Ralph Compton Whiskey River Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epigraph

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  RALPH COMPTON

  USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  THE TRAILSMAN

  “Compton writes in the style of popular Western novelists like Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey . . . thrilling stories of Western legend.”

  —The Huntsville Times (AL)

  A DEADLY CHOICE

  “I could have you court-martialed for murder,” Ferguson said. “Conviction calls for a mandatory death sentence.”

  “You speak as though there’s some other choice,” said Mark.

  “Maybe there is. Have either of you ever heard of Wolf Estrello and his whiskey runners?”

  Mark and Bill shook their heads, and Captain Ferguson continued.

  “Rotgut whiskey is being brought by steamboat to Fort Smith,” said Ferguson, “and wagoned from there to Estrello’s stronghold in Indian Territory. This poison is being sold to the Kiowas and the Comanches. During the war, when we lacked the manpower to strike back, Estrello built a formidable empire, creating a haven for deserters from both sides of the conflict. Now we’re ready to infiltrate Estrello’s outfit and finish him once and for all.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Bill, “but it means nothing to us.”

  “Suppose there’s a way the two of you can help destroy these whiskey runners, and in so doing, regain your freedom, your confiscated property, and full amnesty? Would it still mean nothing to you?”

  “Great God almighty, what I wouldn’t give for such a chance,” Mark said.

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of

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  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, January 1999

  First Printing (repackage RE), January 2011

  Copyright © The Estate of Ralph Compton, 1999 All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-47681-9

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This work is respectfully dedicated

  to the memory

  of my Texas friend, Tim Smith.

  Vaya con Dios.

  CHARACTERS

  The military at Waco: Lieutenant Henry Sheriff at Waco: Rufe Elkins

  The military at Fort Worth: Captain Ferguson, Lieutenant Wanz, Sergeant Waymont, Corp. Tewksbury

  Amanda and Betsy Miles: Twin sisters held captive by outlaws after their father was killed

  Mark Rogers and Bill Harder: Young Texans forced by the military to join the Wolf Estrello gang in an attempt to end whiskey smuggling to the Indians

  The Estrello gang:

  Wolf Estrello

  Carl Long *

  Lee Sullivan *

  Vernon Clemans *

  Todd Keithley *

  Nick Ursino *

  Ed Stackler *

  Jules Hiram

  Walsh Tilden

  Hugh Odell

  Bert Hamby

  Alfonso Suggs

  Snider Irvin

  Elgin Kendrick

  Burrel Hedgepith

  Ezra Shadley

  Gid Patton

  Drew Wilder

  Chad Graves

  Skull Worsham

  Alonzo Bideno

  Waddy Jackman

  Blanco Cordier

  Gabe Haddock

  Boyd DeWitt

  Phelps Brice

  Dutch McCarty

  Franklin Schorp

  Tull McLean

  Aldous Rains

  Saul Renato

  Ike Jabez

  * Men who have sworn to break away from Estrello’s gang

  The Barton gang (Enemies of Estrello): Elizabeth Barton, Lefty Paschal, Hugh Sterns, French Loe, Whit Sumner, Will Macklin, Tobe Harve, Green Perryman Second Barton gang (after Frank is killed): Elizabeth “Liz” Barton, Sim Bowdre, Kirk Epps, Tasby Winters, Wilson Soules, Weaver Upton, Blake McSween, Tally Weaver, Boyce Mann, Cordell Kazman, Burly Grimes, Duncan Trevino, Seldon Bagwell

  Steamboat captains:

  Boat #1, The Aztec (Captain Savage)

  Boat #2, The Goose (Captain Lytle)

  Boat #3, The Midnight (Captain Stock)

  Boat #4, The Star (Captain Jenks)

  Taylor Laird: Owner of illegal distillery in St. Louis

  Burt Wills: Second in command to Laird

  Captain Tyndall: Captain of Taylor Laird’s steamboat

  The Military in St. Louis: Captain Hailey, Sergeant Ember,

  Lieutenant Banyon

  Dan Rowden: Sheriff of St. Louis county

  Broken Nose: A renegade Indian

  Otter Tail: Friend of Broken Nose

  Buckshot Orr: A saloon owner in Fort Smith

  Prologue

  Waco, Texas. June 25, 1866.

  After four long years they were coming home.

