Broomtail basin and trai.., p.1
Broomtail Basin & Trail to Gunsmoke, page 1
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Broomtail Basin/Trail to Gunsmoke
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BROOMTAIL BASIN
The front window bellied in but did not break. Plates danced on the shelves. The Chinaman hollered, "Holy Sloke! Somebody shoot off cannon!"
They hit the street, Judge Lemanuel Bates in the lead, Tobacco Jones ahead of the Chinese cook. Dirt and debris filled the air. A wild-flying two-by-four, strips of siding still clinging to it, landed in the street not more than thirty feet away. Tarpaper floated in the air.
"Cannon, nothin'!" Tobacco growled. "That was dynamite."
TRAIL TO GUNSMOKE
Doc Buck hurled into hard and fast action. He hit Ron Powers below the knees with a flying tackle. His lunging drive sent Powers reeling. The rancher lost his footing and Doc Buck let him fall.
Hatchet John said: "Be careful, Doc. He's packin' a gun and he knows how to use it."
Doc Buck's fingers were taloned over the black grip of his dead father's Colt. For one moment, all hell hesitated, ready to break loose in roaring, flaming death.
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Other Leisure Double Westerns by Lee Floren:
TRAIL TO HIGH PINE/WEST OF THE BARBWIRE
WYOMING GUN LAW/FIGHTING RAMROD
GAMBLER'S GUNS/BOOTHILL BRAND
NORTH TO POWDER RIVER/THE GRINGO
SADDLES NORTH/GAMBLER WITH A GUN
HANGMAN'S RANGE/SADDLE PALS
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Broomtail Basin/Trail to Gunsmoke
Lee Floren
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A LEISURE BOOK®
April 1992
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
BROOMTAIL BASIN Copyright ©MCMLXXXI by Lee Floren
TRAIL TO GUNSMOKE Copyright ©MCMLXXX by Lee Floren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
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BROOMTAIL BASIN
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Chapter 1
Horses were running somewhere in the moonlight. And the measured rhythm of their hoofs against the parched Wyoming soil told Judge Lemanuel Bates that riders bestrode them.
For a range cayuse, running without a rider, does not seek a measured stride.
"Riders, to the north."
"Swingin' wide of us," Tobacco Jones stated.
The heavy-set jurist stood on stirrups, right hand braced on the surface of his whiskey-jug strapped to his kak's fork. Stretched like this, he could see over the tall sagebrush. Moonlight slanted in to glisten on the hammered-silver buckle that laced together the tie-thongs of his Stetson.
Tobacco Jones had also risen against his oxbows.
"Yonder they head, Bates." The postmaster jabbed a finger northeast. "Three of 'em, ain't they?"
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"Four."
"Blast my buttons! You always argue with me. I still say three riders!"
The horsemen swept across the floor of Broomtail Basin, riding through the tall sagebrush, hitting across alkali flats marked by grotesque greasewood. They were about two hundred yards away.
They had come out of the moonlight-dappled hills that flanked the northen rim of Broomtail Basin. They seemed intent on putting plenty of sod between themselves and those northern hills.
One rider pulled ahead, a dark shadow separating from the darker bulk, and suddenly the riders broke apart, disappearing into the moonlight and the distance. The pound of their hoofs ran out and died.
Tobacco grunted. "You're right again, Bates. Four riders. An' did you mind how they fanned out like mebbe they aimed to break up an' ditch any pursuit?"
"I don't savvy this, Tobacco. Must be close to midnight, too."
A sudden roar jerked their gazes north. From the foothills flame lashed upward, ripping apart the still moonlight. The ground trembled under their broncs' hoofs. The flame lanced upwarda quick, ripping redand then died.
"Dynamite," Judge Bates said.
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Tobacco Jones' mule had reared. The postmaster put the beast's hoofs again on sod. "Them riders has set that powder. Used a long fuse an' got to Hades outa the country before the powder worked. Now who would blow up a hill?"
