Wanted McBain Read online

  Wanted: McBain

  Sheriff Cassidy Yates couldn’t believe his eyes when he read the Wanted poster. His ex-deputy, and friend, Nathaniel McBain was both a wanted man and a member of Rodrigo Fernandez’s ruthless outlaw gang.

  There’s nothing worse than a lawman gone bad, and Cassidy knows it’s his duty to arrest McBain. But when he finds him, McBain claims the Wanted poster is wrong and his true intention is to infiltrate Fernandez’s gang and bring the outlaw to justice.

  Is McBain really working undercover? Only one thing is certain: when Cassidy learns the full truth about McBain’s plan, it will test to the very limit the strength of his friendship and his duty as a lawman.

  Wanted: McBain

  I. J. Parnham

  McBain : Book 3

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First published in 2005 by Robert Hale Limited

  Copyright © 2005, 2015 by I. J. Parnham

  First Kindle Edition 2015

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Published by Culbin Press.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter One

  ‘This isn’t the time for heroes,’ Nat McBain said. ‘Just keep those hands above the counter and we’ll leave town real peaceful like.’

  The bank teller glanced at Nat and then at Spenser O’Connor. He gulped and returned a frantic nod as he shoved the bulging bag across the counter.

  ‘Take it and go,’ he whined, his voice shaking as he thrust his hands high.

  While keeping his Peacemaker aimed at the teller’s chest, Nat slipped the bag into the saddle-bag at his feet.

  ‘I’ll trust that you’re not holding out on us,’ Spenser said, his voice gruff behind the kerchief that hid his lower features. ‘If you are, we’ll return for the rest later, and you don’t want the Fernandez’s gang back in town, believe me.’

  As the teller murmured a silent prayer, Nat swung the saddle-bag over his left shoulder and, with Spenser at his side, backed away from the counter, one steady pace at a time.

  Nat glared at the customers, who had been unfortunate enough to be in the bank when they’d raided it. Luckily, most weren’t packing guns, and the ones that were didn’t meet Nat’s gaze as they looked aloft, waiting for this raid to end.

  Even so, Spenser edged through the door first, leaving Nat to stand in the doorway and deliver a last glare at everyone.

  Outside, Spenser whistled, signifying that nothing was amiss. So, with a last tip of his hat, Nat hurried back through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

  Despite Nat’s warning, Nat was sure that the teller would raise an alarm, but he and Spenser still sauntered to their horses outside the bank, avoiding suggesting to the people on Bear Creek’s main drag that they’d raided the bank. Even so, both men kept their kerchiefs over their lower features.

  Together, they mounted their horses but, as Nat swung the reins to the side, a warning cry erupted from inside the bank.

  ‘Raid!’ the teller shouted, other voices echoing the cry.

  Nat and Spenser both winced. Then Nat shook his reins and urged his horse to gallop away.

  Spenser swung to the side and thrust his gun hand beneath his arm to blast a slug through the bank window, cascading shards of glass into the bank and forcing the customers inside to dive to the floor.

  Fifty yards on, Nat spurred his horse for more speed and then glanced over his shoulder.

  Outside the bank, Spenser was struggling.

  A portly man with more courage than sense had dashed from the bank and had grabbed Spenser’s trailing leg. Spenser’s horse was prancing in a circle as Spenser tried to drag his leg away, but the man had secured a grip that was so tight it would either drag Spenser from his horse, or drag himself beneath the horse’s hoofs.

  Either way, the delay meant that someone would capture Spenser. So, Nat swung round and hurtled back down the main drag. He bore down on the man, his gun raised but aimed over the man’s head.

  Thirty yards away, the man looked up and, in a momentary burst of panic, released his grip of Spenser’s leg and staggered back from Nat, falling to his knees in his haste to escape. He glanced up at Spenser, who was prancing his horse from him, and then stumbled to his feet and ran into the alley beside the bank, his arms wheeling as he fought for more speed.

  As the man disappeared from view, Nat drew his horse to a halt. Then, with Spenser at his side, he glanced in all directions to check that nobody else would act foolishly.

  Now, everyone that had been outside had fled, leaving doors open and swinging in their haste to hide.

  Spenser and Nat exchanged a nod. Then, side by side, they galloped away towards the plains that lay beyond the edge of town.

  Both men held their guns high and blasted off a volley of high shots, aiming over the roofs of the buildings on either side of the main drag. Each blast echoed and caused open doors to slam shut and window shutters to rattle closed.

  On the edge of town, Nat grinned behind his kerchief as their warning shots had the effect they wanted and stopped anybody from coming outside.

  ‘I thought I’d have to shoot that damn idiot,’ Spenser shouted. ‘He wouldn’t let go.’

  ‘We don’t do that.’

  ‘Yeah, but Fernandez’s gang sure don’t worry about that.’

  ‘I know they don’t.’

  They maintained a furious gallop, not wasting time in looking back and seeing if a pursuit had started.

  A mile out of town, at the first incline, they stopped to look back and, from this distance, the town was serene. Rooftops captured the glint of sunshine through the afternoon heat-haze. A lazy dust cloud hung over the town.

