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    Whiskey River
    Whiskey River
    Whiskey River
    Ebook333 pages5 hours

    Whiskey River

    By Ralph Compton

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    About this ebook

    The war is over, but the fight has just begun in this western in Ralph Compton's USA Today bestselling series.

    They came back from the war, and their land was gone. The Texas soil they’d nourished with years of backbreaking work had been snatched away. And in a moment of fury at this Yankee plunder, Mark Rogers and Bill Harder cut down a pair of tax collectors…and wound up behind bars in Fort Worth.
     
    But then the former Confederate soldiers are offered a choice: they can face their sentences—or infiltrate a gang of whiskey runners who’ve been evading the law between St. Louis and Fort Smith. If they succeed, they’ll gain their freedom…and their confiscated land.
     
    But when they meet up with Wolf Estrello and his fellow bandits, they just might wish they’d taken their chances with the firing squad…
     
    More Than Six Million Ralph Compton Books In Print!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateJan 4, 2011
    ISBN9781101476819
    Whiskey River
    Author

    Ralph Compton

    Ralph Compton stood six-foot-eight without his boots. His first novel in the Trail Drive series, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was also the author of the Sundown Rider series and the Border Empire series. A native of St. Clair County, Alabama, Compton worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist before turning to writing westerns. He died in Nashville, Tennessee in 1998.

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      Whiskey River - Ralph Compton

      Chapter 1

      Indian Territory. July 8, 1866.

      There were eight whiskey-laden wagons. A dozen salty outriders rode shotgun. Wolf Estrello, leader of the smugglers and lead rider, reined up.

      Whoa up, Estrello shouted. Time to rest the mules.

      The mounted men and the teamsters got down to stretch their legs. Jake Miles, oldest of the teamsters, had been on the outs with Wolf Estrello for weeks. Estrello wasted no time in threatening Jake with what the old man most feared.

      Jake, said Estrello, I’ve waited long enough. When we reach camp, I’m takin’ them two girls of yours to wife.

      "Both of ’em? " an outrider asked.

      Both of them, said Estrello. You think I ain’t man enough?

      The expected trouble came from the expected quarter. Jake Miles was squeezing the trigger of his Colt when Wolf Estrello—heller with a pistol—drew and shot him twice. Jake, dying, stumbled back against the mules, and the animals reared in panic.

      Somebody steady them damn mules, Estrello bawled.

      Carl Long and Lee Sullivan caught the bridles of the leaders, and all the men gathered around, looking at the bloody body of Jake Miles. While nobody spoke, the silence became all the more accusing.

      Damn it, said Estrello, every man of you seen him draw. I shot in self-defense.

      It didn’t come as no surprise, said Todd Keithley, a tall young man wearing an old used-up black Stetson and two guns. You been houndin’ the old man about them two gals for nigh a month now.

      My right, and none of your damn business, unless you’d like to take up the fight where old Jake left off, snarled Estrello.

      Keithley’s right hand was near the butt of his Colt, while the weapon on his left hip was turned butt forward, for a cross-hand draw. He eyed Estrello without fear, and it was the outlaw chieftain who backed down.

      This ain’t the time or place for a fight, Estrello growled. Let’s move out. I’ll take the lead wagon.

      Nobody’s goin’ anywhere until we’ve buried Jake proper, said Keithley.

      Some of the men looked at Wolf Estrello with thinly veiled hate in their eyes, for there wasn’t a man among them that Jake Miles hadn’t befriended in some way. They were just a heartbeat away from open rebellion, and Wolf Estrello knew it.

      Then git a couple of shovels from the wagons and bury him, Estrello said. The mules can use the extra rest.

      Estrello had given in with poor grace, and they all knew it. He was leader of the band for two reasons. First, he would slit his own mother’s throat if necessary, and second, he had been a major in the Union Army, stationed near St. Louis. He knew where and how to buy the illegal whiskey, and who to pay off. Nobody liked or trusted Estrello, and that had made him all the more bitter and hard to tolerate. He had been caught bottom-dealing, and none of the outfit would play poker if he sat in. The man stayed alive because of his chain-lightning speed with a Colt and his willingness to use it. Lee Sullivan had joined Todd Keithley in digging a grave for Jake Miles. The unpleasant chore finished, they dropped their shovels into one of the wagons. Wolf Estrello sat on the box of the lead wagon and without a word swatted the mules with the reins. The wagons lurched into motion, five days from their camp south of the Washita River.

