The Man who Tamed Lone Pine Read online

  The Man who Tamed Lone Pine

  I. J. Parnham

  Published by Culbin Press, 2022.

  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 2015 by Robert Hale Limited

  Copyright © 2015, 2022 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

  Prolog

  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

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  Further Reading: Night of the Gunslinger

  Also By I. J. Parnham

  Prolog

  “Orson’s late,” Reagan Trask said.

  Upton Fletcher shrugged. “Perhaps he filled Ashton with so much lead he’s struggling to drag him back into town.”

  Reagan laughed, while Upton’s brother Elmore turned to the saloon window.

  “That’s the only way it can end for a man with a death wish,” Elmore said.

  Upton nodded, but Elmore stayed facing the window, so Reagan turned in his chair to find out what was interesting him. Beacher McCoy had gathered a group of men outside the stable, who were exchanging opinions with much arm-waving.

  Their animated behavior suggested that news had arrived from Snake Town about the showdown between Orson White and Ashton Clarke. The end of the debate came when Beacher pointed at the Lucky Star saloon.

  Then the men headed their way. Reagan turned from the window and leaned back in his chair to enjoy his whiskey, as did his two colleagues. Reagan assumed Beacher was coming here to give him the news, but he didn’t need to hear the details of what had happened at the showdown.

  Since a town meeting last week, money had been on offer to whoever tamed Lone Pine by dealing with the gunslingers who had been destroying the town. Ashton Clarke had stated his intention to collect the money.

  Yesterday he had issued Orson White with an ultimatum to either leave with his fellow guns, or meet him at noon in the nearby ghost town of Snake Town. Orson had accepted the challenge and he’d taken six of his guns with him, leaving only Reagan and the Fletcher brothers in Lone Pine.

  Either Ashton or Orson would be returning, and Reagan had no doubt which man it would be. So when Beacher came into the saloon, he turned to him, with a whiskey glass in one hand and a smile on his lips.

  “I gather you have news,” Reagan said.

  “Sure,” Beacher said.

  On either side of Beacher was Lawrence Stacks and Paul Jackson. These three men were the leaders behind the decision to raise money for a town tamer. Behind them were five other men who had backed the decision with their own money. Reagan couldn’t help but note that for the first time they faced him without fear.

  “Who’s coming back from Snake Town?” Reagan asked, putting down his whiskey.

  “It’s just the one man,” Beacher said as the delegation spread out. “It’s not Orson White.”

  “Orson had six men with him!”

  “That didn’t do him no good when he was facing Ashton Clarke.”

  Reagan flinched with open-mouthed shock, but the delegation must have agreed their actions beforehand as with decisive speed the seven men moved on. The three leading men drew guns while the others advanced on Reagan’s table.

  Reagan stood up quickly, but one of the advancing men reached him and shoved him back against the table. Reagan righted himself and threw a punch at his assailant, but the blow didn’t land when another man grabbed his arm.

  Then, in short order, he was bent over the table and disarmed. As Reagan struggled without effect, scuffling sounded as Upton and Elmore were knocked to the floor and secured. Then Reagan was stood up straight and turned to face Beacher and the others.

  “Orson was the most fearsome shot I’ve ever seen,” Reagan said, still disbelieving of the tale he’d been told. “Nobody could have survived a showdown with him.”

  Beacher shrugged and then signified that Reagan should be turned to the window. Outside, it was clear that the news must have spread already as the townsfolk were coming out on to the main drag to face a lone rider who was approaching the saloon.

  With a wince Reagan noted that this man was Ashton. Beacher moved forward to stand at Reagan’s side.

  “Except somehow one man did,” he said.

  “Somehow,” Reagan said.

  Chapter One

  Five years later. . . .

  “It’s time to stop running and fight,” Reagan Trask said.

  Beacher McCoy didn’t look as if he could do either. He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. He dragged gasps of air into his lungs and then forced his head up. Reagan was standing with the high sun beside his head, ensuring Beacher didn’t get even the shade from his shadow.

  “We put you away for five years,” Beacher said between gasps. “You deserved every day you spent in jail, so you didn’t need to come back.”

  “Except we reckoned we had unfinished business.”

  Beacher nodded. The brief respite appeared to give him strength and he kicked off from the ground. With his head held low he plowed into Reagan’s legs and drove onward. His sudden action caught Reagan by surprise and he tumbled forward on to Beacher’s back.

  Beacher kept moving and with a shrug of his shoulders he fought his way out from under Reagan’s sprawling body. Then he gained his feet and broke into a run. Reagan also got to his feet and laughed, enjoying having Beacher show some fight.

  With his head down Beacher ran toward a group of three boulders twenty paces away. His breath came in ragged bursts and he pumped his arms as he tried to gather more speed. He’d halved the distance to the boulders when he stumbled over a stone.

  He was keeping his head so low down that he couldn’t avoid sprawling all his length. He slid along the dirt for several feet before coming to a jarring halt. Then he slapped both hands to the ground.

