Mendosa's Gun-runners Read online

  Mendosa's Gun-runners

  I. J. Parnham

  Published by Culbin Press, 2020.

  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, 2020 by I. J. Parnham

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

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  Chapter One

  IT WAS ONLY WHEN A chair crashed through the Golden Star’s window that Sheriff Rourke Bowman and Deputy Irwin Francis hitched up their gunbelts and strode across the main drag. On the boardwalk they listened for a moment to the raised voices in the saloon.

  Then both lawmen tipped back their hats and side by side pushed through the batwings and walked inside. Barton May was turned toward them. His hands were on his hips and he was facing a bearded man, but from the wideness of this man’s belligerent stance and the tone of his slurred oaths, he was clearly worse for drink.

  Repeatedly, he was thrusting a finger in Barton’s face and making him cringe with every lunge. The sight of Barton’s opponent made Rourke’s eyes narrow, but as neither Barton nor the other man was packing guns, he stood back.

  “Deal with this, Irwin,” he said.

  Irwin nodded and walked across the saloon. He swung to a halt in front of the arguing twosome.

  “Barton, you’re under arrest,” he said.

  “Ah, Deputy, I’m not causing no trouble,” Barton said.

  Irwin snorted. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything, but this is the third time this week you’ve been fighting in here.”

  “Yeah, but he threw the chair and. . . .”

  Irwin raised a hand, silencing Barton, and turned to the new man. A hint of recognition tapped at Irwin’s thoughts, but he shrugged it away.

  “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  With one eye open and a shoulder held low, the man staggered around to face Irwin. The ripe odor of whiskey and vomit blasted at him.

  “I kind of reckon that I want to say something,” he said, slurring every word.

  He rocked back and forward, his arms wheeling as he fought for balance. Then he swung back his fist and hurled it at Irwin, but the fist came so slowly that Irwin merely leaned back, letting the blow waft past his face.

  The man shuffled around in a circle. He thrust out a leg to stop himself falling and threw a second blow at Barton. This blow missed, too, but with a shrug toward Irwin, Barton slammed a sharp uppercut to the man’s chin which snapped his head back.

  The man stood upright, and then fell backward, his body as straight as a tree, and landed with a solid thud on the floor. Within a moment, the man was rasping deep snores.

  “I had to do that,” Barton said, raising his hands and backing away from Irwin. “He threw the first punch and he was trying to pick a fight before that.”

  Irwin winced and turned to the bartender, who shrugged and then nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Barton wasn’t interested in no fight, but that man was set on raising hell from the moment he came in here.”

  As Irwin nodded, Rourke walked across the saloon to join him.

  “You just got lucky, Barton,” he said. “We’re not arresting you, but that was your last warning. Any more trouble and you’re facing more than one night in a cell.”

  Barton muttered to himself and stepped over the fallen man. As he shuffled to the bar, Rourke raised the fallen man’s legs while Irwin levered his hands under his armpits.

  “Has he got any money, Sheriff?” the bartender called, pointing at the jagged shards of glass in the window frame. “I’ve got a broken window to pay for.”

  “While this man’s in my custody, you’re not getting his money.”

  “How do I pay for a new window?”

  Rourke released the supine man’s leg and winked at Irwin.

  “I just reckon it’d be easier on all of us if you didn’t get your windows broken in the first place. So the next time that someone as drunk as this piece of saloon trash wants a drink, don’t serve him.”

  The bartender snorted. “That’d get my windows broken even faster.”

  Rourke laughed. “I’m sure you’re right, but that just isn’t my problem.”

  He nodded to Irwin and, on the count of three, they lifted the supine man. They shuffled their hands to get a firm grip and walked him out the saloon and down the boardwalk to the sheriff’s office.

  With some maneuvering to avoid banging the man’s head, they edged into the office. At the back of the office were three cells, all of which were unoccupied. Irwin kicked open the central cell.

  Then they slipped inside and dropped the man on the cot. Through all these maneuverings the man never stirred from his slumbers, maintaining an incessant snoring instead. With his hands on his hips, Irwin whistled under his breath while Rourke rolled his shoulders, relieving his strained muscles, and walked out of the cell.

  “Have you got any idea who this ugly varmint is?” Irwin asked, as he locked the cell door.

  Rourke joined Irwin. “Yeah, his name is Dave.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Rourke sighed. “He’s my brother.”

  Chapter Two

  “HOW MUCH LONGER ARE we waiting?” Irwin said.

  “Have patience,” Rourke said.

  He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the early morning sun, but let a smile emerge for the first time today. For the last hour Rourke had given Irwin an account of all the trouble Dave had caused and now their conversation had at last turned to the only important matter currently troubling them.

  Two weeks ago, Quinn Mendosa and his gang of outlaws had stolen fifty crates of rifles from Fort Stirling. Since then, there had been sporadic and potentially dubious sightings of the gun-runners, but none were fresh enough to let Rourke follow Mendosa’s trail.