      Indian Territory. Washita River. July 14, 1866.

      Amanda and Betsy Miles had been born within minutes of one another and were near a year past twenty-three. The blue of their eyes was dazzling, their hair corn silk yellow, and the only difference between them an obscure birthmark no man had ever seen. They had spent the better part of two days debating their precarious situation in the outlaw camp.

      Five years since Ma died, and five years among outlaws, said Amanda.

      But we’re alive, Betsy replied, and we owe old Jake for that. We knew consumption was taking Ma from us, and Jake saved us. He took us in and gave us his name. I think now we’ll have to trust him when he says he’ll free us from this hellhole.

      I do trust him, said Amanda. It’s the rest of the bunch I’m afraid of. Any one of them could shoot Jake in the back, and where would that leave us?

      On the road to hell, I suppose, Betsy replied. Estrello will use both of us, without old Jake standing in his way.

      Oh, please stop talking that way, said Amanda. You’re speaking of Jake as though he’s already dead, and we’re at Estrello’s mercy.

      Perhaps he is, Betsy said. Remember those terrible moods that Ma always had, just before somebody died? Well, I’ve been having them, too. The third one last night. If it’s not you or me, then it’s Jake. There’s nobody else.

      Dear God, said Amanda, what are we going to do? If we wait to talk to Jake, the whole gang will be here.

      I think that’s why we have to take two horses and make a run for it tonight, Betsy replied. I’ve heard one of the men say we’re not more than fifteen miles north of the Red. After that, we’ll be in Texas.

      Indian Territory. North of the Red. July 14, 1866.

      I think we’ve dawdled around too long at this end of the Territory, Mark Rogers said, as they sipped their breakfast coffee.

      I don’t, said Bill Harder. Like Captain Ferguson said, they kind of got to discover us. Give ’em the idea we’re here looking for them, and we’re dead meat. Maybe tonight we can ride a little more to the east. Long as they’ve been doing this, there’s bound to be some ruts from wagon wheels that’ll put us on their trail.

      By the time Ferguson made his deal, I was ready to kiss his feet, said Mark. Now I’m not all that sure he’s done us any favors. This bunch, when we find ’em, is gonna be about as loyal as a pack of coyotes, and they’ll all have their eyes on us.

      Well, hell, Bill said, if we hire on as teamsters, all we got to do is drive a four- or six-horse hitch. You and me can do that with our eyes shut, can’t we?

      I reckon, said Mark, but something about all this bothers me. Reminds me of a time I drawed a full house and should have raked in about a thousand bucks. But the bastard on the other side of the table had a straight diamond flush.

      Bill laughed. I seem to recall it bein’ closer to fifty bucks. Ever’time you think back on it, there’s more money on the table. I think you’re gettin’ a case of the whim-whams. Hell, all we got to do is keep ourselves alive until we can bust up this gang of smugglers. How could that get any more complicated?

      But that was before the intrepid Texans encountered the naked Amanda and Betsy Miles in their desperate bid for freedom.

      Outlaw camp on the Washita. July 17, 1866.

      Wolf Estrello had left eight men in camp, and they had ignored the two women. By the time Amanda and Betsy Miles had convinced themselves their only hope lay in taking two horses and riding for their lives, the event they most dreaded happened. They heard the distant rattle of approaching wagons.

      God help us, said Amanda. We waited too long. Tonight there’ll be thirty men here in camp.

      But the situation immediately worsened, because when the lead wagon appeared, Wolf Estrello was at the reins. That position had always belonged to Jake Miles.

      Something’s happened to Jake, Amanda said fearfully.

      One by one, the wagons drew up. The teamsters began unharnessing the weary teams, and as Amanda and Betsy fearfully approached Wolf Estrello, the outlaw made it a point to ignore them. It was Amanda who asked the dread question.

      Where’s our Pa? Where’s Jake?

      Dead and buried, said Estrello unfeelingly. The old fool got gun-happy, and I had to shoot him. Now you two pieces of baggage had better be nice to me, or the trail could get damned rocky.

