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  The Raid That Never Was

  Cassidy Yates, Volume 10

  I. J. Parnham

  Published by Culbin Press, 2023.

  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.

  Copyright © 2023 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

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  Further Reading: The Cursed Brand

  Also By I. J. Parnham

  Prolog

  “Can I buy you two men a drink?” the man said.

  “Sure,” Garfield Cooke said.

  “Sure, but why?” Oliver Kipling said.

  The man laughed and introduced himself as Roscoe.

  “I overheard your conversation and I need two hardworking men to help me with a lucrative venture.”

  Garfield and his friend Oliver were standing at the bar in a dingy saloon in Redemption, having just quit their jobs on the railroad. They had been discussing what they would do next and it seemed that Roscoe might provide an answer.

  On the other hand Garfield had heard about offers that once all the details had become known either weren’t lucrative or were illegal. As Roscoe wanted to buy them drinks he put aside his misgivings and requested more information.

  An hour later either the liquor was having an effect or the offer really was lucrative as Garfield was feeling enthused about it. Roscoe was setting up a stockyard and he needed two local men to help him with the forthcoming negotiations.

  In truth they had only come to Redemption to work on the railroad so Garfield doubted they could carry out the required roles, but as Roscoe would pay them several times what they’d earned before and the work wouldn’t be exhausting, it felt like an offer they had to at least consider.

  Roscoe then left them to make their decision while he booked himself a room. He asked them to meet him outside the Excelsior Hotel in an hour. The hotel was the finest in town and that removed more of Garfield’s doubts.

  Oliver reported that he was of the same mind so, an hour later, the two men were standing outside the Excelsior and swaying from the effects of the liquor they’d consumed. Ten minutes later Roscoe hadn’t appeared and they were debating whether to go inside when a man approached them.

  “Are you joining Roscoe, too?” he asked pleasantly.

  “We’re waiting for him to come out,” Oliver said. “Then we’ll make our final decision.”

  “Only a fool would turn down the money he pays, but he’s a busy man. I’ll find out why he’s been delayed.”

  The man turned to the hotel door and beckoned for them to follow. Garfield and Oliver moved on as another two men filed in behind them. Garfield turned to acknowledge them, but he was shoved, causing him to knock into the man in front of him.

  As Garfield struggled to keep his balance Oliver was pushed, too. He barged into him and both men tipped over. Garfield moved to get back up, but a knee was planted on his back and a hand was slapped over his mouth.

  Then he was raised to his feet and bundled along into the shadows beside the hotel. He was stood up against the wall and when Oliver was positioned beside him one of their assailants thumped him in the stomach, causing him to double over.

  A scything blow to the side of the head made Garfield turn to the side while slaps sounded behind him as Oliver received the same treatment. Then he was grabbed around the shoulders and thrown against the wall.

  He raised an arm to shield him, but his forehead still thudded into the wall. His legs buckled and he dropped to the ground after which he couldn’t summon the strength to defend himself as he was raised back to his feet and dragged along.

  With the effects of his assault and the liquor making him flit in and out of consciousness, he was tipped into the back of an open wagon. Then, seemingly only moments later, he was shoved off the back of the wagon and he landed on his back.

  His arms were seized and he was pulled along for a short distance. Scraping sounded as Oliver was dragged along and deposited beside him after which low chatter could be heard nearby.

  Garfield blinked and shook his head, which helped him to regain his senses even if he didn’t feel fit enough yet to defend himself. Oliver was in an even worse state as he didn’t respond when he whispered to him.

  They had been brought to a secluded spot with a forest on one side and a creek on the other. Garfield wasn’t familiar with the terrain near Redemption, but he figured they were to the west of the town and at least ten miles away.

  His stirring gathered their attackers’ attention, and the three men moved forward and stood around them. One man, identified by the other two as their leader Verne Ogden, kicked Oliver in the side, making him groan, but when he didn’t open his eyes they all turned to Garfield.

  “If your problem is with Roscoe, we’re the wrong men as we don’t work for him yet,” Garfield said.

  “Nobody works for Roscoe,” Verne said.

  The other men laughed, removing all doubt as to the reason for this assault.

  “Then just take our money.”

  Garfield patted his jacket over the inside pocket where he’d stored his small billfold, but Verne shook his head.

  “We’ve already done that.”

  Garfield sat up and spread his hands. “Then you know we don’t have anything else to—”

  Garfield didn’t get to complete his plea as Verne hoisted him up. The moment he’d gained his feet Garfield tore himself loose and sought to flee through a gap between the other two men, but they closed ranks and rebuffed him.

  Then a blow to the back of the neck knocked him to his knees. He must have passed out again as the next he knew he was lying on his back. Verne was leaning over him and he raised his eyebrows.

  “One more chance to make us an interesting offer,” he said.

  “We have nothing. You can beat us all day and it won’t change that.”

  “I’m obliged for the invitation.”

