Ambush at Shadow Valley Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART 2

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  PART 3

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Novels of Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘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

  ‘‘Cotton writes with the authentic ring of a silver dollar, a storyteller in the best tradition of the Old West." —Matt Braun

  "Evokes a sense of outlawry . . . distinctive."

  —Lexington Herald-Leader

  ‘‘Disarming realism . . . solidly crafted.’’

  —Publishers Weekly

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of

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

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, May 2008

  Copyright © Ralph Cotton, 2008

  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.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  eISBN : 978-1-4406-2975-4

  For Mary Lynn . . . of course

  Prologue

  Memphis Warren Beck stopped the buggy and looked back through the shadowy blue light of dawn toward the town of Little Aces. The glow of firelight in the distance had died, and by now he was certain Emma Vertrees, widow of Sheriff Dillard Vertrees, had made it back to town on Beck’s big dun horse. Beck thought about it. Bringing Emma Vertrees with him had been a mistake, but luckily she had seen it before they had gotten too far for her to ever turn back.

  Emma had once ridden the outlaw trail with Beck and the Hole-in-the-wall Gang, but that had been a long time ago, in the wild, restless days of her youth. Seeing him ride into Little Aces after all these years must have made her think she could relive the past. But something seemed to have dawned on her last night as the two of them fled the town beneath a hail of gunfire. She had suddenly stopped the buggy in the darkness in the middle of the trail and said to him, ‘‘I’m sorry, Memphis. I can’t do this.’’

  If she’d expected that Beck would try talking her into it, she’d been mistaken. He knew that the new sheriff of Little Aces, Vince Gale, lay bleeding in the dirt back in town, and he knew that there had been something at work between Emma and Sheriff Gale before Beck had arrived. Without a word on the matter, Beck had taken the buggy reins from her hands and said quietly, ‘‘Go back to him, Emma. I understand.’’

  She’d attempted an explanation. ‘‘I—I don’t know if I’m going back to Sheriff Gale, or if I’ve just been away from this too long and need the security of—’’

  ‘‘You never had to explain yourself to me, Emma,’’ Beck had said, cutting her off gently. ‘‘I hope you and Sheriff Gale are as happy together as you and Dillard Vertrees were.’’

  Those had been his last words to her before he sat listening to the dun’s hooves turn and walk away in the darkness.

  Beck smiled to himself in reflection, recalling a time gone by when Emma and he had lived wild and free, with the wide valley of Hole-in-the-wall, Wyoming, their sanctuary from the world, always there for them.

  ‘‘But that was then. This is now,’’ he’d murmured to himself in the darkness, realizing that just because he’d left Little Aces and a railroad detective posse behind didn’t mean there wouldn’t still be men on his trail.

  The Railroad Alliance is still out here, he’d reminded himself, looking around warily in the grainy morning darkness as he shook the buggy reins enough to send the horse upward onto a higher trail. ‘‘So long, Little Aces,’’ he’d said quietly, a free hand pressed to the bandaged wound in his side.

  He traveled on throughout the day, stopping only long enough to water the horse at runoff streams along the trail. In the evening, stepping down beside such a stream, he let the horse lower its muzzle to the cool, clear water while he looked around at the rough, steep terrain and examined the healing gunshot wound in his side. He had another reason for stopping here besides watering the horse or checking his wound. Moments earlier he’d caught a glimpse of two riders moving quietly through the brush and bracken, off the trail to his left.

  Without searching too closely, Beck had kept an eye on the hillside of rock and scrub cedar, hoping that whoever was out there might be innocent travelers who would come forward and show themselves. But that wasn’t to be. When the two men did appear, they did so suddenly, out of the brush along the trail, on foot less than twenty feet away. Detectives? Bounty hunters? What was the difference?

  ‘‘Raise them high, Warren Beck!’’ a voice shouted. ‘‘One move, you’re dead!’’

  Hearing the nervousness in the man’s voice and seeing the two had the
drop on him anyway, Beck raised his hands chest high and relaxed, already watching for his chance to make a run for it. ‘‘Easy, fellows,’’ he said, adding a weakened sound to his voice. ‘‘I’m wounded here. I couldn’t put up a fight if I wanted to.’’ As he spoke, he recognized one of the two men.

  ‘‘Watch him close, Davis,’’ Beck heard one man say to the other as they drew nearer.

  ‘‘Neil Deavers, is that you?’’ Beck asked, cocking his head slightly as if it might aid his recollection.

  ‘‘Yeah, Beck, it’s me,’’ said the serious voice, ‘‘but keep those hands up all the same.’’

  Beck had deliberately lowered his hands an inch when he’d called the man by name. Quickly raising them again, he asked, ‘‘What are you doing packing a gun for the railroads? Last I heard you’d gained yourself a reputation wearing a badge somewhere. Kansas, Missouri—?’’