      But things got complicated quickly in a manner Wolf Estrello hadn’t expected. Amanda and Betsy, of a single mind, threw themselves at the surprised outlaw, cursing and crying. They tore at Estrello’s hair, smashed their small fists into his cruel face, and in her fury, Amanda was able to plant a well-placed boot in his groin. Estrello’s outfit looked on with some admiration, and nobody became alarmed until the two women had Estrello facedown, stomping him. It was Carl Long and Lee Sullivan who finally dragged the women away. When Estrello finally sat up, his face was a bloody mess. His swollen eyes came to rest on Todd Keithley, who was openly grinning.

      By God, it took the lot of you long enough to drag them off me, Estrello snarled.

      It never crossed our minds you needed help, said Keithley. How many times have you said you could handle both of ’em?

      I won’t be forgettin’ you, smart mouth, Estrello said. Long, you and Sullivan take them hellions to my tent. I’ll take care of them after I’ve cleaned myself up.

      You want we should tie ’em hand and foot? Lee Sullivan asked.

      No, said Estrello, they’ve been coddled too long. If they try anything foolish, put a slug through any part of their carcass that appeals to you.

      Some of the men laughed, while others eyed Estrello coldly. His was an outfit divided, and he was of a mind to use these stubborn females to establish his undisputed leadership. When he reached the tent that was his quarters, Amanda and Betsy sat on the ground. The two outlaws guarding them had their Colts drawn.

      Do we go or stay? Carl Long asked nervously.

      You don’t do a damn thing, either way, until I say so, Estrello snarled, and I ain’t give you no orders. You women get to your feet and strip.

      You murdering son-of-a-bitch, said Amanda with a hiss, go ahead and shoot me. It’s the only way you’ll ever see me without my clothes.

      That goes for me as well, Betsy said.

      Both girls clasped their hands to still their trembling, but the fire in their eyes was unmistakable.

      Spirited, ain’t you? said Wolf Estrello. I like that, be it in a horse or a woman. Now I aim to ask you one more time to get on your feet and strip.

      Why don’t you strip us yourself, big man? Amanda said. I have a place in mind to plant my other boot.

      Defiantly, both women had gotten to their feet, their backs to the rear of the tent. The outlaw said no more, and when Amanda taunted him, he moved like a lightning bolt. His heavy fist struck the girl below the left ear, and she fell back against the canvas, sliding to the ground.

      Damn you, said Betsy, leaping toward Estrello.

      But Carl Long slammed the muzzle of his Colt against her head, and Betsy joined her sister on the ground.

      Now the two of you get the hell out of here, Estrello ordered.

      They went, carefully closing the tent flap behind them. Estrello wasted no time, lest the women regain consciousness before his lowdown intentions had been accomplished. He first drew off Amanda’s and Betsy’s boots. Their only other garments were men’s shirts and Levi’s. He stripped Amanda first, and then Betsy, catching his breath at their unspoiled beauty. He laughed as the girls came to their senses, frantically trying to cover vital parts of their bodies with their hands.

      Look, you bastard, said Amanda. That’s all you’ll ever have a chance to do.

      There’ll be no supper for either of you, Estrello said, and breakfast depends on how nice you are to me the rest of the night. I’ll see you again after supper.

      Bring all your gunmen with you, Betsy taunted. You’ll need them.

      For all their bravado, the two women stared at each other in terrified silence. They had only their boots and Wolf Estrello’s promise to return. Of his evil intentions, they had not the slightest doubt.

      It’ll be dark in a few minutes, said Amanda. Then we can crawl out from under the back of this tent.

      Stark naked and without horses, Betsy said. They can just wait for daylight and then track us down like starved coyotes.

      When it’s dark enough, perhaps we can get to the horses, said Amanda.

      No saddles, Betsy said. Settin’ your naked behind on a horse’s backbone will be like straddling a corral fence without your britches.

      "I’d prefer that to having Wolf Estrello straddle me, said Amanda, if you know what I mean."

      I know very well what you mean, Betsy said, and I’m not disagreeing with you. I’ll stand anything a horse can do to my behind, as long as that pig Estrello keeps his dirty hands off me.

      Amanda and Betsy pulled on their boots, waiting for darkness. They could hear the rattle of pots and pans as the outlaws prepared supper.

      I’m hungry, said Amanda.

      So am I, Betsy said, and they’ll be counting on that. Our only hope is reaching and crossing the Red before daylight. Surely, someone in Texas will help us.

      Us being naked won’t help our cause, said Amanda.

