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    Gunman's Pass
    Gunman's Pass
    Gunman's Pass
    Ebook296 pages4 hours

    Gunman's Pass

    By Ralph Cotton

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    About this ebook

    A keen judge of horseflesh takes a wild ride in this suspenseful new Western by USA Today bestselling author Ralph Cotton
     
    Two deputies fresh from a hard-won gunfight with the gang of notorious outlaw Dolan Coyle stroll into a saloon in the dusty little town of Broken Hat, inquiring after one Will Summers. The men are looking to swap out their exhausted horses, and they could use extra men, too. Just on the outskirts of town, Axel Coyle waits with the remnants of his brother’s crew, ready to shoot down the men who captured their leader. The deputies offer Summers a paid position in the posse escorting Dolan into federal custody. If they only knew how well acquainted the horse trader once was with the killer chained up out front, they might second-guess their proposal.

    Dolan had chosen a reckless trail for himself, like Summers and many others had done in their early years. Summers could not say exactly what had directed him off that trail before it managed to settle into his blood, but he’s grateful.

    He just doesn’t know if that resolution will hold now that his past has landed on him out of a clear blue sky…

    More than four million Ralph Cotton books in print!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateApr 26, 2022
    ISBN9780593437773
    Gunman's Pass

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      Book preview

      Gunman's Pass - Ralph Cotton

      PART 1

      Chapter 1

      Eagles, Indian Territory

      The horse trader Will Summers straightened only slightly at the bar when two shotgun-wielding lawmen walked in through the batwing doors. One of them called out his name. These two were about the same height, and both of them, Summers noted, were tall, big-boned, wide across the shoulders.

      We’re looking for Summers! Will Summers! the one on his left called out.

      Summers raised his face an inch and looked at them by way of reflection in the smoke-stained mirror on the wall behind the bar. They were also dressed in similar fashion, whether by coincidence or design. Each wore tall faded black hats with dusty bandannas around their necks, one black, one red. Each wore a long faded black duster, the bottom edge of which reached down past their scuffed boot tops. They wore U.S. federal deputy marshal badges on black vests, partially hidden by their dusters. Judge Parker’s deputies out of Fort Smith, Summers decided right away.

      He saw no tension in how they held their shotguns, not tight, just firm and ready. In the mirror he could see they were staring straight at him when the one started to say his name again.

      I’m Will Summers, Summers cut in, calmly. Who’s looking for me? He turned quarter-wise to face them across the near-empty saloon. He let them see him look them up and down, taking close note of their shotguns.

      I’m Federal Deputy Claude Parks, said the one wearing the black bandanna. He turned a thumb toward the man beside him wearing the red bandanna. This is Deputy Hughes.

      "Edmond Hughes," the other man added in a corrective tone.

      Under the circumstances, Summers saw nothing out of the ordinary in laying his hand on his Winchester lying across the bar top. His other hand drifted easily to the tied-down Colt standing holstered on his hip.

      Deputies, he said with a nod, "why are you looking for me?"

      We’ve got the outlaw Dolan Coyle in chains outside, Parks said. You’ve heard of Dolan Coyle?

      I have, said Summers. Not only had he heard of Dolan Coyle, he knew him. Maybe he wouldn’t mention knowing him right now. Maybe he shouldn’t mention it at all. He’d wait and see.

      We captured him and killed some of his gang yesterday down near Brayton Siding—

      The rest of his saddle tramps have been dogging us ever since, Hughes cut in. Sniping at us every chance they get, trying to get us to give him up.

      Are you going to do the talking now, Deputy? Parks asked Hughes in a brassy tone.

      No, said Hughes, I’m just saying—

      Parks gave him a look that shut him up. To Summers, Parks said, You might have heard, Coyle’s gang sprung him from Hangman’s Row in Fort Smith near two weeks ago.

      Summers just stared at the two, but he let his hand move away from his rifle.

      I heard, he said. He was ready to ask what any of it had to do with why they were looking for him, but he decided to wait. It would come.