  With his arms shaking he tried to raise himself, but his feet slipped in a patch of loose dirt and he succeeded only in scrambling forward on his hands and knees. The boulder was only six feet away when the Fletcher brothers Upton and Elmore stepped out from behind the boulder, making him stop.

  Reagan paced forward to stand behind Beacher. Without any hope of mercy in his eyes, Beacher raised his head. His gaze rested on the guns they had drawn and aimed down at him.

  “I tire of this,” Elmore said.

  Upton grunted that he agreed. Reagan fired. Lead slammed into Beacher’s back, making him drop down to lie on his chest. With a grunt of effort he raised his head, but the brothers had already turned their backs on him, leaving only Reagan facing him.

  Reagan winked. Then he fired again, making Beacher’s head slam down into the dirt.

  “Have you been to Lone Pine before?” Shackleton Frost asked when he drew his horse to a halt on a rise that overlooked the town.

  “Nope,” Nathaniel McBain said. “I didn’t know this place was in our territory.”

  “It’s on the edge, but Sheriff Ashton Clarke keeps his town under control. So it’s been a while since he last had to call on my services.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “In that case, we could face a tough assignment.”

  “They’re all tough, so we just have to make sure we’re tougher.”

  Nathaniel gave a supportive snort of laughter as they moved off down the rise. He and Shackleton had worked together for over a year. Their primary tasks were to escort reluctant men to court and to escort even more reluctant prisoners to Beaver Ridge jail.

  Lone Pine had a permanent court and a jailhouse, so, bearing in mind Shackleton’s high opinion of Sheriff Clarke’s abilities, Nathaniel assumed they would escort a dangerous prisoner. This town was the farthest Nathaniel had traveled from Beaver Ridge, so the possibility of a week-long journey with a potentially difficult prisoner made him pensive.

  “What happened the last time you came here?” he asked.

  Shackleton furrowed his brow, as if Nathaniel ought to know, before dismissing the matter with a sigh.

  “It was when Clarke tamed Lone Pine,” Shackleton said, making Nathaniel shrug. “Five years ago the town saw a heap of trouble from Orson White and his lowlifes, so they called in a town tamer. Five years on, Lone Pine is a peaceful town and nobody remembers Orson.”

  “It sounds like Clarke is an impressive man.”

  “He sure is. He challenged Orson to a showdown in the ghost town of Snake Town so that no innocents would get caught in the crossfire.” Shackleton pointed over his shoulder indicating the direction of this town. “Orson was a fearsome gun-toter and he had six gunslingers with him, while Clarke was alone. Nobody knows how he did it, but Clarke killed them all.”

  Nath
aniel emitted an approving whistle. “What was your involvement?”

  “After the gunfight, Reagan Trask and two other men who had associated with Orson were still drinking in the Lucky Star saloon. When word of what Clarke had done came in, the townsfolk overcame them and threw them in the jailhouse. They were tried and I was hired to take them to Beaver Ridge jail. That’s how I got started in our line of business.”

  Nathaniel smiled, enjoying hearing a fact that his partner had never revealed about himself before.

  “So Clarke stayed on in Lone Pine as sheriff?”

  “He did, and he’s made sure the mistakes that happened five years ago, which nearly let Orson destroy that town, don’t happen again.”

  “Except now he wants your services again.”

  Shackleton frowned, acknowledging this was a concern. So they rode on down to the main drag in silence. When they reached the town Nathaniel tried to gather a feeling for the townsfolk’s mood.

  The few people who were outside ignored them, which made both men worried as they dismounted outside the law office. They went inside, finding only a deputy on duty. He was sitting at a desk facing the door and he regarded them with concern from under a lowered hat. Even when Shackleton introduced himself and Nathaniel had confirmed their mission, the deputy still rubbed his jaw nervously.

  “I’m Deputy Paul Jackson, and I sure am pleased you got here quickly,” he said. “The trial’s tomorrow.”

  “You must be sure of a conviction,” Shackleton said with surprise.

  Jackson raised his hat to run fingers through his hair. Then he turned to the window as someone walked by the law office.

  “It’s as clear-cut a case as they come, and as I knew it’d take you a while to get here, I thought it best that I moved quickly.”

  “If you’re expecting trouble the sooner we leave with the prisoner after the trial the better.” Shackleton smiled. “So you can relax now.”

  “I can’t even think about relaxing until the trial is over, and then I can’t help but think about all the trouble that’ll be heading my way.”

  “I’m sure Sheriff Clarke will have the situation under control, and I’m sure he welcomes having a deputy who takes his duties seriously.”

  Jackson gulped. “I doubt that.”

  Shackleton winced, showing that Jackson’s guarded answers hadn’t alleviated his concern about the mission.

  “Perhaps we ought to agree the details about this trial with Sheriff Clarke.”

  Jackson shook his head. “That won’t do no good. Sheriff Clarke is the man on trial.”

  Chapter Two

  Upton Fletcher cracked his knuckles while his brother Elmore propped Irvin Atwood up against the wall beside the workshop door. Then Upton moved to kick open the door, but Reagan Trask raised a hand, halting him.

