Wilson, on the other hand, stepped down off the boardwalk and started across the street. Once he’d reached the crowd he pushed his way through until he broke out the other side and found Ford standing beside his roan.

  ‘I see you’ve been busy,’ Willis commented. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Coyote Gibson and his no-good friends,’ Ford answered. ‘Did I see Bass standin’ over on the boardwalk when I rode in?’

  Willis nodded.

  ‘I guess he was his usual cheery self?’

  ‘He has a problem that he needs you to deal with,’ Willis explained. ‘He wants to see you over at the hotel.’

  ‘I thought we were all gatherin’ here to escort Mason Fox over to Lander?’

  ‘Somethin’s come up that needs immediate attention,’ Willis told him. ‘Your old man’ll explain.’

  Ford nodded. ‘I’ll put the roan up at the livery then come right over.’

  ‘I’ll let him know,’ Willis said. ‘And good work with Gibson, by the way.’

  ‘That wasn’t work,’ Ford told him. ‘It was a pleasure.’

  ‘It’s about time you showed up,’ Reeves growled. ‘Close the door behind you.’

  ‘It’s good to see you too, Bass,’ Ford greeted him, sarcasm evident in his voice.

  The pair may have been tied together by blood, but not by name. Reeves had left Josh and his mother when Ford was just a boy, and gone off to fight in the war and never returned. After the death of his mother, Ford had taken his mother’s maiden name, and set out to find the man who’d abandoned them, determined to kill him.

  Instead, when he’d found Bass, Ford joined the marshals and become one of their top law enforcement officers.

  Ford looked at Willis then back to his father. ‘Roy mentioned there was a job that’s come up.’

  Reeves nodded. ‘Ever heard of a place called Serenity?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘What about a feller called Ike Cordis?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Sam Beck, Colt Bliven, California Wells?’

  ‘Sam Beck and California Wells I’ve heard of,’ Ford allowed. ‘The other feller I ain’t. Beck’s a real killer. He’d shoot down anyone if the price was right. Why all the questions?’

  ‘I got a message from a member of the now defunct town council of Serenity. It seems that Cordis has installed himself as mayor of the town after Beck killed his predecessor.’

  ‘Why don’t the local law arrest him?’ Ford asked.

  ‘There is no local law,’ Reeves explained. ‘Cordis had him killed as well. And apparently, an hour after the new sheriff was sworn in, he too was killed.’

  ‘What’s so important about this Serenity place anyway that it warrants all these killin’s?’

  ‘At the moment the place is a hotbed of money,’ Reeves said. ‘The railroad is buildin’ a spur into town for the cattlemen and the miners are pullin’ a fortune out of the ground. Accordin’ to the message I got, Cordis is in league with the railroad boss, the mine boss, and the local brothel owner.’

  Reeves paused before he said, ‘A woman called Camilla.’

  Recognition flared in Ford’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but Reeves stopped him.

  ‘Just haul back on them reins a minute, Josh. It may not be her.’

  ‘I guess we’ll find out.’

  Reeves nodded, remembering the last time Ford had crossed paths with Camilla.

  ‘After we’ve delivered Fox to Lander, we’ll swing by and see how you’re getting’ on.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Bass?’

  ‘Take over the law, recruit yourself some deputies, and clean the place up,’ Reeves said sternly. ‘Watch yourself, Josh. They’re callin’ Cordis “The Devil”.’

  ‘Well, I guess that puts me one step ahead in the game then, don’t it?’ Ford told his father. ‘Not bein’ a religious man, I don’t believe in such things.’

  Chapter 3

  Four days after his departure from Billings, when the sun was still near its zenith, Ford sat atop his mean-tempered blue roan staring at the bullet-pocked sign. Someone had crossed out the word ‘Serenity’ and replaced it with ‘Hell’!

  ‘Looks like we’ve arrived, horse,’ Ford surmised. ‘I guess we’d best go and see if it’s as bad as they say.’

  Before easing the roan forward along the deeply rutted trail, Ford swept back the right flap of his coat to reveal the Colt Peacemaker. He unhitched the hammer thong so it wouldn’t inhibit swift use should it be called upon. Then, with pressure from his knees, he sent the horse on its way into town.

