Never let them see you b.., p.1
Never Let Them See You Bleed, page 1
LOOK FOR THESE EXCITING WESTERN SERIES
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHORS
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND J.A. JOHNSTONE
The Mountain Man
Luke Jensen: Bounty Hunter
Brannigan’s Land
The Jensen Brand
Smoke Jensen: The Beginning
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, Deputy US Marshal
Old Cowboys Never Die
Go West, Young Man
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
NEVER LET THEM SEE YOU BLEED
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
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
Teaser chapter
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Copyright© 2022 by J.A. Johnstone
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CHAPTER 1
“Danged if I don’t believe we could take every one of ’em,” Ralph Cox commented. “It’s dang near supper time and ain’t nobody come to look after those cows.” They counted only twenty-two cows and one bull, a number easily handled by two drovers.
“I don’t know, Ralph,” Jed Tubbs replied, thinking of the extra trouble that might cause them.
They had a couple of regular buyers for their stolen beef, but these customers only wanted two cows at a time. It made it fairly easy to ride in and cut out a couple of cows, throw a lead rope on them, and ride away again. The owner of the cattle generally never knew he’d lost any cattle until sometime the next day. Even then, he couldn’t know for sure they had been stolen. Unlike a cattle rancher, the small farmer was generally raising only a few cattle primarily for food and not for sale. So most of his time was spent working the farm’s money crops, which in that part of Texas were cotton and corn.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Jed continued. “We could drive that whole bunch up outta that bottom. But we ain’t got no place to keep ’em while we’re waitin’ to sell ’em. I druther we just keep pickin’ off a few cows at a time.”
Ralph shrugged. “I reckon you’re right. You’re too blamed lazy to look after those cows, anyway. We’ll just let this ol’ sodbuster that’s workin’ this farm look after ’em for us till we’re ready to sell a couple more. Let’s get at it. There ain’t nobody comin’ to see if these cows are all right.” He got up from the bank of the river and climbed up into the saddle.
Jed followed suit and climbed up onto his horse. He took another look back toward the first of two farmhouses built close to the riverbank some three hundred yards away before he followed Ralph down to the cattle bunched at the water’s edge. As he rode, he fashioned a noose in one end of a rope he carried on his saddle.
Their form of cattle rustling was a far cry from the stampeding of a frightened herd, driven recklessly to escape the sounds of the pistol shots scattering them across a dark prairie. In contrast, the rustling of Tubbs and Cox was a casual affair. They rode their horses among the cows and selected two prime winners, dropped a noose over each one’s head, and gently led it away into the night.
“Did you make sure you got a good one?” Ralph asked. “Eli complained last time. Said one of ’em was skinny.”
“Hell, they was both skinny,” Jed said. “’Cause those two we sold him last time came from that family that just took up homesteadin’ that old deserted farm.” He pulled up then when he realized Ralph had suddenly stopped.
“I expect it woulda been a better idea if you had robbed that place again tonight, instead of comin’ here.”
Startled, Ralph jerked back on his reins, unable to see where the voice had come from. “Hold on, now!” he blurted. “This ain’t what it looks like.” He tried to back his horse up, but the cow he was leading was forced to back into Jed’s horse, jamming them all up against a pine thicket. “Let’s talk this over. This ain’t what it looks like.”
“Is that right?” the voice responded. “It looks like two cattle rustlers fixin’ to lead two of my cows up the river. What does it look like to you?” The next sound they heard was the cranking of a cartridge into the chamber of a rifle. “In case you’re wonderin’ about that,” the voice explained, “that was the sound of a Henry rifle gettin’ ready to go to work.”
“Now, hold on, feller!” Jed exclaimed. “You got us dead to rights, but there ain’t no sense in shootin’ anybody over a little misunderstandin’. Why don’t you come on outta them trees, so we can talk this thing over?” Like his partner, Jed was craning his neck, frantically searching for the source of the voice.
“There ain’t nothin’ to talk over. Cattle rustlin’ is a crime in this county.”
