The Loner 13, page 1
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Blake Durant helped push a herd of beef to Cannon Creek, where he got paid off and then decided to go his own way. Always a loner, he was happy to ride on and forget about the men he’d so recently ridden with.
But then three of them were shot dead, and their money stolen.
Blake couldn’t allow that to go unavenged, so he set out to find and bring the killers back, dead or alive.
The trail led him to the town of Forge, and another old acquaintance, Ed Ball. On the surface. Ball was a nice guy, a man to whom a smile always came easy, and who never let anything trouble him overmuch.
But was Ball everything he seemed to be?
Blake had never really known what to make of him … except that he wouldn’t trust Ed Ball not to back-shoot him if there was any profit in it.
All at once the odds against him started stacking ever higher …
THE LONER 13: DRAW FAST – OR DIE!
By Sheldon B. Cole
First published by Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia
© 2019 by Piccadilly Publishing
First Electronic Edition: October 2021
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.
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.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
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Chapter One – A Boy Lights Out
BLAKE DURANT, AS was his habit of an evening, sat away from the other trail hands and stared thoughtfully into the distance. The sounds in the camp meant nothing to him, because his mind was far in the past. Memories, some wanted, some unwanted, flooded into his mind. Yet he was relaxed, having a long time ago accepted the fact that he couldn’t go home. And he didn’t want to go home. Not yet.
The smell of coffee drifted across to him, meaning that the trail boss, Cameron Hawke, had decided that the card game involving five of the hands had, in Hawke’s opinion, been going long enough. Ordinarily Hawke didn’t give a damn what his hired hands did, just as long as their actions didn’t cause a delay in the cattle drive. But he had often made it plain that he considered a sleepy cowhand to be a careless cowhand and might, through carelessness, cause him to lose some steers. Hawke hated the thought of losing even one of his three thousand head. It was this sort of pride that made him one of the most sought-after drovers in the cattle trade.
Blake Durant turned slightly and watched Hawke shift the big black coffee pot out of the direct lick of the fire’s flames and leave it where it would catch enough heat to keep it simmering. Rising, Blake went across to him. He liked Hawke, and there was a mutual sense of respect between them. After the first day of the drive, Hawke had decided that Durant knew his business, and since then Durant had done everything expected of him. But they had hardly exchanged more than a few words during the five weeks of herding.
Blake crouched down beside the big man, wondering, as he often had, how Hawke had received the scar which ran from the point of his ear down under his chin, where it was lost in the stubble he let grow for a week at a time.
But Blake didn’t ask him. Hawke had hired him in Rio Creek, on sight, and had never badgered him with questions about his past. So Blake adopted the same attitude.
Hawke poured himself a mug of coffee and sat back after passing the big pot to Blake Durant. He gave Blake a nod, sipped his coffee, then he looked over the herd that was bedded down along the run of the narrow creek. The air was still heavy after a day of scorching heat during which they had covered only six miles. Now Hawke ran a finger across his broad brow and flicked off sweat. He looked tired and worried.
“Two more days of it,” he finally muttered. “Then home.” He sighed wearily and sipped his coffee again.
“Everything go as planned?” Blake asked quietly.
“Sure, sure, except maybe for some minor delays. A man can’t always expect everything to go as he likes.”
An angry voice came to them from the group of card players sitting out of the fire’s smoke. Both men looked that way, to see Bede Adler jump to his feet and clamp a hand over his gun butt. Beside him, sullen-faced, sat his younger brother, Reg, shorter than Bede and much lighter in build. But Reg, in Blake’s opinion, was better left alone than the hot-tempered Bede.
“Ain’t luck, Ball,” Bede cried out. “Luck ain’t got nothin’ to do with it—not when you beat me seven times straight!”