"Seems to me I saw lumber in that flame."
Tobacco speared a look at his companion. "Seems to me I saw the same. That means a cabin went up, huh?"
Judge Bates figured that if they'd wanted to blow up a cabin, they'd never have used so much powder. "Let's ride over and take a look, partner. It isn't more than a half-mile off, I'd say."
But Tobacco Jones did not consent. He pointed out that they had ridden into Broomtail Basin so that Judge Bates could sit on the bench of Judge Hostetler Mackenzie, who was injured and in bed. They had not come in to find out who had dynamited what, and why.
"Had I figgered you'd gone huntin' trouble, Bates I'd've stayed home an' minded my post office. I come along with you to get in some fishin' an' to see some new country."
The postmaster's argument held logic, the jurist conceded. They turned their mules east again in the general direction of Wild Horse Town, the county seat of Broomtail County. That noon they had left
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the railroad town of Diamond Willow and had intended to bed down at a ranch when night came. But they had not run across a ranch, so they had kept on riding.
''Wild Horse must be about fifteen miles yet," the judge said. "According to what that sheepherder told us back in the hills, we'd hit a road along now. All we have to do is follow it into Wild Horse, he said."
Tobacco bit off a chew. "Sheepherders are crazy, an' you know it. Otherwise, if'n they weren't loco, they'd never herd sheep." This logic dispensedalong with a brown squirt of tobacco-juicethe postmaster settled deep between horn and cantle, fitting his lanky body to the sway and walk of his mule.
A quarter mile further, they found the wagon-trail. It lay under the moonlight, dusty and pale, twisting like a tired snake through the sagebrush and greasewood. Cattle were bedded down around springs and waterholes marked by boxelders and chokecherry trees.
"I still wonder about that powder" Judge Bates pulled in his mule. "Are my ears right, friend? Seems as if I hear riders."
Tobacco had also pulled rein. "I hear them. Comin' this wayyonder, they hit the road, headin' this direction."
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Judge Bates counted six riders. He frowned, for he was puzzled; he was also sure this was a new bunch of riders. It had to be, for the other four he had seen would by this time be far across the basin.
"They're over there!" a man hollered.
The six riders, looking like puppets pulled by one string, swerved and converged down on them. A rifle-ball whistled over the pair's heads.
"Hold fire, you blamed idiots!" Judge Bates' voice held anger.
"Stay where you are," a man rasped. "We got our rifles on you men."
They had slowed to a walk. Now about a hundred yards away, they came up cautiously, spreading out as they approached. Judge Bates, his first anger gone, watched in puzzlement.
"I don't savvy it," Tobacco grumbled. "But them buttons better watch their rifle fire or they will get in trouble."
Now Judge Bates could see the six riders clearly. They were astride work-horses, some bearing collar-marks, and four were bareback. Each man carried a rifle and each had a pistol at his hip. And each rifle was on himself and his partner.
"Who threw that shot at us?" Judge Bates asked.
"I did!" The man was rawboned, and wore overalls and a faded shirt. "No man's blowin' up the
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Great Western reservoir and' ridin free!"
Judge Bates glanced at Tobacco. The postmaster scowled and spat. The riders halted, still fanned-out, holding rifles.
"We heard the explosion," the judge said, "but we didn't blow up this reservoir, or whatever was blown up."
"We figger you did. You two look like cowmen. An' the cowboys don't want Great Western to run tracks in here."
Tobacco chewed. "I don't get the run of this," he finally said.
The judge was in a similar quandary. Only one thing was certainthese men meant business. He wasn't armed and neither was Tobacco.
Patiently he pointed out this fact. He admitted hearing the explosion and that he and his partner had seen four riders heading across Broomtail Basin. Those riders had been so far away
"What's your handles?" The rawboned man snapped the words.
"I'm Judge Lemanuel Bates, and this man is Tobacco Jones."
The rawboned man studied them.
"I've heard of Judge Bates," a man said. "But
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this ain't him. I heard tell he was a long shoebutton, an' this runt is short an' heavy-set."