      He’s gone hog wild ever since, said Parks. Killed and robbed his way all through Indian Territory. Some bandidos and Indian lawmen finally banded together and run him and his bunch off. He gestured at Hughes and nodded toward the posse men outside. We’re Judge Isaac Parker’s federal posse from Fort Smith, sent out to bring Coyle in. And, by thunder, we’ve got him.

      Good work, Summers said, watching, listening.

      Yeah. We trimmed his gang down, too. Trouble is, Parks continued, "we’ve lost four good men ourselves. Mostly to his brother, Axel. He’s a killing dog. Said he’ll keep killing till we let Dolan go." He stopped and looked closely at Summers.

      Summers gave him a questioning gaze.

      Truth is, Parks said, I’ve found myself about half-willing to shuck the whole deal, shoot Dolan in the head and send him to his brother strapped over his saddle.

      Okay, that’s enough, Summers thought.

      "Why is it you’re looking for me?" he asked again.

      Like I said, Parks went on, we’ve lost four men to these bastards. I’m short on men, and our horses are worn out. As he spoke, he and Hughes each held a batwing door open for Summers to look outside. I was told by a fella back there that you’re a horse trader. That you can help us out with some fresh horses.

      I am a horse trader, Summers said. I run the town corral, and I have a few horses . . . He saw a line of exhausted horses, their muzzles stuck into a water trough beside the hitch rail. Posse men had lifted hats full of water from the trough, poured most of it on their heads and gulped the rest. Looks like you need more than horses.

      Parks fell silent for a moment as Summers took in the bloody, bandaged, battered men and their half-dead horses.

      It’s a fact we’re beat to hell. We need to lay up and rest, get back in fighting shape. In a lowered voice, he continued, In case you’re wondering I’ve got a half-dozen more men out there, scouting, keeping an eye on us, but if I don’t get us some help, real quick, these sonsabitches dogging our trail are going to kill us every damned one.

      Summers saw the town doctor hurrying along from across the dirt street toward the wounded posse men, while onlookers gathered from every direction.

      Let’s get these horses over to the corral while the doctor looks at your men, he said to both deputies. We’ll get them fed and watered, then swap them out for you. Coyle’s gang won’t try hitting this town.

      Not with you here, they won’t, said Parks. I know your reputation. I need to tell you, Summers, he added, I’m authorized to pay thirty dollars to any men who’ll serve on this posse until we escort Dolan Coyle into federal custody. Are you interested?

      No! Not at all, said Summers.

      I heard you do some bounty work, Parks said. Did I hear wrong?

      You didn’t hear wrong, but you heard about two years too late, said Summers. I’m not in that line of work any longer. I’m strictly in the horse business.

      I hate asking for help, Parks said. But I have no choice. I’ll go as high as fifty dollars.

      I can’t help you, Summers said. But as soon as we get your men and horses taken care of, I’ll spread the word you’re looking for posse men. If you need to stay here a couple of days, the men of this town will keep the Coyles out while your men rest and heal up some.

      Fair enough. My scouts will be helping, too, said Parks, realizing this was all he was going to get from Summers.

      Parks gestured for Summers to follow him and Hughes as they turned and walked out through the batwing doors. Summers stepped over and picked up his rifle from atop the bar. Before following the two deputies he gave an undetectable nod at the door behind the bar, which led into the darkened stockroom. On the other side of the door, his young Cherokee business partner, Johnny Two Red Wolves, watched through a door crack.

      *   *   *

      On the dusty boardwalk lay Dolan Coyle, flat on his back, his arms stretched out above his head, his cuffed hands relaxed, a foot of chain between them. He’d given a crooked battered little smile to the two passing deputies, now another one to Summers.

      "Hola, horse trader," he said with a dry chuckle as Summers passed by. Summers only glanced down and kept moving along.

      You boys know what I’d love right now? Coyle said in a rasping voice. "I’d love a big piece of sweet cherry pie. Lord, how I surely would!"