  Serenity consisted of seven streets. The main street, plus a parallel one either side, and four cross streets. On the eastern side of town, construction of the new railroad station was forging ahead, and nearing completion were large holding pens for the cattle that would be shipped when the line was finished.

  Every so often a hollow boom could be heard from the north of the town where blasting was taking place in the foothills at the Gold Nugget mine.

  With the livery stable at the far end of town, Ford had a chance to observe Serenity/Hell. The main street was called Absaroka, named for the range that overlooked the town, and as Ford rode along it he noticed that nearly every building had a large false-front attached. There were four saloons, a cattleman’s office, two hotels, the general store, a mines office, lands office, plus any number of other businesses that folks needed for daily life.

  He made note of the local newspaper and decided to pay it a visit after he settled in. As he rode past the jail he noticed that it had fresh boards across the doorway and large front window. A sign painted on one of the boards was clearly visible: ‘Closed!’

  A flurry of gunfire from the last saloon he passed brought forth a high-pitched scream, followed by a string of curses. Citizens scattered at the sound, before two large men emerged from the Royal Palace carrying the body of a black suited figure and callously dumped it off the edge of the plank boardwalk.

  Ford’s hand dropped to the butt of his Colt as one of the men looked up at him riding past. The deputy recognized him straight away. He was Raven Morris, hired gun and back-shooter. The killer stared at Ford briefly then turned around and walked back inside.

  He continued until he reached the livery. It was a sizable building with double doors and a hayloft above the entrance. That, however, did not hold his attention. Beside the livery stood a double-storey, false-fronted building with a second-floor balcony and large mullioned windows.

  The front was painted a pale pink, and above the second-storey windows was a large hand-painted sign, which read ‘The Joy Club’.

  He was drawn toward it – he needed to know. The roan made the decision for him and walked through the double-doors of the livery.

  Ford walked along the boardwalk towards the second hotel he’d sighted on his ride through town. If he remembered correctly, it was called the Mountain View. His saddle-bags were slung over his left shoulder and his Winchester ’76 was gripped in his right hand.

  There was a commotion on the boardwalk ahead and a group of townsfolk quickly parted to allow a burly looking man with a beard through, before he could push them out of his way. He looked at Ford and said in a harsh tone, ‘Get outta the way, bum.’

  Stopping in the centre of the timber thoroughfare, Ford planted his feet shoulder width apart. The thug pulled up suddenly and glared at him. ‘Are you deaf or somethin’?’

  ‘Say please,’
Ford demanded.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, “say please”.’

  The expression on the man’s face became a snarl. He went to shove Ford out of the way but the marshal brought up the Winchester and drove its barrel into his ample middle. The thug doubled over, gasping for breath. Ford then raised the rifle and brought the butt down on the back of the man’s head, dropping him instantly where he remained still.

  All about Ford, townsfolk looked stunned at the swift decisiveness of his actions. He took in the wide-eyed stares, then shrugged his shoulders and continued along the boardwalk until he found the hotel.

  He pushed in through the glass panel doors and crossed the hardwood boards, his heels clunking with each step. When he reached the registration counter, he stopped and looked about. There appeared to be nobody about so he picked up the small bell and rang it. A tinny tinkling filled the foyer and died away when Ford returned the bell to the counter.

  He was impressed by the cleanliness of the lobby, the floors neatly swept and the counter was free of dust and polished to a high sheen. The glass in the entrance door and the front windows were clean as well.

  He heard footsteps on the landing above him, and a middle-aged man with greying hair appeared and clomped down the stairs.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he apologized. ‘My name is Borden. How can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like a room for a few nights if you have one?’

  ‘Sure, I’ve a room upstairs. It is away from the street so it should be reasonably quiet for you,’ he told Ford.

  ‘I’d prefer a room overlookin’ the street,’ Ford informed him.

  ‘I’m sorry but the last one went a while ago to another gentleman,’ the clerk said. ‘I’m expecting him back soon. He just went to the Royal Palace to do something and said he’d be right back.’

  ‘This feller wasn’t wearin’ a black suit of clothes, was he?’ Ford asked, remembering the dead man whose body had been dumped on to the street.