Dark is the night, p.1
Dark Is the Night, page 1
Look for these exciting Western series
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William W. Johnstone and J.A. Johnstone
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Luke Jensen: Bounty Hunter
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Preacher and MacCallister
Fort Misery
The Fighting O’Neils
Perley Gates
MacCoole and Boone
Guns of the Vigilantes
Shotgun Johnny
The Chuckwagon Trail
The Jackals
The Slash and Pecos Westerns
The Texas Moonshiners
Stoneface Finnegan Westerns
Ben Savage: Saloon Ranger
The Buck Trammel Westerns
The Death and Texas Westerns
The Hunter Buchanon Westerns
Will Tanner: U.S. Deputy Marshal
DARK IS THE NIGHT
A DEATH & TEXAS WESTERN
WILLIAM W.
JOHNSTONE
AND J.A. JOHNSTONE
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
Teaser chapter
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by J.A. Johnstone
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-4851-9
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4373-6 (eBook)
CHAPTER 1
Leon Armstrong turned when he heard the door open to discover the now-familiar image of Cullen McCabe in the doorway. Armstrong hurried to the telegraph window to fetch a telegram from the drawer. “Mornin’, Mr. McCabe,” he greeted him.
“Mornin’,” Cullen returned. “Mr. Thornton, over at the store, said you have a telegram for me.”
“That’s right, I do,” Armstrong said. “It came in day before yesterday. I told Ronald to let you know if you came into the store, in case I didn’t see you.” He handed an envelope to Cullen and stood waiting, hoping Cullen might comment on the message. When he failed to do so, Armstrong commented, “We like to deliver telegrams as soon as we can, but with you not living in town, nothing we can do but hold it till we see you.”
“No problem,” Cullen said as he folded the telegram and stuck it in his pocket.
Armstrong was itching inside with curiosity about the quiet man whom no one in the little town of Two Forks knew anything about, except him. And the only thing he knew was that, from time to time, Cullen McCabe received a wire asking him to report to Michael O’Brien in Austin. The telegrams never said what the meetings were about, and the reason Armstrong was so curious was the fact that O’Brien was the governor’s aide. Of course, Ronald Thornton had dealings with McCabe, but according to Thornton, they always consisted of a minimum of words to place an order for supplies. The only noticeable difference in the size of his orders was whenever they came after he had received one of these telegrams from the governor’s office. And as Thornton had predicted, when Cullen returned to his store, after picking up his telegram, he placed a larger order for supplies than he normally did. Being the speculator that Thornton was, he guessed that the quiet man of few words had gotten another notice to travel.
When Cullen had completed his order, Thornton thanked him for the business, then commented, “From the size of that order, I’d figure you were fixin’ to take a little trip.”
“Is that so?” Cullen replied, and gathered up his purchases without further comment.
“I can give you a hand with those,” Thornton offered.
“Thanks just the same,” McCabe said, “but it’s no bother. I’ll just make a couple of trips. That way, you won’t have to stand out there holdin’ ’em while I pack ’em in the sacks on my packhorse.” As he said, he left half of the supplies on the counter while he rearranged his packs, then returned to get the rest as Clara Thornton came into the store. “Ma’am,” he said politely as he passed her on his way out.
When McCabe was out the door and in no danger of hearing him, Thornton greeted his wife. “He’s on the road again,” he said.
“Did he tell you that?” Clara asked, every bit as curious about the man as was her husband.
“He didn’t have to,” Thornton insisted. “I could tell by the order he placed. I knew when Leon said he had another one of those telegrams from the governor that McCabe would be gettin’ ready to travel.”
“Huh,” Clara snorted. “Maybe he just ain’t plannin’ to come into town for a while,” she offered sarcastically. “I declare, you and Leon Armstrong will have everybody in town thinkin’ Cullen McCabe is some kinda mystery man, just because he doesn’t talk much.”
“Is that so?” Thornton replied, standing at the front window now. “Then how come he’s headin’ straight to the blacksmith?”
“Maybe he needs something from Graham Price,” Clara suggested, again sarcastically. “Why does anybody go to the blacksmith?” She walked back to the front window to stand beside her husband to watch Cullen approach Graham Price’s forge. “You and Leon oughta take a lesson from him, so you wouldn’t gossip so much.”
“You’re just as curious as I am,” Thornton replied. “Don’t try to make out like you ain’t.”