      "Why don’t you die! You lousy son of a—!" A dusty boot reached out and gave Coyle a hard sharp jab. Coyle grunted, then gave a dry, crazy cackling laugh.

      Leave the fool alone, Hank, another posse man said. You know he’s just tormenting you!

      "Yeah, Hank, Coyle said in a strained voice. Try to be a sport. Who knows, you might be begging me to kill you one of these days. Can I get some water now?"

      Keep it up, a posse man named Dowd said. You won’t live long enough to—

      Shut up, Dowd! Parks snapped. To the townsmen who stood watching, he said, A couple of you men watch the trail coming in. We might be getting company anytime. Two local men moved away toward their horses. They looked at Summers, who gave them a nod of approval.

      Yeah, shut the hell up, Dowd, said Coyle. Get me some water!

      One of you get the prisoner some water, Parks said, turning away.

      Summers noted that the outlaw hadn’t addressed him by name, only as horse trader, which anybody in or around this part of the territory might do.

      Good, he thought, catching up with the two deputies. This wasn’t the time to have to stop and explain anything about him knowing Dolan Coyle, or Coyle knowing him. If he knew any of the men riding with Dolan Coyle, and he was certain he did—maybe even all of them—they would already know what this posse needed most here in Eagles. They needed rest and they needed horses. He had ten horses here in the public corral, and his personal buckskin, Moby, stood in a stall behind the barn.

      Here’s my stock, deputies, he said, the three of them stopping half in, half out of the open barn door. All ten of them. The two cream-colored mares over by the far rail belong to a fella named Lowes Bratcher. He bought them to breed, but he might let them go.

      We’ll leave our wounded men here when we leave, said Parks, ignoring the two mares. That makes six men, counting us, unless you change your mind and go. I’ve also got five scouts up there already—

      No, said Summers. I’m still not interested. To change the subject, he mentioned Lowes Bratcher’s two mares again.

      To hell with breeding mares, said Hughes, looking back through the barn to where Summers’ big dapple buckskin stood watching across rows of empty stalls. What about that one back there staring a hole through us?

      "That’s my horse, Summers said. He wouldn’t be the best on a hard ride. He’s more of a town horse. He gets me around, on weekend ride-arounds mostly."

      Yeah, I bet, Parks said, knowing the practice of a shrewd horse trader to downplay his best horse and keep it for himself. He eyed Summers, then said, All right. I’ll take all ten of these after we check them over good.

      Take your time. Check all you want, said Summers. He glanced around the rolling hillsides, cliffs and sparse woodlands in distant sight. But let’s round these cayuses into the barn while you look them over.

      You think Coyle’s men won’t launch an attack, but they will lay out there and shoot anything that moves on the street? said Hughes.

      "Unless you tell me why they won’t, I’m going to figure they will, said Summers. I’ve got extra stalls. Use them until you’re ready to ride out. No charge," he added.

      That’s being a little too cautious for my style, Hughes said.

      Before Summers could answer, Parks cut in.

      Let’s get them all indoors, he said. Breeding mares, too. If Coyle’s men start shooting, their bullets won’t know brood mares from geldings. We don’t want to get the man’s breeding mares shot. He looked closely at Summers. I’ll check all ten over myself, quick-like. If anything shows up wrong on them along the trail, I expect you’ll take them back?

      No! Summers shook his head, figuring the deputy was just testing him.

      Why not? Parks asked.

      I saw how bad your horses look. Summers nodded in the direction of the hitch rail out front of the saloon. Not blaming you, knowing how tough it can get on a manhunt. But these horses are leaving here as is. Cash today.

      What about the horses we’re swapping? Parks asked.

      Leave them here, Summers said. I’ll feed them, water and rest them. If they recover, I’ll make an offer on them. He nodded at the ten horses walking toward the open barn door, a young man in buckskin guiding them with a rifle in his hand.

