Killing Texas Bob Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  PART 2

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  PART 3

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Praise for the Novels of Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘Cotton writes with the authentic ring of a silver dollar, a storyteller in the best tradition of the Old West.’’

  —Matt Braun, Golden Spur Award-winning author of One Last Town and You Know My Name

  ‘‘Evokes a sense of outlawry . . . distinctive.’’

  —Lexington Herald-Leader

  ‘‘Authentic Old West detail and dialogue fill his books.’’—Wild West Magazine

  ‘‘The sort of story we all hope to find within us: the bloodstained, gun-smoked, grease-stained yarn that yanks a reader right out of today.’’—Terry Johnston

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

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  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, November 2007

  Copyright © Ralph Cotton, 2007

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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  For Mary Lynn . . . of course

  Prologue

  Sibley, Arizona Territory

  In the rear corner of the Sky High Saloon, Lady Lucky looked at the three players as she held the deck of cards in her delicate hands. ‘‘To the tall Texan,’’ she said, offering a thin coy smile to Texas Bob Krey. Outside, a raw March wind wailed mournfully. Somewhere a loose piece of tin roofing flapped and drummed in the blue dawn light.

  Texas Bob raised his eyes to her above the edge of the cards in his hand. He wore a faded blue bib-front shirt, its top button open, the bib turned down on one corner. A drooping bandanna tied around his neck covered much of his broad chest. ‘‘I’ll keep these,’’ he said quietly. The drawstring on a bag of chopped tobacco dangled from his shirt pocket.

  ‘‘I was afraid you would,’’ said a surveyor named Reid Yeager. He sighed and dropped his worthless cards on the table and pushed them away. Then, gazing off toward a rear window overlooking a littered backyard kitchen where smoke billowed madly from a blackened chimenea, he asked no one in particular, ‘‘Is that bacon I smell cooking out there?’’

  ‘‘I do believe it is,’’ said Texas Bob, still examining his cards.

  ‘‘None too soon to suit me,’’ said Yeager. ‘‘I could eat a boiled polecat.’’ He gathered a thin stack of American bills and Mexican pesos lying in front of him. ‘‘This game didn’t have my name on it from the onset.’’ He picked up his last two gold coins, pitched one over in front of Lady Lucky and pocketed the other in his vest.

  ‘‘Obliged,’’ said Lady Lucky, sliding the coin away to her right on the battered pine tabletop. ‘‘Better luck next time, Reid.’’

  ‘‘Next time?’’ said Davin Bass, a burly livestock and land speculator. ‘‘This game’s not over! I’m down close to three thousand dollars. You’ve got to let me get right.’’ As he spoke he tossed two cards onto the tabletop and gestured for Lady Lucky to deal him two new ones.

  ‘‘It’s over for me,’’ said Yeager, taking his bowler hat down from a row of pegs along the wall. He nodded at the pile of cash and gold coins stacked in front of Texas Bob Krey. ‘‘You want to know where your money went? Here’s the culprit.’’ He gave a mock frown. Cocking his bowler fashionably and running a thumb along under the rim, he said to Texas Bob, ‘‘I will deal with you another time, sir. Right now I’m in need of food and rest.’’

  ‘‘At your pleasure,’’ said Texas Bob, appearing more interested in the cards in his hand than in making conversation. ‘‘Tell Rubin to cook me up some eggs and peppers too. I’ll join you after this hand.’’

  ‘‘What, you’re quitting me too?’’ Bass asked, giving Bob a sharp stare as he stuck the two new cards Lady Lucky dealt him down into his hand. ‘‘You can’t quit while you’re ahead!’’

  ‘‘I don’t know of a better time,’’ Bob said. ‘‘I’ll be around the next day or two, if you want a chance to even yourself up.’’

  ‘‘No, I want to even up now,’’ Bass insisted.

  ‘‘Not with me,’’ Bob said more firmly, seeing the cattle dealer getting more cross and edgy. He gave Lady Lucky a look. ‘‘What about you, Lady? Can I escort you to breakfast?’’

  ‘‘I’m starting to feel set upon by snakes,’’ Bass said before Lady could answer. Glancing at his cards in disgust, he dropped them onto the table and shoved them away.

  Texas Bob reached out and raked in the pot. As he did so, Reid Yeager said pointedly to Bass, ‘‘What exactly do you mean, set upon by snakes?’’ Along with the smell of bacon, an aroma of strong coffee wafted on the air.

  Bass’ hands stayed atop the table, but he pulled them ba
ck closer to the edge. Along his thigh lay a bone-handled Dance Brothers revolver in a tied-down slim-jim holster. ‘‘I mean exactly what you think I meant,’’ he said. Across the table Texas Bob stopped sorting his money and watched the two men closely.