  Although by now Mendosa had probably sold the rifles to the wrong people and left the state, Rourke hoped that both Mendosa and the rifles were still on his territory. Every passing day eroded that hope.

  U.S. Marshal Jake T. Devine had been tasked with bringing Mendosa to justice, and was roaming back and forth across Rourke’s territory. This alone had strengthened Rourke’s and Irwin’s conviction that if anyone should capture Mendosa and ensure those rifles wouldn’t be used to take the lives of innocent homesteaders, it’d be them.

  Staking out the trail to Lincoln was a desperate act, but as their patrols hadn’t located Mendosa, it was their only option. So for the last four hours the lawmen had hidden halfway up the side of Snakepass Gully, but so far this morning, nobody had headed down the gully.

  “I’ve got patience,” Irwin said, rubbing his dust-coated elbows. “I
just don’t like lying on rock all day.”

  “Riding around searching for trails and hoping we might get lucky hasn’t gotten us anywhere. We have to try something different.”

  “You’re right, but riding around is a whole lot easier than getting slow-roasted in the sun waiting for some rattler to bite.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Rourke said. “Go scout around for a while.”

  Irwin nodded and the two lawmen headed for their horses, but when they’d mounted them, Rourke tipped his hat to Irwin and turned toward Stone Creek.

  “Are you not coming?” Irwin asked.

  “Nope. I’ve got that family matter back in Stone Creek.” Rourke turned back and sighed. “And I’d sooner face Mendosa than face that.”

  “SO WHY HAVE YOU RETURNED?” Rourke said as he faced Dave through the cell bars.

  Dave leaned back on his cot. The low sun glinting off the cell bars rippled across his grimed cheeks.

  “To see whether you’ve taken good care of the family home,” Dave said.

  Rourke sneered. “You don’t care about my home.”

  “I suppose I don’t.” Dave leaned forward and smiled. “Do I need an excuse to see my one and only brother for the first time in ten years?”

  “It’s been fifteen years.”

  Dave’s smile grew into a grin. “My mistake, but the sentiment’s the same.”

  Rourke kicked the base of the cell bars and shrugged.

  “Whether it’s ten years, fifteen years, or a lifetime, I still don’t believe you wanted to see me.”

  Dave removed his grin and set his bearded jaw firm.

  “Then I’ll give you the truth. I was heading to Denver and it was a fifty-mile detour to avoid Stone Creek. So it was easier to see you than not.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Rourke rattled the locked cell door. “When I found you, it seemed to me that you were just drinking too much and fighting too much in the Golden Star.”

  Dave clapped his mouth open and closed and kneaded his forehead.

  “You don’t need to remind me of that, but the truth is, I only went in the saloon for a drink to get the courage to see you. Then I reckoned that after all those years away, I needed a bit more courage. Then. . . .”

  “Then you picked a fight.”

  Dave rubbed his chin. “Well, I got talking to that old varmint Barton May. He didn’t recognize me, but after a few drinks and a few arguments I fancied knocking him down. Then he threw a chair at me and—”

  “You threw the chair at him.”

  Dave shrugged. “Either way, are you blaming me for fighting with Barton?”

  Rourke tried to keep any trace of good humor from his expression, but a smile appeared.

  “I’m not blaming you for fighting with Barton. That man has an endless capacity to rile people.” Rourke rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping away the smile. “But you always could find an excuse for your actions, and just like before, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Rourke headed to his desk and returned with the cell key. He unlocked the door, swung it open and leaned back against the doorframe with his hand held to the side.

  Dave raised his eyebrows. “Are you letting me go? Because I’m not looking for no favoritism.”

  “You’re not getting any from me. I’m treating you like I treat all itinerant troublemakers. You can leave town in your own time.” Rourke tipped back his hat. “If you take too long about it, I’ll run you out of town.”

  “Don’t you want to spend time with your only brother?”

  “Nope. I spent enough time with you long before you left home.”

  Dave sighed and slapped both hands down on his knees.

  “In that case, I’ve got no reason to stay.”

  Dave levered himself to his feet and walked to the cell door. Rourke stood aside to let him pass and, with a shoulder down, Dave walked halfway to the office door, but then stopped.

  Rourke sighed. “Don’t waste your time looking for something that’s not here. We’ve got nothing to say to each other.”

  “You’ve got no reason to want to see me, and if truth be known, I’ve got no reason to want to see you either.” Dave shuffled around to face Rourke, his eyes cold. “But I really do have a hankering to see my old home. Whatever you think of me, I reckon you’ve got no right to deny me that.”

  Rourke breathed deeply and swung the cell door closed so that it crashed against the bars with a dull clang.

  “I suppose I haven’t.” Rourke strode past Dave and headed for the office door. “I’ll take you out to see it.”