      Same with these ten, Summers added. Bring them back worth saving, and I’ll give you the same deal. Right now, I want thirty-five dollars a head, three hundred and fifty dollars—all cash in hand before you leave with them.

      Done, said Parks as the horses began filing past him into the barn. A young Cherokee walked behind them, guiding them in with his hands spread.

      Just one minute! Hughes said, looking confused by everything that had just been said.

      Don’t start talking now, Deputy Hughes, Parks said in a firm tone. We’re done here.

      Hughes fell silent.

      Summers saw how both deputies had given the young Cherokee in buckskins a curious look.

      Deputies Parks and Hughes, Summers said, "meet Johnny Two Red Wolves. Johnny Two is my business partner. Any questions about these horses, ask him.

      Johnny Two, he said to the young man, meet Deputy Claude Parks and Deputy Edmond Hughes.

      Johnny Two Red Wolves nodded respectfully.

      Pleased to meet you, he said in clear reservation-school English. The two lawmen returned his nod with equal respect.

      Summers stood and watched as Johnny Two and the deputies walked the horses to a place inside the barn where the afternoon sunlight slanted in across the straw-covered floor. As Parks quickly began checking the horses, Summers thought about what Dolan Coyle had said on the boardwalk moments ago, about sweet cherry pie.

      What was that? Had Coyle come up with it out of the blue? Yeah, maybe. But Summers couldn’t let it go. It kept coming back to him. He’d never known Dolan Coyle to spout off something like that for no reason. Was it Coyle’s way of letting him know he recognized him, but wasn’t going to mention it for the posse and the two deputies to hear? Well, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He was no outlaw. He might have started out a wild kid, but he’d become an upright businessman.

      He and Dolan Coyle had never had any trouble between them. They had not been the best of friends, nor had they been enemies. Okay, Coyle had chosen a wild reckless outlaw trail for himself, the same as Summers and many others had done in their early years. Summers could not say exactly what had directed him off that sharp fast trail before it managed to get too deep and settle into his blood. Whatever it was that saved him, he was grateful.

      Obliged, he found himself thinking, to nothing or no one in particular.

      Now, out of a clear blue sky came someone he’d known from his dark lawless days. Dolan Coyle, a captured outlaw, a killer and thief headed for Fort Smith to hang, like as not. If his gang didn’t stop it.

      What had Dolan meant, lying there on the dusty boardwalk in the footsteps of thousands of others? I’d love a big piece of sweet cherry pie.

      Turning in the open barn door while the deputies and Johnny Two Red Wolves inspected the horses, Will gazed out into the distance, to the line of low hills mantled by that same perfect, clear blue sky. Sweet cherry pie, Summers heard him say again. But this time, he heard Coyle’s words end as a rope snapped taut, followed by the gasp of a crowd and the creaking sound that followed.

      Wouldn’t we all, Dolan Coyle, he said to that wide-open sky.

      *   *   *

      Moments later, finished with the deputies and checking the horses, Johnny Two walked to the front barn door and stood beside Summers, looking out at the now-empty corral. Beyond the barn, they both saw that the main street lay empty.

      Looks like word made its way around town real quick, said Johnny Two. He took out a short cigar from a pocket tin and offered Summers one. They both lit up and stood checking out the empty street. An aging saloon dove named Silk Polly ran from a small weather-beaten clapboard hotel to the saloon, a colorful scarf raised and spread with both hands above her head.

      Johnny Two smiled behind a puff of smoke.

      Does Polly think waving a frilly scarf like that will stop a rifle bullet? he asked Summers, sidelong.

      Summers chuffed and shook his head a little.

      Who knows what Silk Polly thinks, he said quietly. Changing the subject, he said, Parks has a few scouts out along the back trails already. I might take a couple of townsmen and scout out ahead of them, make sure the back trail looks clear.

      You’re going out the back trail, down across Little Springs? asked Johnny Two. Who are you taking with you?

      I figure on asking Yancy Reed and Scotty, said Summers.