  Mark Rogers and Bill Harder had much in common. While still young men, they had “learn
ed cow” together in south Texas. When they were of age, they each had “proved up” on a half section of land, just north of Waco, on opposite banks of the Brazos River. The combined half sections were an ideal spread, with the Brazos providing abundant water. But when the war came and Texas seceded, Mark and Bill answered the call of the Confederacy, each just a few days shy of twenty-five. Now, after four long years of war, they neared Waco. They were self-conscious, for they were dressed in rags, which had once been the proud uniforms of the Confederacy. Neither man was armed, and for lack of saddles they rode mules bareback. Mark Rogers and Bill Harder were as gaunt as the animals they rode. When they rode in, Waco didn’t look any different, but somehow, it felt all wrong. They reined up before Bradley’s Mercantile. Ab Bradley had known them all their lives, and as they entered the store, he came limping to meet them.

  “My soul and body,” Ab said. “Mark Rogers and Bill Harder. I heard you was dead.”

  “There was times when we wished we were, Ab,” said Mark. “Better that than rotting away in a Yankee prison.”

  “Yeah,” Bill agreed. “All we have is these rags we’re wearin’, and two poor old mules as hungry as we are. The Yankees stomped hell out of us, took our guns, and sent us back with our tails between our legs. We heard soldiers would be comin’ to put us under martial law until the Congress can decide what our punishment should be. Has any of ’em showed up?”

  “They have,” said Ab gravely. “There’s already a full company of them in Austin. But that’s not the problem. The problem is the newly appointed tax collectors. First thing they done was re-assess everybody’s spreads, and them that couldn’t pay lost everything. They started out takin’ what belonged to those of you who went to war.”

  “The sons of bitches,” Mark said. “We wasn’t here. They’ve taken our spread?”

  “Yours, and a dozen others, all up and down the Brazos,” said Ab. “They’re bein’ held by men armed with scatterguns.”

  “By God,” Bill said, “we’ll organize the rest of the rightful owners and raise hell.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ab. “Riley Wilkerson, Mike Duvall, and Ellis Van Horn tried to do exactly that. Without weapons, they attacked armed men and were shot down like stray dogs. The others that come back saw how it was, and left, traveling west. You can fight, but you can’t win.”

  “Legalized murder, then,” Mark said.

  “That’s what I’d call it,” said Ab, “but I wouldn’t say it too loud.”

  “Ab,” said Bill, “we don’t have a peso between us, and I don’t know when we’ll be able to pay you, but we need grub. Can you help us?”

  “Some,” Ab said cautiously. “The state’s been up against a blockade, and supply lines still ain’t open. All I got is homegrown beef, beans, and bacon. No coffee, salt, or sugar.”

  “We’ll accept whatever you can spare, and be thankful,” said Mark.

  “You don’t aim to back off, then, do you?” Ab asked.

  “Hell no,” said Mark. “I don’t know what we’ll do, but by the Eternal, we’ll be doing something.”

  “Just be careful, boys,” Ab said.

  “We’re obliged to you for the warning,” said Bill. “At least we won’t be walking into it cold.”

  Ab filled two gunnysacks with supplies. Mark and Bill thanked the old man and left the store. Nobody paid any attention to the two riders as they rode south. Darkness was several hours away, and they rode into a stand of cottonwood where there was a spring they remembered.

  “Whatever bronc we have to ride,” Mark said, “I’ll feel better jumpin’ on it with a full belly.”

  There was lush graze near the river, and the half-starved mules took advantage of it. Mark and Bill built a small fire over which they broiled bacon. Their meager meal finished, the angry duo set about making plans to reclaim their holdings.

  “From what Ab told us,” said Bill, “there shouldn’t be more than two of these varmints with scatterguns guardin’ our spread, and we’ll likely find one of ’em holed up in my shack and the other in yours. We can take ’em one at a time and get our hands on them scatterguns.”

  “That’ll bring the soldiers,” Mark said. “We can’t stand off the damn army with a pair of scatterguns. Besides, we were granted amnesty by signing pledges not to take up arms against the Union.”

  “Soldiers and amnesty be damned,” said Bill. “Just because they beat us don’t give ‘em the right to move in and rob us blind while we’re not here to defend what’s ours. Soon as it’s dark enough, I’m movin’ in. You comin’ with me?”

  “I reckon,” Mark said. “We’ll likely light more fires than we can put out, but we can’t just let them pick us clean. Hell, we’ll do what we have to.”

  When darkness had fallen. they could see a distant light in the window or each of their shacks. They first approached Bill’s spread, and in the dim light from a window, they saw the dark shadow of a horse tied outside the shack.