  Verne gestured and a creaking noise sounded while a shadow spread across Garfield’s body. Garfield turned his head and to his horror the wagon was being pushed toward him with one wheel only a few rolls away from his face.

  Garfield turned on to his side and drew his legs up, letting the front wheels pass above his head and below his feet. The wagon was brought to a halt above him and Verne hurried around to the other side and kneeled down.

  He winked and then grabbed Garfield’s ankles and tugged. Garfield’s legs straightened out putting his knees in line with a back wheel just as the wagon started moving again. Garfield kicked out, but Verne had gathered a firm grip.

  The wheel closed on Garfield’s legs with alarming speed, so he stopped struggling. Then he braced his back against the ground as he prepared to put all his strength into one determined attempt to free himself.

  Just as the leading edge of the wheel brushed his calf he kicked forward and then drew his legs back. The action had the desired effect when, to avoid having his hands dragged into the path of the wheel, Verne released him.

  Garfield twisted away and brought one knee up so abruptly it slammed into his chest, but then a sickening crack sounded and a numb feeling came over his other leg. Garfield hoped he had been wrong about what had happened, but then the men barged into him and a jolt of pain shot up his leg.

  While he screeched the men left the wagon to roll to a halt and stood around him. They laughed as they enjoyed his distress and taunted him about what they’d do to him next, but Garfield ignored them as he cradled his broken leg.

  Presently the men got bored with his failure to respond and moved away. Garfield no longer cared what they were doing, but then a hand tapped his arm. He flinched, the all-consuming pain ensuring his reaction was minor. Then to his surprise he realized that Oliver had touched him.

  “It’s time to go,” Oliver whispered.

  Oliver looped an arm under Garfield’s shoulder to support his weight and stood him on his one good foot. Then the two men moved off toward the trees. After hopping along for around twenty times, Garfield paused to gather his strength and checked behind him.

  “Have they gone?” he asked on failing to spot the men.

  “While I was pretending to be unconscious they went to the creek to gather up rocks.”

  “I don’t like to think what they want them for.”

  With this concern spurring Garfield on he hopped toward the trees for several minutes without taking another rest. When they reached the treeline the going became harder and Garfield tripped over a root.

  He managed to fall on to his side and protect his damaged leg, but the spasms of pain he suffered made him feel as if his whole
leg was on fire. Oliver let him rest for a moment and turned back to the creek.

  “They’re coming back,” he reported.

  Garfield noted the nearby sparse trees with the denser forest being farther away than the distance they had covered already. He doubted he could get there, but Oliver slipped his arms beneath his back and knees and lifted him off the ground.

  Garfield groaned and Oliver murmured in discomfort, too, but he scurried off and within a minute he reached the area where the trees had appeared to be thicker. Now that they were here the trees were still too sparse to provide a decent hiding-place, but then someone sounded the alarm behind them.

  Oliver sped up while wheezing like a runaway train. Garfield watched the scene behind them and to his relief the men didn’t come into sight. He figured they would soon reach a point of safety, but then Oliver’s strength gave out.

  He dropped to his knees and spilled Garfield on to the ground. This time Garfield thrust out an arm to soften his descent and avoid a painful landing. Then he pointed to a tangled set of tree roots a few yards away.

  Between wheezes Oliver murmured that he agreed they would provide a good hiding-place. Unfortunately, he was too exhausted to help Garfield, so the two men crawled along and then rolled into hiding beneath the roots.

  They spread leaves and dirt over each other, masking their forms. Then they could only lie still and hope they weren’t discovered. Soon angry voices could be heard. Both men tensed up, but the voices stayed some distance away and then later they sounded farther away.

  “They’ve gone in the wrong direction,” Garfield whispered.

  “It won’t take them long to work that out,” Oliver said.

  Sure enough, the men soon returned to the wagon and a debate ensued which resulted in the wagon trundling away. The two men murmured in hope to each other, although they were unsure whether their tormentors had gone or whether this was a ruse.

  They stayed still and it was only after an hour of silence that Oliver sneaked out from their hiding-place. On returning he reported that the men appeared to have gone. Even so, they waited until it was dark before they moved on, by which time Garfield’s leg was throbbing with an insistent pain.

  Oliver found a branch for Garfield to use as a crutch and that enabled them to make good speed, although a mile out of town the branch broke after which Oliver had to support most of Garfield’s weight. As a result both men were on the verge of collapsing when they reached a doctor.

  Doctor Hudson helped Garfield into his surgery and deposited him on a bed. He examined him. Then he mixed up a potion to ease the pain and left to check on Oliver. Before long the pain eased, but another thirty minutes had passed when Hudson shuffled into the room sporting a somber expression.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news about your friend,” he said.

  Garfield shrugged. “Oliver will be fine once he’s rested up and you’ve fixed whatever—”

  “You don’t understand. He’s dead.”