  “And I’m not looking for no charity or anything, but I’ve not ate much for the last two days and. . . .”

  Rourke stopped and turned. “And what?”

  “And I’m kind of hungry.” Dave rubbed his flat stomach, swung his hat from his head and smiled. “And I’ve not got much money after drinking most of it away last night.”

  Rourke opened his mouth, determined to refuse this plea, but he noted Dave’s wispy hair and in a nervous gesture, he brushed back his hat to feel the edges of his own receding hairline.

  “Perhaps as we’re kin, you can stay for a meal,” he said.

  “I’m obliged.”

  Rourke sighed and held his hands wide apart. “I still have the old barn, so if you need somewhere to sleep for the night. . . .”

  Dave raised a finger “I’d like that, but just for the one night.”

  Rourke nodded. “Just for the one night.”

  “I KIND OF RECKONED you wouldn’t take to farming.” Dave smiled. “It seems I was right.”

  Rourke drew his horse to a halt on the edge of what had once been the Bowman family land. Ahead, the thirty-acre field was now Walt Silt’s land. The other two fields were now open to Josh Lester’s cattle. Only the barn and house remained of the once substantial area of pasture and farmed land that their father had spent his life building.

  “The law was more to my liking,” Rourke said and leaned forward in the saddle. “I prefer to get my hands dirty rounding up good-for-nothings.”

  “How long have you been a lawman?”

  “I was Sheriff Ogden’s deputy until he died in Dirtwood.” Rourke sighed. “What have you been doing?”

  “I’ve been around, earning my keep and then moving on.”

  “That’s not much detail for fifteen years away.”

  “It’s not, but I’ve never had much to say for myself.”

  “What? You’ve never had. . . .” Rourke noted Dave’s grin, and then shook the reins and hurried on ahead to the house.

  Celeste was outside pumping water from the well. She nodded to them both, Dave tipping his hat, and then returned to pumping. With a shake of his head, Rourke dismounted and hurried to her side. He prized her hand from the pump and began his own vigorous pumping motion.

  “I’m not an invalid,” she said as she stood back, a hand over her belly, although as yet there was no sign of a swelling.

  “Quit whining, woman,” he said, receiving a slap on the arm, but he just smiled and continued pumping.

  When the bucket was brimming, Celeste took hold of the handle first and swung it away from Rourke’s grasping hand. Her sudden lunge sloshed half of the water on the ground.

  She pointed at the spilled water. “See what happens when you get in the way.”

  Rourke shrugged, enjoying the argument they’d had every day for the last month and which, based on the experience of their firstborn, Harlan, and their two losses, he’d repeatedly lose for the next five months. Then he stood tall and pointed at Dave.

  “There’s no time for that argument,” he said. “We have a visitor.”

  Celeste lowered the bucket and faced Dave, who jumped down from his horse and shuffled toward them. He swung his hat from his head and held it before him.

  “Howdy, sister-in-law,” he said.

  “Sister-in-law?” She narrowed her eyes and then nodded. “So you’re Dave.”

&nb
sp; “In the flesh, twice as large and—”

  “In your case, twice as ugly,” Rourke said.

  Dave laughed, Rourke joining in for a single snort, but Celeste frowned.

  “It’s the old family joke,” Dave said. He pointed at the house. “And the old family house looks pretty much the same.”

  Rourke moved to Dave’s side and led him a few paces away from Celeste.

  “It is, but you’ve got no reason to be interested about what’s inside,” he said, lowering his voice. “Your visit can go well, but only if you behave a whole lot better than you behaved in the Golden Star. So you stay out of the house. I’ve not got much of a fence, so when you look around, don’t stray across land that’s not mine anymore. If you want to rest up, you’ll stay in the barn. When you eat, you’ll eat in the barn.”

  “That’s so many rules.” Dave whistled through his teeth and then smiled. “Life here hasn’t changed in fifteen years.”

  Rourke pointed to the barn. “The barn’s over there.”

  Dave nodded to Rourke and to Celeste, and then slapped his hat on his head and led his horse to the barn. Celeste joined Rourke and when Dave headed into the barn, she turned to him.

  “You don’t look pleased to see him,” she said.

  “That’s because he’s not much to be proud of,” Rourke said.

  “You’ve always said that he’s a worthless varmint, but he doesn’t seem that bad.”

  Rourke turned to her and folded his arms. “He is. I get reports about troublemakers to watch out for and his name has occurred plenty of times. By my reckoning he’s spent more of the last fifteen years in jail than out of it.”

  Celeste sighed. “When you became a lawman, you said you’d treat all men fairly, regardless of who they are, and I’m proud that you always have. So why are you treating your own brother differently?”

  For long moments Rourke didn’t reply. Then he raised his hat to run a hand through his sparse hair.

  “I’ll give you the most recent reason. I asked him what he’d been doing, and he avoided the question.”