Battle for Justice (The Texas Riders Western #14) (A Western Frontier Fiction)
JOSEPH
POWELL
battle for justice
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THE TEXAS RIDERS WESTERN
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A WESTERN FRONTIER FICTION
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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:
jpowellbooks@gmail.com
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Table of Contents
Copyright Notice
Joseph’s Mailing List
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
Joseph’s Mailing List
Copyright Notice and Publisher Notes
prologue
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Summer, 1874, Shady Oaks, Texas
Hudson Doyle looked towards the ranch house in the distance. The house itself was smaller than his own and more worn. The paint was chipped, and the wood was splintered. He could tell even from here that the roof leaked in at least three places during even the lightest of rains.
But Hudson didn’t care about any of that. The house could burn to the ground for all it mattered, it was the cattle he wanted. Gary Baker had spent a lifetime collecting prize bulls, the best cows, and had more steer than anyone around here or in Clear Water. They’d be easy money, if he could get them.
The pinto horse he was riding whinnied, anxious to get moving again over the dirt patches that were slowly giving way to bright green grass. It would turn darker green as the season drew on.
“Relax,” he said, patting his horse’s long neck. But she only whinnied that much louder. Like him, she was anxious to see what would happen.
Baxter sat on the golden Palomino beside him. His hat was pulled low over dark eyes, and dry lips were pulled up at the sides in a sort of smirk. He spit on the ground and looked at Hudson. “What do you think Gary will do?”
Hudson thought it over a minute before answering his best friend’s question. “I think he’ll take the money and run.”
Gary’s head tilted back and a throaty chuckle escaped him. He spit on the ground again. His horse rocked forward, and Hudson’s moved another inch towards the ranch. They started moving again.
The one thing on the land that seemed to be well-kept was the fence Gary had put up around his property a few years back to contain his cattle. It was painted white and about waist high. There were gates all around it, making it easy to pass through if you knew where to look.
Hudson dropped off his horse, opened one of the gates, and closed it up again. He and Baxter got to the front porch and tied their horses off before walking up the three steps to the front door. They knocked loudly, and from inside they heard Gary shout, “Who is it?”
“It’s Hudson Doyle and Baxter Coogan,” he said.
Gary grunted inside and heavy feet shuffled towards the door. It creaked open and Gary looked back at them.
His aged face was haggard. Thick lines ran from one end of his forehead to the other, and his eyes were bloodshot. It looked like he’d spent all night drinking bad whiskey, the kind that burned your stomach and left you with a headache the size of Texas.
Gary coughed. He quickly covered his mouth with a handkerchief and when he pulled it away again, there were flecks of red on it. “What can I do for you?” Gary asked.
Hudson had practiced looking sympathetic and sincere since he was a six years old, when he’d realized you could get a lot further with a kind face than an angry one. He knew the concern in his eyes and the downturn of his lips looked real enough.
“How are you, Gary?” Hudson asked. “We heard you weren’t doing too well and I thought I’d better see for myself, since there’s no one else around here to do it.”
A few months ago, Shady Oaks had been raided by a band of outlaws who’d killed nearly everyone in town. The only one to survive had been Gary, who lived far enough out from town to avoid the siege.
Slowly, people were moving back to Shady Oaks, but those people were few and far between. And where Gary lived, there was no one. Except his ranch hands, but that was only a small problem.
Gary shrugged and started coughing again. Baxter grimaced, but Gary was too busy coughing to notice. If Baxter had had his way, Hudson would have taken all of his men, swooped in here, and put a bullet through Gary’s head without so much as a word.
But Hudson had known Gary since he was a boy. Gary had been friends with his father. He wanted to give the man a chance, at least.
“Can we come in?” Hudson asked, but Gary closed the door an inch and stepped in front of the opening.
“I’m not well enough for company. I appreciate your coming by, but I’d just like to get back in bed.”
Hudson’s right toe twitched inside his boot. Twenty-odd years he’d known this man, and he wouldn’t even let Hudson inside.
A strong wind whipped Hudson’s shaggy, dark hair around his head. He put on a false smile. “I came to do more than check in on you,” he said.
Gary looked at him with only mild interest. His thick, gray eyebrows arched. He was only middle-aged, but the years had not been kind to him. He was a fifty-year-old man who looked seventy.
“What then?” Gary asked.
“You’ve been sick a while now, and since your sons moved away and Betty died, you’re here all alone.”