  Lady Lucky’s chair scooted back an inch. ‘‘Whoa, gentlemen,’’ she said, keeping her voice friendly but cautioning. ‘‘Everybody’s getting tired and starting to show their horns and rattles. Let’s not go saying things that are going to—’’

  ‘‘Shut up, Lady!’’ Bass growled without taking his eyes off of Yeager, who stood only a few feet away. ‘‘I know when I’ve been taken!’’ He glared between Yeager and Texas Bob. ‘‘All night long these two have worked me over good.’’ His dark scowl centered on Yeager. ‘‘This one builds the pot up, then folds, leaving it all for his partner!’’ His eyes turned to Bob. ‘‘Isn’t that the way you’ve been working it?’’

  Texas Bob stared in silence for a tense moment, then replied in a calm but cautioning tone of voice, ‘‘You’re heading down the wrong trail, my friend. I think this is the time to gather up and go.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ said the surveyor. ‘‘We don’t want to go calling one another names. There’s been no cheating going on here.’’

  Lady Lucky hurriedly scooted her chair farther back from the table. ‘‘Mr. Bass, listen to them. It’s been a long night. Let’s end it wisely, huh? What do you say?’’ She stood and tried to reach a gentle hand over and pat his forearm.

  But Bass would have none of it. ‘‘Keep your cheating hands off me, woman!’’ He jerked his forearm away and stood up from his chair. ‘‘I’m starting to think you’re in on it too.’’

  Behind the bar, Carlos Montoya had been observing the situation from the moment he’d heard Bass’s raised voice coming from the gaming table. Upon seeing Lady Lucky toss him a worried look from thirty feet away, he’d eased his hand under the bar, cocked both hammers on a ten-gauge shotgun and lifted it quietly.

  Always when it is me working back here, Carlos remarked silently to himself. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the disturbance. At another table a drunken Croatian miner raised his head, looked around bleary-eyed, then dropped it again as Carlos slipped past him. Outside, along the wind-whipped dirt street, lanterns began to glow in dusty windows and from within ragged tents.

  At the table, Davin Bass stood and pushed his chair away from himself with the back of his leg. His big hand closed around the bone-handled revolver. Across the table to his right, Yeager’s hand closed around the butt of a Colt Thunderer behind the lapel of his wool suit coat. Straight across the table from Bass, Texas Bob stood staring coolly, his hand poised an inch from the dark walnut butt of a Colt resting in a holster under his left arm.

  ‘‘Nobody make another move,’’ Lady Lucky said with authority, seeing Carlos arrive and stop a few feet behind Bass. Beside Carlos a fire raged inside a potbellied stove. Logs he’d tossed into the stove moments earlier now crackled and hissed and settled into place. Carlos felt the heat on his arms, his face.

  ‘‘Carlos is right behind you, cocked and ready, Mr. Bass,’’ Lady continued. ‘‘Is this how you want to die?’’

  ‘‘You’ll die too, Lady,’’ Bass growled, his jaw clenched, his hand white-knuckle-tight around the gun butt.

  ‘‘Yes, I know,’’ said Lady Lucky, ‘‘and it will be all your fault. You know deep down that I didn’t cheat you. You’re spilling innocent blood.’’

  Something in Lady’s words got through to Bass. He stood tense for a moment longer, then let out a breath and let his hand uncoil, then slip down off his gun butt. ‘‘Whew.’’ He batted his eyes as if to clear his head. ‘‘I—I reckon I am more tired and drunk than I thought.’’ His red-rimmed eyes went from Texas Bob to Yeager, then to Lady Lucky. He looked repentant and ashamed. ‘‘Ma’am, call him off, please,’’ he said, giving a cut of his eyes toward Carlos, standing behind him.

  ‘‘Carlos,’’ Lady said quietly.

  Beside the woodstove, feeling the scorching heat, Carlos reached his thumb over the shotgun hammers. Yet before he could let the hammers down, a log inside the firebox thumped loudly into place, like a low clap of distant thunder.

  ‘‘Wait!’’ shouted Yeager as they all instinctively went for their guns. Each of them recognized the sound of the settling firewood immediately, but their reflexes had been set into motion and nothing could stop them. Even as the surveyor shouted, his hand closed back around his Colt Thunderer and jerked it out.

  Seeing Yeager’s move, Bass jumped sidelong, hoping to get out from under the shotgun at his back. He fired on Yeager just as the shotgun roared. The surveyor staggered backward, his Thunderer firing repeatedly as Bass’s bullet hit him in his chest. Yeager flew backward against the wall, still firing wildly.

  Behind Bass, Carlos fell sidelong into the woodstove, one of Yeager’s wild bullets hitting him in his forehead. The woodstove toppled over onto its side, its door flying open and its fiery contents spilling out onto the plank floor. Lady screamed and jerked a pocket derringer from beneath her dress, seeing Bass and Texas Bob both on their feet even though they’d each been hit with buckshot from the shotgun blast.