Blake watched the youngest of the cowboys, Ed Ball, a youth he hadn’t thought would last out the drive. Yet, to his surprise, and, he suspected, to Hawke’s surprise, too, Ed Ball had shown tenacity and determination all the way. Ball was sometimes an annoyance with his cheerfulness and his eagerness to gamble, no matter how hard the day had been. His habit of walking around the camp, whistling and clearly in high spirits, had more than once brought a sharp rebuke from Bede Adler, whose temper at the best of times was a lot too short.
Ed Ball sat forward, his left hand on the cards in the middle of the slab of wood used as a table top. He looked in no way disturbed by Adler’s attitude as he said:
“You had it good till now, Adler, and I never complained, did I? Why should you complain now?”
“Seven times straight, mister,” Bede Adler snarled. “I’m sayin’ it ain’t natural. I had full hands twice and got beat by you.”
“It’s the way it goes,” Ball said, then he began to rake in the money and I.O.U. slips. But Reg Adler suddenly reached across the table and clamped his hand over Ball’s. He shook his head, forcing locks of red hair to fall across his forehead.
“It ain’t been settled yet,” Reg said. “Bede’s still talkin’ to you.”
The other two players were silent, frowning. One, Jed Luther, a big man, leaned back, his hands supporting his weight behind his bulky body. The fifth player, Tom Wright, rested on his left elbow, his right hand fingering a tuft of grass. Both had their stares fixed on Ed Ball.
“He’s had his say, Adler,” Ball said, his voice sharp now. “I won fair and I’m gonna collect. I’ve been a loser for fourteen nights straight and I figure that now it’s my turn.”
“Is that a fact?” growled Bede Adler. “I say to hell with that. I also say I’ve been cheated, set up for a final kick in the teeth. It’s real plain, mister, how you planned this, losin’ a few dollars here and a few dollars there, then comin’ in at the end and rakin’ in the whole pool.”
Blake saw worry lines crease Ball’s forehead and then a hard glint entered his blue eyes. But a moment later he smiled, and his confidence in the outcome of this argument could not be questioned. Blake, knowing trouble was about to erupt, turned to Hawke. The tight-lipped trail boss ran a grimy finger along his scar.
Bede Adler, after a glance Hawke’s way, stepped back from the circle of men. His hand firmed on the butt of his big gun and his face was dark with rage. Ed Ball’s body stiffened and slowly his hand came away from the poker pot. But when Reg Adler, a crooked smile breaking the tension of his features, tried to rake the pile towards him, Ball said tersely:
“Leave it be! You’ve got no stake in that pot!”
Reg Adler’s eyes were cold when he replied, “That’s where you’re wrong, Ball. I got plenty of stake in that pile. Bede and me took on this drive so we could set up in business together. We been savin’ for a year now and everythin’ we got is right there in the middle. Like Bede, I don’t aim to let a cardsharp take me down.”
Cameron Hawke rose slowly to his feet, then he kicked at the fire so a shower of sparks rose into the air. All the card players turned towards him. Bede Adler’s face twitched and he stepped back another pace, saying grimly:
“This ain’t got anythin’ to do with you, Hawke.”
Cameron Hawke walked slowly to the big man. Then his stare traveled to each man in turn, and his chest expanded under a sudden intake of breath which he held for a moment before he let it out in a sigh.
“We come this far in good time and I’m in sight of the goal I set for myself, Adler. I don’t aim, with only two easy days of driving left, to be delayed while we bury some dead. Now all of you turn in. The game’s over.”
Reg Adler came quickly to his feet. “You never said a truer word, Hawke. This game is over all right. And just as soon as Ball answers for cheatin’ us blind, we’ll get us some sleep and be fit and firin’ in the morning. Keep back now.”
Cameron Hawke shook his head as young Ed Ball came slowly to his feet, carefully watching the Adler brothers. The other two players, Luther and Wright, moved back into the shadows. It was plain to Blake that they wanted no part in this.
“Adler, you heard me. Turn in,” Cameron Hawke said in a voice with so much ring to it that it seemed to hang in the air for a long moment.