  Garfield rubbed his brow as he tried to accept what the doctor was saying, but then decided he must have misheard.

  “He can’t be. He passed out, but then he was fine.”

  Garfield put on a hopeful smile, but the doctor met his eyes with a stern look and when he spoke again he did so slowly.

  “He only looked fine, but he must have had a bad knock to the head. The last few hours he was a dead man walking.”

  Garfield lowered his head. “Then he was a dead man who walked me out of trouble and saved my life.”

  Hudson patted his shoulder. “Now I need to help you. Then you can rest.”

  “I’ll never rest until I get justice for my friend,” Garfield said. Then he flopped back down on the bed.

  Chapter One

  Three months later . . .

  “Put down your gun and raise your hands,” Sheriff Cassidy Yates said.

  He took steady paces into the Golden Star saloon with his gun aimed at the poker players in the corner of the room. Two men were standing up and facing each other over the table, with one man brandishing a six-shooter and the other having raised his hands.

  Cassidy didn’t recognize either man or the third man who was lying face down on the floor. Cassidy took another two paces and this encouraged the gun-toter to holster his weapon. Then the man lying beside the table rose up to a sitting position and fingered his jaw, suggesting that this situation might not be as bad as it had first appeared.

  “I don’t want no trouble, Sheriff,” the gun-toter said.

  “Not anymore you don’t,” the other standing man said and then identified himself as a railroad man, Cleveland Todd. “The gunman is Kelly Davison and the man on the floor is Roscoe Dix. We were having a friendly game until Kelly accused Roscoe of cheating. When I tried to talk sense into him he drew a gun on me.”

  “I guess that’s how it looks from over here,” Cassidy said. “Do you have anything to add, Kelly?”

  “I sure do,” Kelly said. “I didn’t accuse Roscoe of cheating. I saw him do it.”

  Roscoe snarled and leaped to his feet, but he couldn’t have gathered his senses yet as he swayed. This gave Kelly enough time to step up to him and hammer a swinging punch into his jaw that knocked him into the table with such force it upended, spilling Roscoe on to the floor on the other side.

  Cassidy raised his gun slightly for emphasis.

  “You’ve had your one warning. Now you’ll come with me.”

  Kelly flexed his fist while smiling. “I got to knock that varmint to the floor again, so it was worth it.”

  With that Kelly joined Cassidy while Cleveland helped Roscoe to his feet. Kelly then walked ahead of Cassidy as they headed out of the saloon and along to the law office. Once inside Kelly smiled at Cassidy and turned around. He picked out a chair in the corner of the room, moved it over to the nearest desk and sat down.

  “I admire your confidence in reckoning you won’t be ending up in a cell,” Cassidy said.

  “And I admire your opening play, but I’m a busy man so let’s get to it. What do you want?”

  “First I want to hear about your proof that Roscoe was cheating.”

  “As I can’t provide that, I guess that’ll double what I owe you.” Kelly sighed and patted a bulge in his inside pocket. Then, while moving slowly, he extracted a billfold. “Name your price and I’ll be on my way.”

  Cassidy tipped back his hat as the reason for Kelly’s behavior became clear.

  “So you reckon a bribe will make me see things your way, do you?” Cassidy snorted. “Now that will double the time you’ll spend in a cell.”

  Kelly blew out his cheeks in exasperation.

  “Are you telling me that I’ve been arrested by the only honest lawman in the area?”

  “Can I assume that means you’ve given other lawmen the chance to prove whether they’re honest?”

  “I did that only yesterday in Carmon, and I was sure proved right.” Kelly stood up and set his hands on his hips. “So what happens now?”

  Cassidy smiled. “You get to find out how a man like you should have been dealt with.”

  “I don’t reckon we’ll be getting any more guests tonight so you can go off duty now,” Stanley Shaw said when he returned to the reception desk after his evening in the Golden Star.

  Garfield Cooke pointed at the stairs. “Who was the guest you helped upstairs?”

  “He signed the book.” Stanley joined Garfield behind the desk and pointed out the signature. “He’s Roscoe Dix.”

  “I’d already read that. I meant is he trouble?”

  Stanley smiled, seemingly now understanding Garfield’s point.

  “The blood on his face and jacket did make him look like a troublemaker, but that wasn’t his fault. He was having a friendly game of poker when another player took exception to him and hit him, twice.”

  Garfield wondered whether he should now confide in his boss before reporting Roscoe to Sheriff Yates, but he figured that Stanley probably wouldn’t support him as he wouldn’t want his other clients to know he provided rooms to outlaws. Either way, he figured that he needed to deal with Roscoe himself.

  “I’ll just tidy up here before I leave, then.”

  Stanley nodded, but then he headed to the window to survey the quiet scene outside so Garfield spent as long as he could wiping the already clean desk. Then he headed to his downstairs room at the back of the hotel where he stood beside the door until he heard Stanley retire for the night.