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    Ralph Compton Rusted Tin
    Ralph Compton Rusted Tin
    Ralph Compton Rusted Tin
    Ebook292 pages4 hours

    Ralph Compton Rusted Tin

    By Ralph Compton and Marcus Galloway

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    About this ebook

    In Ralph Compton's USA Today bestselling series, every man has a breaking point...

    Zeke Wolpert is sheriff of Keith County, Nebraska. He doesn’t keep the peace so much as turn a blind eye to the illegal activities of outlaws who pay him for the privilege. Most of his earnings are spent on liquor, and most of his days are spent hungover to the disgust of the county’s honest citizens—and to Zeke himself.
     
    Now the outlaws have set their sights on a Wells Fargo shipment that’s worth a fortune. It’s a chance for Zeke to get enough money to retire from this unsavory business once and for all. But it’s also an opportunity for him to honor the badge he wears by serving the right side of the law…

    More Than Six Million Ralph Compton Books In Print!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateSep 7, 2010
    ISBN9781101443033
    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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      Ralph Compton Rusted Tin - Ralph Compton

      Chapter 1

      Sedley, Nebraska

      1887

      Some towns had long, proud histories. They sprouted up from gold rushes in distant hills or by the design of prosperous salesmen who’d banded together to fleece a particular stretch of an otherwise overlooked trail.

      Some towns were carefully nurtured by a body of like-minded neighbors who simply admired the same view.

      Sedley wasn’t such a place. It was more of an afterthought populated by folks who didn’t have the gumption needed to organize it into a proper community. Homes, a handful of saloons and a crop of various stores were clumped around a U-shaped street that didn’t even have a name. One end was packed with shops ranging from a tailor’s place to dry goods. From there, the street passed in front of some homes and curved to the east for a stretch before hooking north again, where it ended at a stable that rented its filthy stalls for a few cents more than they were worth and a livery that sold whatever horses its owners could find at something close to fair prices. At the middle of the street, like a bunch of slimy rocks that had settled to the bottom of a murky lake, was a pair of saloons. Both establishments had had names at one time, which had been painted onto signs that had become more appealing than a row of clay pigeons to the armed drunks who stumbled in and out of them at all hours of the day and night. With both signs shot to bits, the locals simply called the saloons the First One and the Second One. Depending on which end of the street they lived on, folks switched the names as it suited them.

      It was early winter, which meant the winds that ripped across the Nebraska terrain had acquired a steely edge that sliced through anything in its path. Buildings rattled and teeth chattered as the drafts made short work of whatever layers of clothing were wrapped around a body. Some might have complained about the harsh manner in which the elements pulled warm breath from a person’s lungs, but such talk wouldn’t come from those who made Sedley their home. They’d been stuck out in the prairies of western Nebraska for too long to think anyone would listen to their bellyaching.

      Lucy Myles stood outside the livery her family had owned for the last year and a half. Dale and Matthew were nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t unusual. Once the sun inched its way down instead of up, her two brothers were more likely to be spotted propped against a bar than lifting a finger to keep the Thrown Shoe Horse Sales and Livery in business. Although she was a pretty woman in her late twenties with a round face and long, dark hair, Lucy was no longer concerned with trying to appeal to any of the men in town. There were a few good apples in that batch, but the work of keeping her livery afloat, despite her brothers’ willingness to let it sink, consumed too much of her day. It had been months since she’d put on the frilly blue dress she’d gotten a few birthdays ago. Tonight, like most every night, she covered herself with a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders and heavy brown skirts that allowed dirt and manure to blend in to the hem. None of those garments stood up to the wind that stampeded in from the west.

      Clutching her shawl a little tighter beneath her neck, she scowled in the direction of the First One Saloon. If she concentrated hard enough, she could just about pick out the sound of Dale’s voice amid the chorus of bawdy laughter and off-key banjo plucking. This was his night to watch the place, but she didn’t expect him to show his face where it belonged. If someone hadn’t needed to be there to watch the new pair of spotted geldings that had arrived that afternoon, she would have left long ago.

      I swear to all above and below, I will skin you if you leave me here by myself, Lucy grumbled. Considering how often her brothers were absent and the selection of other companions that were available in Sedley, she’d become quite accustomed to talking to herself.

      Someone staggered out through the saloon’s batwing doors. Leaning forward as if that extra bit of closeness would help her pick out the details on the man’s face, Lucy studied him for a few seconds and then leaned back again. Damn it, Dale. Just buy the bottle and bring it here. All I need is a warm body to fill a chair. If there’s one thing you can do right, it’s sit.