  Spenser grinned and shrugged out from the kerchief that had been over his mouth. He raised his hat, slapped it against his thigh and let rip with a joyous whoop.

  ‘We did it,’ he hollered. ‘There isn’t no pursuit.’

  Nat let a smile emerge, but then turned his horse and hurried on down the trail.

  ‘That’s what happens when you know Sheriff Ballard isn’t around,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah.’ Spenser said, hurrying to draw his horse alongside Nat’s. ‘Waiting for him to leave town sure did make a difference.’

  ‘That was still the easy part.’ Nat drew his kerchief from his face and thrust it in his pocket. ‘The dangerous part comes after we’ve escaped.’

  Chapter Two

  At the back of the sheriff’s office in Monotony, Sheriff Cassidy Yates stretched even further back in his chair and rocked his legs on to his desk.

  ‘I sure do like this kind of afternoon,’ he drawled, suppressing a yawn. ‘Nothing
happening and no sign of that ever changing.’

  Behind the desk to Cassidy’s side, Deputy Hearst slipped his hands behind his head and matched Cassidy’s posture.

  ‘They don’t call this town Monotony for nothing,’ he said.

  Cassidy chuckled his agreement and drew his hat over his eyes, anticipating his siesta.

  Within a minute, the first heavy hints of sleep dragged at his eyelids and Cassidy shuffled down into his chair, raising no fight against the pleasant lethargy consuming his body.

  The door slammed open and crashed back against the wall.

  Cassidy winced, but he kept his hat over his face, enjoying the last moments of rest, but the stale odor of sweat and filth invaded Cassidy’s nostrils. With a sigh, he pulled his hat up to peer at the newcomer.

  A huge man filled the doorway. The afternoon sun silhouetted his form and illuminated the surrounding motes of trail dust cascading from his bushy beard. His eyes narrowed, ridging his grime-filled wrinkles.

  ‘Cassidy,’ he grunted.

  ‘Marshal Devine,’ Cassidy said, clattering his feet down to the floor.

  Devine grunted and swaggered into the office to stand before his desk.

  ‘So, you still remember me.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in awhile, but you don’t forget the man who first hired you.’

  Devine glanced at Hearst, who still had his feet resting on his desk, and snorted.

  ‘Hope you haven’t gone soft in a quiet town like Monotony.’

  ‘I haven’t, but that doesn’t stop us enjoying the quiet.’ Cassidy smiled. ‘What do you want?’

  Devine ripped a roll of paper from his pocket and threw it on Cassidy’s desk.

  With a questing finger, Cassidy poked the paper open to see that it was a Wanted poster outlining an outlaw’s increasingly daring raids.

  Then he read the name on the top of the poster and his guts turned to ice.

  ‘Nathaniel McBain,’ he said, looking up at Devine. ‘This has to be wrong.’

  ‘Nope.’ Devine spat on the floor. ‘Your former deputy’s gone bad.’

  Cassidy tipped back his hat and rolled to his feet. He paced back and forth behind his desk, staring at the poster.

  Even when he re-read those terse words, it didn’t change the fact that his former deputy, a man who he still considered a friend, was an outlaw. He fingered his collar, but it didn’t lessen the tightness in his throat.

  ‘You’re bringing him in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Cassidy strode out from his desk and stood before Devine.

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘It’s not your duty. He’s way out of your jurisdiction.’

  Cassidy snorted. ‘Since when did you worry about things like that?’

  A flashed smile broke Devine’s stern features.

  ‘You’ve got yourself a point, but I’m to bring him in and I will.’

  ‘Strung over the back of your horse, I assume, with a bullet between the eyes?’

  Devine licked his lips. ‘Most likely, but I’m not here to recruit you. I want more details about Nathaniel. Anything you’d like to tell me before I get him?’

  ‘I could, but listen to me, Devine. Let me do it. He was my deputy. I have to be the one who arrests him.’

  Devine looked Cassidy up and down, fingering his beard, a hint of a harsh smile twitching his mouth.

  ‘Because you failed?’

  Cassidy glanced away, biting his bottom lip.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Devine nodded. ‘There’s nothing worse than a lawman who goes bad, but if you’re not telling me anything, I’ll pass the word on when I have him.’

  ‘Devine, I have to bring him in – whatever the reason,’ Cassidy snapped and then softened his voice. ‘You can understand that, can’t you?’

  Devine sneered and turned on his heel. With slow paces, he headed for the door, but then stopped in the doorway.

  ‘All right,’ he said, looking outside. ‘You’ve got one week. Then I’ll bring him in.’

  ‘I need more than a week.’

  Devine pulled his hat low and paced on to the boardwalk.

  ‘Take it or leave me to it.’

  ‘Then I’ll take it,’ Cassidy shouted after him.

  On the edge of the boardwalk, Devine paused and then headed to his horse, leaving Cassidy to glance at Hearst.

  Hearst blew out his cheeks.

  ‘It seems that siesta will have to wait,’ he said.