  He winked at Upton. Then, with an exaggeratedly polite action that made Upton and Elmore chuckle, he rapped on the door. Muttering sounded within before Lawrence Stacks opened the door a fraction.

  “I’m afraid you’re too late,” Lawrence said. “I’m just about to close up for the evening.”

  Reagan smiled and then stepped forward to plant a foot in the door.

  “That’s no problem,” he said in a calm tone. “I just want a quick word with you.”

  Reagan and the brothers had been released from Beaver Ridge jail the previous month. They had immediately returned to the area, but they hadn’t spoken to Lawrence yet and Lawrence’s unconcerned expression suggested he hadn’t recognized Reagan yet.

  Lawrence sighed, clearly weighing up his chances of being able to close the door hard enough to make Reagan withdraw his foot. Then he stood back to hold the door open. Reagan noted the line of coffins propped up against the wall and another one lying on a workbench, which Lawrence was currently working on.

  He leaned back and nodded, and this encouraged Upton to take one of Irvin’s arms. With Elmore’s assistance they dragged him into the doorway, making Lawrence gasp with concern.

  Irvin was the owner of the Lucky Star saloon and Reagan knew that Lawrence usually called in there for an hour after work. The beating Irvin had received meant he wouldn’t be doing that tonight.

  Even with Upton and Elmore’s help Irvin struggled to walk: he stumbled into the room with his head lowered, causing Lawrence to hurry away to collect a chair, which he placed before the workbench.

  Upton and Elmore deposited Irvin on the chair, making him groan. He sat hunched over. Blood dripped from his mouth and splashed on the floor between his feet. He raised a hand to wipe his lips, but then with a groan he thought better of making the attempt and let his hand drop down into his lap.

  “I’m no doctor,” Lawrence said. “I can’t help him.”

  “You might well be the only one who can help him.”

  Reagan gestured. Upton moved in and grabbed the back of the injured man’s head. Then he drew it back to reveal Irvin’s bruised face.

  “What happened to you, Irvin?” Lawrence asked, going down on one knee so that he could share Irvin’s eyeline.

  Bruises and scrapes covered both cheeks, while one eye had shut and the blood was oozing from his split lip.

  “These men gave me some trouble,” Irvin said, and then winced when his speaking made a fresh dribble of blood well in the corner of his mouth. “I have no idea why.”

  Lawrence rummaged in his pocket for a kerchief to stem the bleeding, but then the danger he was in registered and he stopped searching. He turned to Reagan.

  “Why did you do this to him?” he said, getting to his feet.

  Reagan advanced on Lawrence, making him take an involuntary pace backward that brought him up against his workbench. The coffin shook and rattled.

  “Irvin is a respected member of this town,” he said. “In fact he’s so respected that tomorrow he’ll serve on the jury at Sheriff Clarke’s trial.”

  Lawrence gulped. “Nobody is supposed to know the names of the jury.”

  “Except I do, so I know you have good cause to be worried, seeing as how you’ll be the foreman of that jury.”

  “If you’ve come here to threaten me you’ve wasted your time. I won’t give in to intimidation and I’ll ensure that tomorrow justice is delivered, whether that be in finding Sheriff Clarke guilty, or in finding him innocent.”

  “Those are noble words, but are they backed up with noble actions?”

  Reagan gestured, making Lawrence tense, but when Upton and Elmore moved it was toward Irvin. Upton delivered a stinging slap to his cheek that rocked Irvin’s head to the side before Elmore slapped his head the other way.

  Then Upton drew back his fist, but before he could hit him, Irvin fell forward. With no control of his movements, he slid out of the chair and slumped on to the floor. Upton shrugged and dragged him back into the chair. Then he rolled his shoulders as he prepared to hit him anyhow.

  “Wait!” Lawrence cried, halting him. “If you’re going to punish anyone for standing up for justice, punish me.”

  Reagan shook his head. “I don’t reckon that’ll work. I know your kind. You’re a man who enjoys proving he’s right, no matter how much pain you have to suffer.”

  Lawrence turned to Reagan. His eyes opened wide as, surprised, he clearly worked out who he was. He turned to the other two men and then groaned.

  “I remember you from five years ago,” he said. “You were associates of Orson White.”

  “I remember you, and I know you care about others, so I reckon you’ll want to save Irvin from suffering anymore.”

  Lawrence gulped, acknowledging that he was right, but he didn’t reply immediately, so Irvin got a thump in the stomach and a punch to the jaw that again made him slide to the floor. Once more, he was raised on to the chair.

  “All right,” Lawrence said with a weary sigh. “Stop hurting him and tell me what you want me to do.”

  Reagan raised a hand that told Upton and Elmore to back away from the injured man.

  “Irvin won’t be fit enough to serve on the jury tomorrow, and I reckon one or two others will back out, too.” Reagan laughed, making his colleagues chortle. “But you’ll be there, discharging your duty.”

  “I can understand that you men hate Sheriff Clarke, but you have to accept I can’t ensure everyone else finds him guilty.”