  Bass and Texas Bob fired at one another, but Bass’ shot went wild, the blast of buckshot having done terrible damage to his upper back and shoulders. Texas Bob fired two shots, both well aimed, both into Bass’ chest. Then he fanned his big Colt back and forth instinctively, seeing Lady Lucky’s pocket gun pointed at him.

  Her face pale white, a trickle of blood running slowly down the corner of her mouth, Lady managed to say in a failing voice, ‘‘Don’t shoot, Texas. I’m dead already.’’ She took her left hand from under her breast and showed him her bloody palm.

  ‘‘Hold on, Lady,’’ said Texas Bob. The fire ignited by the overturned stove had already licked long and hungrily up the side of the building and begun reaching out across the ceiling. Shoving his Colt into his holster, Texas Bob stepped over, took her in his arms and headed for the door. At the table where the Croatian sat looking back and forth drunkenly, he said, ‘‘Get up, mister. Let’s go! The place is on fire.’’

  But the miner only muttered something in his native tongue and let his head drop back onto the table. ‘‘I said come on,’’ shouted Bob, shifting Lady in his arms so he could reach down with his free hand and drag the Croatian by his collar.

  From the street the rising townsfolk had heard the gunshots and come running. At the sight of the licking flames and black smoke hissing out from under the rafters, they had already begun to form a bucket brigade. As Bob reached the front door, a townsman named Fred Kearney stepped inside and looked around frantically. ‘‘Oh my, Tex!’’ he exclaimed, seeing the three bodies lying sprawled around the rear gaming table. ‘‘Are they dead?’’

  Looking back over his shoulder at the heavy boiling wall of flames, Bob said, ‘‘I hope so, Freddy. Else they’re burning alive.’’

  On the street, townsfolk hurried to the boardwalk and helped Kearney and Texas Bob carry the miner and Lady Lucky a safe distance from the fire. ‘‘Is she all right?’’ a young dove from a neighboring brothel called out as Bob placed Lady’s pale limp form on the boardwalk across from the dirt street.

  ‘‘Get the doctor, Cheryl,’’ Bob said, noting how his own voice had begun sounding distant to him.

  ‘‘Are you all right, Texas?’’ another dove asked. Stooping beside him, she opened the blanket wrapped around her with one arm and offered to spread it over his bloody shoulder.

  ‘‘I’m all right, Mary Alice,’’ Bob said, his voice sounding weak to him. ‘‘Just get the doctor . . . for Lady.’’ He sat down on the cold hard boardwalk. ‘‘I’m going to rest here for a little while.’’ He stretched out as if lying down on a soft feather bed.

  The doves looked at one another. ‘‘Well, you heard him, Cheryl! Go get the doctor!’’ Mary Alice shouted above the sounds of excited voices, clinking buckets and the roar and crackle
of the raging fire. Clutching her ragged wool blanket around herself against the cold wind, she crouched down between Texas Bob and Lady Lucky and said, ‘‘I’ll stay with Tex ’til he gets here.’’

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack stood in the dirt street of the abandoned mining town with his wanted list in his gloved left hand. In his right hand he held his Colt at his thigh, his right glove stuffed into the pocket of his weathered riding duster. ‘‘Dade Sealey,’’ he called out above the whir of cold wind. ‘‘You are under arrest. Come out with your hands high.’’ He looked from the open doorway of the vacant saloon to up along the roofline. ‘‘Tommy Rojo, you’re not wanted for anything. If you’ll walk out here unarmed and ride away, I’ll forget that you shot at me back there.’’

  ‘‘Ranger, you must be as crazy as everybody says you are,’’ a voice called out from the saloon. ‘‘I don’t quit a pard when the going gets rough. What kind of coward would that make me?’’ Boards lay strewn in the dirt where the pair had hastily pried them off of the doorway.

  Sam didn’t answer. He’d spoken to Rojo only to make sure the outlaw wasn’t waiting for him atop a roof or at some dusty window ledge. Sam knew where the young outlaw stood. Rojo had made his intentions clear the past three days as the ranger dogged the two men’s trail all the way from the old fort along the Santa Cruz River.

  ‘‘Is that how it is, Sealey?’’ he shouted. ‘‘You’re going down. Are you going to let this young man die for you?’’

  ‘‘You’re awfully sure of yourself, Ranger! My money says you’re the one who’s going to die. Not me! Not us!’’

  All right. Sam nodded slightly to himself, knowing there would be no hidden gun sights on him. The two had no rifles. They hadn’t split up and taken positions. At the hitch rail in front of the saloon, two sweat-streaked horses stood with steam billowing from their nostrils, too worn-out to make a getaway. The only question now was whether Sealey and Rojo would choose to live or die.