      No, Betsy agreed, "but we must get beyond the dirty hands of Wolf Estrello. I’ll be willing to gamble on anybody else. And I do mean anybody."

      Darkness came, and the supper fire outside created weird dancing shadows on the side of the old canvas tent in which Amanda and Betsy waited. The sounds of supper became less and less. Time was short.

      If we can slip under the back of the tent, it’ll be between us and the horses, Amanda said.

      Estrello, bastard that he is, may have a double guard posted, said Betsy. Suppose we’re discovered before we can mount horses?

      Head for the shadows along the Washita, Amanda said. The important thing is, they must not catch us. Estrello has plans for us tonight. It’s time to go.

      They worked a tent peg loose, allowing them to crawl under the canvas. Briars and a variety of thorns tore at their exposed flesh, until finally they were free, crawling on their hands and knees. They could see some of the outlaws beyond the tent. Slowly, they crept toward the grazing horses and mules. Estrello insisted on riding a half-wild black stallion, and the black raised his head and perked his ears, listening. Amanda and Betsy took just a single step. Spooked, the black reared, nickering long and loud. He sidestepped, and the rest of the animals followed his lead.

      They’re after the horses, Estrello bawled. Shoot to kill.

      All hope gone, Amanda and Betsy ran for the shadows along the Washita. Lead sang like bees, and a slug burned a furrow along the inside of Amanda’s left thigh. Lead ripped across Betsy’s chest from left to right, and she fell.

      How bad? Amanda demanded, dropping to her knees beside Betsy.

      It took some hide off my chest where I can’t afford to lose any, said Betsy.

      The two fugitives got to their feet, and the shooting had all but died away.

      Save your shells, shouted Wolf Estrello. I want some of you watching those horses and mules for the rest of the night.

      There goes our only hope, Amanda said. If we escape, it’ll have to be afoot. We’ll have until dawn to reach the Red and cross into Texas.

      We don’t know they won’t cross the Red and come into Texas after us, said Betsy. We humiliated Estrello, and he’d planned on using us to make up for that tonight. Now he’s hotter than seven kinds of hell.

      I wish we could follow the river, Amanda said. It’ll be awful easy for us to get lost and turned around, traveling in a circle.

      We must travel south, toward the Red, said Betsy. We’ll be sure the North Star is always behind us. Come on.

      Indian Territory. July 17, 1866.

      Maybe you was right, pullin’ away from the Washita, Mark Rogers said. If we was told the truth at Fort Worth, that bunch of outlaws is holed up somewhere along the river a few miles north of the Red. We can make a better case for ourselves, ridin’ north, which is the quickest way out of Texas.

      For that matter, the Washita flows into the Red, said Bill, but it’s too far south. If that bunch of renegades is holed up in Indian Territory, they won’t be camped on or near the Red. I figure we can follow the Red south, until just before it crooks into Arkansas. From there, we’ll follow the Washita north. At least, it won’t look like we come straight from Fort Worth.

      Still avoiding the Washita River, Mark and Bill found a spring hidden away in a mass of trees and boulders. Their supper fire wouldn’t be visible for more than a few feet away, and the trees would dissipate the smoke. They unsaddled their horses. Bill started a fire, while Mark hacked off some bacon. Suddenly, Bill dropped to the ground belly-down, pulling his Colt. Unsure as to what had startled Bill, Mark had drawn his own weapon.

      You’re covered, Bill said. If you have weapons, throw them out ahead of you and come out with your hands up.

      We don’t have any weapons, said a frightened voice. It’s my sister and me, and we don’t have a stitch of clothes between us. We’re hungry.

      Come on, then, Bill said.

      The two of them came forth, so weary and hungry it seemed their nakedness no longer bothered them. One of them had a lead burn across her chest, while the other had bled from a wound inside her left thigh. Briars and thorns had raked them unmercifully, and they were a bloody mess. But Mark Rogers and Bill Harder were temporarily speechless. The two girls seemed identical in the pale starlight. Mark recovered first.

      The two of you need some doctoring. We have some clean bandages and a couple of tins of salve, if you . . . uh . . .

      We trust you, said Amanda. "While you’re doing that, we’ll tell you what’s happened to us. I’m Amanda Miles, and this is Betsy, my sister. We ran away from a bunch of outlaws, after the leader of the gang stripped

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