Ralph Compton Lost Banshee Mine (The Sundown Riders Series) - Softcover

Buch 14 von 27: Sundown Riders

Lowry, Jackson; Compton, Ralph

 
9780593100677: Ralph Compton Lost Banshee Mine (The Sundown Riders Series)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593100670 ISBN 13: 9780593100677
Verlag: Berkley, 2020

Inhaltsangabe

Two struggling miners may have just found their ticket to fortune—if they can keep it—in this riveting new Ralph Compton Western.

England Dan Rutledge and his partner John Cooley have worked their claim for a year and are barely eking out a living. When Cooley shows up with a map of the abandoned Irish Lord Mine he drunkenly bought off a shady cowboy, England Dan is sure it’s a complete fraud. After all, no one knows what happened to the most valuable gold mine in the Superstition Mountains after a banshee frightened off the last owner.

But when England Dan gets a good look at the map, details start clicking into place. Maybe they have the key to a fortune after all! But soon an infamous bank robber shows up looking for this mysterious map he claims is his. Now England Dan and his partner will have to fight off hostile Indians, miners, and a dangerous felon to find the cache of gold and strike it rich.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

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 the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Rider series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

Jackson Lowry is the Western pen name for Robert E. Vardeman, author of numerous novels. Vardeman received the 2017 Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award. Western titles include Sonora Noose, Great West Detective Agency, and the western trilogy, Punished. He was born in Texas and has lived in the wilds of New Mexico most of his life.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One Something more than grinding hunger tied En-gland Dan RutledgeÕs stomach in a tight knot. Hunting had been terrible. Summer this year in the Superstition Mountains had been drier than usual, making the deer and rabbits that bothered to stay in the high country skittish. Most of the forage the animals usually ate was dried and sparse, forcing them to go lower in the mountains. That made every hunt more difficult if he wanted to follow all those possible meals on the hoof.

Worse, England Dan hated to leave his partner in their mine alone.

It wasnÕt because of any danger, but John Cooley slacked off when he didnÕt have his partner constantly urging him to work harder or even to work at all. En-gland Dan hardly blamed him. The Trafalgar Mine was playing out, and they both knew it. The amount of gold they pulled from the tons of ore they moved decreased monthly. Getting a single ounce for that work amounted to reason for celebration. Mostly there wasnÕt that much and hadnÕt been since last fall.

He tramped up the trail toward their mine, not paying attention to where he stepped. A -low--hanging branch knocked off his bowler as he failed to duck in time. Cursing, he put down the two scrawny rabbits he had bagged and picked up the hat. A quick swipe of his forearm brushed off dirt. Or most of it. The hat had seen better days since he bought it in London, and his British Army officerÕs jacket had been patched so many times, it was more repair than original cloth. The epaulets had been ripped off when he was cashiered, and the gold braid had long since turned black from oxidation and filth. His cavalry boots needed polishing, and the gun belt strapped around his waist, carrying a -well--used -Webley--Pryse, showed empty loops where spare ammunition normally rode. He wore a bandolier slung across his left shoulder, but the cartridge loops in it were as vacant as those in his gun belt. Ammo cost money.

There wasnÕt anything about him that didnÕt have the Òrode hard, put away wetÓ look.

England Dan sank to a rock and worked more on the bowler. His collision with the tree limb left a sticky patch of pinesap. Using his thumbnail, he flicked it off. The gob landed in the dirt, perfectly domed and mocking. Detritus survived. His future was less well formed and murky.

He looked up suddenly when strange voices drifted downslope. Cooley often talked to himself and sang -off--key when he worked. Answering himself in a different tone was -brand--new. This turned Dan wary. Perching his bowler securely on his head and brushing his unkempt -gray--streaked sandy hair out of his eyes, he drew his -six--gun and came to his feet slowly. Every sense strained. He made out two distinct voices rumbling from off the trail. He took a deep whiff of the air and caught the scent of tobacco. Someone with enough money to buy fixings for a smoke moved through the undergrowth.

