Searching for Justice (The Texas Riders Western #9) (A Western Frontier Fiction) Read online

  JOSEPH

  POWELL

  searching for justice

  .............................................

  THE TEXAS RIDERS WESTERN

  .............................................

  A WESTERN FRONTIER FICTION

  .............................................

  Copyright Notice

  Copyright © 2020 by Joseph Powell

  All Rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic form or mechanical means without written permission from the author. The re-sale and distribution of this or any part therein of this work is a violation of U.S. and international copyright law.

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  For more information about the author:

  [email protected]

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Notice

  prologue

  chapter 0 1 ✪

  chapter 0 2 ✪

  chapter 0 3 ✪

  chapter 0 4 ✪

  chapter 0 5 ✪

  chapter 0 6 ✪

  chapter 0 7 ✪

  chapter 0 8 ✪

  chapter 0 9 ✪

  chapter 1 0 ✪

  chapter 1 1 ✪

  chapter 1 2 ✪

  chapter 1 3 ✪

  chapter 1 4 ✪

  chapter 1 5 ✪

  chapter 1 6 ✪

  chapter 1 7 ✪

  chapter 1 8 ✪

  chapter 1 9 ✪

  chapter 2 0 ✪

  chapter 2 1 ✪

  chapter 2 2 ✪

  chapter 2 3 ✪

  chapter 2 4 ✪

  chapter 2 5 ✪

  chapter 2 6 ✪

  chapter 2 7 ✪

  chapter 2 8 ✪

  chapter 2 9 ✪

  chapter 3 0 ✪

  chapter 3 1 ✪

  chapter 3 2 ✪

  chapter 3 3 ✪

  chapter 3 4 ✪

  chapter 3 5 ✪

  chapter 3 6 ✪

  chapter 3 7 ✪

  chapter 3 8 ✪

  chapter 3 9 ✪

  chapter 4 0 ✪

  chapter 4 1 ✪

  chapter 4 2 ✪

  chapter 4 3 ✪

  chapter 4 4 ✪

  chapter 4 5 ✪

  epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Order of Books . Book Catalog

  Copyright Notice and Publisher Notes

  prologue

  * * *

  1872, Charbury,

  Texas

  Lyle Morgan’s thoughts of the bank job he’d pulled yesterday were interrupted by girlish laughter coming just across the street from the saloon where he’d been sitting all morning sipping his whiskey.

  He leaned on the rickety wood railing, resting his elbows, and lifted his eyes from the dirt road as a soft spring breeze blew by.

  Three young girls walked out of the sweet shop and down the path in front of him. They were pretty, maybe twelve or thirteen, and still had that youthful pink glow to their skin that most women lost as they got older.

  The two smiling the brightest had long golden hair that trailed down their backs in thick braids. Sisters. Amanda and Mary.

  The third had dark hair and dark eyes. Her name was Kylie, and she’d always been a particular favorite of his from the first time he saw her a couple of years ago. Her skin was pale and smooth, and as she moved, he noticed the blue dress she wore curved out in just the right places for a woman so young.

  When she saw Lyle notice her, she looked quickly away.

  They knew who he was, of course. Charbury was a small town. It was hard to stay hidden in a place like this. The narrow streets were made up of dirt, dozens of potholes, and big piles of horse manure that no one bothered to clean up until the flies started to get too much.

  All around them, the buildings were slowly decomposing. Roofs were falling in, doors were falling off, and windows were cracked if they were there at all.

  There were still traces of what the town used to be before Lyle and Butch and their gang had dropped in and decided to stay. The sweet shop was still holding together, and the barbershop had recently installed a new sign out front.

  The saloon behind Lyle was leaning more toward the decrepit side of things. Just in case you had any doubts, its batwing doors gave it away almost as soon as you looked at them. One had fallen off last week; the other would be off within the month. And inside, bullet holes lined the walls, many of them Lyle’s own doing.

  Heavy gray smoke came out of the wash house a bit farther down the street. The girls’ parents all worked there together cleaning other people’s laundry. He considered them friends, more or less. Which was to say their parents had never caused him or his gang any trouble.

  But all that meant was that they were too afraid of him to speak their mind, like most of Charbury. If they had, they’d probably have told Lyle and his gang to go to hell.

  He elbowed his brother Butch, who snapped awake in the rocking chair he’d been dozing in and lifted his head.

  “What?” Butch asked. His hat fell to the ground, and he scooped it up, looking around.

  Lyle pointed to the trio of girls who had stopped outside a dress shop now and were staring in through the window at a silky pink dress and matching shoes. Kylie turned around, saw him still looking, and frowned.

  Butch was looking at the girls now, too. Kylie nudged her friends, and the golden-haired sisters turned and looked back at them now as well. They looked nervous.

  Lyle liked it when women looked a little nervous. It made their faces flush a deeper pink, and their eyes always glowed bright and big. Just like those three in front of him now.

  “Come on,” Lyle said. “Let’s go.” He stepped down from the porch, and the girls started moving away from the dress shop.

  “What do you want to do?” Butch asked.