The object of Thornton’s curiosity led his horses up the street and tied them at the rail in front of the blacksmith shop. Graham Price looked up from a wagon rim he was hammering out on his anvil. When he saw Cullen, he paused for a moment to say, “Howdy. Give me a minute and I’ll be right with you.” Cullen nodded, and Price continued to hammer out a section in the rim before dunking it in a barrel of water beside his anvil. “Yes, sir,” he said then. “Your name’s McCabe, ain’t it? What can I do for you?”
“I’m thinkin’ Jake here needs some new shoes,” Cullen said. “Can you take care of him this mornin’? I’m gonna have to take a little trip sooner than I expected. If you can’t, I’ll . . .”
That was as far as he got before Price interrupted. “No problem a-tall,” he said. “I can get right on it, if you wanna wait. It’ll take me a little while. Have you got someplace else you’ve gotta go while you’re in town?”
“I have,” Cullen answered. He didn’t expound on it, but he had planned to have himself a big breakfast at the dining room next to the hotel on this trip to town. It was something he had never treated himself to in Two Forks and he figured he’d see if they had a decent cook. “I’ll leave both horses here, but I think I’ll take most of that load off my packhorse. No sense in makin’ him stand around with all that on his back.”
“You can just put it over in the shade of that tree,” Price said, nodding toward a large oak at the back of his shop. “I’ll get started on your horse right away.”
“Much obliged,” Cullen said, and led the horse to the back, where he relieved it of most of the heavier sacks. That done, he walked up the street to the hotel and the Two Forks Kitchen beside it.
“Mornin’,” Porter Johnson greeted him when he walked in the door.
“Am I too late to get some breakfast?” Cullen asked.
“Almost,” Johnson replied, “but Gracie ain’t throwed out everything yet. She’s still got a little pancake batter left and we’ve got plenty of eggs and bacon. Set yourself down and I’ll go tell her to rustle you up something.” He started for the kitchen, then paused. “Pancakes, bacon, and eggs all right with you?” When Cullen said that would suit
“Don’t mind at all,” Cullen said. “I was afraid I’d gotten here too late to catch breakfast.” He had a feeling that the owner of the Kitchen was curious to find out more about him.
Johnson placed one of the cups before Cullen and sat down at the table. He didn’t take long to confirm Cullen’s suspicions. “Your name’s McCabe, ain’t it?” Cullen nodded. “I’ve seen you come into town a time or two,” Johnson said, “but I believe this is the first time you’ve come in here to eat.”
“That’s a fact,” Cullen answered simply, and tried a sip of the hot coffee.
“Ronald Thornton says you’ve got a place somewhere down the river,” Johnson went on, determined to get some information on the solemn man. “You got a family? We’re always glad to welcome new families to Two Forks.”
“Nope, no family,” was Cullen’s short reply. He could sense Johnson’s impatience, but he was not inclined to make small talk as a rule, and specifically not in Two Forks. The less people knew about him here, the better. His rough little cabin downriver from the town was not in an easy spot to find, and it served his purposes when he needed some peace and quiet between jobs. After a while in the solitude he preferred, however, he was usually ready to take on the governor’s next assignment for him. So he was gratified to discover there was a telegram waiting for him when he came into town today.
“You don’t strike me as a farmer,” Johnson commented. “You in the cattle business?”
“Nope,” Cullen answered, then sat back to give Gracie room to set a plate on the table before him.
“You’re lucky you came in when you did,” the stocky gray-haired woman said. “Porter came in the kitchen just when I was fixin’ to empty that batter into the hog’s bucket. So them’s the last of the pancakes. Big feller like you might want more. If you do, you’ll have to settle for cold biscuits.”
“I’m sure that stack is plenty,” Cullen said. “I ’preciate you goin’ to the trouble. They look mighty good.”
Johnson waited for Gracie to back away before continuing his questioning. “You ain’t farmin’ and you ain’t raisin’ cattle. What is your line of business?”
“Just one thing and another, I reckon,” Cullen replied.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“I reckon I’ve already talked a lot more since I sat down here than I figure I need to,” Cullen said. He was saved from further interrogation by Gracie O’ Hara.
“Porter, why in the world don’t you let the poor man eat his breakfast?” She stood, hands on hips, shaking her head. “How’s that coffee, honey?” she asked Cullen. “You need some more?”
“No, ma’am, not just yet.”
