Ralph Compton Return to Gila Bend (The Gunfighter Series) - Softcover

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 Riders series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

Carlton Stowers is an award-winning journalist and the author of more than two dozen books, including Comanche Trail, which was named a finalist for both the Western Fictioneers and the Texas Institute of Letters best first novel awards. He lives in Cedar Hill, Texas.

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Chapter one

Just a short walk from the Texas State Prison's front door was Dynamite Billy Wayne's Freedom Store, where released inmates, eager to resume a new life, could spend their paltry chain gang earnings and any cash they might have had in their pockets when taken into custody on anything from new clothing to one of the horses or mules waiting in a nearby corral. Himself a former inmate, Billy liked to brag to folks he was in the prison's inaugural class, a man who earned his living blowing open bank safes before becoming Texas State inmate no. 19. Now he ran a thriving business in which he bartered for every dime his customers had in their pockets. No one, he insisted, should return home without a new pair of britches, a clean shirt, and a decent-looking hat. If they could afford it, he also had boots in all sizes. In back, his wife offered haircuts and shaves.

If, after emerging from his changing tent in their new finery, they still had money to spend, he led them to the corral. If not, he gave them directions to the nearest town.

By the time Lewis was properly outfitted and groomed, he had just enough money left to buy a swaybacked mare that he hoped still had enough life in her to get him home to Gila Bend. He would have to ride bareback since his budget didn't allow for even a used saddle. The owner threw in a length of rope that could be fashioned into a harness.

Before leaving, Billy Wayne offered him a token good for one free beer at the Cowman's Bar, a gesture of kindness he extended to all paying customers. Lewis, wary of ever setting foot in a saloon again, declined.

Wayne reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a different-colored token. "Seeing as how you ain't inclined to imbibe, which I must say I admire, take this one down to Minnie's Caf, and she'll serve you a free bowl of cornmeal mush that'll stick to your ribs better than anything you've had in a coon's age. For her sweet tea or lemonade, you'll be required to pay."

The mush was good and the glass of lemonade took the last few cents of his prison bankroll.

Lewis Taylor was dead broke, free, and ready to head home.

As he slowly made his way southward, feeling the warm breezes on his face, watching white, puffy clouds float past, Taylor felt new energy surging through his body. It was, however, the stars at night that provided him his greatest sense of being a free man.

Aware of his horse's age and limitations, he resisted the constant urge to hurry her along. Instead, they stopped often to drink from streams and springs and rest in the welcome shade of sprawling oak trees. When Taylor's stomach would begin to grumble, he found sweet wild grapes to satisfy his hunger.

Then, at night, he would lie in the grass, arms folded beneath his head, and stare at the night sky while his horse grazed nearby. He would fall asleep counting the stars that twinkled their welcome to freedom. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.

On the third day, he named his horse Dolly. "Can't carry on a proper conversation without you having a name," he said. "First thing we'll do once we get to the farm is see that you have your fill of oats, a good brushing, and plenty of rest."

It was late in the afternoon of that same day that he saw the lazy curl of chimney smoke in the distance.

"Let's go see if we can make us some new friends," Lewis said as he turned Dolly.

As he approached the small cabin, a hen and her chicks scurried from his path. A dog, roused from his nap, stood on the front porch, barking. He was soon joined by a bald, stoop-shouldered old man dressed in overalls and pointing a shotgun. "State your business," he called out.

"Name's Lewis Taylor, and I'm headed south, to home. Been traveling for a few days. I saw your farm here and was wondering if you might have chores a fellow could do in exchange for a meal."

The shotgun was still pointed in his direction when a woman appeared on the porch and began gently petting the dog, urging him to stop barking.

"I'm known as Preacher Goolsby, and this is my wife, Nina. I'll thank you to remain on your horse until we've done a bit more talking. You carrying a firearm or any other kind of weapon?"

"No, sir."

Goolsby turned to his wife. "I've seen his type before," he said. "You can tell it in his eyes and by the fact he's wearing store-bought clothes. That and the fact no self-respecting traveler would be riding bareback on a horse as broke down as that one appears to be."

He turned to Taylor. "Just got out of prison, I'm guessing."

"Yes, sir."

"You here to knock us in the head and steal our belongings?"

"No, sir."

"Let him get down and stretch his legs," Nina said. "He seems a young man who's repented his sins."

Her husband stared at Lewis for several seconds. "Would that be the case?"

"I did no crime, and I mean you folks no harm."

Goolsby slowly lowered the shotgun. "Come on up and sit on the porch. My wife will fetch you something to wet your whistle while we have us a talk." He tried with little success to hide the fact he was pleased to have company. "You're coming from up at Huntsville, right? Back in the day when I was traveling all over, preaching the Word, I once visited the convicts there. Wasn't a one of them interested in salvation. All they wanted was to get out and return to their evil ways."

"All I'm wanting," Lewis said, "is to get home to Gila Bend, Texas, and resume living my life."

Goolsby stopped short of asking why he'd been in prison. "Let's us take your horse out to the barn and get her fed and watered."

The farm seemed to be on its last leg. As they made the short walk, Taylor could see fences that needed mending, a garden that obviously hadn't been weeded in some time, and the last rays of sunlight streaming into the barn from holes in the roof.

The preacher read his mind. "I'm getting too dang old to properly tend the place," he said. "I had help from my boy before he went off to fight in the war. Got himself killed just a week before the surrender. You serve the Confederacy?"

"Yes. Some of my friends died. Guess I was lucky."

By the time Nina called them to supper, they'd still not discussed any work he could do to earn the meal. She'd fried chicken and boiled collard greens. A loaf of bread, still hot, sat in the center of the small kitchen table.

"You can sleep in the barn tonight," Goolsby said later as his wife cleared the dishes. "If you were serious about earning your keep, maybe you can stay on for a few days. Think about it, and we can discuss it further in the morning.

"Meanwhile, we have us Bible reading every evening before we go to bed, and you're welcome to join in."

"I appreciate the offer," Taylor said, "but I'm feeling a bit tired and would like to get on out to the barn, if you don't mind." He tipped his hat to Mrs. Goolsby. "That was a mighty tasty supper, ma'am."

She smiled. "God bless you, young man. Sleep well."

He had already done the milking and was mucking out one of the stalls when Goolsby entered the barn. He was limping and holding two large cups. ÒGetting harder to get up and going every day,Ó he said. ÒSince you already done my milking, youÕve earned yourself some coffee. If youÕre wanting milk in it, IÕm...