  “You spook the horse,” said Bill, “and I’ll get him as he comes out the door.”

  Taking a handful of rocks, Mark began pelting the horse. It nickered, reared, and then nickered again. It had the desired effect. The door swung open, and the man with the scattergun started out. In an instant Bill had an arm around his throat and a death grip on the muzzle of the shotgun. He drove a knee into the man’s groin, who, with a gasp of pain, released the shotgun. As he doubled up in agony, Bill seized the shotgun’s stock and slammed it under the unfortunate man’s chin.

  “One of ’em down,” said Bill with satisfaction.

  “God almighty,” Mark said, kneeling by the fallen man, “his neck’s broke. He’s dead.”

  “I didn’t shoot him,” said Bill, more shaken than he wanted to admit. “I promised that I wouldn’t take up arms, and I didn’t.”

  “We can’t leave him here,” Mark said. “What do you aim to do with him?”

  “Leave him where he is for now,” said Bill. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere. After we’ve took care of the varmint at your place, we’ll dispose of the both of them where they’ll never be found. Nobody can prove anything against us.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Mark said. “We’ve gone too far to back out now.”

  Mark and Bill found a shallows and crossed the Brazos afoot, Mark carrying the confiscated shotgun.

  “Give me the scattergun,” said Bill. “If this one goes sour, I’ll do the shootin’. So far, they got nothin’ on you.”

  “No,” Mark said. “This is my place. I won’t have you takin’ a rap for what I should have done. This time, you spook the horse, and I’ll get the drop when the varmint comes bustin’ out.”

  Bill began antagonizing the picketed horse, and the animal reacted predictably. But the animal’s owner didn’t come busting through the front door. He came around the corner of the house, and Bill threw himself facedown just in time to avoid a lethal blast from the scattergun. Like an echo, Mark fired, and the deadly charge caught the guard in the chest. He collapsed like a crumpled sack.

  “My God,” Bill said, “now we’re into it.”

  “So we are,” said Mark. “Would you feel better if I’d let him cut you in two with that cannon?”

  “This is no time for damned foolishness,” Bill said. “There’s still a chance we can get out of this if we can stash this pair where they’ll never be found, and we got to do it fast. There’ll be rain before morning, and it’ll cover our trail. Get a blanket from inside. We don’t want blood all over this hombre’s saddle when his horse shows up somewhere.”

  Riding their mules, they each led a horse with a dead man slung over the saddle. Far down the Brazos, they disposed of both dead men in a bog hole that overflowed from the river.

  “A damned shame, lettin’ these horses and saddles go, while we’re ridin’ a broke-down pair of old mules,” said Mark.

  “Hell of a lot easier than explaining to the law where we got the horses and saddles,” Bill replied.

&n
bsp; Just for a moment, the moon peeked from behind the gathering clouds, and turning, Mark looked back.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” Bill asked.

  “Them horses,” said Mark. “They’re followin’ us.”

  “Won’t matter,” Bill replied. “There’ll be rain before daylight.”

  But the shotgun blasts had been heard at the old Duvall place, and by the time Mark and Bill returned to Bill’s shack, they had unwanted company. While the pair still had the weapons they had taken from the dead men, they had no chance to use them. A cold voice from the darkness spoke.

  “You’re covered, and there’s three of us. Drop the guns and step down.”

  Mark Rogers and Bill Harder had no choice. Dropping the shotguns, they slid off their mules.

  “You got nothing on us,” Bill said angrily. “These are our spreads, proved up before we went to war.”

  “And confiscated for nonpayment of taxes,” said the hostile voice.

  “What do you aim to do with us?” Mark asked.

  “Turn you over to the military, come morning,” said their antagonist. “We heard the shooting. Now you coyotes show up with a pair of shotguns and the horses followin’ you that belonged to Pritchett and Wade. We don’t know what you done with ’em, but there’s enough evidence for the law to consider ’em dead.”

  “Yeah,” said a second voice with an ugly laugh, “they’ll be the first ex-Rebs to face up to a military firing squad.”

  The unfortunate duo was marched into Bill’s cabin, where they were bound hand and foot. They were shoved roughly against a wall, where they slid down to uncomfortable sitting positions.

  “My name’s Crowder,” said the most talkative of their trio of antagonists. “Gortner and Preemo will keep you company and see that you don’t get any ideas. I’ll telegraph the military at Austin, and there’ll be soldiers here by tomorrow.”