In spite of Gracie’s reproach, Johnson was about to continue, but was interrupted when the door opened and another customer walked in. Glancing up at Porter’s face, Cullen detected an obvious expression of irritation as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Sonny, what are you doin’ back in here? Sheriff Woods told you not to come back here anymore. You still ain’t ever paid me the money to fix that table you busted up, and you was supposed to do that as soon as you got outta jail.”
“I’ll pay you the money when I get it,” Sonny said. “Right now, I’ve only got enough to eat some breakfast. And that stack of flapjacks that feller’s eatin’ suits my taste this mornin’.”
“You’re too late for breakfast,” Johnson said. “This feller here just made it before Gracie cleaned up the kitchen and started workin’ on dinner.”
“If you can feed him, you can feed me,” Sonny replied. “You owe me more than the trouble it takes to cook some flapjacks. After you went cryin’ to the sheriff about that little ruckus with them two cowboys, he locked me up for two nights.” He aimed a sassy smile in Gracie’s direction, standing near the kitchen door. “Get your sloppy old ass in there and cook me some flapjacks.”
“I ain’t got no more batter,” Gracie replied calmly. “Them’s the last of it.”
“You lyin’ old . . .” Sonny started, then stopped and eyed Cullen for a few moments, who seemed to be making an obvious attempt to ignore him. He grinned, thinking Cullen’s attention to his breakfast was really an attempt not to cause him any reason to come after him. “Never mind, old woman,” Sonny said, “I’ll just have them that feller’s fixin’ to eat. Bring me a clean plate.”
Cullen had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but evidently, he was getting an unwelcome introduction to the town bully. He put his knife and fork down and turned his attention to the smirking young man. “What’s your name, friend?”
“None of your damn business,” Sonny replied, still sneering defiantly, “and I sure as hell ain’t your friend.”
“His name’s Sonny Tice,” Gracie volunteered, “but it oughta be Sonny Trouble.”
Cullen nodded in response, then turned back to him. “All right, Sonny, it appears to me that you ain’t ever been taught how to talk to ladies. So, you owe this lady an apology for your rough language to her. And you also don’t know it ain’t polite to interfere with folks eatin’ their breakfast. Just lookin’ at you, I’d guess you went to the saloon before you decided to come here lookin’ for breakfast. So the best thing for you is to go back to the saloon and tell them you’re hungry. Most saloons can fix you up with something to eat, even at this time of day. It won’t be as good as these pancakes I’m fixin’ to eat, but maybe it’ll do till you get sobered up some.”
Sonny was struck dumb for a few moments, astonished to hear the calm scolding coming from the stranger. Finally, he found his voice again. “Why, you dumb prairie rat,” he blurted. “You’re fixin’ to get your ass whupped.”
Still calm, Cullen shook his head impatiently. “There you go again. You haven’t heard a word I’ve been tryin’ to tell you. You’re gonna have to get outta here now.” He paused. “After you apologize to the lady.”
“Like hell I will!” Sonny responded, and reached for the .44 on his hip. Anticipating his move, Cullen grabbed Porter Johnson’s coffee cup and threw the contents into Sonny’s face, coming up out of his chair at the same time. When Sonny reeled, Cullen drove his shoulder into him, driving him backward to land on the floor. Still trying to draw his pistol, even though flat on his back, Sonny looked up at the formidable man standing above him, his weapon in his hand.
“Is it worth dyin’ over?” Cullen asked calmly when Sonny started to pull his .44. Sonny realized at once that he had no chance. Scowling at Cullen, he raised his hands in defeat.
“All right,” Sonny said. “You got the jump on me this time. I’m goin’.” He started to roll over and get up from the floor.
“Hold it!” Cullen ordered, and cocked his Colt .44. “Apologize to the lady first.”
Straining to contain his anger and embarrassment, Sonny nevertheless said, “I’m sorry, Gracie.” He glared back at Cullen. “Now can I get outta this dump?”
“Yep, and when you think about it some, maybe you’ll change the way you treat people,” Cullen said, and turned to go back to his chair.
“McCabe!” Gracie screamed. Cullen looked back to see Sonny standing in the doorway, his pistol aimed at him. There was no time to think. He fired at almost the same time Sonny pulled the trigger and felt the sting of the bullet that grazed his upper arm. About to fire a second shot, he hesitated when Sonny’s gun fell from his hand and he dropped to his knees, already dead from the shot in his chest. With his eyes seeming to be staring into the next life, Sonny remained on his knees for a few moments before he collapsed onto his side. Cullen returned his .44 to his holster and remarked calmly, “Sorry about that. There wasn’t much else I could do.”