  ‘‘Things change, Beck,’’ Deavers said, cutting his question short. As he spoke, he reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. ‘‘Here, cuff him, Davis,’’ he ordered the other man, as Davis lifted Beck’s gun from its holster and shoved it behind his belt. To Beck, he said in the same authoritarian tone, ‘‘Lower your wrists for him, Beck. The quicker you’re cuffed, the quicker we can get you somewhere and get that wound looked at.’’ He nodded at the bullet hole and the washed-out bloodstain on Beck’s shirt.

  ‘‘Obliged,’’ said Beck, not about to tell him that the wound in his side had all but healed.

  ‘‘Wait,’’ said Davis Dinsmore as he took the handcuffs from Deavers. ‘‘You mean we’re going to nursemaid him all the way across this high country, just so the railroads can kill him once they get their hands on him?’’

  ‘‘I’m no assassin,’’ said Deavers. ‘‘We’re taking him in alive, for the reward. What the railroad does with him is not my business.’’

  ‘‘This thieving dog doesn’t deserve any mercy,’’ said Dinsmore with disgust. ‘‘If you don’t have the stomach to put him down, I do.’’ He leveled his Colt out at arm’s length.

  ‘‘Pull that trigger, Davis, you’ll be dead before Beck hits the ground,’’ Deavers said matter-of-factly, his own Colt cocking on the upswing and resting an inch from Dinsmore’s ear. ‘‘I told you when you sided with me that I wouldn’t stand for murder.’’

  ‘‘But you’d kill me flat out if I put a bullet in this outlaw trash?’’ Dinsmore said in amazement. ‘‘That makes no sense at all!’’ He made no sign of lowering his gun.

  ‘‘ ‘Making sense’ won’t be so important to you once you’re feeding buzzards,’’ Deavers said quietly. ‘‘Now, lower it or make it bark. I’m through talking.’’

  Davis Dinsmore gritted his teeth, but he lowered his gun and let the hammer down. ‘‘All right, Beck, he saved your hide this time. Make one false move while we’re on the trail, and I’ll kill you, no matter what he says.’’ He jerked a rough nod toward Deavers.

  ‘‘Now holster it,’’ Deavers said, seeing Dinsmore still hadn’t settled the matter in his mind.

  ‘‘Damn it.’’ Dinsmore let out a tight breath, calmed himself and slipped the gun into its holster. ‘‘There, satisfied?’’ he asked Deavers.

  Deavers lowered his Colt, uncocked it and said without answering him, ‘‘Get the cuffs on him. Let’s get back on the trail.’’

  Beck cut in, asking them both affably, ‘‘Speaking of the trail, where are you taking me?’’

  Dinsmore growled, ‘‘That’s none of your da—’’

  ‘‘We’re taking you to Little Aces,’’ said Deavers, not giving Dinsmore a chance to finish his words. ‘‘We’ll turn you over to Colonel Dan Elgin’s Railroad Security Alliance, the big posse that’s been making a sweep to get rid of you and all your pals.’’

  Beck shook his head slowly and said, ‘‘Good luck, Neil,’’ as if he and the stern-faced lawman were on a first name basis. ‘‘I left Little Aces three nights ago. Colonel Elgin and his men were in the midst of shooting it out with the town sheriff and an Arizona Ranger named Burrack.’’

  ‘‘You’re out of your lying mind, Memphis Beck,’’ Dinsmore said. To Deavers he said, ‘‘See how it’s going to be with him? One lie after another, one trick after another. I say we kill him on the spot.’’ As he spoke he’d snapped the cuffs around Beck’s wrists and jerked them to make sure they were sound.

  Beck only smiled, watching Dinsmore drop the key to the cuffs into his shirt pocket. ‘‘You overestimate me, my friend,’’ he said. ‘‘I ran out of any tricks a long time ago.’’

  ‘‘Don’t call me friend, outlaw!’’ Dinsmore bristled, shoving Beck’s cuffed hands away from himself.

  ‘‘Tell me what was going on in Little Aces when you left, Beck,’’ Deavers cut in, attending to what Beck had said about Colonel Elgin and his railroad posse.

  ‘‘Elgin and his men snatched two of Burrack’s prisoners away from him and hanged them,’’ said Beck, inspecting his cuffed hands as if to make certain Dinsmore had done a good job. ‘‘When I rode away they were having at it all over town.’’

  ‘‘Snatched Burrack’s prisoners? Dang,’’ said Deavers. ‘‘So by now, the colonel and his men might be gone from Little Aces . . . from that whole hill area even,’’ he mused, rubbing his chin as he wondered what would be their best move in order to turn Beck over to the railroad and collect their reward.