Both outlaws jumped at the sound that came from behind them, and Ralph automatically reached for his six-gun and swung his arm around to fire into the bushes behind him. His hand was smashed by a .44 slug from the Henry rifle before he could pull the trigger.
“Don’t shoot!” Jed yelled and stuck both hands in the air, looking frantically at the bank of bushes from which the shot had come. But he was surprised once again when the command came from the other side of them, as before.
“Take your left hand and pull that handgun outta your belt and drop it on the ground.”
Jed did as he was told, not certain now how many were surrounding them.
“Buster, if you’ll keep your rifle on the fellow I shot, I’ll tie his partner up.”
“What are you fixin’ to do?” Jed asked.
“That’s up to you,” Flint Moran answered. “We’re gonna shoot you down if you’d rather have it that way. But if you don’t give us any trouble, we’ll just take you into town and let the sheriff decide what to do with you. Either way, I want your hands behind your back. Keep your eye on his partner, Buster.” After tying their reins to a tree, he quickly took the rope from around the cow’s neck and used it to bind Jed’s hands together behind his back.
When he had him securely tied, he said, “This one’s all right, Buster, you can keep your eye on him now and I’ll see if I can give this other fellow some help.” He picked up his rifle and stepped over beside Ralph, who was holding his wounded hand by the wrist. “You got any rags or an extra shirt or something in your saddlebags?” Flint asked.
Ralph said he had nothing but his extra shirt.
“That’ll do.” Flint opened the saddlebag, found the shirt, and wrapped it around the bloody hand, then tied Ralph’s wrists together behind his back. He picked up the two handguns from the ground and whistled two sharp blasts. In a few seconds, a buckskin horse came trotting up from the riverbank and Flint clim
“Lemme guess,” Jed smirked, suspecting they had been tricked. “That’ll be Buster, right?”
“That’s right,” Flint answered, as both men realized then that they had been captured by one man, moving around in the dark like a jackrabbit. “We’ve got a six-mile ride into town, but at least it looks like it’s gonna be a nice night for a ride.”
* * *
Not much was going on in the tiny town of Tinhorn, Texas, when Flint Moran led his two captive cattle rustlers down the short main street. The few shops on the street had already closed for the evening. The only activity seemed to be in the saloon where two horses were tied out front. Flint rode past the saloon to a building a little farther up the street. The sheriff’s office and jail occupied the major portion of the building, with the sheriff’s private quarters built on one side.
Flint pulled his prisoners up before the sheriff’s office and helped them dismount. Since a light was on and the door unlocked, he marched them into the office and called out, “Sheriff Jackson.”
There was no answer.
Not at all surprised, Flint sat his prisoners down on a bench against one wall and walked over to look through the cell room door. No one was in there and the room was dark. He turned back when he heard someone come in the front door of the office, and a moment later, he recognized Roy Hawkins, an old man who did odd jobs for Sheriff Buck Jackson in exchange for a place to sleep and a little money now and then.
“Flint Moran, ain’t it?” Roy asked when he saw the rangy young man cradling the Henry rifle. “Whatcha got here?” He nodded toward the two men seated on the bench.
“That’s right, Roy,” Flint answered. “I got a couple of cattle rustlers I caught tryin’ to ride off with some of my cows. I thought about shootin’ ’em, which woulda been a whole lot less trouble, but I decided to turn ’em over to the sheriff and let him do whatever he does with cattle rustlers.” He paused while Roy took a closer look at the two prisoners, then asked, “Where is Sheriff Jackson?” He asked the question even though he could pretty well guess where Buck Jackson was.
It was a commonly known “secret” that the town’s once feared sheriff was fighting a losing battle with the bottle. It was a contest that began with the death of Buck’s wife some four years ago. But it was not until the last year and a half that it became obvious that the town’s law officer was no longer capable of maintaining law and order. The Tinhorn town council had met several times to discuss the termination of Buck Jackson’s services, since the evidence was clearly against the chance that he would ever give up the bottle completely.
Two things kept the council from ordering Buck to turn in his badge. Number one was the fact that he was the original sheriff since the town was born. And in the early years, it was the gun and the courage of Buck Jackson that kept the lawless out of the little town. In appreciation for that, the town was reluctant to fire him. Among the most loyal to Buck Jackson was Harvey Baxter, the president of the bank. It was Buck Jackson who’d squashed an attempted robbery of the bank by the Slocum brothers on its official opening day. Buck killed one of the brothers, Zack. The other one, Jesse, was wounded and sent to the Huntsville Unit of the Texas state prisons.
The second reason the council was content to retain Buck Jackson was because of the first. Tinhorn was now a peaceful little settlement with no real criminal element. The fact that Buck was no longer patrolling the streets of the town after dark seemed of little concern to the citizens of Tinhorn. It was peaceful on the main street of town at night. There no longer seemed a need for a steely-eyed fast gun to protect the citizens.
“Where’s the sheriff?” Flint repeated the question. “Is he next door in his house?”
Roy fidgeted for a few seconds before answering. “Well, yessir, he took to the bed a little while ago. His rheumatism’s been actin’ up a little bit, so he thought he’d best lay down for a while.”
“Right,” Flint responded. “There’s a lotta that goin’ around this time of year. I expect we’d better let him rest up. And we won’t bother him with the likes of these two thieves tonight. I reckon you and I can fix these fellows up with a bunk for the night.”
Roy looked surprised, as if expecting to simply let Ralph and Jed go free. “Well, I don’t know about that. I ain’t ever done that before. I just clean up and run errands for the sheriff. I ain’t got no authority to do anything else.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to worry about,” Flint assured him. “I have the authority to make a citizen’s arrest, so we’ll just help the sheriff out. Why don’t you start with lightin’ another lamp and put it in the cell room, so we can see what we’re doin’?”
“Hey,” Jed Tubbs called out, “that feller’s right. You ain’t got no authority to arrest us. You ain’t the sheriff.”
“I need a doctor,” Ralph piped up then. “You can’t leave me to bleed to death here.”
Their complaints caused Roy to hesitate.
Flint said, “Go ahead and get that other lamp, Roy. You let me worry about these two.” Back to them, he said, “As the injured party in your cattle rustlin’, I have the right to arrest you. I also have the right to shoot you down like the lowdown outlaws you are. So if you’d rather have it that way, you’ll save me and Roy, and the sheriff a lot of trouble. As far as that hand of yours, that’s the price you paid for thinkin’ about shootin’ me while you were in the process of stealin’ my cattle. The sheriff will get the doctor to look at it tomorrow, right, Roy?”
“I reckon,” Roy answered, not at all sure what the sheriff would do when he showed up in the office in the morning to find he had two prisoners in his jail. He was tempted to go next door and try to awaken Jackson, but he had seen how hard that was when the sheriff was in a drunken stupor like the one he was in tonight.
Roy lit the second lamp and took it in the cell room and set it on a table outside the cells. He looked around to see what needed to be done to get the cells ready for an occupant then went back to the office. “I need to fill the water bucket. The slop bucket ain’t been used, so it’s all right.”
“Good,” Flint replied. “Sounds like you know what to do. You probably didn’t need me a-tall.”
“Shoot!” Roy exclaimed and took the water bucket to the pump to fill it.
Flint sat on the corner of the desk, his rifle across his thighs, and watched his prisoners while Roy put the fresh water in one of the two cells in the cell room.
Roy picked the larger one, which had one wooden wall with a small vent window near the ceiling. “All right,” he called out when he came back in the office. “You can put ’em in the cell.”
“All right, gents. Your room is ready,” Flint announced. “Get on your feet.” He stood back to give them room, his rifle leveled at them. “Stop right there,” he ordered when Ralph approached the cell door. “Roy, untie his hands.”
Roy responded as quickly as he could, then stepped back when the ropes were off. Ralph entered the cell to sit down on one of the two cots and unwrapped his wounded hand.
“Okay, Roy, untie his partner’s hands. Stand right where you’re standin’ now. That way, I’ve got a clear shot right between his shoulder blades, if he decides he wants to show us some tricks.”
The message was not lost on Jed. He stood perfectly still until he felt the ropes fall away, then he waited until Flint told him to go into the cell.