“I know that,” Gary said, sounding irritated. “You don’t need to tell me my life story. What do you want?”
“I want to buy your land,” Hudson said. “The cattle too. I’ll give you a fair price for it, and you can move down to Georgia and be with your boys.”
Gary stared at him for a second, then started coughing so hard he had to
bend over at the waist to catch his breath. Even then, it came out raspy.
“I’m not selling my land to nobody,” he said.
Baxter tried to help Hudson out by being reasonable. “You’re sick. You can’t run this place alone anymore.”
“I’ve still got a dozen men working for me,” Gary said. “And I won’t be sick forever. This will pass.”
But the way his breath rattled in his chest, Hudson doubted it.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Hudson asked.
Gary opened his mouth but a fresh cough burst out, so he settled for nodding his head instead. Baxter shot Hudson a look that had “I told you” etched in his eyes.
Fine. Gary could have it his way. He tipped his hat to the man. “I hope you feel better soon,” he said, then turned and walked down the porch. Gary shut the door behind them.
“What do you want to do?” Baxter asked as they rode away.
“The old man’s lost his mind turning down an offer like that. We’ll be doing him a favor giving him a quick death.”
“What about his ranch hands?”
Hudson looked towards the workers’ quarters that were off to the side of the main house. It was a small building, but he knew it housed at least a dozen men. He’d seen it before. Their beds were lined up in neat rows against the walls.
“They’ll be asleep when we come back,” Hudson said. “Lock them inside and set the place on fire. I’ll take care of Gary myself.”
Baxter nodded. “Will do.”
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It was just after midnight when Hudson showed up with just over two dozen men. He’d left a couple back at his ranch in Clear Water, just because he didn’t like to leave his home completely empty, but he’d brought the rest with for the job that lay ahead.
“Keep it quiet,” he whispered as Cliff opened the gate.
Cliff and Russell would take a few men and handle the ranch hands. Ellis and Baxter would lead the rest of his men in gathering up the cattle. Hudson would take care of Gary alone, he didn’t need any help for that.
They passed through the fence and split up. Hudson headed straight for the house. The front door was unlocked when he tried it. He pushed it open and went right inside.
The stench inside the house was almost unbearable. No wonder Gary hadn’t wanted them to come in before. It was the smell of sickness.
He wrinkled his nose as he made his way to the back of the house, where he could hear Gary snoring. It was a terrible sound, like something the wind made when it was ripping the back door off a person’s house. All choked up and jangly.
Hudson went into the bedroom, which was standing open, and stood over the man’s bed. He pulled the Remington Navy from his holster and held it in front of him at a downward angle. “Sorry, old man,” he said and his finger started on the trigger.
From the corner of the room, a man sat suddenly up in an armchair. His dark shadow moved in the dim light of the room. “Who’s there?
Hudson dropped his gun to his side. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room before, but then again he hadn’t looked.
The man was standing up now, moving closer. “I said who the hell are you?”
“Who are you?” Hudson said.
“I work here. I’m watching over Gary, he hasn’t been too well lately and had some of us were worried. Now tell me who you are before I—"
Gary’s rattling snore stopped and he propped himself up on his elbows, still in bed. “Hudson? Is that you?”
Hudson looked at him. “That’s right. I was worried about you and wanted to see how you were doing.”
The man in the corner relaxed slightly now that he realized Gary knew Hudson. That was his mistake. Hudson lifted his gun and pointed it at the shadowy figure.
There was just enough light coming in through the window to make his outline clear enough that Hudson couldn’t miss. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet entered the man’s chest. He stumbled back into his chair and sucked in a breath almost as harsh as Gary’s.
At the man’s side was a holster. He pulled a pistol and fired a shot in Hudson’s direction. Hudson ducked, and the bullet hit the wall behind him. He fired another round into the man’s chest finished him off.
Gary let out a surprised cry. “Hudson, what—”
“You should have taken my offer,” Hudson said and turned his gun on him.
Gary was moving around on the bed. He grabbed his pillow and threw it at Hudson, who knocked it away with one hand. When he looked at Gary again, the man was holding a gun on him. He must’ve had it under the pillow.
“Your daddy is turning in his grave right now,” said Gary. His hand was surprisingly steady for a man as sick as he was.
“You might be right about that,” Hudson said. “But it wouldn’t be the first time my daddy was disappointed in me. I learned a long time ago not to let it bother me.”