Bede Adler glanced at his brother, Reg, before he leered back at Hawke. “Mister, what we do during the day is fair enough your business. But what we do now ain’t got nothin’ to do with you. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with them others there either, nor with Durant. So all of you keep out of it.”
Ed Ball had stepped two paces back. He still seemed in no way concerned, and it was his coolness more than anything else which prompted Hawke to ask angrily:
“Ball, is there any truth to the claim that you’ve been cheating?”
Ed Ball shook his head, smiling easily. “No truth, Mr. Hawke. Adler’s had a good run for so long that he figures it’s his right to win all the time. When he loses he just can’t take it. If you don’t believe me, ask the others. They didn’t complain or make accusations and they lost, too.”
“Well, Wright?” Hawke asked.
Wright pursed his lips, dropped his hands to the buckle of his gunbelt, then shrugged. “I’ve had me enough for one night, Hawke. I’m turnin’ in.”
Bede Adler swore as Wright moved away, walking lazily. He picked up his saddle and blanket roll from under a tree and shouldering them was on his way when Jed Luther muttered:
“Be about my sentiments, too, Hawke.” And with that he went after Wright.
Cameron Hawke, looking satisfied, returned his attention to Bede Adler. “There you have it, Adler. You had a streak of bad luck which is just too bad. Now turn in. I don’t want any more talk about it.”
Bede Adler scowled blackly at him for some time before he snatched out his gun. Moving beside his brother, he levelled the gun on Ed Ball, saying, “This ain’t the end of it. I’m taking back the money that was robbed from me. If you don’t like it, Hawke, pay us up and me and Reg’ll be on our way.”
Cameron Hawke’s face went pale and his stare thinned. Watching him, Blake Durant saw ferocity reach into the man’s dark eyes. He shifted away from Hawke so he could get a full view of Reg Adler, who looked his way and scowled but did not go for his gun.
Cameron Hawke moved up to Adler who, hearing him, heeled about, his gun levelled on Hawke’s range-trimmed waist. But the trail boss ignored it.
“I won’t tell you again, Adler,” Hawke said.
Bede Adler licked his lips and then he chanced a look at his brother, who watched Hawke and Durant closely, obviously assessing the situation. Ed Ball, still smiling, bent and picked up the money and slips of paper. As his hands folded on the pile, Bede Adler fired a shot which kicked dirt an inch from Ball’s boot. Ball remained in a stoop, showing no fear.
Then Cameron Hawke’s patience broke. He reached out, grasped Bede Adler’s shoulder and turned him about, at the same time bringing his left hand down hard on Adler’s wrist. With a grunt of pain, Adler dropped the gun and Hawke kicked it away. Reg Adler’s hand slashed down for his gun, but Blake Durant whipped out his Colt and levelled it on Reg. He didn’t speak a word, but Reg Adler had seen the fast, smooth draw. Frowning in surprise, he kept his hand clamped on the butt of his holstered gun. Ed Ball, watching Durant in admiration, muttered:
“Well, I guess that decides it. I’m obliged, Durant, and to you, too, Mr. Hawke.”
“Just get your money and turn in, Ball. And don’t bother to thank anybody. Next time you find yourself in a position like this, get yourself out of it.”
Bede Adler stood rubbing his wrist and glaring at Hawke, while Reg still scowled as he watched Ball collect the money and back off. Only when Ball was out of sight in a clump of cottonwoods did Reg Adler speak.
“That was a mistake, Hawke. You took the wrong side.”
“To hell with takin’ any side, Adler,” Hawke growled. “I got two more days of this drive to finish, then you and Ball and anybody else can lock horns all you like. But while you’re on my payroll, using my camp, there’ll be no gunplay. Now I’ll have your gun.”
Reg’s face distorted under a savage uplift of anger. “You’ll what, mister?”
“I’ll return it when I pay you off in Cannon Creek. Don’t argue with me now because I’ve had just about enough of you.”