      She leaned against the post marking the corner of her lot. The saloons were still a ways off, but it was the best view she could get without leaving the livery unattended. Behind her was a patch of fenced-in ground that was just big enough for a team of horses to get some sun while they drank from a trough that was currently a quarter full of ice. The livery was bigger than the Myles homestead, which was at the back end of the cluster of nearby houses. While Lucy’s eyes remained fixed on the saloon, her ears were alert for every little sound to come out of the structure behind her.

      Hooves clomped against the floorboards.

      Heavy, snuffing breaths were let out as the animals tried to keep warm.

      Something creaked.

      That last one caught her attention immediately. The wail of the hinge attached to the side door might as well have been a bell announcing the presence of a customer or lazy worker trying to sneak in and sneak back out again.

      Twirling around while gathering her skirts, Lucy rushed around the fence line as quietly as she could. The leather of her boots was thin enough to make every step as subdued as if she were in bare feet. She knew right when to duck when passing a window and exactly when to hop to avoid getting tripped up by a rut or partially buried rock. By the time she’d circled around the livery, the side door’s latch was just being eased into the bracket attached to the wall.

      Lucy peeked in through the corner of a square window beside the door. Even though there was only one lantern in the livery casting its dull glow, she recognized the slender build and messy hair of her brother. He kept low as he approached the stalls along the opposite wall. Just past those stalls was the loose floorboard where the little iron strongbox was kept. Dale had probably forgotten to bring his money along for his drinking binge. The notion of other ways he might waste their small amount of income was enough to send her through the door and into the livery in a rush.

      Dale Abraham Myles, she bellowed while dropping a hand down onto the man’s shoulder, if you think you’re sneaking back out just so you can go to that saloon, you’re sorely mistaken!

      He straightened up and turned around as if trying to stay under her hand rather than shake it off. While his build and features were similar to her brother’s, this man’s face was different. Where Dale’s mouth was all but covered by a scraggly mustache, this one’s was a thin line drawn from one ear to another. Her brother had been fortunate enough to inherit his mother’s little nose and took good care of it. This fellow’s nose was slightly larger, but was crooked after having been broken on at least three separate occasions.

      Well, now, he sighed. Ain’t this a pleasant little surprise?

      Lucy pulled her hand away and stepped back. Oh, excuse me. I mistook you for someone else.

      Looking down at the spot where her hand had been, the man swiped his finger across his shoulder as if he was sampling icing from atop a cake. He passed his fingers under his nose and replied, You can mistake me for anyone you like, darlin’.

      We’re closing up, she said as she clasped her hands and placed her back against a post. But if you need to rent a stall for the night, we can accommodate you.

      Don’t need a stall.

      Then what brings you here?

      The man’s narrow mouth hung open just enough to show the browned tips of his teeth. Light blue eyes flicked up and down her chest while his shoulders wriggled as if he was trying to get comfortable within his own skin. Came for these horses.

      She didn’t need to take her eyes from him to know that the stall he’d approached was the one currently occupied by the two newly arrived geldings. They’re not for sale. We’re holding those for someone else. Why don’t you come back in the morning so I can show you some other ones?

      These look plenty good to me, he said while staring directly at the curves of her breasts as if he could stare directly through all the layers of clothing encasing her. How ’bout I take ’em off yer hands right now?

      My brothers won’t like that very much.

      Your brothers ain’t here. Stepping toward her, he added, Matt’s losing his shirt in a card game over at the Second and Dale’s getting his pole waxed at the First. If’n you take proper care of me with them pretty lips, I might be convinced to leave your stock alone.

      The Myles brothers might not have been respected in town, but they were big enough to keep men like this one away from her. That is, if they were anywhere in sight. She kept a shotgun stashed near the front door, but that might as well have been at the saloon district as well.

      Take the horses if that’s what you’re after, she said.

      I already told you what I was after.

      Inching toward the front door, she said, My brothers will be back soon. That’s why I thought you were one of them just a little bit ago.

      I suppose I’ll just take my chances with that. Now get over here.

      Lucy saw the gun at the man’s side and summed up her odds of outrunning him or a bullet. Doing her best to stifle the tears burning at the corners of both eyes, she moved forward and clasped her hands even tighter in front of her.

      On yer knees.

      Once she was close enough to smell the stink of the man’s breath, she lowered her eyes, let her head hang low and even stooped her posture. Lucy gave every indication that she was following his command, without actually doing it. When she bent her knees slightly, the man assumed he was getting what he wanted and began unbuckling his belt. His eyes were partly closed in expectant contemplation, which allowed Lucy to get in the first punch.

      Having grown up with two brothers, Lucy knew how to beat a man in a fight. Her fist thumped against the stranger’s groin, doubling him over and forcing a pained, hacking breath up from the bottom of his gut. Before that breath was all the way out, she ran for the door.

      Either this man was resistant to pain or was used to being rebuked by women, because he recovered from the blow quicker than Dale or Matt ever could. He grunted half an obscenity at her while forcing his body to move after her. Even though his legs were as wobbly as those of a newborn colt’s, he managed to shamble fast enough to catch her with one flailing paw of a hand.

      Where you goin’? he coughed.

      It wasn’t in Lucy’s nature to scream. Instead, she kept her eyes set on her goal and tried to loosen the man’s grip with a few quick backward kicks. The first couple only rustled her skirts, but the third drove her heel squarely into the man’s shin.

      He dropped to one knee, cursed some more, but held on. Tightening his grip around her arm, he looked up at her with a lurid grin and yanked her down to his level.

      Lucy was only a few paces from the door, but turned away from it as if the escape route was ten miles away. She fell onto her side, caught herself with both hands and then rolled onto her back. The man stood over her and lowered himself to straddle her. The moment he reached to pull at the laces along the front of her dress, he was introduced to both heels of Lucy’s well-worn boots. He winced as kicks landed on his chest and stomach, but he was wearing more than enough layers of clothing to absorb the impacts. Even so, her legs were just strong enough to keep him from getting much closer.

      All this fightin’s got me worked up, darlin’. I can think of all kinds of ways for me to let off this kind of steam.

      Waiting for him to come down a bit more, Lucy cocked back her right leg and put everything behind it to slam her heel into the man’s face. She caught him just above the left eye, which snapped his head back and opened a nasty gash in his forehead. As soon as he staggered back, she pulled free and scrambled to her feet.

      The man charged like a mad bull that was blinded by the blood that poured into his eye. He was blocking the way to the front door, so she pushed him into a post that ran all the way to the roof and tried to get by.

      More foul language filled the livery. That, combined with the heavy sounds of struggle, caused the horses to shift uneasily in their stalls.

      You’re only makin’ this harder on yourself! he snarled.

      Lucy could make it to the side door in a quick series of running steps. It loomed in front of her like a gate to the Promised Land. If she could get to it, she’d be out of that livery.

      Furiously wiping the blood from his face, the man rushed at her and spat. There ain’t no gettin’ away from me!

      Even before those words were out, Lucy veered from the door. There was no salvation to be had through that passage. All that was on the other side of it was a cold night and a town full of drunks. She’d be either brought down before crossing her own fence or dragged to an alley somewhere a bit farther down the stretch. Either way, nobody would lift a finger on her behalf until it was too late. She grabbed on to the side of the closest stall and hauled herself up and over as quickly as her bulky clothing would allow.

      Now that he was up and moving again, the man was quickly gaining steam. He remained hunkered over to protect his aching privates with as much of himself as he could. That looks like a real good spot, he said. Climb in and get settled. I’ll be right there.

      Lucy’s fingers dug beneath the straw on the floor and scraped the boards beneath it. When the man pulled himself up over the low divider and into the stall, he found her huddled in the opposite corner.

      That sight only widened his grin.

      Oh yeah, he grunted while using the back of his hand to wipe away the fresh layer of blood that coated his face like tribal war paint. Ain’t nothin’ better than a little taste of sugar after all this hard work.

      Lucy flopped onto her side and twisted around to lift the pitchfork she’d uncovered beneath all that straw. Gripping it with both hands, she jabbed the rusty tines straight out until she felt them catch in something solid. Even as the metal points stabbed him in the upper chest, the man didn’t want to back off. Lucy pushed it in as deep as she could, but needed to lift the pitchfork up and out from her awkward position on the floor of the stall. She’d stuck him only a little, so she twisted the tool until she heard the man yelp.

      He grabbed on to the pitchfork at the top of the wooden handle, forced it away and shredded a portion of his sleeve in the process. It’ll take more’n that to put me down, you stinkin’ little—

      Before he could finish what was surely another unflattering comment, the man was taken down by a swift strike against his ankle. The instant she’d been able to pull the pitchfork away from him, Lucy used it to take his legs out from under him. On a clean floor, he might have been able to regain his footing. With all of the straw under him, however, it was a lost cause and his backside hit with a solid thump.

      The man was chuckling to himself as he started to sit up. When he tried to lift his head, he felt something sharp touch the middle of his throat.

      You’d best stay put, mister, Lucy warned him. Or I may slip.

      Keeping his head still, the man angled his eyes to get a look at what was holding him down. Even in the hands of a woman, the pitchfork was a threat. It wouldn’t take much strength to push one of those sharpened tines through the skin of his neck. All right, he said. No need to get your feathers ruffled.

      My feathers ruffled? After what you did, that’s all you have to say?

      I didn’t do nothin’ more than chase you around this livery a bit. Ain’t you up for a bit of fun?

      That’s not the sort of fun you were after, she said while pressing the pitchfork down a bit harder.

      Squirming like a rodent with its tail caught under a cat’s paw, he knocked the back of his head against the floor to give himself some breathing room. I got carried away, is all. You wanna kill a man for that?

      No. I’d rather kill a man for trying to force himself on a woman.

      You do and you’ll swing for it, he told her with a knowing smirk. Awful big price to pay for somethin’ that didn’t even happen.

      Lucy stared down at him from the other end of that pitchfork as if she were sighting along the top of a rifle barrel. Things raced through her mind, ranging from the reasons she had to make good on her threat all the way to the possibility that his words held some water. She was no killer, but she wasn’t a victim either. Whoever this man was, simply letting him go wasn’t an option.

      The side door rattled, announcing a set of footsteps that were almost loud enough to knock bits of dust from where they were lodged in the rafters. The boots making all that noise traded off between thumping against the floorboards and scraping the fallen straw into a pile in front of them as they moved farther into the livery.

      That you, Lucy?

      Without taking her eyes off the man on the floor, Lucy let out a breath. Yes, Dale, it’s me. Come over here right now.

      I just came for that fee we collected from that fellow from Omaha who put up them horses. More irregular steps drew closer to her and then stopped. Why you standing in that stall, girl? Ain’t it Matt’s turn to clean ’em out?

      Someone tried to steal our horses, she said, knowing that would be the quickest way to cut through the haze between her brother’s ears.

      Sure enough, Dale shook his head as if he’d been splashed with cold water and stomped to his sister’s side. Who the hell is that?

      The man who . . . Lucy stopped herself before telling him about the entire mess. Dale and Matt might have been lazy and irresponsible, but they still loved their sister. If either of them heard that someone had tried to force himself on her, they were likely to do something about it. Considering that Dale was drunk and the other fellow already had a pitchfork to his throat, the next course of action was bound to be harsh.

      Both of the Myles brothers were known throughout town and not for anything particularly good. The last thing they needed was a man’s death on his hands. On the other hand, if Dale was too foggy to jump at the chance to kill Lucy’s would-be rapist, she would never be able to look at her brother the same way again.

      The man who what? Dale grunted.

      The man who tried to steal our horses, she replied. Weren’t you listening?

      Yeah, I just—

      Get some rope. We can take care of him ourselves.

      Chapter 2

      Dale marched down the street with the other man on display in front of him. Several lengths of rope were wrapped around the horse thief’s midsection, strapping his arms to his sides. Just for good measure, Dale had wrapped some more rope around the man’s neck to be used as a leash. The more of his drinking companions who spotted him with his new pet, the giddier Dale became. By the time he’d passed both of the saloons, he was waving to the drunks in grand fashion.

      Having traded in her pitchfork for a shotgun, Lucy followed the procession with her eyes dutifully affixed to the horse thief’s back. She stood a bit to the side with her finger on both triggers so her brother wasn’t blocking her shot. When Dale’s friends shouted at the makeshift parade, she ignored them. Matt was nowhere to be found. That part wasn’t much different from several other loud, aggravating nights in Sedley.

      Compared to the homes built between the livery and the saloons, the houses clustered between the saloons and the shops at the opposite end of the street were smaller and more expensive. There were frilly curtains in most of those windows and brass knockers on a few of the doors. The homes at Lucy’s end of town were generally larger because they’d been built by an entire family and expanded as that family grew. Shopkeepers, on the other hand, could afford to rent their homes, fill them with nicer things and move on.

      One of the shopkeepers that had been in Sedley the longest was Dominick Moynihan. Not only was he an exceptional tailor, but he owned a shop named Fancy’s Emporium that catered to men and women of refinement. At least, that was what his sign proclaimed. Apart from the saloons, Fancy’s was one of the reasons Sedley hadn’t dried up and been blown away by the harsh prairie winds a long time ago. Dominick’s skill with a needle and thread brought customers from Dodge City and as far out as Montana or New Mexico. There had even been customers from New York City and Sacramento who’d ventured into town for a Fancy’s dress or suit. Those customers also needed to drink, gamble and eat, so the wealth was passed along. It wasn’t a system that could support a town with more than one street, but it suited Sedley well enough.

      Once it had become clear that Fancy’s wasn’t going anywhere, other people took interest in the place. Some tried to rob Dominick and others tried to extort him for a slice of his profits. One man in particular approached the tailor with a proposition that suited them both nicely. He needed a place to conduct his own business and Dominick needed someone to watch out for his.

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