      That’s my plan, why? he continued.

      Just wondering, said Johnny Two. It’ll likely be dark before you get under way. There’s a quarter moon on the wane tonight—likely some cloud cover. If everybody here keeps their lights off, Coyle’s gunmen will have nothing to shoot at. He drew on his cigar and let out a puff.

      Why are you quoting me the weather? said Summers.

      So you’ll know I’m up to the job, taking them out the back way, Johnny Two said, studying a low encroaching sky.

      I know you’re up to it, Summers said. But if something comes up, one of us ought to be here.

      But it doesn’t have to be you, Johnny Two said. I know every inch of the back trail out of here, even a couple of cutoffs I’ve never mentioned.

      Summers looked at him, considering. There was no way to refuse without it looking as if his confidence in Johnny Two might be less than it should be. He had to admit, the young man was levelheaded, smart, and his trail savvy was as keen and sharp as anyone Summers knew. So, what’s your objection? he asked himself. He took a resolving breath.

      None, he decided. None at all. The longer it took him to answer, the more he knew it looked like he was stalling.

      All right, Johnny, he said. You want to be up most of the night, go ahead. I’ll take a look at these posse horses after they’ve settled in here awhile, maybe give them some extra hay, check their hooves.

      All right. Johnny Two nodded. I’ll go round up Reed and Scotty and tell them to bring their bedrolls. Before hurrying away, he stopped and said, Obliged, Will. I’ll come tell you when the three of us leave.

      Be sure you do, said Summers. He nodded and touched his hat brim, then watched Johnny Two walk away in the declining evening light.

      From the livery barn, Parks came up, wiping his hands on a wrinkled bandanna.

      I hate second-guessing myself, Parks said, but I wonder if I should go ahead and get some fresh horses for my scouts, too, while I’m at it. He took a fold of cash from his shirt pocket and tapped it on his palm while he contemplated the idea.

      "From where?" Summers asked.

      Parks gave him a curious look.

      "Fresh horses from where? Summers repeated. You’ve bought all my trading stock. I haven’t heard of anybody wanting to sell their horses. If there were I’d have already bought them."

      Oh yes, I see, Parks said. I was just speculating out loud. He handed Summers the money. Summers counted it at a glance, folded it and pocketed it. Parks smiled. I must have been thinking that being a trader, maybe you had held back some horses, waiting for a better price, later on?

      Summers’ first thought was not to even answer such a question, with men’s lives on the line. But finally, he did.

      No, Deputy Parks, he said. "I brought out everything I have. If there were more around here for sale, I would have already told you about them. Your posse men and my townsmen’s lives are more important than a few dollars I would make holding back."

      Yes, of course, Parks said. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. No offense, Will Summers! He extended a hand, as if a handshake was the instant remedy for bad manners. Summers ignored the offered hand and looked off along Eagles’ main street.

      It’ll be dark in another half hour, he said quietly. If your scouts haven’t watered their horses already, there’s two creeks around here. Or, if they want to ride in and feed themselves and their animals, they’re free to do that, too.

      Much obliged, Summers, Parks said. I know they’ll appreciate coming in, eating, feeding their cayuses.

      Summers looked at him as if in second thought.

      Let me ask you, Deputy, he said. "These extra scouts you hired. Are you paying them more than posse wages, like you intended to pay me?"

      Ordinarily I don’t say what I pay other posse men, but in this case, yes, I am paying them a little more—

      These are all good men, out of Fort Smith? Summers asked.

      Four of them are, Parks said. Two of them I hired along the way. But the other four said they knew them, vouched for them and so forth.

      But you had no time to check them for yourself? Summers asked.

      No time at all, said Parks. I figured I was lucky they came along when they did.

      I see, said Summers, careful not to reveal any doubts he might be considering.

      Why do you ask, Summers? said Parks. Have I raised suspicion about how I came to hire my men?

      No, Deputy, said Summers. "But it never hurts to look

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