  Chapter Three

  With a bulging saddle-bag resting on his shoulder, Nat McBain headed into the trading post two paces behind Spenser O’Connor.

  The rundown building was thirty miles out of Bear Creek, but even without their other reasons for being here, the two days since their raid on the bank had exhausted their supplies.

  Spenser stood at the counter and listed their requirements to the post owner while Nat leaned on the counter and peered around.

  At the end of the counter, a shifty-eyed man was demolishing the contents of a whiskey bottle with steady determination, but when Nat looked at him, he picked up the bottle and slouched to a bench. When he sat down, he looked away from Nat.

  Surrounded by a protecting wall of dangling harnesses and stacked provisions, a group of men sat on crates in the corner of the post, engaged in earnest conversation. From the way they shuffled round to place themselves between Nat and a taller man, Nat reckoned they were guarding him.

  From the group, a thick-set man with a wispy red beard stood up and paced to the counter. He shared names with them, Nat learning he was Luther, and then peered at the list of provisions Spenser was requesting.

  ‘You want an awful lot of provisions,’ Luther said.

  ‘We do, but we also want to see someone,’ Nat said. ‘Perhaps you might be minded to help us.’

  Luther licked his lips and set his feet in a wide stance.

  ‘Who you talking about?’

  ‘It isn’t wise to speak this man’s name.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea what you mean.’ Luther glanced at the door with a pronounced swing of his head. ‘And I’m not interested.’

  ‘We’re not interested in what you want.’ Nat glanced around but even though the post owner was still in his back store and the men in the corner weren’t close enough to hear him, he edged a pace closer to Luther. ‘We want to see what Rodrigo Fernandez wants.’

  Luther winced. ‘You’ve got yourself a death wish if you want to see him.’

  ‘But I can see him from here.’ Nat pointed over Luther’s shoulder at the huddle of men sitting in the corner.

  ‘You got trouble, Luther?’ a man shouted from the corner of the post.

  ‘Nope,’ Luther said. ‘It’s just some idiots searching for . . . for Rodrigo Fernandez.’

  As one, the men rose and paced round to face Nat and Spenser, leaving the tallest of them sitting.

  Spenser dropped the provisions list on the counter and turned. Nat shuffled the saddle-bag to the end of his shoulder.

  ‘We’re not trouble,’ Nat said, smiling.

  As the men paced forward to stand five feet before Nat, blocking his route to the door, Luther walked to Nat’s side and leaned forward, thrusting his face so close to Nat’s that his bad breath watered Nat’s eyes.

  ‘Why do you reckon I know where Fernandez is?’

  ‘Because he headed to Bear Creek yesterday, but then turned away when he discovered the town was bristling with guards. Apparently, someone raided Bear Creek’s bank and that spooked the townsfolk.’ Nat swung round to stand before Luther. ‘We picked up his trail and followed him here.’

  Luther stood tall and edged his hand down to his gunbelt.

  ‘Why did you go and do a thing like that?’

  Nat patted the bag on his shoulder. ‘To give him this saddle-bag.’

  ‘I’m not a messenger, and you are leaving.’ Luther grinned, as the other men strode a firm pace forward to flank him. ‘Either one way, or ano
ther.’

  Nat shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder at Spenser, and then dropped the bag at his feet and swung back to slap both hands into Luther’s guts. As Luther folded over the blow, he crashed both hands on his back, knocking him to his knees.

  Three of the seven standing men charged them, fists raised and held wide.

  Spenser slugged the first man to the jaw, knocking him a pace towards Nat, who danced to the side and helped the man on his way with a kick to the rump that slammed him into the counter.

  As Spenser squared off to his next opponent, Nat swirled round and threw a punch at the next man to confront him, but the man ducked the blow and leapt at Nat, bundling him back a pace.

  Nat pushed a leg wide. He avoided falling and used the leg to pivot and hurl his opponent over his shoulder, using his momentum to crash him into a heap of provisions bags.

  Footsteps pounded behind Nat and he turned to see that Luther had leapt to his feet and was hurling a blow at his face. He swayed back, the blow whistling by his nose, and then thundered a short stab to Luther’s chin that cracked his head back.

  Luther teetered and fell, collapsing over Spenser’s vanquished opponent.

  Nat and Spenser both smiled and then swirled round to face the remainder of the men with their fists raised, but it was only to face a line of drawn guns.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Spenser said, backing away a pace. ‘We just want to give Fernandez this bag.’

  Luther opened his mouth to reply while fingering his jaw, but then a cultured, authoritative voice spoke up from behind the row of men.

  ‘Just take the bag and end this.’

  Although Nat had never heard Rodrigo Fernandez speak, he was sure that the man who had spoken was him.

  Luther staggered to his feet and moved to grab the bag, but Nat picked it up and threw it to Luther, who caught the bag one-handed. Then, with a deft swirl of his arm, he ripped it open.

  Luther’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but he covered his surprise with a grunt. Then he edged across the post to show the contents of the bag to the nearest man, who tipped back his hat and whistled through his teeth.