Blake Durant put up his gun and, seeing that Hawke was in control of the situation, returned to the fire. He could hear Ed Ball still going off through the timber, leading his horse now. He considered it was good sense on Ball’s part to get out of the way, at least for the night. In the morning, when tempers had cooled down, he expected that the drive would go on without a hitch.
Reg Adler handed over his gunbelt and then Hawke bent and picked up Bede’s gun from the hard ground. Putting the belt across his shoulder and Bede’s gun under his belt, Hawke muttered, “Coffee’s ready if you want it. If you don’t, hit the hay.”
With that he turned his back on the Adler brothers and crossed to where his blanket was spread out. He tossed the guns behind his saddle and returned to Durant who held a filled coffee mug up to him. Hawke accepted the coffee with a grunt and squatted on his haunches, looking coolly at the Adler brothers who had gone towards the edge of the timber where Wright and Luther sat together. Bede Adler kicked at a dead stick and sent it flying noisily through the timber, then he unrolled his blanket and flopped onto it. Reg stood staring at the two men at the fire for a long time before he squatted on his haunches, scratching the ground with a long stick.
Hawke, after finishing his coffee and washing out his mug, kicked dust over the fire. He then gave Blake Durant a curt nod and went across to his blanket. Blake walked to the rim of the slope where he’d tethered his big black stallion, Sundown. Blake rubbed the black’s shoulders and back before he settled down on his blanket. Using his saddle for a pillow, he stared up at the star-filled sky.
Gray light was filtering through the trees beyond the camp when Blake heard the snap of a twig close to him. Without opening his eyes, he rolled, hurling off his blanket. When he had rolled twice he stopped on his left side, his gun in his hand, pointing up. It was then that he saw Bede Adler, hands extended, looking completely stunned.
Blake said quietly, “Move back, mister.”
He came to his feet as he spoke. A yard away, Reg Adler stood scowling at his brother. Then Ed Ball appeared at the fringe of the brush, a grin on his face. He crossed to where Cameron Hawke was resting on one elbow, his gun in his hand.
Ball halted near Hawke and said calmly, “Mr. Hawke, I guess you can see there’s gonna be trouble here if I stick around. And since you’ve only got two more days of herding left, I reckon you can do without me from here on. So I’ll take my pay if you don’t mind.”
Blake saw the Adler brothers stiffen and send savage stares at Ball.
“You signed on for the whole trip,” Hawke said. “I don’t like anybody cutting out on me before his contract’s finished. Anyway, I won’t have money enough to pay anyone until we reach Cannon Creek.”
“Your paper will do me, Mr. Hawke. I ain’t quittin’, mind you, I’m just doing what I figure is best for everybody.”
“If you run, we’ll find you, brat!” growled Reg Adler. “You ain’t gonna hell it up on our stake.”
Ball smiled at Reg Adler and then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Gunless, Reg Adler stood there seething while Bede grumbled under his breath. Blake Durant still held his gun but the barrel was slanted towards the ground.
“Well, Mr. Hawke,” Ball said, “you can see how it is here. They ain’t forgot and they ain’t no more companionable to me than they were last night. After riding with them for five weeks, I figure they ain’t ever gonna be companionable to anybody, the way their minds go.”
Reg Adler took a quick step towards Hawke, but Hawke jumped to his feet, gun in hand. At the sight of the Colt, Reg Adler stopped short. Hawke glanced at Blake Durant whose face bore no expression. Hawke knelt beside his saddle and took out a pad and a pencil. He hastily scribbled across the top page, signed the chit and handed it to Ed Ball.
“Okay, now get!”
Ball took the paper, looked at it and then folded it into his shirt pocket. He removed his hat, dusted it on his thigh and after ruffling his hair with his right hand he refitted the hat to his head. Then he pulled his horse close, swung into the saddle and grinned at the Adler brothers. He was on the point of speaking when Cameron Hawke snapped:
