Ralph Compton Vigilante Dawn (A Ralph Compton Western) - Softcover

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Ralph Compton stood six-foot-eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was also the author of the Sundown Rider series and the Border Empire series.

Marcus Galloway is the author of numerous novels in the Ralph Compton series.

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COLD VENGEANCE

SIGNET

This is respectfully dedicated to the “American Cowboy.” His was the saga sparked by the turmoil that followed the Civil War, and the passing of more than a century has by no means diminished the flame.

True, the old days and the old ways are but treasured memories, and the old trails have grown dim with the ravages of time, but the spirit of the cowboy lives on.

In my travels—to Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, and Arizona—I always find something that reminds me of the Old West. While I am walking these plains and mountains for the first time, there is this feeling that a part of me is eternal, that I have known these old trails before. I believe it is the undying spirit of the frontier calling me, through the mind’s eye, to step back into time. What is the appeal of the Old West of the American frontier?

It has been epitomized by some as the dark and bloody period in American history. Its heroes—Crockett, Bowie, Hickok, Earp—have been reviled and criticized. Yet the Old West lives on, larger than life.

It has become a symbol of freedom, when there was always another mountain to climb and another river to cross; when a dispute between two men was settled not with expensive lawyers, but with fists, knives, or guns. Barbaric? Maybe. But some things never change. When the cowboy rode into the pages of American history, he left behind a legacy that lives within the hearts of us all.

Chapter 1

Flat Pass, Wyoming, 1884

Some men had families. Others had their work. While most folks had both, they could never love them the same. Early in his life, Jarrett Pekoe made his choice and never looked back. He loved his kin with all his heart, but all of his sweat, blood, and soul had been poured into the Lazy J Ranch. It was a small operation. From careful planning, hiring on the best hands, and building partnerships spanning several states, his ranch didn’t need to be large to make a profit. It had taken years to make certain he was the only rancher driving his herd to some of the most selective buyers, and now Jarrett could reap his reward.

It was a cool spring day and the sun was high in the sky as Jarrett rode the perimeter of his land. Although his official task was to make sure the fence had been repaired in three spots that had rotted away, he barely kept one eye on the wooden rails. His gaze wandered along the horizon, savoring a comfort that could only be granted by contented solitude. Years ago, he’d been a hired hand who needed to make the rounds without taking a moment to lift his eyes from where they needed to be. When he’d ridden as a regulator at the Hard Luck spread up in Montana, his days were filled with chasing rustlers and rounding up strays. Naturally plenty of other men working the same jobs at those same places took time to indulge in simpler pleasures. These days, they were still at those jobs while Jarrett had clawed his way up to being the man who slept in the big house on his own patch of land.

Just as a smirk had gotten dangerously close to becoming a smile on his face, Jarrett spotted a portion of fence that didn’t quite meet his standards. He immediately pulled back on his reins and climbed down from his saddle.

“Easy, Twitch,” he said while patting the white nose of his otherwise brown gelding. “Just checking to see if I need to tan anyone’s hide when I get back.”

Judging by how much the horse shook his head and shifted on his feet, one might think the animal was worried that it was his job on the line. Of course, that very thing was how he’d earned his name. All of the fidgeting in the world, however, wouldn’t have dimmed Jarrett’s view of the horse he’d ridden since his regulator days in Montana.

Knowing his horse didn’t need to be tied up, Jarrett approached the fence and placed his hand on the top rail. He gave it a shove, gripped it with both hands, and put his whole body into it as he shook the sturdy posts. When he kicked the lowest rail, he scowled down at the length of wood.

“I suppose it’ll do,” he grumbled. As he climbed back into his saddle, he was still thinking of new ways to improve the fence’s longevity so even fewer repairs would need to be made in the future.

All fanciful thoughts from a few minutes ago were gone as Jarrett continued his ride along the fence. That sort of single-mindedness came easier to him without needing to concern himself with a wife and children of his own. If he was going to succeed the way he wanted, he would need to devote himself fully to the cause. He couldn’t do that if he was also pulling the weight of a missus and young ones. Of course he knew plenty of ranchers who raised a whole mess of children on their land. Those men also needed more hired hands to keep their heads above water. More important, they had to be content with taking a lesser part in the growth of their ranch. If Jarrett was going to do something, no matter what it was, he wasn’t going to do it halfway.

Jarrett’s clean-shaven face was almost always set into firm, straight lines. His light brown eyes weren’t cruel, but there wasn’t a lot of forgiveness to be found within them. The only thing about his appearance that was consistently unkempt was his hair, and that was only because it made more financial sense to cut it himself with a razor instead of paying some barber in town to clip it while yammering on about the weather. As soon as he’d spotted the pair of riders coming his way, Jarrett sat tall in his saddle and stared out at the approaching men with all the authority of a sea captain surveying his crew.

The men riding toward him were two of Jarrett’s regulators. Matt and Pete were good workers and mostly trustworthy. Although they tended to partake in a bit too much liquor for Jarrett’s liking, they had proven themselves on more than one occasion, which was good enough for him. Pete was the taller of the two and Matt had enough whiskers on his chin to evenly cover his face, his partner’s face, and a good portion of Jarrett’s. All of those whiskers weren’t enough to hide the uncomfortable frown he wore when he caught sight of the Lazy J’s owner.

“Howdy, Mr. Pekoe!” Pete hollered.

Waiting until he was close enough to respond without shouting, Jarrett asked, “You men on your way back to the bunkhouse?”

“A bit early in the day for sleepin’, sir,” Matt said.

After giving his partner a quick swat, Pete added, “Thought we might get a bite to eat before taking a ride into town.”

“So that means your work is done for the day?”

“More or less. All that’s left is some bits of repair work and then taking our turn at patrolling the perimeter to make sure none of them vagrants show their faces again.”

Jarrett nodded. Even though the vagrants in question had only managed to steal one horse for less than a day before being tracked down, he wasn’t about to give them a chance to take another run at the place. Still, his men had put such a scare into those two filthy thieves that he doubted they’d return anytime soon. “You two have the night patrol, right?” Jarrett asked.

Matt nodded. “Yes, sir. We should be back from the saloon in plenty of time to—” The next swat he received from the man beside him was almost hard enough to knock him from his saddle.

Before Matt could say another word, Pete said, “We don’t intend to get drunk, Mr. Pekoe. Just thought we’d play some cards and have a bit of fun in town. That’s...