  Lyle shrugged. Same thing he always wanted to do when he saw a pretty girl. Have a little fun.

  “Should we get the others?” Butch asked, keeping step next to him.

  The rest of their gang was still inside the saloon. Butch shook his head. “Nah, there’s only three of them, and I don’t feel much like sharing.” Even if it was their own sons they’d be sharing with.

  Butch nodded, oily black hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back and ran a hand over the shadow on his chin. He and Lyle were two years apart and looked so similar sometimes people who didn’t know them real well got them mixed up.

  They were both hovering around forty, over six feet tall, and wide at the chest and shoulders. Their brown eyes were so dark they almost matched their black hair. The big difference between them was that Butch was more oily. His hair, his skin, even his beard.

  Lyle preferred a clean shave and washed up regularly. He didn’t like that oily feeling or the stink that came with it, but he’d never have told Butch to do any different. Every man was entitled to handle his own business as he saw fit.

  The girls were walking faster now, heading for the wash house. Lyle and Butch picked up their speed. A few townspeople looked at them as they went past, worried looks on their faces, but they always looked away without saying anything. They knew what would happen if they did.

  The only time anyone in Charbury had dared question him or his brother was when they’d first come to town. The butcher had found his way over to their ranch one night and pointed a gun at Lyle’s head, telling him to get out.

  The next morning, that butcher and
his entire family had been found strung up in the backroom of their butcher shop, hanging off the meat hooks like sides of beef. No one had questioned him again after that.

  The girls turned a corner, and Butch and Lyle started to run. They didn’t want them getting out of their sight for too long. They might be headed for the back door of the laundry their parents worked at, and if they made it that far, Lyle would have to wait to get his hands on them.

  Whatever might happen, Lyle wasn’t about to tear up the laundry trying to get to them. Not when they had some of his clothes over there. He didn’t need any more blood getting on them. He’d gotten enough on it yesterday at the bank.

  They turned the same corner as the girls and found that the three of them hadn’t gotten too far. Amanda had tripped and was sitting on the ground rubbing her ankle. The other two were hovering over her, trying to help her up.

  “Well, well,” said Lyle, “lookie at this. Three of you and two of us. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you each get a turn.”

  He drew his pistol and started forward just as Kylie began to scream.

  * * *

  Mayor Abraham Phelps saw Lyle and Butch chase the three girls into an alley, and his muscles began to tighten, especially when he heard Kylie scream. The screams only lasted a moment, but it was one moment too long.

  He knew exactly what the men had on their minds, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

  He turned and looked around, wondering if anyone might help him if he went after them, but already he saw people ducking away from the alley, crossing the street so they could pretend they didn’t know what was going on.

  He didn’t have time to go and get the girls’ parents. If he was going to do something, he had to act now. And fast.

  Damn it, he was mayor, wasn’t he? How much longer could he let the Morgan Gang run this town? Someone had to take a stand, and it might as well be him.

  He drew his Colt Army issue from his belt, second thoughts creeping in. It was the only gun he had.

  Hugh and Pete Morgan, Lyle’s sons, had stolen his other two guns from him about two months before when he was walking home late from the office one night.

  Hugh and Pete had been drunk and foolish and ready to kill him and his whole family if he didn’t hand them over, so he had. But he’d felt like a wimp about it afterward, even though his wife had told him not to worry about it. What kind of example was he for this town, anyway?

  He rolled back his shoulders and started forward. At just under six feet, he wasn’t quite as tall as Butch and Lyle, and he wasn’t as broad in the shoulders either. Abraham had always been on the smaller, lankier side of things.

  Sometimes, he thought that was the reason the Morgans allowed him to continue as mayor—he didn’t scare them. Better they let the town hold their election and pretend as though they still had some say in what happened here than argue with every single one of them.

  The Morgans were tough, but if everyone in Charbury would just stick together, he was pretty sure they could rid the town of them once and for all. But in two years, no one had even made the attempt. Except poor Herbert, the butcher. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

  Kylie screamed again. One clear, ear-piercing scream before it was muffled, probably by Lyle or Butch’s hand. He drew a deep breath and rounded the corner.

  “Stop what you’re doing,” he said.

  His voice sounded shaky and weak, and he hated that. He pointed his pistol at Lyle, who was pinning Kylie to the ground with her skirts pushed up to her waist.

  Beside him, Butch was busy with a knife, cutting open the top part of Mary’s dress as Amanda looked on, horrified. She was sitting against the alley wall with her knees pulled to her chest, bleeding from her head. One of them must have hit her.

  Both men still had their pants on, and the girls, though terrified, were still breathing. Which meant he wasn’t too late.

  Slowly, Lyle sat back on his legs and looked at Abraham. “Have you lost your mind, Mayor?” He said the last word like it was a joke. Like he was mocking him.

  Abraham gulped. “Let the girls go.”

  Lyle and Butch exchanged a look and stood up. Both men drew their pistols. Lyle had a Remington that everyone in town knew was his favorite. It was all blue steel and had a pearl handle inlaid with fine silver filigree.