Choosing to rummage about in the dried bush rather than take the trail sent a new thrill through him. His feeling of impending disaster proved accurate. The only men who crept up on the mine like this were claim jumpers.

A shot in their direction would solve a couple problems. It spooked men too cowardly to present themselves at the mine, and it warned his partner. Unless Cooley was actually working deep in the Trafalgar, heÕd hear and know something was wrong.

England Dan carefully broke open the Webley and saw four of the six chambers carried live rounds. Four bullets to fight off an unknown number of would-be thieves and murderers. An astute claim jumper had no reason to leave the miner alive. For the first time, he wished his hunting hadnÕt been so successful, if two rabbits merited such a label. His marksmanship was far better than his partnerÕs, but he had taken a dozen shots to bring down this pitiful bounty.

He had to do better with the claim jumpers.

Slipping through the brush as quietly as possible, he found a deep footprint in the soft ground under a tree. He measured it against his own. He stood six feet tall. If the footprint was to be believed, the man making it was at least a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier. To verify his guess, he found a second print and tried to put his feet in each. He held back a moan as he strained his crotch. The stride, even if the man was running, showed him to be a giant.

England Dan ran his finger over the -six--shooterÕs trigger. Four rounds, even of the potent .455 slugs, might not be enough to bring down a man this size.

A brief thought flittered across his brain. Turn around. Leave his partner to his fate. He heaved a deep sigh and continued up the slope. John Cooley might do that. England Dan Rutledge wouldnÕt. He was made of sterner stuff, even if his father, the earl, thought otherwise. Cooley was his partner, and partners watched out for each other.

He crouched low when he caught sight of their cabin. No smoke puffed up from the chimney. Wherever Cooley was, he had abandoned the cabin to go there. Working around the cabin, he chanced a quick glance inside. Empty. He moved past a small mountain of black tailings to get a better look at the mouth of their mine. It was fifty feet upslope. The ore cart wasnÕt at the end of the track running into the mine. That told him what he needed to know. Cooley was working to fill that rusty bucket deep inside where they had found a new vein.

If his partner dug like a badger a hundred feet into the mine, heÕd never hear anyone moving around outside.

But England Dan did. The crunch of feet against gravel alerted him to a man darting to keep from silhouetting himself at the mouth. Moving like a marmot, England Dan popped up, took in the situation and dropped back. One man armed with a rifle had dashed across the front of the mine while another tried to position himself above the opening.

That one physically matched the tracks he had found. A guess of six feet six was shy of the truth by three or four inches. The only thing he lacked to be completely intimidating was a gun. He didnÕt sport iron at his waist or carry a rifle like his partner. England Dan stroked his WebleyÕs hammer, appreciating the worn crosshatch there intended to keep a thumb from slipping. It was a double action, but he had been trained to cock it and fire like a single action to keep from pulling the trigger repeatedly in the heat of battle and unexpectedly finding the cylinder empty. It was his only advantage in this fight.

The man with the rifle pressed into the rock beside the mine opening signaled his partner. The behemoth above made an impatient gesture with a hand the size of a ham hock. As if that was the order heÕd waited for, the rifleman swung around and began firing into the mine shaft. Bullets whined off the walls, tearing deep into the mine. The sparks from a few ricochets leaped backward past the gunman, causing him to duck.

ÒGo in!Ó The giantÕs voice rumbled like thunder among the tall peaks.

ÒI donÕt know if I got him.Ó

ÒIs he still digging?Ó

The rifleman shoved a finger in his ear and wiggled it around. He shook his head and peered up. ÒI canÕt tell. The report deafened me.Ó

ÒGo find out. Get in there!Ó

The man stared at his rifle, jacked in another round and plunged into the mine. From where he hid, En-gland Dan couldnÕt hear any sound in the mine. The fusillade had been short and intense. Cooley could have been cut down before he knew what happened.

ÒPlease, be taking a break like you always do. Sit down -andÑ-Ó He hadnÕt realized he was speaking aloud.

The giant let out a...

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Verlag
Berkley
Erscheinungsdatum
2020
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593100670
ISBN 13 
9780593100677
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
320
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Verantwortliche Person
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