  Beck shrugged. ‘‘I won’t try to guess. The colonel might be nothing more than a name carved on a grave board by now.’’ He studied Deavers’ face closely to judge what effect his words were having on him.

  ‘‘No lawman likes losing prisoners,’’ Deavers said. But after a moment of further contemplation on the matter, he said to Dinsmore, ‘‘We might have to ride farther than we thought to claim the reward. Am I going to be able to trust you with him?’’

  Dinsmore took another deep, calming breath and said, ‘‘Aw hell, I just got my bark on for a minute there. I’m settled now.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said Deavers. ‘‘Then I can count on you to watch him, not kill him, while I go get our horses and bring them up?’’

  ‘‘Yeah, go ahead,’’ Dinsmore said calmly. ‘‘You can count on me.’’

  ‘‘Don’t let him start moving around,’’ Deavers said, recalling everything he knew about Memphis Beck and his slippery nature.

  ‘‘I’ve got him covered, Neil,’’ said Dinsmore, starting to sound a bit agitated.

  ‘‘Don’t let him get you into any conversations or answering questions for him,’’ said Deavers as he stepped sidelong away toward the brush where they’d hidden their horses twenty yards off the trail. ‘‘He’s quick with his hands.’’

  ‘‘Damn, Neil, he’s cuffed,’’ said Dinsmore. ‘‘Do you think I’m a damned fool? Would you feel better if I went and got the horses?’’

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ said Deavers. He stepped off the trail and walked away, deeper into the brush.

  ‘‘Sounds like the man doesn’t trust you much,’’ Beck said, taking a slow step forward toward Dinsmore as he raised his cuffed hands, took off his hat and fooled with adjusting the crown.

  Dinsmore stood staring coldly. ‘‘Beck, I don’t care what I said. If you feel like stepping in close and making a play for this gun, just go right ahead and try it.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I’m not backing off an inch.’’

  ‘‘Even if I told you I have a derringer inside this hat aimed at your head?’’ said Beck.

  ‘‘It’s one more lie that I won’t listen to,’’ said Dinsmore. ‘‘Now, keep on coming real slow like. I’ll burn you down and be done with you.’’

  ‘‘No thanks,’’ Beck said, stopping abruptly, looking concerned. ‘‘This is close enough for me. I believe you would shoot a man for blinking his eyes the wrong way.’’

  ‘‘Now you’re starting to understand me, Beck,’’ Dinsmore said with contempt. He seemed to ease down a bit now that Beck stopped encroaching on him. ‘‘I have no use
for your kind. As far as I’m concerned—’’

  His words stopped short as Beck’s right boot swung up and around in a fast, powerful arc and connected with his jaw. Dinsmore’s gun flew from his hand and he fell backward onto the ground, knocked cold. ‘‘Easy now,’’ Beck whispered, settling the buggy horse who had become spooked by all the commotion. He stroked the horse’s muzzle while he loosened its harness. ‘‘I’m going to turn you loose, let you go visit your kin. . . .’’

  Deep in the brush on the steep hillside, Neil Deavers hadn’t heard a sound. He gathered his and Dinsmore’s horses, led them all the way back and stepped onto the trail when he saw Memphis Beck standing with a gun aimed at his belly. Looking down, he shook his head slowly, seeing that the handcuffs formerly on Beck were now on Dinsmore’s wrists.

  ‘‘I didn’t tell him to watch your feet,’’ he said in a defeated tone.

  ‘‘No, you didn’t,’’ Beck said flatly. ‘‘Now, lift the Colt easy-like and drop it.’’

  ‘‘What are you going to do if I don’t, Beck?’’ he asked warily. ‘‘I always heard you’re not a killer.’’

  The Colt cocked in Beck’s hand. ‘‘You’re picking a bad day to find out.’’

  ‘‘All right! Take it easy.’’ Deavers raised his hands chest-high, the two horse’s reins in his gloved right fist. With his left hand he reached across his belly, lifted his gun from its holster and dropped it to the dirt. ‘‘You’re not leaving us here afoot, are you?’’ He saw that the buggy horse was gone; the buggy sat useless on the trail.

  ‘‘The horse is headed back along the high trail,’’ said Beck. ‘‘If you catch him I expect he’ll haul the two of you out of here.’’

  ‘‘This won’t help you, Beck,’’ Deavers said. ‘‘The railroad is after you and they won’t stop until you and your Hole-in-the-wall boys are all dead.’’

  ‘‘Maybe,’’ said Beck, ‘‘but that won’t be today.’’ He stepped forward and took the two horses’ reins from Deavers’ hand. ‘‘Start walking back the way you came until you know I’m gone.’’