"Lots of gents travel under a 'judge' handle," the rawboned man claimed. "I knowed a gent onct they called Judge Lonnigan, an' he weren't no judge. What you got in that jug, fella?"
"Hard liquor."
"That settles it," the man stated. "A real judge wouldn't drink. We still figure you two was in on that dynamitin'."
The judge pointed out that that assumption was illogical. If he and Tobacco had helped put the dynamite, would they ride so slowly? And wouldn't they put up a fight when cornered?
"He's right," a rider conceded.
But the rawboned man was tenacious. "You two is ridin' mules. Mules can't run as fast as hosses. You might've figgered we'd catch you if'n you tried to escapeseein' our hosses, even if plow hossescan outrun a mule. These cowmen are hirin' some purty slick characters. I figger you saw you couldn't get away, so you stowed your weapons into your saddle-bags an' decided to play dumb."
"You possess a sterling imagination, sir."
"That could be so," a man grumbled.
Tobacco sat askew in saddle, hand on his open saddle-bag. Judge Bates said, "Don't fight them,
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friend." Tobacco drew his hand back. "Don't like to be shoved aroun' by these runts, Judge."
"Get movin'," the rawboned man ordered.
"Which direction?" Judge Bates asked.
"Straight down the trail. We're takin' you into Wild Horse to the sheriff. If'n your story is straight, an' you can prove it, then he'll turn you loose, of course. All right, hike them jassaxes along."
The rawboned man gave quick orders. Two men would ride between the judge and his partner. The other fourincluding himselfwould trail them.
"You two menride atween these hellions. Let us boys have your rifles. Can't tell but they might grab a rifle outa your grip an' put up a fight. Us men who trail behind'll hold guns on them."
"We were heading for Wild Horse," the jurist said.
Tobacco smiled. "Never figgered the town would see us come in with a parade, though. This is kinda Egyptian to me, men. I wish you'd do some explainin'."
"You know enough. We don't need no explainin'."
The postmaster shrugged.
Judge Bates said, "Make no move toward weapons, Tobacco. Just humor the boys; they have to have their fun, you know. Anyway, they'll take us where we want to go, an' Judge Hoss Mackenzie
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will recognize us."
"You know Judge Mackenzie?"
"Friend of mine, Lantern Jaw."
"Maybe the gent is a judge," a man said, worried. "Maybe he'll put us all in the clink, Jocky."
"I still think they're lyin'."
"Me, I'm worried, Jocky. What that fat geezer said is rightcowboys who set off that powder wouldn't ride mules, either. They'd straddle fast broncs that could get them to hell an' gone in a hurry"
"Shut up, Slim!"
"I still don't cotton"
"We gotta play our cards, Slim."
Slim fell silent. They rode at a walk down the road. Tobacco started to reach in hs coat pocket. A man grabbed his arm.
"What're you diggin' for?"
"My eatin' terbaccker."
"Keep your hand outa that pocket. You might have a short-gun in there. I'll get your tobaccer for you."
The hand went in and came out with the plug.
"Service, Judge." Tobacco glared at his partner. "Now why don't you hold it for me, pal, while I bites off a chaw?"
The man held out the Horseshoe. Tobacco bit,
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and his teeth ground down on the thumb. The man hollered. He jerked his hand back, leaving the plug in Tobacco's teeth. He pulled his arm back, fist balled.
Judge Bates grabbed his elbow. He almost unhorsed the man. "Go careful," he warned.
The men behind were laughing.
Tobacco bit off his chew and restored the plug to his pocket. They went on for a few miles with only the sounds of hoofs on the dust. Neither of the partners asked any more questions. That was useless. This would be cleared when they reached town.
Finally ahead of them reared the black bulk of buildings, evidently Wild Horse town. Jocky rode his horse even with that of Judge Bates.
"You was stuffin' about that licker in that jug, huh? You got drinkin' water in that, h'ain't you?"