Gary started coughing, and his gun dipped down towards the floor. Hudson pulled the trigger twice on his Remington and both bullets hit Gary straight on. The first went into his chest, and the second went into his head. He fell back on the bed and lay still.
Hudson got out of there. Outside, he could hear men screaming from the workers’ quarters. The fire had started around the base of the building and was working its way up. A man’s hands reached through the windows trying to pull himself out. Hudson shot at him.
The man screamed and drew his hand back. A second later, a shot fired through the window. Hudson ducked the bullet easily enough, but it was followed by a second one. A man’s face appeared in the window. He was coughing and gasping for air. The smoke must already have been filling the house.
“You bast—” the man shouted.
Hudson’s bullet entered through his right eye and blew out the back of his head. The cries from inside grew louder but stopped as the fire reached the roof. Hudson looked around for Cliff and Russell. They were standing off to the side watching it go up with big smiles on their faces.
“Nice job,” he told them. “Let’s burn the main house too.”
They got to work setting the fire, and Hudson went to catch up to Baxter, who was still busy rounding up the cattle. Between him and the others though, they had things well in hand.
“I’ll see you back in Clear Water,” Hudson said. He wanted to get home and have a drink or two before going to bed. He planned to sleep late tomorrow.
Baxter nodded. “Might be a few days.”
“Whatever it takes.”
He turned his pinto around and saw Gary’s home on fire now too. If they were lucky, people would think it had started on its own, spread to the workers’ quarters, and the cattle had just run off.
The house lit up the sky. Good thing there weren’t any neighbors around here to see it, or Hudson would’ve had to kill them too. He started for home. It had been a long night.
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chapter 0 1 ✪
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A Few Weeks Later, Clear Water, Texas
Leroy Sutton finished brushing his horse and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. The heat hadn’t gotten too bad yet this summer, but Leroy had the feeling that was about to change.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and checked the time on his father’s old pocket watch. The glass was cracked, but it still kept perfect time.
It wasn’t even ten in the morning yet. He pushed his hat further down his head, making sure the brim covered his nose in shadow, then left the stables and headed for his house.
One of the new ranch hands, Christopher, waved to him as he went. “Hot one today, isn’t it, boss?”
Leroy nodded. “Sure is.”
Christopher went back to what he was doing. In the last two months, Leroy had hired three men to help him out on the ranch until his brothers finished recovering from their injuries, and all three men had turned out to be top notch workers. Maybe he ought to hire a few more. The only thing stopping him was his pocketbook.
He went into the hous
e and found his mother on the couch reading a book. She looked up at him, and behind her fifty-year-old smile he could see the girl she’d once been. “Are you staying cool out there?” she asked, fanning herself. “The heat can be dangerous when it gets like this.”
“I’m staying cool, mama,” he lied. He didn’t want to worry her. It didn’t matter that he was twenty-six years old, Leroy would always be a little boy to his mother.
Kirby, the middle of the three Sutton boys, came out of the kitchen holding two glasses of tea. His hair was a shade lighter than Leroy’s, whose brown strands were neatly trimmed and recently washed, though he couldn’t say the same for his face.
Leroy could feel the morning’s dirt on his chin and cheeks. It was always present when you worked on a ranch, no matter how clean shaven you were or how often you washed up.
Kirby gave glass of tea to their mother and held the other one out to him. “Want one?” Kirby asked, holding the glass with a shaky hand.
The doctor had said Kirby’s hands would get steadier as more time passed, but that had been a month ago now. Kirby’s recovery seemed to be at a standstill.
Leroy shook his head, and Kirby sat down with the tea, bringing it to his lips without spilling anything. Maybe he was getting better after all. No spills and no more crutches, both were signs of better things to come. If only the shaking would stop.
“Garrett still in his room?” Leroy asked.
His mother and brother looked at him with arched eyebrows and frowns. Garrett sighed and shook his head. “Where else?”
Leroy went to his youngest brother’s room, knocked lightly, then opened the door. Garrett was pretending to be asleep. He could tell by the way his nostrils flared that he was awake.
“I’m going into town. Want anything?”
Garrett opened one eye and looked at him. “New legs,” he said with a bitter chuckle. Then he closed his eye again.
Leroy shut the door and left Garrett alone. If only he could pick up new legs for Garrett at the general shop, he would. It had been weeks now since Garrett had been able to walk, he couldn’t even twitch a toe.
It didn’t matter that the men who’d beaten Garrett and Kirby nearly to death were all dead, the scars they’d left behind had remained, and they probably would for some time yet.