  He bragged about getting it off some sheriff in another town around here who he’d killed. Abraham didn’t doubt him. He pointed it at Abraham now.

  “Put that gun down,” Lyle said, disgusted.

  Abraham’s hand shook, but he did not drop the gun. The girls began to stand, dusting themselves off, crying.

  “Get out of here,” he told them, but as soon as the girls stepped away, Lyle’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of Kylie, pulling her to him. She cried out, and her tears fell faster.

  “Mayor, you’ve made a big mistake today.” Lyle grinned, and it made Abraham’s stomach churn. “I’m not gonna kill you, I’m gonna kill all three of these girls instead, and I’m gonna make it hurt.”

  “No, don’t,” said Abraham, afraid Lyle was right and he’d made a big mistake.

  “You, I’m gonna leave alive,” said Lyle, “so that you can live with their deaths every day for the rest of your life, knowing they died because of your stupidity.” Then he shot Kylie. Not in her head, in her gut.

  The other girls screamed, and Kylie’s dress became soaked with red. She dropped to her knees, but her eyes didn’t close. Lyle meant to kill her slowly.

  Abraham fired his Colt at Lyle’s head, but his hands were too shaky, and his first bullet missed. He tried again but missed again.

  One of Lyle’s bullets scraped his cheek, making it bleed. Abraham yelped, but it was not until Butch grabbed hold of him that he dropped his gun.

  Butch had a pistol in his hand and hit Abraham over the head with it, making the world go all blurry. He tried to get his gun back, but Butch punched him in the jaw and knocked him down. Then he kicked Abram’s stomach with the point of his boot.

  Abraham opened his eyes, and with the world swimming around him, he saw Lyle pull Mary forward and kiss her before shooting her in the shoulder. She screamed and sank to her knees as Amanda jumped on his back, trying to stop him.

  Lyle flung Amanda off, sending her flying across the alley and into the wall behind her. Abraham heard a sickening crack and saw her face go white. Then Butch’s boot collided with Abraham’s head, and he blacked out.

  He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came to, all three girls were lying side by side beside him, bloody and beaten. The tops of their dresses had been cut open, but their skirts were still intact.

  Butch and Lyle had not taken their girlhood. Instead, they had left him a horrifying message. Carved into each of the girls’ chests with the blade of a knife were two words—we win.

  Amanda and Mary were already dead, but Kylie was still breathing. Those goons had carved their message into her before she was even gone.

  The blood poured out of her from everywhere. Abraham took her hand and covered her up, cradling her head in his lap as she took her last breaths. Her hand tightened around his, and her big eyes looked up at him, pleading for help that he could not give. It was too late for her; the blood was too much.

  She seemed to finally understand and squeezed his hand that much tighter. Abraham could not help her, but he could make her a promise. “Kylie, I swear to you, and to the very souls of Amanda and Mary, that I will find a way to avenge your deaths and rid this town of the Morgans. You will not die in vain.”

  She looked up at him and a tiny crinkle formed in the corner of her lip, as though she were trying to smile. Then her chest fell flat and stayed that way. Abraham let go of her hand and went to get the girls’ parents.

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  chapter 0 1 ✪

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  Several months later...

  Deputy David Grant, soon to be Sheriff David Grant, arrived in Charbury just befo
re noon. His stomach was starting to grumble, but before he could think about food, he had to find the mayor.

  Townspeople stared at him as they walked past, never stopping. If anything, they hurried by a little faster. It wasn’t that he made an imposing figure, David was tall and well-muscled, but at only twenty-six, he didn’t have that gravelly look that showed all he’d been through in his life. If you wanted to know more about David, you had to look at his eyes.

  David’s eyes, like his hair, were a light brown, but there was a toughness lurking there that gave him a hardened edge. He knew Charbury’s reputation, but he wasn’t scared. He’d dealt with bad towns before and had always come out the winner. This would be no different.

  An elderly man with a cane walked past David, who was still on his horse, and looked up at him. He narrowed his eyes. “You the new sheriff?”

  “That’s right,” David said.

  The man started laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  “I don’t know what Mayor Phelps was thinking; you won’t last a week,” he said and continued on his way.

  David frowned. That wasn’t exactly the kind of reaction he’d been hoping to receive his first day here. He stopped a woman outside a bakery that looked as though it was about to fall to the ground and asked where the mayor’s office was.

  She looked at him suspiciously, said nothing, then pointed down the road a bit and went into the shop before David could even thank her.

  He headed in the direction she’d indicated and finally, pulled up to a building that was one of the few that looked as if it wasn’t being held together by pure luck. There was a small sign out front saying simply, Mayor. He tied off his horse and tried the knob. It was locked, so he knocked on the door.

  A thin woman with a pointed nose answered. She looked him up and down and made a sour expression with her lips. “David Grant?”

  “That’s right.”

  She stepped aside for him and opened the door wider, looking both right and left before shutting the door again and locking it behind them.

  “I’m Mrs. Conway. Mrs. Edna Conway.”

  She said it as if that should mean something to him.