Ralph Compton The Sagebrush Trail (The Trail Drive 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.
Robert J. Randisi has authored more than five hundred published books and has edited more than thirty anthologies of short stories. Booklist magazine said he "may be the last of the pulp writers." He cofounded and edited Mystery Scene magazine and cofounded the American Crime Writers League. He founded the Private Eye Writers of America in 1981, where he created the Shamus Award.

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Chapter One

When Ethan Miller bought his ranch it was called the Bar W. The first thing he did was change the name to Paradise. It had long been his ambition to have a large ranch. That's why he had been saving his pay from the army for many years. When he finally left the service, just after the war, he was able to buy the Bar W and rename it.

The ranch was located about ten miles outside of Bozeman, Montana. Ethan sat on his porch with a cup of coffee, watching the horses in the corral move about. This was just part of the herd he had amassed, which he was preparing to sell. He hoped that the proceeds from the sale would be what he had always imagined they would be.

He also watched his men as they did their work, preparing the horses to be driven to market. He just wasn't yet sure where they were going to drive them to.

Moses, his houseman, came out of the house with a pot of coffee.

"More coffee, suh?"

"Yes, Moze," Ethan said, "and how many times have I told you to stop calling me sir? We're not in the army anymore."

"Yes, Cap'n," the Black man said.

Moze stood there a moment, also staring at the corral.

"This looks jus' like you described all those times on the field, sir."

"Yes, Moze," Ethan said, "it does, doesn't it . . ."

Virginia

April 9, 1865

Captain Ethan Miller was serving in the Cavalry Corps of the army of the Potomac under General Philip Sheridan. He was sitting in his command tent, studying the map on the table before him, waiting to hear if they were going to go into battle in the morning.

Private Moses Jefferson came into the tent carrying a steaming plate of food and a cup of coffee.

"Supper, suh."

"Thanks, Moze," Ethan said. "Put it there." There was some space on the table that was not taken up by the map.

"Also," Moze said, "Lieutenant Ashforth wants ta see ya, suh."

Ethan sat back in his chair, grabbed his plate and fork and said, "Send 'im in, Moze."

"Yessuh."

Moze left and, moments later, a tall, slender man, fifteen years younger than Ethan, entered.

"I'll say it again, Captain," he said. "That nigger don't belong in this man's army. He's a goddamned slave."

"He was a slave, Lieutenant," Ethan said. "Then he became a free man and joined our side."

"To fight slavery," Ashforth said, shaking his head.

"Isn't that what we're all fightin'?" Ethan asked. He put some stew into his mouth.

"No," Ashforth said, "it ain't as simple as that, and you know it."

"Then what are you fightin' for, Lieutenant?" Ethan asked, pointing at the man with his fork.

"I'm fightin' for there to be one president," Lieutenant Ashforth said. "The one true president, Abraham Lincoln."

"What did you want, Lieutenant?" Ethan asked, putting the plate down.

"I think it's time to deploy the men, sir," Ashforth said.

"Not yet," Ethan said. "We're still waitin' to hear from Appomattox."

Ashforth snorted.

"You really think Lee's gonna surrender?"

"I'm hopin' he will," Ethan said. "Then I don't have to send these men into battle again."

"That's what they're here for," Ashforth said. "That's what we're here for. You may not like this war, but-"

"And you do?" Ethan asked, cutting the man off. "You like war, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not afraid of it," the younger man said. "If you want me to give the order, I will."

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Ethan said. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to give any orders."

Ashforth started to leave the tent, then stopped.

"You know, the men don't like you havin' that slave here."

"I told you, he's not a slave," Ethan said. "He's a soldier."

"Well, you treat him like a slave," Ashforth said. "He cooks for you, washes your uniform, shines your buttons-"

"I don't ask him to do any of those things," Ethan said. "He volunteers."

"Then maybe he likes bein' a slave," Ashforth said. "Maybe he should go back."

"He's bein' paid, Lieutenant," Ethan said, "just like the rest of us. Slaves were never paid. Go have your supper." Ethan picked his plate up again.

"Yes, sir."

Ashforth left the tent. Ethan took another bite of the stew, then set it down. He'd had enough of this war. If Lee didn't surrender, and he had to send his men into battle again in the morning . . .

He looked up as the tent flap was flipped again and another man walked in. He had sergeant's stripes on his arm. The only reason for that was that he would not accept a battlefield commission to lieutenant. He didn't want to be an officer.

"What'd he want?" Sergeant William Granger asked. At fifty he was only a year or two older than Ethan.

"War," Ethan said, "what else?"

"Too bad you have to have him as your second," Granger said.

"I wanted you as my second, but you won't take the promotion."

Granger made a face.

"I hate officers," he said. "I don't wanna be one."

"How are the men, Grange?" Ethan asked.

"Antsy," Granger said. "They want it to be over."

"So do I," Ethan said.

"Montana's callin' you?" Granger asked.

"You know it," Ethan said. "You're comin' with me, right?"

He'd asked the man half a dozen times already.

"I'll tell you what," Granger said, "I'll go with you, but I don't wanna be no foreman. I just wanna be a ranch hand."

"I need a foreman, Grange."

"You're gonna take some of the other men with you, right?" Granger asked.

"If they'll come," Ethan said.

"Make Taggart your foreman," Granger said. "He'll go with you, and he's a good man."

Corporal George Taggart was a good man, but he wasn't Granger.

"We'll see," Ethan said.

Granger pointed to the plate.

"Eat that," he said. "Who knows when we'll get hot food, again."

"You don't think Lee's gonna surrender, do you?" Ethan asked.

"No, I don't," Granger said, and left the tent.

Ethan picked up the plate and continued eating.

Moze came in later to collect the plate and hand Ethan a fresh cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Moze."

"Yessuh."

Before Moze could leave, Ethan said, "Tell me, Moze, what do you want to do after the war?"

"What can I do?" the Black man asked, with a shrug. Moze was supposed to be in his forties, but Ethan had the feeling he lied about his age to get into the Union Army. He suspected the man was in his sixties. "I been a slave my whole life."

"You're a free man now," Ethan said. "You can do whatever you want."

"Oh," Moze said, "I think we both knows that ain't true, Cap'n."

"Well then, how about you come along with me to my ranch in Montana?" Ethan said. "You can work for me. I'll pay you real well."

Moze smiled widely.

"I thought you'd never ask, Cap'n," he said. "I'll keep your house for...